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Chapter Text

Draco

April 10, 2009

New York City

When Draco steps out from the Floo arrival area, the atrium at MACUSA is bustling as usual. The bright room echoes with the hurried footsteps of witches and wizards moving in every direction. Morning light streams through the enchanted windows, bouncing off the bronze Thunderbird statue overhead—the symbol of MACUSA—and casts reflections across the marble floor below.

“Auror Lieutenant Malfoy!” Draco hears his name over the din of hundreds of voices. He knows it’s his boss, but even with his height advantage, he can’t spot him in the crowd.

A sharp, loud whistle cuts through the noise. “Over here!” Head Auror Tony De Luca bellows, waving from a bench across the room.

“Sorry to ambush you like this, but I had to catch you as soon as you walked in,” De Luca says when Draco approaches. “I’ll tag along while you handle the daycare thing.”

Tony jumps down from the bench, landing at Draco’s feet, and frowns. “Where’s my little buddy?”

“Scorpius is home sick today, so I’m all yours,” Draco replies, his chest tightening at the thought of his son. He’s already wondering what has Tony so flustered.

“Well, damn,” Tony says, charging through the crowd. Draco notices the bundle in his hand and hopes that if he ignores it long enough, it’ll disappear.

De Luca stops abruptly and spins around with a maniacal grin, waving the offending cloth in Draco’s face—well, as close as he can get. Tony is 5'1" on a good day, so it ends up near Draco’s collarbone.“Got your robes, kid,” he says with a laugh.

Draco snatches them, rolling his eyes. “I can’t believe you dragged these out. You’d think the badge would be enough.”

Tony shrugs, already heading for the elevators. “Uniform’s uniform. Besides, you look dashing—if anyone asks.” He cackles at Draco’s grumbling as he shoves through the crowd toward the bank of elevators. “We’ve got to get up to International Magical Cooperation. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

They end up being the only two in the elevator, but Draco casts a silencing charm just in case.

“What happened?” he asks, pushing the button for the 25th floor before leaning against the side wall.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard,” De Luca begins, “but there’s a new ambassador from the Ministry of Magic.”

Draco shrugs. “I heard that Wellington was retiring, but that was it.”

“Well, the new ambassador has been getting threatening letters since the announcement—before they even left England.”

De Luca presses on without waiting for a response. “There have been more letters, and other incidents, since they arrived here. But, of course, no one thought to involve the Aurors.”

“What kind of ‘other incidents’?” Draco asks. “And why do you keep saying ‘they’? Don’t you know who the ambassador is?”

“I don’t. We’re supposed to be briefed when we get upstairs,” Tony replies, irritation seeping into his voice. “As for the incidents, someone tried to enter MACUSA twice without credentials, demanding to see the Ministry ambassador.”

Draco’s eyebrows shoot up. “Twice? And no one thought to inform us?”

“Exactly! I’ve said for years hiring outside security was a mistake, but does anyone listen?”

“So, what finally made them call us?” Draco asks as he grudgingly puts on his robes.

“The threats aren’t just letters anymore,” De Luca answers, lowering his voice. “Whoever this is, they’ve made it clear they’re willing to escalate. Saturday wasn’t a one-off—there’s a pattern emerging.”

“Apparently, someone threw dark spells at the ambassador while they were out on Saturday,” he continues. “Luckily, they had a solid shield charm—and an Auror friend from England helped them escape.”

The elevator doors slide open before Draco can respond. They’re met by a young woman with lavender hair, who starts talking before they even step out.

“You must be from the Auror Department,” she says briskly, immediately turning and walking down the hall. “I’m Septima, the ambassador’s assistant.”

Draco opens his mouth to ask if it was their badges or their robes that gave them away, but Tony elbows him, a silent reminder to hold back his sarcasm. Not to be outdone, Draco subtly casts a minor tripping jinx at De Luca’s feet, smirking as the other man stumbles.

When Draco first met Tony, shortly after arriving in the U.S. ten years ago, he never would have guessed that De Luca would become the first positive father figure in his life.

“You know, kid, it’s not too late to call the British Aurors and tell them you violated parole,” Tony hisses under his breath, the nickname pulling Draco into a memory.

Ten years earlier

Draco sits in a cold interrogation room deep within MACUSA, unsure how long he’s been waiting. At least it isn’t as dark and grimy as the one used during his pretrial interrogation at the Ministry of Magic.

He sits ramrod straight, his expression impassive. His Occlumency walls are as strong as ever, rendering his eyes shuttered and dark, his voice flat. He assumes the American Aurors will try to break him or deter him from starting the Auror Academy in a couple of weeks. He just hopes they’re less prone to spitting on him than their British counterparts.

The door slams open, hitting the wall. If the noise is meant to startle him, it fails—Draco is too deep into his Occlumency and has seen too much war for that to work. The Auror who enters is short, shorter than most third-years Draco has seen, but he’s muscular. His thick neck and shoulders remind Draco of a bull, and the attitude he exudes before speaking makes him seem larger than he is. The Auror slams a novel-sized file down on the table, then takes the other chair, spinning it around and sitting with his arms resting on the back.

“You know,” he says in a thick Brooklyn accent that Draco finds almost indecipherable, “I was supposed to come in here and scare the shit out of you, make sure you’re here for the right reasons.”

“But after reading this,” he taps the file with a thick finger, “I think you’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.”

Draco remains silent, unsure how to respond.

“I’m Auror Lieutenant Tony De Luca,” the man says, extending a hand.

Draco feels like he’s moving in slow motion as he reaches out to shake De Luca’s hand. His voice sounds almost robotic. “Draco Malfoy.”

De Luca glances at the file. “Your file says you’re a natural Occlumens and Legilimens. That why you’re sitting here like an ice sculpture?”

After a beat of silence, De Luca leans forward. “Why don’t you drop the Occlumency so we can talk?”

It takes Draco a moment to drag himself back to the surface. “Old habit,” he says with a shrug, his Malfoy pride refusing to back down.

Tony snorts, seeing right through Draco’s pretentiousness. “Kid, you’ve already got a big enough target on your back. No need to make it bigger.”

“I’ll be honest,” De Luca continues. “You’re going to have to work twice as hard for half the respect because of what’s in this file, at least until you prove yourself. The ‘rich, pretentious, pretty boy with an attitude’ thing isn’t helping either, so you might want to lose that.”

Draco is speechless at De Luca’s blunt honesty. It’s a refreshing change from the false deference he’s used to.

“You’ve got a long road to redemption,” De Luca says, flipping through Draco’s file. “But lucky for you, America loves a comeback kid.”

“Ten years and a transoceanic move later? I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now, love,” Draco coos, batting his eyelashes mockingly at him.

“Ugh,” De Luca groans. “Don’t start with the pet names, too. McCandless is bad enough.”

Thankfully, the ambassador’s assistant remains oblivious to their banter. “If you’ll follow me,” she says, “I’ll show you in when the ambassador finishes her call with Minister Shacklebolt.”

Draco and Tony exchange a look as they wait by Septima’s desk, both wondering if they’ll actually see the ambassador today. After a few minutes, Septima rises and opens the office door.

“Madam Ambassador, the Aurors are here,” she announces quietly.

Draco waits for Tony to step inside and follows behind. His height allows him to see over Tony’s head into the office—where he spots someone he thought he’d never see again.

Hermione Granger.

Draco’s pulse quickens, a sudden tightness in his chest as guilt and shame flood through him. His breath catches in his throat, his body going taut as his gaze meets Granger’s. The familiarity of her face—a face he’s seen in both bitter nightmares and redemptive dreams—dredges up memories he’s long tried to bury. The memories of all the times he taunted her with slurs and other cruel remarks follow the emotions and he quickly pushes the feelings behind his Occlumency barriers.

There’s no way she lets me in here, not with our history, Draco thinks. Not that I would blame her.

If Granger allows it, he knows he has to apologize. He hasn't seen her since that day in the Ministry, since she and Potter had given him the last lifeline he thought he’d ever have, so he never had the chance to tell her how sorry he is in person. His spine stiffens as he waits, a sudden chill prickling his skin despite the warmth of the room. Seeing her again felt like stepping back into a world he thought he’d left behind.

Hermione

Hermione sits at her desk, surrounded by files and papers. Sunlight filters through the window, casting a warm glow over her desk. The quiet hum of conversation from the hall outside feels distant, muted by the thick, unyielding walls of the office. As a stack of files teeters precariously, she wonders how many more ways this week can go wrong. The migraine creeping in feels like the final touch on an already disastrous few days. A soft knock at her office door pulls her from her thoughts.

“Come in, Septima.”

“Here’s the pain potion you requested, Ambassador,” Septima says quietly, placing a vial on the desk. “And the tea and cookies you asked for, Auror Potter.”

Harry perks up in his seat, more excited than he’s been all day. “Thanks! I appreciate it,” he says brightly as Septima slips back out the door.

After tipping back the pain potion, Hermione gives Harry a knowing smile. “Let’s see how excited you are in about a second,” she teases.

Harry raises an eyebrow in confusion as he takes his first sip of tea—and nearly spits it out.

“Bloody hell! What is that?!” he sputters.

“Septima means well,” Hermione says with a shake of her head, “but she makes the worst cup of tea I’ve ever had.”

“At least it gave us a laugh,” Harry grimaces, wiping his mouth. “Merlin knows we need it after this weekend.”

The mood in the room dims as both fall silent at the reminder. Since the announcement of Hermione’s appointment as the Ministry of Magic’s Ambassador to MACUSA, she’d received a steady stream of disappointed, angry letters—and the occasional howler—from those who disapproved of a Muggleborn in her position. As expected, some of the letters had escalated into outright threats.

The two attempts by someone trying to gain entry into MACUSA hadn’t rattled her much—they hadn’t succeeded, and she’d felt secure. But Saturday had been different. While in Wizarding Manhattan with Harry, curses had come at them out of nowhere.

Hermione had thrown up a strong Protego just in time, watching in horror as the curses deflected off the shield at the last possible moment. The charm had bought Harry enough time to apparate them both out and back to her flat.

Now, she has to deal with an angry Kingsley and a meeting with two top Aurors.

“Wish me luck,” Hermione sighs, grimacing as she reaches for the phone. “I’m calling Kingsley.”

“Give him my best,” Harry says with a mock salute.

“At least I convinced him to install a phone at the Ministry so I don’t have to do long-distance Floo calls,” she adds, shuddering at the thought. The idea of sending her head and shoulders through the Floo network had always unsettled her.

The call with Kingsley is long and draining, with Hermione barely able to get a word in as her friend and mentor lectures her. She clenches the phone tightly in one hand as she rubs her temple with the other.

“Yes, Kingsley.” “I know, Kingsley.” “I’m glad Harry was there too.” “No, Kingsley, there was no specific reason I waited to bring the Aurors in.” Finally, “Goodbye, Kingsley.”

Hermione slumps back in her chair, feeling more exhausted by the phone call than anything else that had happened that week.

“Chin up,” Harry mumbles around a mouthful of cookie. “Could’ve been worse. You could’ve had that conversation in person.”

Before Hermione can reply, Septima pops her head back in. “Madam Ambassador, the Aurors are here.”

Hermione closes her eyes for a moment, gathering herself. “Thank you, Septima. Send them in.”

The door opens, and the first Auror—a short, brawny man in his fifties—steps inside, followed by a much taller figure who nearly fills the doorway.

Hermione looks up and freezes, speechless as her gaze locks onto the shadowed grey eyes she hasn’t seen in eleven years. Disbelief, followed by curiosity, sweeps through her. Of all the students in her year at Hogwarts, she never would have guessed Draco Malfoy would be the one to move to the U.S.

She hasn’t spared a thought for him in years—or so she’d told herself. But now, here he is, solid and changed, yet undeniably familiar.

Malfoy—an Auror? Hermione asks herself incredulously. Stranger things have happened, I suppose.

Hermione has long since faced the demons of her past, as much as one can when they were used as a child soldier. She notices the apprehensive look on Malfoy’s face and is certain he’s wary of her reaction. However, she’s pragmatic—and curious—enough to give him a chance. After all, he must have made significant changes to be here, working with MACUSA’s Head Auror.

“Malfoy!” Harry exclaims, leaping out of his chair and crossing the room to clap Malfoy on the back.

“Potter,” Malfoy drawls, his tone casual. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who bitched out and left the field,” Harry says with a laugh. “How’s the desk treating you?”

“Splendidly,” Malfoy replies with a roll of his eyes and a friendly lilt to his voice. “You should pop by my office and introduce yourself sometime.”

Hermione watches, bemused, as Harry and Malfoy exchange banter like old friends. It’s almost surreal. She catches a glance from the older Auror, who seems equally entertained.

Finally, Hermione stands behind her desk and clears her throat. “I’m Hermione Granger, the new Ministry of Magic Ambassador,” she says, extending a hand to the older man.

“Tony De Luca, Head Auror,” he replies, shaking her hand. “I’d introduce Auror Lieutenant Malfoy, but it seems that’s unnecessary.”

“We all went to Hogwarts together, as I’m sure you’ve guessed,” Hermione says with a nod. “Though it seems these two have caught up more recently.”

Harry and Malfoy, now finished with their reunion, join the group.

“Ambassador Granger,” Malfoy says formally, his tone a little stiff. “Welcome to MACUSA.”

He pauses, then adds, “I have to say, you’ve received the worst welcome I’ve ever seen here.” The corner of his mouth quirks up in a smirk that’s all too familiar.

Did Malfoy just make a joke? Hermione thinks, incredulous.

“If you don’t mind, Madam Ambassador,” De Luca begins, but Hermione waves him off.

“Hermione, please.”

De Luca nods. “Alright, Hermione. We need you to walk Lieutenant Malfoy and me through everything that’s happened since you took this position.”

“Spare no detail,” Malfoy interjects. “We need all the information so we can decide the best course of action.”

“Of course.” Hermione gestures to the chairs in front of her desk. “Please, have a seat.”

Harry retakes his seat to the side, while the two Aurors settle into the chairs she indicated. Her small office is lined with overflowing bookshelves, and her desk is littered with files and paperwork, arranged in a system only she understands. The office is always a bit cramped, but with four people inside, it’s starting to feel even smaller.

Hermione can’t help but glance at Malfoy again. He’s changed so much since their school days. She notices the sleek knot of his long hair pulled back at the nape of his neck, surprised that he’s grown it out. He was always tall, but once thin and reedy. Now, he’s even taller—6'4" or 6'5", if she had to guess—and his robes hint at a muscular frame that doesn’t match Harry’s joke about him being desk-bound. There is a quiet strength to him that hints at more than just physical training. What had reshaped him?

For some reason, Hermione finds herself drawn to Malfoy. She’s always been insatiably curious, a lover of puzzles and riddles, and Malfoy, sitting ramrod straight in an Auror uniform that denotes his relatively high rank, presents her with a new puzzle to solve.

How did he end up here? In a position like this? With effort, Hermione shakes her head, clearing her thoughts. She needs to focus on the conversation at hand.

“So,” she says, folding her hands on the desk, “let’s go back to the beginning.”

Draco

Draco is so deep in his thoughts, checking the strength of his Occlumency walls, that he almost misses the polite conversation between Potter, Granger, and Tony.

Ease up a bit, Draco, he tells himself. You still have work to do.

He doesn’t rely on Occlumency nearly as much as he used to, mostly saving it for situations like this—when he’s walking into the unknown. According to his Mind Healer, it’s a perfectly acceptable use of the skill, unlike the constant mental barricading he did at Hogwarts.

Today, he needed those walls to separate business from personal concerns. Rationally, he knows Scorpius only has a mild stomach bug and is being well cared for by Penny, the house-elf who raised him. But the overprotective father in him wants to barricade himself in Scorpius’ room, holding his tiny son until the illness passes, like some bizarre dragon guarding its hoard.

As usual, Penny had been the voice of reason. She practically shoved him through the Floo this morning, grumbling about how he’d drive her and Scorpius mad if he didn’t go to work.

Now, here with Granger and faced with his looming apology, the mental barriers are doubly essential. Draco mentally shakes himself and tunes back into the conversation.

De Luca leans forward. “Any idea why these letters are targeting you?”

Granger’s lips thin. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? Some people still don’t like seeing a Mudblood in a high-ranking position.”

Draco can’t hide the grimace that crosses his face at the mention of that word. Granger notices, her gaze flicking toward him, one eyebrow raised.

She shrugs before continuing, “It happened every time I was promoted within the DIMC.”

“And that's why you didn’t involve either Auror department with the letters?” Draco asks, a hint of frustration in his voice.

Hermione shrugs. “It’s happened before and never escalated beyond that. Seemed like a waste of DMLE resources.”

“Which,” Potter cuts in, shooting Granger a withering look over the rim of his glasses, “she now knows was a bad call. Right?”

Granger rolls her eyes before responding, “I stand by my decision. I was working off past experience.”

Draco finds it hard to tear his eyes away from her. She’s completely in her element, in this office that seems tailor-made for her—confident, self-assured, secure in her place in the world. All the things he occasionally struggles with. He’s amazed at how she can face down this threat with such grace, as if the scars of their shared past had only made her stronger. She hasn’t flinched or faltered, not once.

“Either way, we’re here now,” De Luca says, his tone pragmatic. “We need to come up with a plan to keep you safe until we figure out who’s behind this.”

Hermione

“Some sort of protection plan,” Harry offers.

Hermione almost misses Harry’s suggestion—she’s too distracted by Malfoy. The more they talk, the more she notices how much he’s changed. His voice is now a deep rumble, without the petulant edge it had during their Hogwarts days. His once-pointed, angular features have sharpened, chiseled by age. His jawline, in particular, looks like it belongs on a Muggle superhero. Hermione’s heart skips a beat. The years had carved away the boy she’d once known, leaving behind a man whose presence fills the room with an unexpected intensity; someone who looks both harder and more open.

It’s not just the physical changes, either. As far as Hermione can remember—excluding their sixth year—he was never this quiet or contemplative at Hogwarts. It’s clear he’s using his innate ability to read a room, silently gathering information, a skill he must rely on often in his work. Her pen rolls between her fingers as she struggles to focus her gaze somewhere else.

“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘protection plan’?” Hermione asks, catching up with Harry’s words.

“Yes, Hermione, I did,” Harry says, exasperated, dragging a hand down his face and knocking his glasses further askew.

“This was a serious attack,” he continues. “They went after you in broad daylight, in the middle of a crowd, with some nasty curses.”

“He’s right,” Malfoy adds. “As much as it pains me to say it.” He flips his wand between his fingers, leaning back in his chair like some arrogant king on his throne.

Who knew Malfoy had such nice hands? Hermione muses, distracted again. She notices the silver rings—one bearing the Malfoy crest, another with the Black family insignia—but there are others she can’t place. The lack of a wedding band on his left hand is notable, too. His hands are calloused from quills and brooms, with a few small scars from Auror work. Yet they remain graceful, looking like they’d be soft and rough in all the best ways.

Get a grip, Hermione, she thinks, realizing she’s been staring at his hands for far too long. There’s too much going on in her life right now to be distracted—especially by Malfoy.

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and tries to refocus when Septima reappears in the doorway.

“Ambassador? Would you like me to get some tea for everyone?” her assistant asks. “I know you’ll be here for a while.”

“Coffee!” Harry and Hermione exclaim in unison.

Hermione clears her throat. “Actually, yes, coffee would be great. Thank you, Septima.” Her assistant nods with a smile and closes the door behind her.

“Ha! I just saved your arse again, Malfoy,” Harry says smugly. “You’re welcome.”

“Salazar, Potter,” Malfoy retorts, giving Harry a bored look. “You threw one shield charm half a second before me five years ago, and you’re still going on about it? That says a lot about how dull your life must be.”

“That half-second saved your hide, and you know it,” Harry insists, crossing his arms.

“Let’s agree to disagree,” Malfoy smirks. “What exactly have you saved me from this time?”

“Septima’s well-meaning but dreadful tea service,” Hermione interjects. “She makes a fantastic cup of coffee, but I’ve yet to figure out how she manages to ruin tea so badly.”

Draco

With the supposedly excellent coffee in front of them, the four circle back to the topic at hand.

“Okay, back to business,” Hermione says with a nod. “What would this protection plan consist of?”

“Mail’s getting redirected to us,” Draco cuts in smoothly.

“And we’ll assign a protection team,” De Luca continues. “Three Aurors when you’re on official business, one for personal outings.”

Draco settles back in his seat, waiting for one of Hermione’s signature explosions of righteous indignation.

There’s no way she’ll agree to that without a fight, he thinks. To his surprise, she seems to deflate a little.

“As much as I hate to admit it, I think you’re right,” Granger says quietly.

Saturday must have scared her more than she’s letting on, Draco muses, a tightness forming in his chest at the thought of her Gryffindor courage faltering. Come on, Golden Girl, don’t let them win.

The others continue hashing out details, trading points and counterpoints, while Draco listens, biding his time before speaking.

“How about we table this for now and come back later?” he suggests after a few minutes, noting the tension in Granger’s shoulders.

“Agreed,” De Luca says, standing. “We’ll head downstairs, map out some options, and come back tomorrow.”

“I’ll be with her until we get something more permanent sorted,” Harry adds firmly as he follows De Luca out of the office.

Draco suddenly finds himself alone with Hermione for the first time in—well, probably ever. She stands, preparing to escort him to the door.

Merlin, she’s tiny, Draco thinks, realizing she’s at least a foot shorter than him. Though the hair makes up the difference. He marvels at her mass of chocolate brown curls, cascading almost to her waist, no longer bushy but wild and free.

I bet her hair would be a dream to play with. It looks soft. Draco freezes mid-thought, his fingers twitching with the urge to test that theory. Where the hell did that come from? He quickly shakes it off. She’s probably still with Weasley anyway.

Before Hermione can reach the door, Draco clears his throat. “Granger,” he says, his voice a bit strained, “could I speak to you for a moment?”

It’s now or never. Draco tells himself.

“Of course, Malfoy,” she replies, turning to face him. “Did you think of something else?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again, willing the words to come out. Apologies never came easy for him, but with Granger, it was like draining a wound–necessary but deeply uncomfortable.

“It’s not that,” Draco mumbles, suddenly unsure. Man up, Malfoy. Say what you need to say. The words feel like stones in his mouth, heavy with the weight of things he’d needed to say for years. He isn’t sure if an apology will ever be enough, but he has to try.

“I wanted to apologize... for everything,” Draco begins, blood rushing to his face. “For calling you names, bullying you, not stopping Bella—”

Granger cuts him off. “Thank you, Malfoy, but you don’t need to do this,” she says graciously. “You’ve already apologized.”

“I should have done more,” Draco insists. “And a letter isn’t the same.” He had sent her, and others, apology letters during his house arrest but had followed up with in-person apologies to everyone—except Granger, whom he hadn’t seen before leaving for MACUSA training all those years ago.

“Look, you apologized, and I forgave you a long time ago,” she says firmly, eyes glinting. “I wouldn’t have testified at your trial if I thought you still believed in all that.”

“We were children,” she continues. “We were fighting a war that wasn’t ours, made to do things we never should have done—on both sides.”

Draco remains silent, eyes fixed on the floor. His heart skips when she reaches out and gently lifts his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her expression dares him to defy her—not that he would dream of it. Not after everything she’s done for him. Not with her standing there like an avenging goddess, determined to make him listen.

“You could have given us up that day at the Manor, but you didn’t. That’s worth something,” Granger says, her magic sparking faintly through her curls. “And Bellatrix—what could you have done? Most adults couldn’t stand up to her, and you’d just said it wasn’t me. What would have happened if you suddenly changed your mind?”

“As for the rest—the taunting, the names—when you know better, you do better,” she offers a small smile. “And it seems like you know better now.”

“I do know better,” Draco murmurs. “But for what it’s worth, I am truly sorry for everything.”

“Thank you, Malfoy,” Hermione says sincerely, warmth shining in her golden-brown eyes. “I appreciate it.”

“Now,” she nods toward the door, “should we see where those two ended up?”

“We should,” Draco replies, a hint of amusement in his voice. “They’re both wild cards—who knows what trouble they’ve found.”

A few hours later, Draco steps through the Floo at home and immediately feels a wave of overwhelming relief. Scorpius is waiting on the couch with his legs draped over the back, his head nearly hanging off the seat.

From across the room, Draco can see the familiar brightness and sparkle in his son’s silver eyes, a perfect mirror of his own.

“Hi, Daddy! You home!” Scorpius exclaims, twisting himself around the right way.

“Hey, buddy!” Draco responds warmly, crossing the room to scoop his son into his arms. “Feeling better?”

“Yes!” Scorpius nods dramatically. “Pesto is too!”

He shoves his beloved stuffed green dragon into Draco’s face.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Draco laughs. “What did you, Pesto, and Penny do today?”

Scorpius wraps an arm around his father’s neck, snuggling under his chin. “I colored and played wif my toys, and me and Pesto and Penny watched a movie!”

As Scorpius chatters away, Draco inhales the comforting scent of shampoo, sunshine, crayons, and warm sugar—all things uniquely Scorpius. “Who needs a Calming Draught when you’ve got that?” Draco muses.

“…and then Penny made soup and cheese toasties for lunch!” Scorpius crows, voice brimming with excitement.

“Now you’re just making me hungry!” Draco jokes, hiking Scorpius higher in his arms before pretending to nibble at him. He’s fairly certain he could live off Scorpius’ contagious belly laughs alone.

“Daddy, you silly!” Scorpius giggles, pretending to bite Draco’s arm. “Penny is making pasketti!”

“Merlin, son, you’re going to turn into pasketti,” Draco mutters, chuckling as Scorpius giggles in response. “But that does sound good! Let’s get washed up.”

Draco carries his son into the kitchen, drawn by the delicious smell of Penny’s cooking. He holds Scorpius close, though worry begins to settle in the back of his mind. Tomorrow, he’ll return to a world determined to disturb the peaceful life he’s built by resurrecting the ghosts of his past. This peace is fragile, like spun glass—and he’ll shatter anyone who tries to break it.

Chapter Text

Draco

February 1, 2009

New York City

“Seriously, Scorp, we do not have time for this!” Draco pants, grunting as his son wriggles out of his grasp and darts from the room, giggling loudly as he races down the stairs.

“Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy! You have to wear trousers to nursery—end of discussion,” he calls out as he rounds the corner into the kitchen, spotting his adopted brother-turned-housemate lounging at the breakfast bar.

Theodore Nott is a vision in neon, perched on a chair in a silk kimono and feathered house slippers.

“Draco, I have not had enough caffeine, nicotine or alcohol to deal with your yelling this morning,” Theo sighs, flipping over one of the tarot cards laid out in front of him.

“Remember the house next door? Your house? If you renovated it and moved in, you wouldn’t have to hear me first thing in the morning.” Draco clutches his chest in a mock gasp.

Without looking up, Theo gives him a lazy middle finger, his focus still on the spread of tarot cards.

Draco rolls his eyes, catching a glint of sunlight reflecting off Theo’s neon green kimono. “Don’t look now, but you’re turning into Trelawney.”

“Thank you! Sybil is a delight.” Theo’s fingers dance over the deck before he snaps a card down onto the countertop. “Ouch! The Six of Cups and The Tower?!”

“I don’t even know what that means, Theo.” Draco snarks, rolling his eyes.

“Six of Cups indicates a reunion and The Tower represents a disaster, upheaval or major change.” Theo sucks his teeth before continuing. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay home? It looks like you’re in for quite the day!”

“Are you sure you don’t want to consult your crystal ball or read my tea leaves before you make that pronouncement?” Draco asks, his tone dripping with mockery.

“Laugh all you want, I haven’t been wrong yet!” Theo exclaims as he turns over another card. “Oh, by the way, did you know there’s a tiny, trouserless version of you running around the house?”

“Yeah, I gathered. Thanks ever so,” Draco drawls sarcastically. “Honestly, why did you move in with us again?”

“What? And miss the show? Never!” Theo laughs. “Nothing like watching the Big Scary Auror get humbled by his own kid.”

Draco shoots Theo what he hopes is his most intimidating Big Scary Auror look.

Not remotely fazed, Theo rolls his eyes. “Besides, I provide moral support, comedic relief, and—occasionally—I’m a damn good babysitter.”

“Master Draco must hurry! You is being late if you is not moving faster!” Draco’s house-elf, Penny, pops into the room. Despite her blindingly yellow dress and matching accessories, she cuts an imposing figure.

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know, Penny, I know.” He waves Scorpius’ trousers in the air. “Apparently, Scorp is unconcerned.”

Finally, Draco spots his son hiding in the living room.

“No, Daddy!” Scorpius giggles from his perch on the back of the couch. “I not wearing pants today!”

“They’re trousers, Scorp. You’re already wearing pants,” Draco corrects, trying and failing to suppress a laugh as he edges closer, as if approaching a wild animal.

“Scorpius, love, please be a darling and put your trousers on for Auntie Theo,” Theo says as he sweeps dramatically into the room. “Normally, I’d encourage you but I simply cannot endure your father bellowing like an erumpent in heat for another moment.”

“‘Kay!” Scorpius squeals, hopping off the couch and landing right in front of Draco. “I do it!” He reaches for the tiny jeans.

All the parenting books in the world couldn’t have prepared Draco for the reality that dressing a mischievous three-year-old could feel like wrangling an angry hippogriff into trousers.

“Thanks,” Draco grumbles as he and Theo head back into the kitchen. “At least you’ve accomplished something today.”

“Excuse you! I donate loads of galleons to worthy causes—orphans and such,” Theo exclaims, placing a hand on his chest in mock indignation.

“Besides, you’re the scion who chose to get a job,” Theo adds with a shudder. “You could’ve been like me—a man of leisure, counting galleons and getting up to general debauchery.”

Draco waves off the idea. “Right, lunch,” he mutters, opening the refrigerator. He turns to glare at Theo. “Theodore.”

“Yes?” Theo responds sweetly, avoiding Draco’s gaze as he reshuffles his tarot cards.

“Why are there jars of water with herbs and rocks in here?”

“They’re crystals,” Theo sighs, finally meeting Draco’s eyes. “It was a full moon last night, so I had to make a fresh batch of moon water.”

“Okay, next question—why is your moon water in my fridge?”

“Because mine is full. Duh.”

Draco pulls out his wand with a flourish from its holster. “I should vanish the whole lot.”

“You wouldn’t!” Theo gasps dramatically, rushing to block Draco’s path, trying to wrestle the wand from his grip.

Draco uses every bit of their six inch height difference to his advantage, holding the wand high above his head, well out of Theo’s reach.

“What are you going to do? Send Mum a Patronus?” Draco asks sarcastically.

“Yes!” Theo declares, leaning against the refrigerator door in an attempt to keep Draco out. “She’d be horrified at your behavior!”

Draco shrugs. “Well, she’d have to disentangle herself from her latest boyfriend and catch a Portkey from Tahiti to do something about it, so I think I’m safe.”

“For some reason, Penny was thinking there was only one three-year-old in this house,” Penny sighs loudly, cutting into their antics. “Apparently, Penny was being wrong.”

She glares pointedly at both of them until Theo slinks back to his seat and Draco returns his wand to its holster.

“Sorry, Penny,” they mumble in unison. That doesn’t stop them from silently mouthing “prat” and “arsehole” at each other over her head.

Penny tries to hide her smirk as she glances at her boys but doesn’t quite manage it. “Next time, Master Theodore should remember that he is being a wizard and just disarm Master Draco.”

“Penny, you traitor!” Draco gasps, as Theo cackles with glee.

“Now, is Master Draco planning on going to work today or not?” Penny taps her foot, hands on hips, her eyes narrowed in playful disapproval.

“I’m going, I’m going!” Draco exclaims, reopening the refrigerator to finally grab his lunch, which had been hidden behind several jars of moon water.

“Scorpius! Come say goodbye to Auntie Theo and Penny; we have to go!” Draco shouts over his shoulder.

Scorpius comes sliding into the kitchen, throwing his arms around Penny’s waist in a tight hug. “Bye, Penny!”

The house-elf beams at Scorpius like she does at no one else. “Goodbye, Master Scorpius. Penny is hoping you is having a good day!”

Once Scorpius is perched on Draco’s hip, he waves to Theo. “Bye, Auntie Feo!”

“Toodles, ScorpScorp. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Theo replies with a languid wave of his fingers, sipping his espresso.

After exchanging two quick goodbyes of his own, Draco grabs his leather satchel and Scorpius’ dragon book bag before disapparating with a soft pop.

Hermione

Hermione wakes up across town, relishing the blissful silence of her apartment. Even the infamous New York City traffic has been muted, thanks to her charm work.

She stretches languidly, then turns over to look at her bedmate.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” she coos to Crookshanks. “Sleep well?”

Her familiar flicks his tail imperiously before hopping off the bed and strolling out of the room.

“Right, time for His Highness’ breakfast,” Hermione mutters to herself as she follows the furry tyrant.

After ensuring Crookshanks is satisfied with his breakfast selection, Hermione prepares a quick meal of tea and toast. As she settles into her breakfast nook, Hermione allows herself a moment of pride. She’s here, at last—Ambassador Granger. Funny, she thinks, If someone had told the bushy-haired bookworm from Hogwarts that she’d one day be living in New York and working at MACUSA, she’d have laughed. But that girl was gone. Hermione had shed that skin long ago, along with certain relationships that she refused to carry with her across the pond.

She sips her tea, savoring its bitterness, and lets her gaze drift over the Manhattan skyline. The scene reminds her of the last time she’d marched into Kingsley’s office, determined to get the New York post.

Two months earlier

“Director Granger! You cannot just barge into the Minister’s office!”

Hermione brushes past Minister Shacklebolt’s assistant, Myra, without so much as a glance. She doesn’t even pause to knock, instead bursting into Kingsley’s office. As the door swings open, she notices that Kingsley doesn’t look particularly surprised.

“I’m sorry, Minister,” Myra says from the doorway. “I tried to stop her.”

Kingsley smiles at her. “It’s alright, Myra. Stopping Hermione would be rather like trying to stop a freight train.”

Hermione snorts at this apt description as Myra nods and closes the door behind her.

“Director Granger, to what do I owe the pleasure of this impromptu meeting?” Shacklebolt asks, raising a brow and steepling his fingers beneath his chin, waiting for her response.

“All those favors you owe me from the war? I’m here to collect,” Hermione says, sitting in the nearest chair, arms crossed over her chest. Her hair crackles with magic, a clear sign that she means business.

“And what is it you’d like to cash in for?” Shacklebolt asks, leaning back in his chair. He hadn’t been joking after the war when he told Hermione she had favors to call on at her leisure. Despite her young age, she was pivotal to the Order’s victory, Voldemort’s defeat, and now, a key figure in his Ministry.

Hermione wastes no time getting to the point. “The Ambassador to MACUSA position—when Wellington retires? It’s mine.”

Though the decision might seem last-minute, Hermione knows this move is the logical next step in her career. At only twenty-nine, she’s already risen through the ranks of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, becoming the youngest director in department history two years ago.

“I plan to spend the next two months tying up loose ends, training my replacement, and going through Wellington’s files to prepare for the move. I’ll report to MACUSA at the beginning of February so there’s no gap in coverage when he leaves.”

Kingsley lets out a bark of laughter. “It seems you’ve got it all figured out, and all I need to do is give my seal of approval.”

Hermione flushes slightly, but Kingsley holds up a hand. “That wasn’t a criticism, Hermione—just a statement of fact. You know I have no reason to turn you down, so consider it done.”

Hermione smiles widely, but Kingsley isn’t finished.

“However, I do have one question.” He raises an eyebrow before continuing. “What does Ron think of this? About living in New York?”

Hermione snorts, trying to keep her tone light. But a knot twists in her stomach. “Let’s just say I couldn’t care less what Ronald Weasley thinks and he most certainly will not be living in New York. At least, not with me.” She has other plans, ones that leave no room for old mistakes like Ron Weasley.

She notices the flicker of shock that crosses Kingsley’s face but forces herself to remain stoic, swallowing down the tightness in her throat. She’d been through this so many times in her mind, yet the questions about Ron still linger like a bruise that won’t quite heal.

Kingsley’s eyes widen in shock. “Hermione, I… what—”

Hermione cuts him off. “There’s nothing more to say about Ron. It’s a personal matter that doesn’t involve the Ministry or anyone else.”

Shacklebolt, knowing Hermione well enough to recognize when to back off, nods. “Understood. Now, let’s discuss the initial plans for the next two months.”

She shakes her head, letting go of the memory as the hum of the city outside brings her back to the present. New York is an ocean away from everything she’d left behind. The echoes of familiar voices and old mistakes haunt her less here, their presence dwindling like footprints fading in the sand.

Hermione glances at the clock before getting up to place her dishes in the sink. She sets a cleaning charm on them, then leaves the kitchen.

“What do you say, Crooks? Feel up to being my glam squad this morning?” she asks. “It’s a big day, you know!”

Hermione’s Hogwarts roommates would probably be shocked at her current beauty routine and fashion sense, but she long ago discarded the notion that she couldn’t be both smart and interested in makeup and clothes.

After her shower, she runs through the well-practiced routine of potions and smoothing charms that have transformed her once-bushy mane into a riotous mass of curls that now tumble almost to her waist.

With her makeup applied and charmed for longevity, she stands in front of her magically expanded closet, debating the perfect First Day at MACUSA outfit.

“Okay, Crooks, what are we thinking?” Hermione asks over her shoulder. “Dress, skirt, or trousers?”

If Crookshanks has an opinion, he chooses not to share it.

She settles on a Gryffindor-red sheath dress that highlights her curves. Paired with killer black stiletto pumps and gold jewelry, the outfit gives her the confidence boost she needs to calm her first-day nerves.

“Alright, what’s the verdict?” Hermione asks, giving a quick spin for Crookshanks to observe.

He flicks his tail once in approval.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’ then,” Hermione says, scratching behind his ears. “Wish me luck, you giant orange fur ball.”

With a final dismissive look from Crookshanks, Hermione heads to the living room to grab her beaded bag. A leftover habit from the war, the magically expanded bag is never far from her side and is always stocked with potions, equipment, and books.

She draws a shaky breath as she reaches for the small pot of Floo powder.

“Steady on, Hermione. You’ve got this,” she reminds herself.

With a quick toss of powder, Hermione calls out for MACUSA and disappears in a whirl of green flames.

Draco

When Draco and Scorpius apparate into MACUSA with little time to spare, Draco is, as always, grateful for the onsite nursery. Carrying Scorpius through the main lobby, he listens to his son’s running commentary and the cooing of the older witches at the reception desk.

“Good morning, Scorpius! And Auror Malfoy!” calls one woman, her rhinestone-encrusted glasses sparkling in the morning light.

“Good morning, Miss Judif!” Scorpius calls back, earning a giggle from the witch. Draco gives his customary wave in response.

“Alright, down you go,” Draco says, crouching to set Scorpius on the warm carpet in front of his classroom. The room buzzes with quiet chatter and the familiar scent of fresh parchment and crayons fill the air, instantly grounding him. He adjusts the dragon bag on Scorpius’ back with a gentle pat.

“Ready to have fun today?” he asks, watching as his son’s face lights up at the sight of his friends.

Scorpius nods but suddenly grows uncharacteristically quiet.

“Daddy?” Scorpius says softly, tugging on Draco’s ring and pinky fingers.

Draco drops to one knee so that he’s at eye level with his son. “What is it, Scorp? Your friends are waiting for you.”

“I sorry for running fis morning,” Scorpius mumbles, scuffing the toe of one of his red high-tops on the floor. “I just finked it was fun!”

Draco quirks a corner of his mouth, trying to maintain his Serious Dad expression. “Thank you for apologizing, Scorp. I appreciate it.”

“Now, let’s do our handshake, and then you go in, and I have to go upstairs to work.”

Ever since Scorpius discovered secret handshakes in a Muggle book Draco had read to him, it’s become his favorite part of the preschool drop-off. As they go through the motions of their elaborate handshake, Draco feels a warmth that eases his usual morning tension. Scorpius’s bright laughter has a way of making even the most chaotic mornings worthwhile.

Once the handshake is complete, Scorpius flings his arms around Draco’s neck and plants a kiss on his cheek. “I love you, Daddy!”

“I love you too, Scorp,” Draco replies, hugging his son tightly before kissing the top of his head.

As Scorpius hugs him goodbye, Draco’s gaze drifts over to the family photo projects by the classroom door. One photo, tucked into the corner, shows Astoria, her belly round with their son, her worsening condition evident–if you know the signs to look for. It always seemed strange that a woman so full of life could have been so unwell. The photo on Scorpius’ collage was taken the same day they’d finished his nursery, the sight of it pulling Draco into a memory of that day.

Three years earlier

“You know you’re nothing like Lucius, right?” Astoria asks, flicking her wand to send another set of impossibly small baby clothes flying into the closet.

She knew how deeply Draco worried about becoming like his father. He’s determined to give his child the affection and warmth he never received from Lucius. His son would never cry himself to sleep, aching for comfort as a storm rattled the windows, or hide under the covers from shadows in his room, unable to call out for his father.

“I know,” Draco sighs. “That doesn’t mean I won’t worry about it, though.”

“You won’t be perfect, but you’ll be great,” she says with a tired smile. “I believe it, even if I may not be around to see it.”

Draco continues arranging books on the small bookshelf in front of him, the action becoming almost a compulsion. He’s bought so many books for his unborn son that boxes of them—magically shrunken—are stored in his closet, since the child-sized bookshelves in the nursery and living room are already overflowing.

“Why do you keep saying things like that?” Draco asks, finally turning to face her.

“I’m fading fast, Draco, and you know it.” She gives him a thoughtful look as more clothes float into the closet. “Even my Healer didn’t expect things to go this way.”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t fight as long as I can,” Astoria adds, fire returning to her voice. “Now quit moping and help me finish this nursery!”

Draco shakes off the lingering memory as he looks down at Scorpius. The warmth of his son’s small hand, gripping his fingers, grounds him in the present. He’s back in the bright, bustling classroom, where laughter and chatter fill the air.

“Good morning, Scorpius!” The familiar voice of Scorpius’ teacher jolts Draco out of his thoughts. “Good morning, Auror Malfoy!”

The grandmotherly Mrs. Weston had often been described as a Mrs. Claus lookalike, and once Draco figured out who that was, he had to agree. Scorpius adores her, and it’s obvious she has a soft spot for him as well.

“Your necklace and your shirt match!” Scorpius exclaims, pointing at his teacher.

“And your shoes go with the fire trucks on your shirt!” Mrs. Weston laughs.

Mrs. Weston always wore beaded chains to hold her glasses, often matching them to her shirt. Scorpius, with his vast collection of high-top sneakers, loved coordinating his shoes with whichever t-shirt he was wearing that day. This shared trait delights him to no end.

Something in the classroom catches Scorpius’ attention, and he’s off, yelling over his shoulder as he goes. “Bye, Daddy! See you later!”

As Scorpius skips off into the classroom, Draco watches him with a lingering smile. It’s always a strange transition, moving from this cozy world of secret handshakes and nursery drop-offs to the palpable tension of the Auror Department. But he wouldn’t trade either for anything; each world is a part of himself that he can’t do without. With a last glance back at the classroom door, he turns to leave.

“Do you have a minute, Auror Malfoy?” Mrs. Weston asks. “I won’t keep you long.”

“Of course, Mrs. Weston. Is everything alright?” Draco wonders what this might be about. Despite his morning shenanigans at home, Scorpius is usually very well-behaved.

“Oh, yes! Scorpius is such a joy!” the plump, older witch exclaims. “There will be more information in Scorpius’ bag this afternoon, but I wanted to tell you about next Friday. We’re having one of our ‘Mornings with Mom’ events, like the one you attended for dads a few months ago. Breakfast, a quick craft, a story, that sort of thing.”

Draco nods, recalling the father’s event he attended. He adjusts the bag on his shoulder, feeling a tightness in his chest. His smile doesn’t falter, but inside, he can’t help but ache for his son. Scorpius might not remember his mother, but moments like these were painful reminders for Draco of everything his son was missing.

“I just wanted to let you know that you’re very welcome to join us, if you’d like,” Mrs. Weston adds with a sympathetic smile before returning to her classroom.

It doesn’t matter what is going on in the Auror Department that day, he’ll move heaven and earth before Scorpius will go to the event alone. He turns and leaves, as if on automatic, ready to tackle what will surely be another busy day at work.

That was another thing none of the parenting books had prepared him for: becoming a widower and single father at 25. He and Astoria hadn’t been a love match, but they had grown to be best friends. Watching her deteriorate from an inherited blood curse had been agonizing, culminating in her death when Scorpius was only a month old. She had held on as long as she could, desperate not to leave the son she had so badly wanted.

To say that period of his life had been difficult was an understatement. An ocean away from friends and family, with a funeral to plan and a sickly, premature baby in tow, Draco had felt like he was drowning in it all.

When he and Scorpius returned to England for Astoria’s funeral, Theo announced that he was packing up and moving to New York with them. Penny, who had immediately fallen in love with Scorpius, refused to leave his side when it was time to return. Three years later, Draco, Scorpius, Penny, and Theo form an unusual sort of family, but it works for them.

Hermione

Hermione steps out of the Floo gracefully, casting a quick, wandless Scourgify to ensure no soot lingers on her clothes or hair. She takes a deep breath, ready to face the new day. She has a lot to prove here. Little does she know, she isn’t the only Hogwarts alum navigating these halls.

As she leaves the Floo hall and enters the MACUSA atrium, a marvel of glass and steel, bustles with witches and wizards in robes and suits, heels clicking against the marble floor in a rhythm that matches her racing pulse. It’s just another office, she reminds herself, though she knows it’s far more than that. It’s everything I’ve been working toward.

Hermione inhales the faint scent of polished wood and coffee, so unlike the Ministry’s earthy, musty corridors. It’s hard not to feel a tinge of awe at the bright, open space. In January, Hermione and Kingsley, with Harry as their personal protection officer, had made a brief visit to MACUSA.

One month earlier

“Bloody hell, I always forget how different this place is from the Ministry,” Harry remarks.

“I suppose the fact that MACUSA headquarters are in a high-rise instead of underground helps tremendously,” Kingsley said in a deadpan manner.

“Well, that and the whole not-being-afraid-to-mix-magical-and-muggle thing,” Hermione adds with a laugh. “Phones and electricity give off a much different vibe than paper airplanes and candles.”

Pulled from her thoughts, Hermione’s attention snags on something near the designated Apparition area. A shock of white-blonde hair rises above the crowd, a beacon amid the bustle of the atrium. I haven’t seen hair that blonde since Malfoy, she muses, her gaze lingering for a heartbeat on the familiar shade that momentarily tugs at old memories. She pushes them down, reminding herself that this is a new beginning—a fresh start, free of the past. Whatever—or whoever—lay ahead, she has no room for ghosts.

“Ambassador Granger! Good morning!”

Hermione smiles at her new assistant. “Good morning, Septima! It’s lovely to see you again,” she says warmly.

“Oh! I made you a cup of tea,” Septima says sheepishly. “Something of a ‘welcome to the other side of the pond’ gift.”

The younger woman nervously runs her hands through her lavender pixie cut as Hermione takes the paper cup.

“Thanks so much! I really appreciate it,” Hermione says, noting Septima’s eager anticipation. She takes a small sip and manages not to grimace.

“Very sweet of you. I’ll just let this cool down while we head upstairs,” Hermione adds graciously, unwilling to spoil her assistant’s look of relief. It’s a thoughtful gesture—though hopefully not a daily occurrence.

As they walk to the elevators, the two women chat amiably about their weekends, saving work-related discussion for the privacy of Hermione’s office on the 25th floor. Her office is small but she loves it. The wall of windows gives her a fantastic view of Manhattan’s skyline and the bookshelves lining the other three walls give her ample space for her collection of magical law and diplomacy books.

“So,” Septima begins as she settles into a chair across from Hermione, “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of setting up a list of things that need to be done this week, based on our conversation when you were here last month.”

“Not at all!” Hermione exclaims. “I appreciate you being proactive; it allows me to hit the ground running.”

Septima flushes slightly at the praise but continues. “Right. I’ve reserved today for you to get settled into your office and go through Ambassador Wellington’s files, which only you have access to.”

“While you’re doing that, I’ll be sorting through the files I have access to and trying to decipher the maze that is his assistant’s organization system,” she adds with a wry smile.

“Brilliant! Sounds like a great first day all around,” Hermione says. “Let’s get started, and we’ll meet up after lunch to discuss the rest of the week.”

Draco

The scent of parchment, faintly burnt coffee, and ink greet Draco as he steps into the Auror Department. The low hum of voices, punctuated by the occasional trill of a phone, fills the air. It’s a familiar symphony, grounding him in a sense of purpose. He slips behind his desk, setting down Penny’s homemade blueberry scone and his thermos of coffee. Scorpius, meanwhile, insists on having the nursery-provided breakfast with his friends each morning. Draco can’t help but smile at the thought—no matter how tempting Penny’s cooking was, Scorpius always preferred the company of his little gang.

Across the hall, his partner’s loud laughter cuts through the hum, a clear reminder of how different this part of his life is from the morning’s quiet chaos at home. The other man’s exuberant demeanor reminds Draco of their first meeting, a memory he hasn't revisited in a while.

Ten years earlier

Draco arrives early at the Auror Training Room, making sure to be well ahead of schedule. The room, with its neat rows of desks and pristine walls, is designated for their classroom work—learning law codes, MACUSA policies and procedures, and more. Their practical exercises will take place elsewhere on MACUSA’s campus.

The desks are arranged in pairs, each with a name card. Draco quickly finds the desk labeled “D. Malfoy” and sits down to unpack his new dragon leather bag. He always enjoyed buying new school supplies each year, and he sees no reason to stop the tradition now, especially when celebrating the end of his year-long probation and house arrest, as well as his acceptance into MACUSA’s Auror Academy.

He takes a moment to admire the bag his mother had been so excited to give him. Made of Hebridean Black dragon leather, it is lined with plush emerald green fabric and has his initials embossed in silver on the front. He flips past the ream of new parchment sheets, eagle feather quills, and pots of ink, searching for a different set of supplies.

Beneath the fresh parchment and quills, Draco’s fingers finally touch what he’s really been searching for: his Montblanc fountain pen and matching leather-bound journal, both with his initials gleaming in silver. Draco may have changed a lot, but he was still a Malfoy, after all.

As he organizes his supplies, the room begins to fill up. He takes a deep breath, checks the other name cards, and prepares for his deskmate to arrive. Just as he opens his new notebook, carefully dating the page, a loud greeting startles him.

“Well, howdy, trainin’ partner!”

Draco looks up, momentarily speechless, at the most absurdly dressed man he has ever seen. The man—A. McCandless, according to the name tag—strides up to their work station, boots clicking and his large belt buckle gleaming like a medal of honor.

Draco expects his classmates to be different from his Hogwarts peers, but this...this is unexpected. Reminding himself of his manners, Draco stands and offers a polite “hello,” in return.

His new training partner extends his hand for Draco to shake. “August Wilson McCandless III. Candy, if ya nasty. And you are?”

“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.” Draco braces himself for the inevitable reaction to his surname.

“Well, Draco Malfoy, it sounds like I should be welcoming you to this side of the pond!”

Draco nods. “Yes, I moved here from England about a month ago.” He takes a moment to relish the fact that the Malfoy name apparently means nothing to McCandless. Their conversation is cut short as their training officer and the Head Auror enter to begin the day.

Draco is roused from his memory by the click of Candy’s boots echoing in his office.

“Mornin’, Sugar!” At the other man’s overdramatic greeting, Draco rolls his eyes, marveling for the millionth time at how he can pack so many syllables into a single word.

In the time Draco has lived in the US and worked for MACUSA, he’d never met anyone quite like Candy. He is Draco’s opposite in every conceivable way: Half-Blood, a True Son of Texas, short and stocky with ebony skin, a neatly trimmed beard and locs that he keeps tied back in a neat ponytail.

The two had been paired up on their first day of Auror training and, naturally, became the best team in the department. Strictly speaking, they weren’t really partners anymore, but no one in the office—least of all Draco and Candy—bothered with that technicality. Even as they’d shifted roles, their bond remained strong.

They had been a formidable duo, rising quickly through the ranks and amassing more Dark Wizard arrests than any team in the US or UK. They had a particular penchant for smoking out former Death Eaters hiding in the States.

After Scorpius' birth and Astoria’s death, Draco felt unable to go back into the field. His fear of leaving his son an orphan would have gradually drowned out his keen instincts. When he decided to focus on the administrative side of Auror work, Candy had followed, not willing to “break in a new partner,” as he put it.

Now, Auror Lieutenant Malfoy was in charge of all day-to-day operations in the department, which left Head Auror De Luca free to handle the Head of the DMLE and other big-picture issues. Draco was also there to be the final word and bear ultimate responsibility for anything that happened on his watch.

Auror Sergeant McCandless had become the Lead Training Auror and “all-around desk jockey,” as he was fond of joking. He was also Draco’s right hand in the department.

“Good morning, Candy,” Draco responds after swallowing a bite of his scone.

“What’s got you lookin’ like somethin’ the cat dragged in?” Candy asks. “You’re usually not so frazzled.”

At this, Draco realizes with a start that he hadn’t checked a mirror this morning to make sure his hair and self-imposed uniform were set to rights. Reaching for the back of his head, he’s horrified to discover the messy bun he’d thrown his hair into after waking up, instead of the sleek knot he normally wears to work.

“I’m fine. Scorpius just thought it would be more fun to play hide and seek than get dressed this morning,” Draco responds with a yawn while correcting his hair.

Candy laughs uproariously. “I swear, I love that kid!”

What Draco doesn’t tell Candy is that a nightmare about the war kept him from sleeping much of the previous night. He finally drifted off around 4 o’clock in the morning and almost overslept before getting into the Great Trouser Incident after stumbling out of bed.

Thankfully, the nightmares are few and far between at this point. When they do occur, Draco makes sure to discuss them at his next appointment with his Mind Healer but doesn’t bring them up to anyone else.

The partners fall into an easy silence as they flip through the paperwork Candy brought over.

Candy breaks the silence first. “You better drink up,” he says, pointing to Draco’s half-full container of coffee. “We’ve got a busy day today!”

“What’s on the agenda?” Draco asks.

Candy consults the checklist he made. “After you do the shift meetin’, we’re down for some sparrin’ time in the gym, then you have to assign Aurors to follow up on the leads from the arrests yesterday...and that’s just before lunch!”

“You’re right; I am absolutely going to need more coffee for this,” Draco sighs.

Candy plops a thick file onto Draco’s desk. “Right, Sunshine, this needs your John Hancock. It’s the confiscated potions report from yesterday. De Luca wants your sign-off before we raid that apothecary.”

“My what?” Draco drawls, biting back a grin as he feigns ignorance just to rile the other man up.

“Look, Precious, I personally educated you on the Declaration of Independence, so I know good and damn well you know who John Hancock is.” Candy says indignantly.

Draco hums thoughtfully as he skims the first page, noting the familiar names of potions they’ve confiscated too many times before. “Looks like someone’s been busy.” He scribbles his signature, handing the file back with a sigh.

Candy, who adds it to the stack on the desk with a satisfied nod. “Alright, Tater Tot,” Candy says with a grin. “Time to suit up and show ‘em what we’re made of.”

Draco watches as the morning bustle of the Auror Department continues around them, each desk a flurry of movement and preparation. He takes a moment to steady himself, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders—a weight he’s learned to bear, one day at a time.

“We’ve got this,” he says, more to himself than to anyone else, but Candy catches it and gives a knowing nod.

“Damn right, we do,” Candy replies, nudging Draco with his shoulder as they head out of the office. Side by side, they stride down the hallway, their footsteps in sync, ready for whatever the day might throw at them.

Chapter Text

Hermione

April 7, 2009

New York City

Three Days Before Chapter 1

Hermione sits at her desk, flipping through the files she’ll need on Monday and making notes for meetings. She normally makes it a point not to work into the evening, but Harry is due to arrive shortly for his bimonthly visit. Hermione knows that if she heads home to wait, the anticipation will drive her (and Crookshanks) mad.

After silencing the alarm on her wand, Hermione hurries downstairs to the Portkey Office. She breezes past a sleepy-looking customs officer, arriving just in time to see Harry materialize in the designated area. A smile of relief spreads across her face—she’s missed seeing him every day at the Ministry.

“It’s the best weekend of the month!” Harry exclaims the moment he spots her. “Well, one of them, anyway.”

“And why is that?” Hermione asks, arching an eyebrow.

“The best food carts, bagels, and gay bars in the world,” Harry says with a satisfied sigh, slinging an arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Plus, we get to celebrate the six-month anniversary of you kicking Ron to the curb!”

Hermione rolls her eyes and playfully swats his chest before leading them out of the arrival office to floo home.

“You know, the food and bars come close, but you’re the real highlight,” Harry adds with a wink. “Though I’m entirely serious about celebrating this weekend.”

Once they return to Hermione’s apartment, the smell of her favorite lavender and lemon candles fills the air, blending with the upbeat rhythm of a Muggle pop station thumping softly in the background. She slips into her midnight-blue dress, the silky fabric cool against her skin, while Harry rummages through her closet. He tosses a pair of towering silver stilettos in her direction, evidently deciding that’s what she should wear.

Harry wolf-whistles as she steps into the heels and turns with a flourish, pleased with how the dress and shoes show off her curves and legs to perfection.

“Yes, yes. Gorgeous, I know,” Hermione teases, giving him a playful wink and a mock curtsey. Harry, dressed in his usual version of “dressed up”—ripped jeans and a deep purple button-down that makes his eyes pop—grins in response.

Regular meals and Auror training have transformed him since the end of the war. However, he never seems to remember how muscular he’s become, so all his clothes, including the leather jacket he’d inherited from Sirius, are just a bit too tight. Then again, Hermione muses, he probably wears them like that on purpose. His jet-black hair is as unruly as ever, and with his perpetually crooked glasses and a permanent 5 o’clock shadow, the look is now more devil-may-care than disheveled.

Hermione gives him an appreciative whistle of her own, as a good wingwoman should. “You’re going to have everyone’s attention tonight.”

Harry rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m just here to have fun with you, not pick anyone up.”

Hermione waggles her eyebrows mischievously. "In case you change your mind, what’s our golden rule again?"

Harry bursts out laughing before replying, “No gingers!”

He follows her to the bathroom, hopping up on the counter as she touches up her hair and makeup. “What about you? Ready to go on the prowl?”

Hermione scoffs loudly. “Hardly. I think I’ll wait for the right one to walk right up to me this time.”

Harry’s grin falters for a second, and Hermione catches the flicker of old memories in his eyes—the moment Ginny had stormed out, hurt and angry, when all he’d wanted was to be honest with her. The ripples of that breakup had made their way into Hermione and Ron’s relationship.

Hermione could still picture those dinners—Ron pushing food around his plate, his jaw clenched tight as Harry's name came up. She’d tried to talk to him, reason with him, but his silence stretched between them like a wall she couldn’t break. His eyes always darkened at the mention of Harry. Their shared dinners became quieter, more strained until the silence became unbearable.

One year ago

Hermione slams her fork down, the sound echoing in the quiet kitchen. “Enough, Ron. This ridiculous behavior ends today.”

Ron barely glances up from his plate, still shoveling potatoes into his mouth. “What are you on about now, ‘Mione?”

“For the hundredth time, I’ve asked you not to call me that,” Hermione grits out, exasperation clear in her voice. “And you know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s time for you to stop acting like this about Harry. I know Ginny is your sister, but Harry has done nothing wrong, and your family’s behavior is beyond the pale at this point.”

“He broke her heart!” Ron yells, bits of food flying from his mouth. “Besides, now he has 100% of the population he could cheat on her with.”

“Oh, my gods, Ron, what a stupid thing to say.” Hermione sighs, fighting the urge to bang her head against the table. “He only told her that he’s bisexual. He had no intention of breaking up with her. She’s the one who lost it and ended things. And where did you even get the idea that Harry would ever cheat on anyone?”

Ron shrugs. “He likes men and women, so double the opportunity now.”

“I’m done with this conversation,” Hermione says, pushing back from the table. “And if you don’t stop treating Harry like this, we’re done.”

Hermione blinks away the memory and takes a good look at her best friend. He looks more content now than he ever did when he was with Ginny.

“You know what?” Harry says, watching her touch up her eyeliner. “I think I’ll join you on that. I’m staying single until the right person comes along and turns my world upside down!”

Hermione smiles at his statement, hoping that Harry finds just that—someone who will turn his world upside down in the best way possible. “Do you want to wear some?” she asks, holding the eyeliner out to him.

“You know I prefer to admire it on other people,” Harry protests with a wicked grin, “but I’ll give it a shot today!”

******************************************************************************

Draco

April 8, 2009

New York City

Two Days Before Chapter 1

Draco hasn’t opened his eyes yet, but he knows it’s far too early to be awake on a Saturday. He feels, more than hears, another giggle—the same one that woke him up.

Cracking one eye open, Draco sees Scorpius not-so-stealthily crawling up the bed towards him. Scorpius drapes himself over his father’s chest and pries open Draco’s left eye. So much for going back to sleep, Draco thinks.

“Daddy,” Scorpius whispers, “you ‘wake?”

Draco can’t help the small huff of laughter that escapes him. “I am now, Scorp,” he whispers back. “Good morning.” Despite the rude awakening, Draco is happy to see Scorpius and pulls him in for a cuddle.

As Draco holds his son close, a fleeting thought crosses his mind—how different his own childhood had been. Lucius Malfoy was never one for early-morning cuddles; most days, he barely acknowledged Draco, unless it was to criticize him. His father had been cold, calculated, and distant. Draco tightens his hold on Scorpius, silently vowing to break the Malfoy legacy. He wonders if Lucius could have ever understood moments like this—the quiet joy of fatherhood without the crushing weight of expectations. Draco had spent too long living in the shadow of the Malfoy name. But Scorpius... he would never carry that burden.

“Pesto is ‘wake too,” Scorpius says with all seriousness, oblivious to his father’s thoughts as he pushes his stuffed dragon into Draco’s face.

“Well, good morning to him too,” Draco mumbles with a sleepy yawn. “What are you doing up? It’s too early.”

“Daddy, it’s Quidditch day!” Scorpius says in a shocked tone, eyeing Draco with confusion.

And so it is. Every Saturday, unless Draco is called in for a work emergency, they go to a wizarding park where they work on Scorpius' flying. Scorp has inherited his father’s knack for flying and is coming along nicely with learning the rules of Quidditch, if Draco may say so himself. Next year, Scorpius will be old enough to play in the kids’ Quidditch league, and they are both counting down the days.

“You know what comes before Quidditch, though, right?” Draco asks. He sits up against the headboard and pulls Scorpius closer, not quite ready to end the cuddles.

Scorpius' face lights up. “PANCAKES!!” he yells, loud enough to wake the dead.

“Shhh, Scorp,” Draco laughs quietly. “Auntie Theo and Penny are still sleeping.” Well, Auntie Theo is probably still having a sleepover with some wizard or other somewhere in the city, but Scorpius doesn’t need to know that.

At the promise of pancakes, Scorpius leaps off the bed and runs out the door.

Draco grabs his wand and casts a tempus charm. “6:05 a.m.,” he groans. “Honestly, that child is going to be the death of me.”

When Draco enters the kitchen, he finds Scorpius and Pesto patiently waiting by the stool that Scorpius uses to reach the counter, ready for their Saturday morning ritual.

“Hurry, Daddy! Pesto is starving!” the little boy exclaims.

“Well, we can’t have a starving dragon on our hands,” Draco says with a playful grin as he heads for the coffee maker. As he sips his coffee and gathers the ingredients for breakfast, Scorpius chatters excitedly about everything from Quidditch to dragons. Finally, Draco picks him up, peppering his face with kisses before setting him on the cooking stool.

“No more kisses, Daddy!” Scorpius giggles. “It’s pancake time!”

The two make an efficient team, with Scorpius carefully handing his father each ingredient. Once everything is in the bowl, Draco sets a stirring charm on the wooden spoon and turns to Scorpius. “Watch that for me, buddy,” Draco says while turning back to the griddle. He bursts into laughter when he turns back around to see Scorpius staring the bowl down like Buckbeak stared down Draco in third year. A shiver runs down his spine at the thought of the overgrown chicken.

During his year of probation and house arrest after the war, Draco had been barred from using magic. To keep himself occupied, he learned to cook the Muggle way and found he loved it. The precise measurements and careful attention reminded him of brewing potions, a skill he missed during that time.

“Daddy?” Scorpius asks, “Did Mummy like pancakes and syrup like you and me? Fey’re my favorite!”

“She liked them well enough, but they weren’t her favorite,” Draco answers. “Her favorite breakfast was crepes with—”

“A squeeze of lemon juice and a little icing sugar,” a voice finishes from the doorway. Theo steps in, dressed in paisley silk pajamas and a smoking jacket, grinning as Scorpius giggles in delight.

“Auntie Feo!” Scorpius laughs. “You ‘wake too!”

“Rather hard not to be with you lot,” Theo says with a wink in the little boy’s direction as he grabs his usual seat at the bar. “Yes, ScorpScorp, your sweet tooth is all your daddy, but that giggle is from your mummy.”

“Breakfast is almost ready, Scorp. Go wash your hands, please,” Draco says as he places the pancakes, hash browns, and bacon under a stasis charm on the kitchen counter. “I just have to scramble the eggs.”

Scorpius skips off to his bathroom, where he can reach everything more easily. Draco looks at Theo with a grin. “Sorry we woke you up so early,” he says over his shoulder. “Though I didn’t expect you to be home yet.”

Theo snorts. “I didn’t plan on it either, but I’m suddenly finding I’m too old for the club scene.” He heads to the espresso machine and adds with a smirk, “I was home by midnight, if you can believe that.”

“Maybe you’re ready to settle down,” Draco teases, raising an eyebrow at his best friend. Theo only shrugs in response.

“Master Theodore isn’t the only one waking up too early,” Penny snarks from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed.

“Sorry, Penny,” Draco winces at her stormy expression. The tiny elf may barely come to his knee, but he’s terrified of her all the same.

“You know how Scorp gets about pancakes,” Draco continues. “Have a seat, and I’ll get your tea.”

“Penny is being okay with a rude wakeup if it is making Master Scorpius happy,” she sniffs, accepting her tea with all the grace of the Muggle Queen.

Theo glances around. “Speaking of Scorpius… he’s been gone a while. And quiet. Suspiciously quiet.”

Draco barely sets the plate of eggs down before Scorpius comes barreling around the corner, beaming. “Look, Daddy!” he squeals, arms raised triumphantly. “We match!”

“Apparently we do,” Draco says with a laugh. “Let’s see what you drew.”

Scorpius has gotten into the (thankfully washable) markers and drawn all over his arms in an abstract attempt to match his father’s tattoos.

“See, I have a dragon like you!” Scorpius says, pointing to a green squiggle. “And I have some flowers and stars!”

Draco nods at the multicolored blobs. “I see that! They look great, Scorp.”

Upon moving to the US, Draco began exploring parts of both the magical and Muggle worlds that had been previously unfamiliar to him. He was particularly intrigued by tattoos, drawn to the idea of expressing himself through ink.

Once he realized he could cover up the gigantic mistake that was his Dark Mark, he was sold. By now, Lucius Malfoy was surely rolling in his grave over Draco’s full sleeve and the myriad of other tattoos scattered across his body.

“Don’t tell your father, ScorpScorp,” Theo says in a stage whisper, “but I think yours look better!”

“You is a wonderful artist, Master Scorpius,” Penny adds with a fond smile, “but Penny is being glad it’s her day off.” She stands and quietly exits the room, likely retreating to the calm of her suite.

Scorpius beams with pride at everyone’s praise. With the tattoo excitement over, the trio settles at the table, ready to devour their breakfast.

“So,” Theo asks around a bite of food, “what do you two normally get up to on a Saturday? I’m not usually up early enough to know.”

“No talking wif your mouf full, Auntie Feo!” Scorpius exclaims. “Daddy says it’s gross.”

Theo grins wickedly and, in retaliation, exaggerates chewing his food, showing off a mouthful of pancake.

“Seriously, Theo, sometimes it feels like I have two three-year-olds,” Draco sighs dramatically while refilling his coffee mug. “But to answer your question, we’ll go over to Wizarding Manhattan, go to the park for some flying, visit some shops, then head into Muggle Manhattan for lunch and the library.”

“Count me in for the park,” Theo says, leaning back in his chair. “But after that, I’ll skip the rest and go for a mani/pedi.”

Later that morning, Scorpius steers his tiny broom toward Draco, his face alight with excitement.

“Did you see me, Daddy?! I caughted da snitch!”

“I did! You did a great job, Scorp!” Draco exclaims.

Never mind that the snitch was the size of a Muggle football and the broom was barely two feet off the ground—it still required brilliant flying on the part of his prodigy son, thanks ever so.

“Brilliant as ever, ScorpScorp!” Theo calls from his conjured lounge chair, situated in the shade of a large tree.

As Scorpius takes off again, Draco snorts at the sight of Theo. Never one to care about blending in, Theo is decked out in blinding tropical-print linen pants with a coordinating hot-pink shirt and sandals. His look is rounded off by an oversized straw sun hat and giant sunglasses—rhinestone-studded, of course.

“And what, pray tell, are you laughing at?” Theo asks, lowering his sunglasses to glare at Draco.

“Just wondering if you should have worn a brighter color,” Draco responds. “I’m not sure you’re visible from space yet.”

“Says the man who dresses like a great bloody bat!” Theo throws his arms wide, clutching an invisible microphone as he struts toward Draco. “And in today’s scandalous fashion update, we have Draco Malfoy—dressed, once again, in the boldest shade of... black! Yes, ladies and gents, the man of the hour is breaking all fashion rules by mixing not one but two different textures of black. Riveting stuff! You heard it here first, folks—our resident vampire strikes again!”

Draco raises an eyebrow, stifling a smile. “Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?”

“Oh, darling, you’re just jealous because I can make anything look fabulous, even this disaster of a color palette.” Theo winks, twirling his oversized sunglasses like a runway model before collapsing dramatically into his chair. “I’m here to teach you the finer things in life, brother-dear. Like color. And fun.”

Draco bites back a retort as Scorpius flies closer on his training broom. “Daddy, I fly wif you now!”

“Well, we can’t keep the park waiting,” Draco drawls, smirking as he lifts Scorpius onto the broom. “Let’s show these amateurs how it’s done, shall we? Hold on tight, buddy.”

As they fly together, Draco smiles, savoring moments like these. Being a father was his greatest joy, early wake-up calls and all. It was times like this that made him wonder again how his own father could have been so cold and distant. He could never imagine treating Scorpius the way Lucius had treated him.

When Draco and Scorpius land near Theo, the other man has already packed up. “I’m heading home before I go to the nail salon. Want me to take your brooms with me?”

“That’d be great, thanks,” Draco says while placing Scorpius securely on the ground.

As Theo reaches out to tousle Scorpius’ hair, the little boy beams up at him.“Auntie Feo, you should get blue nails!” Scorpius exclaims. “It’s my favorite color!”

“Your wish is my command, lovey!” Theo replies with a dramatic bow before grabbing the brooms. “Ta for now!” He disapparates with a pop.

“Alright, Scorp, ready to go?” Draco asks, swinging Scorpius onto his hip so they can apparate together.

“Yes!” Scorpius giggles. “Let’s go!”

Hermione

When Harry and Hermione wake up on Saturday, they find themselves suffering from the worst hangovers they've had since, well, two weeks ago.

After hitting as many of Harry’s favorite bars and food carts as possible they stumbled home in the early hours of the morning.

“Harry?” Hermione whispers, her voice barely audible. “Are you awake?”

Harry groans, burying his face deeper into the couch cushions. 'Stop screaming,' he mumbles, his voice muffled and thick with misery. “I’m not even sure if I’m alive, let alone awake.”

Hermione forces herself to sit up, wincing as her head throbs in protest. She feels like she’s had parchment stuffed in her mouth and sandpaper rubbed across her eyelids. “Why is the sun so... loud?” she mutters, shielding her eyes as if that might help. It doesn’t. Her stomach churns violently. “I don’t think I can move without the room spinning.” She finally pushes herself up from her nest of blankets on the floor. A quick tempus charm tells her it’s just past noon. “How did I end up—” She clutches her head. “You know what? Never mind.”

They both manage to stagger into the kitchen, Harry aiming for their Hangover Cures, while Hermione is on a mission for tea to wash them down.

“I’m glad we only do this twice a month,” Hermione grumbles after swallowing the foul-tasting potion. “I don’t think I’d survive more.”

Harry snorts, then peers into the refrigerator. “Why is there no food in this flat?”

“You’re literally looking at quite a bit of food,” Hermione sniffs, taking another sip of her tea.

“No, I’m looking at nothing but fruit, veg, and skim milk,” he retorts with a shudder. “Get dressed; we’re going to that diner we found last month.”

After apparating into Wizarding Manhattan, Harry wastes no time dragging Hermione to his new favorite spot.

“So, how are things at home?” Hermione asks, popping another fry into her mouth. She’d never admit Harry was right, but this meal was definitely the correct move after their night out.

“Eh, the usual,” Harry replies with a shrug. “New trainees to deal with at work, Grimmauld Place trying to terrorize me into moving–same old, same old.”

“I know you don’t believe me, but I’m seriously considering applying for a position with MACUSA,” he continues, taking a bite of his cheeseburger.

“I never said I don’t believe you!” Hermione exclaims. “It’s just hard to picture you leaving England.”

“Yeah, well, when I surprise you by moving in, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Harry teases in a singsong voice.

With their meal finished, they step out into the bright afternoon sun, planning to visit a few stores before heading back to Hermione’s apartment.

“Where to first?” Harry asks. “Bookstore or Quidditch shop?”

Before Hermione can respond, something makes her stop in her tracks. The hair on the back of her neck stands up.

“Harry, we need to go. Something's not right,” Hermione whispers urgently. Harry barely has time to react before she senses the magic around them shift—dark and menacing.

Hermione’s heart pounds in her chest as she thrusts her wand forward, casting a hasty Protego. The protective charm shimmers, barely forming in time before a Diffindo slashes against it, sending sparks flying. A split second later, the ground rumbles as a Bombarda Maxima hits, rattling the sidewalk beneath their feet. The air crackles with dark magic, oppressive and thick, like a storm about to break. Hermione grits her teeth, feeling the strain in her arm as her shield flickers under the relentless assault.

“Behind me, Hermione!” Harry barks, his eyes scanning the crowd for the attacker. “Move—now! We’re leaving!”

Though she never sees her attacker, Hermione hears the taunt: “Mudblood whore!” The rest is drowned out as her Protego shimmers, buckling under the force of another devastating curse. Hermione feels it crackle, the edges of the shield fraying under the strain. Her heart races as magic pulses through her veins, holding the shield together by sheer willpower. But it’s not enough. The final curse strikes with a deafening crash, sending a shockwave through the air. The Protego shatters in a burst of blinding light. Hermione gasps as the magical recoil nearly knocks her off her feet. She barely avoids hitting the pavement as Harry grips her upper arm and apparates them back to her flat.

As soon as they land in Hermione’s living room, Harry holds her at arm’s length, scanning for injuries. “Are you alright?!”

“I’m okay,” Hermione replies with a shaky nod. “What about you?”

“Fine,” Harry says tersely. “Let’s get you settled with some tea, and then I need to call this into the Aurors.”

Hermione is still staring, unseeing, into her teacup when Harry returns to the kitchen. Her hands tremble as she cups the warm mug, but the heat does nothing to stop the shaking. The room feels smaller, like the walls are closing in. She swallows hard, the slur still ringing in her ears—Mudblood whore. The sharp scent of burning spells, the ringing from the impact of curses, and the dark magic biting at her skin all feel too real, as if they’re happening again. Each curse had been heavier, the magic cloying and suffocating, wrapping its tendrils around her lungs.

Her heart races, her breathing shallow, and no matter how hard she tries, the knot in her chest won’t loosen. She squeezes her eyes shut, willing the memories back down, but the crackle of dark magic still lingers in the air. It feels too close. Too real. Hermione runs a hand over her arm, half-expecting to see the remnants of the curses etched into her skin.

“What can I get you?” Harry asks quietly, trying not to startle her.

“Nothing,” she replies with a weak smile. “I’m okay, just wondering why things like this never stop.”

“The war ended ten years ago!” Hermione bursts out, her voice suddenly filled with anger. “Why can’t people learn? Why can’t they move past these attitudes?!”

Harry’s jaw clenches as he watches Hermione shake. He crosses the room in two quick strides, pulling her into his arms. For a moment, he holds her just a little tighter than usual, his own unspoken fear barely masked by the comforting actions he performs.

“I wish I knew, Hermione,” he says with a mournful sigh. “I wish I knew what to do to make it stop. You don’t deserve this.”

Hermione swipes at the angry tears streaming down her face. “It’s not just about me. I know I’m not the only Muggleborn who has to deal with things like this.”

“I know,” Harry says tightly. “I just get so frustrated. I can’t imagine how you feel.”

He pauses, wiping away his own tears. “Things like this make me feel like we fought a war, lost friends and loved ones, gave up our childhoods—all for nothing.”

Hermione hugs him tighter. “It wasn’t for nothing, but I understand what you mean.”

She steps back to look up at him, then begins pacing. “What did the Aurors say? What do we do next?”

“They’ve dispatched a team to the area we were in,” Harry says, taking the seat Hermione had abandoned. “They were going to send a couple of Aurors here to take our statements, but I convinced them to let us rest.”

“In exchange, we have to meet with the Head Auror and his second-in-command on Monday to go through everything,” he continues. “We may need to let them extract our memories of earlier.”

“That’s fine,” Hermione nods. “I’m glad they’re letting us have the rest of the weekend to process.”

******************************************************************************

Hermione

April 10, 2009

New York City

Same Day As Chapter 1

After escorting Malfoy and De Luca to the elevators, Harry and Hermione return to her office. Harry flings himself into the chair he’s occupied all day.

“Well, Hermione, I have to say,” Harry begins, eyeing his best friend closely, “I thought you’d put up more of a fight about the protection plan.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I know when to fold,” Hermione replies, waving her hand dismissively. “Saturday hit way too close to home.”

“Agreed,” Harry nods. “Way too close.”

Hermione tucks her legs under herself, getting comfortable before turning to him. “What was with that bizarre reunion between you and Malfoy?”

“You noticed that, huh?” Harry laughs. “We’ve worked together off and on for years. Or at least we did until about three years ago.”

“I didn’t even realize he’d moved here,” Hermione muses.

“Well, I learned it the hard way,” Harry says with a grimace. “About seven years ago, a team of us portkeyed over to pick up some Death Eaters who had been hiding out here and had been arrested.”

“Harry, please tell me this story isn’t going the way I think it is,” Hermione says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Imagine my surprise when we walk into the holding room, and Malfoy is standing there,” Harry continues, ignoring her interjection. “I went spare.”

“I started yelling at him about messing up the second chance he’d had. I said some stupid stuff about you and me wasting our time testifying for him.” Harry pauses, his face reddening in embarrassment.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighs. “You didn’t.”

“I did.” He runs a hand through his already messy hair. “In my defense, he never wears his Auror robes unless De Luca forces him into them.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing!” Harry exclaims. “He just stood there smirking like it was all a joke.”

Harry picks up his coffee mug, trying to keep his hands busy. “His partner, though? Completely lost it.”

Hermione stays silent, not wanting to interrupt the story.

“Auror McCandless was furious,” Harry continues. “He didn’t let up until Malfoy pulled him away and told him to stop.”

“Sounds like they’re close,” Hermione says quietly.

“They are. Best friends and, according to everyone here, the ‘best damn team’ MACUSA has ever seen,” Harry replies. “Between the two of them, they’ve arrested more dark wizards than any team in recent history—on both sides of the pond.”

It couldn’t have been easy, starting over at MACUSA, Hermione thinks, reflecting on her best friend’s description of Malfoy’s career. No doubt the whispers of "Death Eater" had followed him even across the Atlantic, but Malfoy had evidently rebuilt his reputation brick by brick, case by case. Now, in New York, he seemed to be someone else entirely. Almost.

“You said ‘up until three years ago.’ What happened then?” Hermione asks. “Did he get injured? Or just a promotion?”

“No injuries that I ever heard of,” Harry responds. “So, a promotion, I guess. One time I came over to pick up a prisoner for extradition, he was in the field, and the next time we came for a joint raid, he was in an office.”

“I’ve always assumed that, for all his changes, he’s still a Malfoy, and it’s a position of power,” he adds with a shrug.

“He certainly seems to have changed a lot,” Hermione agrees. “He tried to apologize this afternoon, even though he’s already done so before.”

“Yeah, he found me at the Ministry one day before he moved and did the same thing.”

“He looks a lot different,” Hermione observes. “He’s like Draco Malfoy: The Remix.”

“Yeah, the hair, and the whole not-looking-like-a-starving-vampire thing, certainly changed him up,” Harry snorts with a laugh. “Word to the wise: do not mention that the hair makes him look like Lucius.”

“Already made that mistake too, huh?” Hermione asks with a grimace.

Harry nods. “Let’s just say McCandless had to hold Malfoy back that time, and I never did it again.”

“Did you know he was the first from our year to get married?” Harry asks. “Don’t know who she is, but it happened not long after he left England.”

“Oh! No, I hadn’t heard that,” Hermione says thoughtfully.

There you have it, Hermione. Time to stop noticing him.

“Now, are we going to sit here and talk about Malfoy all night, or can we go home?” he asks, standing up from his chair.

Hermione rolls her eyes. “Lead the way, Auror Potter.”

Chapter Text

Hermione

June 20, 2009

New York City

“Hermione, come on!” Harry calls from the kitchen. “I was promised a bagel!”

“Keep your shirt on, I’m ready!” Hermione replies, walking into the room and patting the French twist at the back of her head to check for stray curls.

In the nearly two months since the attack, Harry has officially left his home and job to live with Hermione and work part-time at MACUSA. Since the attacker still hasn’t been found, she’s had to adjust to round-the-clock security.

Harry escorts her to and from work, acting as her personal bodyguard. Malfoy takes over for Harry each morning at MACUSA, once he finishes his meetings in the Auror department. Candy joins them for larger events or to relieve one of the others when needed.

“So,” Harry begins as they step out of the Floo at MACUSA, “what do you and Malfoy talk about all day?”

“Actually, we don’t really talk a lot,” Hermione replies as they enter the elevator.

“You just sit in awkward silence all day?” Harry asks.

“No, it’s not awkward,” Hermione says with a laugh. “We talk if we feel like it, but mostly we’re just working.”

“Speaking of the devil…” Harry mutters as they round the corner from the elevators.

Malfoy is lounging against the wall outside her office, flipping his wand through his fingers as usual.

“Morning, all,” he says in his laconic way, looking up through dark lashes.

Hermione’s gaze lingers on Malfoy a second too long, her pulse quickening as an unfamiliar flicker stirred in her chest.

“Good morning, Malfoy!” Hermione smiles as she meets his eyes, feeling her pulse quicken again. She quickly looks away, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, hoping he hadn’t noticed her sudden awkwardness. Next to her, Harry waves his bagel in casual greeting.

“You didn’t have to wait out here, Malfoy,” she continues. “It’s practically your office too.”

“‘Practically’ doesn’t mean I can barge in when you’re not here,” Malfoy replies, following her inside and settling at his desk in the corner.

“As fascinating as this discussion is, I’m off,” Harry calls from the doorway. “Catch you two swots later!”

Hermione doesn’t bother to stifle her laugh at the eye roll Malfoy gives to Harry’s retreating back.

A couple of hours later, a teacup appears in her line of sight, breaking her concentration. Hermione looks up to see Malfoy holding the cup across her desk, a "well?" expression on his face.

“What’s this?” Hermione asks cautiously.

“Tea, Granger. Obviously,” Malfoy says sarcastically, stepping closer than usual as he hands her the cup. Their fingers brush for the briefest moment. Hermione looks down at the tea, puzzled more than anything.

“Feel free to check it for poison if you’d like,” he adds with an aristocratic wave of his hand. “Not that I’d bother with poisoning you when I’d be the only suspect.”

“What... why...” Hermione splutters. “Sorry, it’s just that no one has ever...”

Malfoy sighs dramatically, cutting her off. “Granger, if Weasley is so utterly incompetent that he can’t bring his girlfriend a cup of tea, maybe it’s time you reconsider your life choices. Honestly, shall I start a fundraiser for the tragically useless?”

Malfoy’s words echoed her thoughts, bringing back memories she had buried but not yet forgotten. She should have ended things with Ron long ago. After the war, they had clung to a fragile sense of normalcy for far too long. Since the breakup, Hermione had come to realize that love alone wasn’t enough—not without respect.

Eight Months Earlier

“Ron?” Hermione calls, stepping out of the Floo. The flat is dark—odd, since Ron usually leaves the joke shop before her. Not that it means he helps around the house. She walks into the kitchen and jumps when she sees a shadow. “Merlin, Ron, you scared me! Why are you sitting in the dark?”

“I’m sorry, ‘Mione,” Ron mutters.

“I’ve asked you not to call me that,” she replies with a sigh, moving to wash her hands. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I... er, I’ve been seeing Lavender Brown, and she’s pregnant.” The words tumble out in a rush. “I never meant for this to happen, but you’re always at work, and Lavender... she needs me.”

Hermione freezes, Ron’s words cutting deep. She had always known they wouldn’t last.

“Get out,” she says, her voice steady despite the storm inside.

“I’ve already moved my stuff to Lavender’s,” Ron mumbles, backing away as she makes eye contact. “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t respond as she walks away to lock herself in the bedroom. The first tear falls only after she hears the crack of Ron’s apparition.

Back in the present, Hermione barks out a laugh. “I suppose if I’d ended it when he didn’t bring me tea, it would’ve saved me the trouble of ending it when he got Lavender Brown pregnant.”

Malfoy chokes on his tea, splattering it down his shirt.. “I’m sorry, I had no idea—”

Hermione cuts him off with a dismissive wave. “Nothing for you to apologize for. You didn’t do anything and had no way of knowing.”

Before he can respond, Hermione takes a sip and realizes the tea is made exactly to her liking.

“Wait... how did you get this right?” she asks, surprised at the sudden warmth and unexpected thoughtfulness in his gesture

“Seriously?” Malfoy drawls sarcastically, casting a cleaning and drying charm on his shirt. “We’ve been sharing an office for two months. If my powers of deduction aren’t any better than that, I should probably hand in my badge.”

The tap he gives his badge draws her attention to the leather wand holster strapped across his chest and shoulders.

I certainly didn’t need a reminder of that, Hermione thinks, quickly averting her gaze.

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry about what happened with Weasley,” Malfoy says softly. “You didn’t deserve that.”

They lapse into a companionable silence, but Hermione finds herself glancing at Malfoy repeatedly. He’s focused on his work, as usual, but there’s something different—something softer in his posture today. She frowns. Why was she even noticing that?

Draco

Despite the quiet between them, Draco can’t stop thinking about their earlier conversation over tea. Though both are absorbed in their tasks, her words linger in his mind.

I suppose Weasley is about as stupid as I always assumed.

The part of him that feels anger on Granger’s behalf is eclipsed by something else—curiosity. She isn’t the person he expected, not anymore. The girl who once frantically raised her hand in class had become a woman capable of commanding entire rooms of politicians. It isn’t her being single that intrigues him; it’s her quiet strength, her unwavering self-assurance. He isn’t sure he’d ever been able to say the same about himself.

Draco is jolted from his thoughts when Harry and Candy burst through the office door.

“I brought pizza!” Harry exclaims, brandishing the boxes with enthusiasm. “And Candy!”

“We thought we’d move into the conference room and eat while we plan out security for the gala,” Candy adds, sidling up to Draco’s desk with a bright smile.

“Did ya miss me, Darlin’?” Candy teases as he perches on the edge of Draco’s desk.

“Candy, if even one of your arse cheeks hits my desk, I will hex it off,” Draco snarls, shooting him a glare.

“Well, I never!” Candy huffs, sending an amused wink at Granger as she rises from her desk.

“You two can spar all you want; we’re going to eat,” Granger says, shaking her head with a smile as she and Harry head out the door.

Once all four of them are settled with their food, Harry speaks up. “Okay, so the gala on Saturday is to celebrate magical business relations between the US and the UK, specifically highlighting large UK businesses that have expanded here.”

“The three of us will have you covered, Ambassador,” Candy says, his tone shifting from playful to serious. “Extra wards at key points, high alert on the side entrances—standard procedure.”

Draco raises an eyebrow, momentarily struck by how quickly Candy could switch from jokester to expert. “Good call,” he replies. “We’ll need the site team on high alert as well.”

Candy flashes him a knowing smile. “We may be pretty, Sweet Pea, but don’t forget—we’re the best in the business.”

Everyone falls into a comfortable silence as they eat, until Granger speaks up.

“So, Malfoy, what does your wife think about your new, unusual schedule?”

Draco’s gaze snaps to hers, the question catching him off guard.

“I don’t know, Granger, why don’t you start a séance and ask her?” he replies, raising an eyebrow.

Potter chokes on his pizza while Granger gasps, startled. Even as the words leave his mouth, Draco knows the joke has missed its mark. It had been Astoria’s joke too, but of course, they wouldn’t understand.

“Draco Malfoy!” Candy snaps, setting his drink down with a thud. “We’ve been over this!”

Draco smirks, falling back into their easy banter. “What?! If you think that was bad, you should’ve heard what she used to say.”

He leans back in his chair, but the weight of the conversation shifts uncomfortably.

“Please allow me to apologize on his behalf,” Candy says with a sigh, affecting his best Texas drawl and pinching the bridge of his nose. “As you’re probably aware, emotional constipation is a Malfoy genetic trait.”

“What Draco meant to say,” he continues, “is that dear Astoria passed away three years ago.”

“Astoria Greengrass?” Harry asks, his expression softening. “What happened... if you don’t mind me asking?”

Draco nods, taking a bite of pizza. “Blood curse. It crops up every few generations in a Greengrass girl; this time, it was Astoria.”

“I’m so sorry, Malfoy. That’s awful,” Granger says quietly.

Draco waves off the sympathy. “I should be the one apologizing. The joke’s a lot less funny without the backstory.”

He hesitates for a moment, then smirks. “Astoria used to tell Theo it was his duty as her best friend to keep her supplied with gossip via séances.”

“She had a wicked sense of humor,” Candy adds wistfully. “It helped her through a lot.”

He shouldn’t have joked about Astoria—not in front of them. They didn’t know how their marriage worked, or how much she would have laughed at a remark like that.

Astoria’s death left a hole in his life—not as a romantic partner, but as the mother of his son. Scorpius, with his wide, curious eyes, would never remember the woman who gave him life, and that’s what Draco can’t reconcile. He’s made his peace with being alone—or so he tells himself—but his son deserves more. Every milestone Scorpius reaches sharpens the ache of Astoria’s absence. How can he ever be enough? He can raise Scorpius, protect him, teach him about the world—but can he give him the things only a mother might?

Draco turns his attention back to his lunch and the security plans, his face slipping back into its usual cool mask.

But he gets the distinct feeling that someone's watching him. Looking up, his cool grey eyes meet Granger’s warm honey ones. She blushes, quickly looking away as he raises an eyebrow and smirks, catching her in the act.

Wonder what that’s about? Draco muses.

Hermione

“Can we go home now?” Harry groans, draping himself dramatically across his chair.

After their working lunch, he had stayed with Hermione while Candy and Malfoy returned to their floor for a department meeting.

“I’ll give Malfoy this: at least he doesn’t whine constantly while I’m working,” Hermione snaps, giving Harry a withering look.

“Yeah, well, he’s just as hyper-focused and swotty as you,” Harry retorts, stopping just short of sticking out his tongue.

“Fine, let’s go,” Hermione sighs, long-suffering, as she begins packing up her things. “I’d rather work at home than listen to you whinge all evening.”

Harry springs out of his chair, pumping his fist in victory. “You know,” he says casually, “I’ve noticed you seem pretty chummy with Malfoy. Getting cozy in here?”

He grins, but Hermione can sense the weight behind his words—even as she rolls her eyes and ignores the question. His comment makes her think of Malfoy’s unexpected gesture earlier that day—offering her tea, perfectly made without her even asking. It was a small thing—albeit something Ron hadn’t done in nearly ten years—but it lingered with her all afternoon. Had she been wrong about him? And why did that thought make her feel so... unsettled?

As they cross the atrium, a flash of white-blonde hair catches Hermione’s attention.

“Oh, Malfoy must be leaving...” Her voice trails off as Malfoy turns in their direction, holding a mini version of himself.

“Is that Malfoy... with a kid?!” Harry whisper-shouts in Hermione’s ear.

Hermione remains speechless, her eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before her.

The father-son duo seem oblivious to the bustling atrium as they greet one another, their matching silver eyes catching the sunlight. Hermione blinks, momentarily taken aback. Was it just the light, or did Malfoy’s eyes actually seem brighter? They’re usually stormy grey—guarded—but now, there’s a warmth she’s never seen before.

In a display that is anything but Lucius-like, Malfoy lifts his son high into the air, showering him with kisses as the little boy’s laughter rings out across the atrium. Hermione blinks. Is this the same Malfoy who had once mocked her blood status? The man she’s watching now seems to have nothing in common with the boy she had loathed at school. He is unguarded, affectionate—even playful. For a moment, guilt stirs in her chest. Has she misjudged him all along? Or have they both just changed so much?

Something unfamiliar stirs in her as she watches as the little boy places his hands on either side of Malfoy’s face, chattering away. Malfoy listens intently, his expression one of pure enchantment. The harsh lines she’s always associated with him—arrogant, distant—soften as he laughs, full and unrestrained.

Hermione loses track of whatever Harry is saying as the Malfoys start heading in their direction. Malfoy, still engrossed in his son’s non-stop talking, hasn’t noticed them yet.

When he finally does, he stops in his tracks, his eyes darkening to their usual misty grey.

How curious… Hermione muses, noticing the shift in color again.

“Potter,” Malfoy says, his voice tight. “Granger.”

“Malfoy. Mini Malfoy,” Harry responds in a lilting voice.

Hermione’s brain struggles to reconcile the image before her: the tall, imposing Malfoy, dressed in sharply tailored black with his wand holster and badge still in place. In comparison, his son is baby soft, silky hair gently pulled back from his face. The boy wears a green t-shirt with flying snitches, jeans, and adorably tiny green high-top trainers, clutching a stuffed dragon firmly in hand.

“Well then, who is this?” she coos, finally finding her voice.

Malfoy can’t help the soft smile that breaks out as his son buries his face in his father’s neck.

“Go on, introduce yourself,” Malfoy says gently, jostling the little boy to get him to sit up.

The boy turns his face slightly, glancing at Harry and Hermione before quickly burrowing back down.

“Oh, now you don’t want to talk,” Malfoy says with a laugh.

“I’m Harry Potter, nice to meet you!” Harry says jovially, clearly trying to set the boy’s nerves at ease.

The tiny blonde pops back up. “Potter?” he asks, looking and sounding even more like Malfoy.

Neither Harry nor Hermione can suppress their grins at that.

“It’s okay, love,” Malfoy says softly, pressing a kiss to his son’s temple. Hermione’s knees nearly give out. “Introduce yourself.”

“Scorpius,” the little boy whispers shyly.

“Hi, Scorpius!” Hermione says brightly. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Hermione.”

“Her-minnie?” Scorpius asks, stumbling over her name.

“Hermione,” she enunciates clearly.

“Minnie?” he asks again.

“You know what?” Hermione giggles. “Let’s go with it. You can call me Minnie!”

Something in the exchange bolsters Scorpius because he peels himself off Malfoy’s neck, turning in his arms to face her.

“You can call me Scorp!” he says brightly. “Or ScorpScorp. Or sometimes Daddy calls me ScorpiusHyperionMalfoy.”

He says his full name as one long word, while Malfoy rolls his eyes affectionately.

“I think ‘Scorp’ will work brilliantly,” Hermione says with a wink.

“And who might this be?” Harry asks, pointing to the green dragon Scorpius is clutching.

That’s apparently the right question, because Scorpius brightens further.

“Fis is Pesto!” Scorpius exclaims. “Nana Cissa gived him to me. He’s a Nor… he’s a norfee… Daddy, what is he?!”

“A Norwegian Ridgeback,” Malfoy drawls.

“Yeah!” Scorpius agrees with a nod. “He’s a Norfeejun Ridgebacks.”

“Well,” Hermione begins seriously, reaching for the dragon’s paw, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Pesto.”

Harry bursts out laughing as he shakes Pesto’s paw. “Pesto is a great name!”

Scorpius smiles broadly, his face so like Malfoy’s, even if his mannerisms aren’t.

“I like your hair!” Hermione exclaims, even as she struggles to reconcile the whimsical hairdo with a Malfoy.

“Oh! Fank you!” Scorpius says brightly, patting his hair. “I love space buns.”

“He saw someone wearing them at the park a while back, and he’s been obsessed ever since,” Malfoy says, attempting to sound sarcastic, but it’s clear he can’t when dealing with his son.

“Space buns are da best, Daddy!” Scorpius says, patting Malfoy’s cheek.

“I told Daddy to match today,” he continues, looking seriously at Hermione. “But he said, ‘no space buns at work.’”

The latter part of his sentence is an obvious attempt to mimic his father’s tone and timbre, and it’s delightful.

“Your daddy works with me now, so I’ll see what I can do,” Hermione says with a wink.

Before Scorpius can answer, his belly lets out a loud grumble.

“On that note, it’s time to get you home for dinner,” Malfoy says. “Say goodbye.”

“Bye, Harry Potter!” Scorpius squeals. “Bye, Minnie!”

“See ya, Mini Malfoy!” Harry says with a salute.

“Bye, Scorp!” Hermione exclaims, before offering a calmer, “Have a good evening, Malfoy.”

Malfoy nods in acknowledgment. “See you tomorrow, Granger. Potter.”

As Scorpius waves at her while his father walks away, a warmth unfurls in Hermione’s chest. Malfoy holds his son with a warmth and ease she never thought possible. She had never imagined this side of him—a doting father, laughing freely, his eyes bright with love. The distant, cold Malfoy she once knew was gone. In his place stood a man full of warmth and affection for his son, a tenderness that caught her by surprise. Draco Malfoy, the enigma she had never understood, was so much more than she had ever imagined.

“Huh,” Harry huffs with a shake of his head. “I guess now we know why he came out of the field three years ago.”

Hermione doesn’t respond, too caught up in watching the two blondes walk away.

Chapter Text

Hermione

June 21, 2009

New York City

“Ugh, absolutely not.” Hermione tosses the grey blouse behind her, adding to the ever-growing pile of vetoed clothes.

“Watch where you’re throwing those hangers!” Harry exclaims from his spot on her bed. “You nearly took out both my eyes—my mother’s eyes!”

“If you were in your own room, you wouldn’t have to worry about your mother’s eyes,” Hermione retorts. “Why are you in here anyway?”

“I’m bored,” he says with a yawn. “What’s taking you so long?”

“I can’t decide what to wear. Nothing looks right.”

Harry hums thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “Might that have anything to do with the fact that just yesterday we discovered Draco Malfoy is a DILF?”

“HARRY JAMES POTTER!” Hermione yells, scandalized.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Harry challenges, raising an eyebrow. “Plus, I’m pretty sure I heard your ovaries exploding during that conversation.”

“I am entirely unsure what you’re referring to,” Hermione sniffs, heading into the bathroom to get dressed.

“What do we think?” she asks as she emerges, gesturing to her yellow pencil skirt and short-sleeved, abstract black-and-white top.

Harry wolf-whistles in response, then dives into her closet.

“You have to wear these!” he exclaims, brandishing a pair of towering white leather pumps. “Malfoy will be eating out of the palm of your hand.”

“Give me those,” Hermione snarls, snatching the shoes from Harry with an eye roll.

An hour later, Harry groans. “Merlin’s pants! When is Malfoy going to get here? I want to get out of this office.”

“He told us he’d be downstairs a bit longer today,” Hermione says in a bored tone, not bothering to look up from her work.

“Yeah, well, it’s been long enough,” Harry yawns. “Besides, if we go looking for him now, we can avoid Tea Time with Septima.”

“Say no more, let’s go,” Hermione quips, already halfway to the door.

They head to the Auror Department, only to be told that Malfoy and Candy went to the department gym in the basement.

“I’d make some snarky comment about him being in the gym if I didn’t need to go so badly myself,” Harry says when they step off the elevator.

As they approach the glass wall of the enclosed workout space, Hermione is momentarily rendered speechless by Draco Malfoy for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.

“Holy. Hell,” she breathes. “He’s gorg—”

“Not now, Hermione,” Harry stage-whispers, cutting her off. “I think I’m having a stroke.”

Malfoy and Candy remain oblivious to their audience, too absorbed in their workout. While Candy trudges along on the treadmill, Malfoy is jump-roping with an intensity that far exceeds casual aerobic exercise. With elaborate twists, jumps, and steps—plus his signature smirk—it’s obvious he’s showing off to get a rise out of Candy.

His hair is loosely pulled back in a messy bun, stray pieces falling into his face. He’s lost his shirt at some point, revealing the results of his rigorous exercise routine. Hermione never gave much thought to low-slung grey joggers or tattoos before, but after seeing them on Malfoy, she’s starting to reconsider.

Before Hermione can respond to Harry’s teasing look, Candy spots them and waves them over.

“Might want to wipe the drool off your chin, Hermione,” Harry says with a wink as he opens the door. He grunts when she smacks him in the stomach.

“Mornin’, y’all!” Candy trills with his usual cheer. “Glad to see ya—it gives me an excuse to stop this torture.”

“Am I running late?” Malfoy asks, casting a Tempus charm to check the time as he catches his breath.

“No, I’m just impatient,” Harry replies.

Hermione steals another glance at Malfoy as he pauses to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand. Entirely focused on his workout, he seems oblivious to their stares, and she finds herself oddly captivated by his dedication. She lets herself look a moment longer before catching Harry’s knowing grin and Candy’s dramatic sigh.

“Merlin help us, Candy,” Harry whispers, unable to hold back his grin.

“I know! Completely unfair!” Candy shrieks. “Not only do we have the galleons, the estates, the hair, and the face, but we also have the body!”

He sighs as the treadmill slows to a stop. “Meanwhile, I’m here fightin’ for my ever-lovin’ life on this blasted treadmill, lookin’ like a donut hole while starin’ at that the whole time.”

“Are you fishing for a compliment?” Malfoy asks drolly.

Candy bats his eyelashes. “I don’t know, is it workin’?”

“You have a sparkling personality,” Malfoy replies, rolling his eyes in a way that would put his teenage self to shame.

“Well, thank ya kindly, Sweet Cheeks!” Candy winks before turning back to Harry and Hermione. “And if you think this is bad, you should’ve seen him before Scorpius came along! He looked like a damn statue of a Greek god. Now I like to tell him he looks like a Greek god who never said ‘no’ to a pumpkin pasty.”

As odd as the analogy is, Hermione muses, Candy’s not wrong. There’s no doubt Malfoy is fit, but there’s also a certain softness to him.

Still looks like a Greek god from where I’m standing, she thinks. Absolutely gorgeous…

Hermione gives up trying to keep her eyes off Malfoy. The man is fit, impossibly so, and nothing like the cold, statuesque figure she once knew. Muscles carved from years of real work, sweat glistening as he moved—when did she start noticing these things?

“Okay, well, we’ve kept you long enough!” Hermione exclaims, unable to take the tension any longer.

“Take your time, we’ll see you upstairs.” She says over her shoulder as she bolts for the door.

In her haste to get out the door, she misses the intrigued look Malfoy sends her way.

******************************************************************************

June 23, 2009

New York City

Two days later, Hermione finds herself back in her office, the memory of Malfoy in the gym playing on a loop in her mind—chest heaving, sweat-dampened hair falling in loose strands. She’s annoyed with herself for admiring it at all, much less thinking about it days later.

Get it together, Hermione! But no matter how much she scolds herself, the image refuses to fade.

Hermione is pulled from her reverie by the sound of running in the corridor outside her office.

“Oh! Well, good morn—” Septima’s voice cuts off as a blonde blur clad in a grey, dragon-covered t-shirt, black joggers, and neon orange high-tops flies into the room.

“Hi, Minnie!” Scorpius says brightly. “Hi, Harry Potter!”

Before they can respond, Malfoy marches into the room, and all eyes shift to him.

“Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy!”

Scorpius glances back at Hermione and Harry with a “see??” look on his face.

“What did I tell you about running in the hallway?”

“Sorry, Daddy!” Scorpius replies in a voice that makes it clear he’s not actually sorry. “I wanted to see Minnie and Harry Potter!”

Malfoy flops into his chair, waving a hand to indicate his son should get on with it.

To Hermione’s surprise, Scorpius launches himself at her. “G’morning, Minnie!”

“Good morning, Scorpius!” Hermione says as she catches him in a hug. “I like your shoes!”

“Fanks!” Scorpius giggles. “I picked orange today ‘cause da dragons have fire!”

“Top of the morning to you, Mini Malfoy!” Harry chimes in as Scorpius looks his way. “Where’s Pesto this morning?”

Scorpius gasps, his eyes instantly filling with tears. “Oh no, Daddy! Where’s Pesto?”

“He’s right here!” Malfoy exclaims, quickly retrieving the dragon from his son’s backpack. “You left him in your bag.”

“Crisis averted,” he adds with a small smile. “His first bout of accidental magic was when Pesto got misplaced at home one Saturday.”

Harry and Hermione both wince as Harry asks, “How bad was it?”

“I thought all the windows on the first floor were going to shatter,” Malfoy says with a shudder.

“Sorry about all of this,” Malfoy gestures to the general chaos he and Scorpius brought into the room. “He refused to go to nursery until he saw Candy, De Luca, and you two.”

“He’s fine!” Hermione assures him. “We’re happy to see him.”

“And I got to see Auntie Feo this morning!” Scorpius crows excitedly. “Hims back from vacation.”

“Theo Nott?” Harry asks.

Malfoy nods, taking a sip from his coffee. “When we went back to England for the funeral, we stayed for about a month so I could settle some things with the Manor and spend time with my mother and some friends I hadn’t seen in a while.”

“When it was time to leave, Theo announced he was moving to New York with us, so here we are.” Malfoy huffs out a laugh at the confused look on Harry’s face.

“‘Auntie Theo?’” Harry asks, raising a brow.

“Blame Pansy and Daphne,” Malfoy snorts. “They came for a visit when Scorp hadn’t been talking long and were determined to have him saying ‘Auntie Daphne’ and ‘Auntie Pansy’ before they left.”

“They said it so much that by the end of the visit, everyone and everything was ‘Auntie,’” he continues with a chuckle. “I was ‘Auntie Daddy’ for a month. Of course, Theo thought it was hysterical and kept it up.”

The adults share a laugh over the story, but Scorpius is too engrossed in the Muggle sticky notes on Hermione’s desk to join in.

He hasn’t strayed from Hermione’s side the entire time but only hesitates briefly when Malfoy stands and says, “Right. You’ve seen everyone; now you have to go to nursery.”

“I come see you again, Minnie?” Scorpius asks just before heading out the door.

“Anytime, Scorp,” she replies with a wink. “Have a great day!”

Draco

Between chasing Scorpius all over MACUSA earlier and the fact that Granger keeps her office at roughly the temperature of the sun, Draco is boiling. As he undoes the top button of his shirt and rolls up his sleeves, he catches Granger staring, her gaze lingering just a bit too long.

“See something you like, Granger?” he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Bloody hell, did I just say that out loud? he thinks, but before he can retreat, he catches the faint pink coloring her cheeks.

“Oh, please,” she fires back, her tone edged with a touch of defensiveness. “I survived seeing you shirtless in the gym. I think I’ll manage your scandalous forearms.”

As she averts her gaze, a hint of warmth still lingering on her face, Draco’s smirk grows. He’s noticed the lingering glances, the quick dart of her eyes to his arms. Interesting. The old Granger would have buried herself in paperwork rather than steal glances at him.

“Speaking of scandalous,” Granger says, pointing to Draco’s left arm, where a large tattoo covers most of the space. “How does the poster boy for Pureblood Gentility end up covered in tattoos? And what’s the story with that one in particular?”

Draco snorts. “To answer your first question, he moves to another country and stops giving a flying fuck about what his father or anyone else thinks.”

Then, with a pointed look at her frequently visible Mudblood scar, he adds, “Unlike you, some of us are cowards.”

He holds up a hand to stop her from interrupting. “It started as an oval blackout tattoo because I couldn’t stand looking at the Dark Mark anymore. It made me sick, and I finally decided I had enough reminders of the war. I didn’t need to carry one on my arm every day too.”

“I don’t think any Auror with your record can reasonably call themselves a coward,” Granger says once he pauses. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t think covering your Dark Mark makes you cowardly any more than me not covering my scar makes me brave. We both made choices to cope with scars we didn’t ask for, and they’re both valid.”

Draco scoffs, avoiding her eyes.

“I mean it, Malfoy. Leaving the Mark visible would only make people forget who you are... who you’ve become. Covering mine would just give people one more excuse to forget things like that ever happened.”

They sit in silence for a few moments before Draco finally breaks it with a softly spoken, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Granger replies, smiling warmly. “Now, what about the rest of the tattoo?”

“Right,” he says with a nod. “When Scorpius was born, I added his constellation to it.” He gestures to the dragon wrapped around the black oval like a protective frame. “I suppose the dragon guarding it is fairly on the nose, but I like it.”

“Per aspera ad astra,” Granger reads the inscription beneath the tattoo. “My Latin is rusty, but I believe that means ‘Through hardships to the stars,’ right?”

Draco nods. “It does. My mother’s contribution, believe it or not.”

“I think it’s a lovely sentiment,” Granger says emphatically.

“The tattoo is also functional,” Draco adds, slightly sheepish. “But this may sound weird.”

Granger arches an eyebrow, waiting.

“There’s magic embedded in Scorpius' constellation. If I place my hand over it and say the spell, it’ll transport me to him, no matter where he is or what wards he’s behind.”

“That’s brilliant! What could be weird about that?”

“It works like the Dark Mark,” Draco admits quietly. “But I’d never use it to control him! Hopefully, I’ll never have to use it at all, but if something ever happens, at least I know I can get to him.”

They return to their work, falling into an easy silence, only interrupted some time later by Candy bursting in.

“Mail call!” Candy announces cheerfully. “All declared curse-free by yours truly.”

“Hi, Candy!” Hermione greets him brightly. “Thank you for taking care of that.”

Draco notices a smile cross Granger’s face as Candy turns his attention to him. Her eyes flicker with barely concealed amusement. There’s a hint of curiosity there too that makes him pause. The warmth of her expression unsettles him for a moment, but he quickly brushes it off, feigning indifference as Candy’s melodramatic voice rises to new heights.

“Hello, Gorgeous!” Candy trills. “I feel like I never see you anymore.”

“You just saw me this morning,” Malfoy snorts.

Candy heaves a dramatic sigh. “Like two ships passin’ in the night.”

“Why are you like this?” Malfoy asks, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation.

“You know you love me!” Candy croons. “Anyway, how’s your mama?”

“Fine,” Malfoy replies as he shuffles through his mail. “Last I spoke with her, she was heading to the Seychelles with her newest boyfriend.”

“What’s this one’s name again?” Candy asks, tilting his head curiously.

“Fuck if I know,” Draco shrugs. “I’m just glad he’s older than me.”

Hermione, evidently shocked by the revelation, can’t stay silent any longer. “Wait! What?”

Candy turns to her, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, clearly delighted by the chance to gossip. “It seems Mama Malfoy has developed a penchant for younger men. The highlight of my year was when she brought last year’s model to Christmas—he was four years younger than Draco!”

“Please, by all means, enjoy my misery,” Malfoy drawls. “That’s why we now have a rule: they must be at least three years older than me, and they’re not invited to holidays.”

“Huh,” Hermione breathes. “Interesting.”

“Not the word I’d use, but sure,” Malfoy sighs, turning back to his paperwork.

Suddenly, Candy exclaims, “Hey! Cut that shit out. You know I can’t stand it!”

Malfoy looks at him, confused. “What?”

“The eye thing!” Candy shudders before turning to Hermione. “Doesn’t it creep you out?!”

Hermione, equally confused, glances at Malfoy. “His eyes look the same to me.”

Or at least they did—until she notices them shift from a dull, murky grey to the bright silver she had seen before and attributed to lighting changes.

“Oh, sorry,” Malfoy says with a shrug. “I’m a natural Occlumens, Granger. I don’t use it as much anymore, but I’ve slipped back into the habit with everything that’s been going on.”

Hermione

Hermione’s mind races. Was he basically living with Occlumency walls up at school?

“And on that note,” Malfoy says as he stands, “I’m going to make some tea. Granger?”

“Yes, please.”

“Candy?”

“We’ve been over this, Sweetie,” Candy says, inspecting his nails with a bored expression. “The only way I’m taking tea from you is if it’s iced, sweet, and fished out of the harbor.”

For an hour after Candy returns to the Auror Department, Hermione holds her tongue. Eventually, her legendary curiosity wins out, and she dives into the question with all the forthrightness expected from a Gryffindor.

“So...” She stretches the word until she’s sure she has Malfoy’s attention. “Your mother likes to travel now?”

“We both know that’s not really what you want to ask, Granger,” Malfoy says, fixing her with a pointed stare. “So let’s just cut to the chase.”

“Fair enough,” Hermione nods. “Was Candy exaggerating, or is your mother really traveling the globe with a string of much younger boyfriends?”

“Nearly nonstop since Lucius died,” Malfoy replies with a dry laugh. “Theo says she’s on her ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ journey, which is probably true since she loved that book.”

There’s a lot to unpack in that sentence, but Hermione decides now isn’t the time to dig into how Malfoy casually refers to his once-revered father by first name only, or the fact that Narcissa Malfoy—of all people—now reads Muggle memoirs.

“Was last year’s boyfriend really four years younger than you?” Hermione asks, knowing Candy’s flair for the dramatic but wanting confirmation.

“So Mum says.” Malfoy groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Theo’s convinced he was actually five or six years younger than us.”

“I was kind of surprised to learn she didn’t live nearby. I assumed maybe she didn’t like New York.”

“She likes New York just fine,” Malfoy says matter-of-factly. “But she’s happy breezing in for Scorp’s birthday and the occasional holiday.”

Hermione hums thoughtfully at this revelation. Based on everything she knew about their relationship and all they had been through together, she would have assumed Narcissa would want to be closer to her son and grandson.

She shifts her attention to the file in front of her as Malfoy returns to the reports he’s been working on all morning. He’s quiet for so long that she jumps when he speaks again.

“What about your parents?” Malfoy asks. “Will they be visiting you here?”

Hermione freezes at the question, even though she should have expected it, given the nature of their conversation.

“Erm, no, actually,” she says quietly. “They won’t be.”

He gives her a curious look but says nothing, waiting for her to continue.

She takes a deep breath. “I had to Obliviate them during the war.”

Draco

Draco’s gasp is loud in the otherwise quiet room, the uncharacteristic outburst evidence of his shock.

“It was the only thing I could think of to keep them safe. I was so afraid they’d be targeted and have no way to defend themselves,” she says, her voice trembling. “I completely erased myself from their memories, gave them new identities, and sent them to Australia.”

When she glances up, he still says nothing, but his knuckles are white as he grips the edge of his desk.

“I went down there with a team of Healers after the war, but...” she swallows, struggling to keep her composure. “There was nothing they could do. I erased and altered too much, and it couldn’t be reversed.” She stares down at her hands, not wanting him to see how emotional she is. “I just hope I did the right thing.”

Draco’s jaw tightens as he watches her, wondering how many times he’d tried to rationalize his own choices in the war. ‘Right’ is a slippery concept, he thinks, the standard by which he’d measured so many of his own regrets. He knows better than anyone how heavy that weight could feel.

He moves so quickly that he doesn’t realize he’s gotten up until he’s crouching in front of her, offering her a tissue. His hand hovers just a moment before he presses it gently into her hand. She clenches her fingers around the tissue, drawing in a deep breath before meeting his gaze.

“I’m so sorry, Granger,” Draco says in a rough voice. His hand closes around hers, and he feels a warmth there, soft and unsettling. His thumb brushes over her knuckles, lingering for a heartbeat longer than he’d intended. He tells himself it was simple comfort, nothing more, yet there was a surprising reluctance to let go. “You did the right thing. I promise.”

Difficult though the words are to speak, he hopes they reassure Hermione that her decision, painful as it was, shielded her parents when it mattered most.

Chapter Text

Hermione

June 26, 2009

New York City

Hermione is firmly ensconced in her favorite chair, a book in hand and tea at the ready. The better part of her day had been spent at the salon, treating herself to some pampering before the evening’s gala honoring British and American magical businesses. Sure, she enjoys doing her hair and makeup, but when given the chance for someone else to handle it, why not take advantage?

“Hermione! Are you decent?” Harry calls through her bedroom door, overpowering the softly playing music.

“Yes, you can come in!”

Harry whistles loudly as he enters, causing a disgruntled Crookshanks to dart out the door. “Looking good!”

“Thanks!” she replies with a laugh. “I’m pretty sure everyone at the salon was a witch in disguise.”

“So that’s the dress?” Harry asks, nodding toward the emerald green gown hanging on her closet door.

“Yep!” Hermione responds, enunciating the “p” with a pop.

“Interesting choice of color,” Harry muses.

“Do not even go there, Harry James. The woman at the shop insisted it was the best one I tried on, and frankly, I agree.”

“Anyway,” she continues, “did you need help with something, or did you just come here to antagonize me?”

“Oh, right.” He snaps his fingers. “Suit or Auror robes?”

“A really nice suit,” Hermione replies, rolling her eyes. “It is a formal gala, after all.”

“Too right, boss.” Harry salutes before turning on his heel and heading back to his room.

Draco

Draco scans his closet one more time, stalling the inevitable.

“Penny!” he calls, bracing for impact.

The house-elf appears almost instantly, arms folded, huffing.

“If Master Draco is calling Penny while she is eating with Master Scorpius, Master Draco must be very desperate indeed,” Penny says thunderously.

“Sorry, Penny. You know I wouldn’t bother you if I didn’t need you.” He tries to give her a pleading look, hoping to remind her that she loves him like her own.

Penny quirks one nearly invisible eyebrow in response.

“Have you seen my dragonhide loafers?” Draco finally asks. “I’ve looked everywhere, I swear!”

Penny scoffs and snaps her fingers, making the shoes materialize instantly. “If Master Draco’s shoes were basilisks, Master Draco would be being blinded right now.”

“You, Penny, are amazing!” Draco exclaims, risking his life by picking her up and kissing her cheeks.

“And you, Master Draco, is crazy,” Penny replies with a snort of amusement. “Now. Put. Me. Down.” She emphasizes each word with an ineffective thump of her fist against his chest.

Once Draco safely sets Penny back on the floor, he spins around, showing off his black suit. “What do you think?”

Penny gives him a once-over before eyeing the disaster he’s made of his closet. “If Penny is saying what Penny is thinking, she is hurting Master Draco’s feelings.”

Before Draco can respond, she continues, “Penny is needing to check on Master Scorpius and is sending in Master Theodore.”

“You rang, Penny, my sweet?” Theo says, poking his head around the doorframe.

“Master Draco is needing more help than Penny can be giving,” she says, flapping a hand in Draco’s direction before leaving the room.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Theo sighs dramatically, flinging himself across Draco’s bed. His neon green silk pajamas and matching feathered robe look utterly ridiculous in the room’s understated elegance.

“What on earth do you mean, Theo?” Draco asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I mean that Draco Lucius Malfoy—the head of two of the wizarding world’s largest estates—is actually trying to wear a day suit and loafers to a gala.”

“It’s not like I haven’t been a little preoccupied for the last three years, so forgive me for not caring about clothes,” Draco drawls. “Besides, I’m there to work.”

Theo scoffs. “Not in that suit you’re not.”

Draco waves a hand toward his walk-in closet, resigned. “Then you find something.”

“Gladly!” Theo says, hopping off the bed with glee. “First things first, strip.”

“What?!” Draco splutters.

“Strip. Ground-up approach, obviously.” Theo flaps his hands.

“No.”

Theo rolls his eyes, undeterred. “You clutch your pearls any harder, mate, and they’ll shatter.”

“You’re insufferable,” Draco mutters, but he knew he’d lost the battle.

“Honestly, Draco, we shared a dorm and a locker room for seven years. Not to mention the whole ‘raised-as-brothers’ thing,” Theo says in a bored tone. “I’ve seen you naked way more times than Astoria ever did. Besides, you’re not my type. So quit stalling and strip.”

Draco sighs heavily, throwing his suit jacket at Theo’s head before quickly shedding almost everything else. “Your ‘ground up’ approach will not include my pants. I’m not standing here completely naked.”

Theo pulls the jacket off his head, nearly doubling over with laughter. “Oh, sweet baby Merlin, are those actual flying, fire-breathing dragons on your boxers?!”

Draco glances down, unfazed. “Told you I wear color.”

Theo snorts, wiping away tears. “You’re a man of mystery, Draco, truly.”

Theo strides into Draco’s closet, determined to find the far superior outfit choices he knows are buried somewhere, but lets out a surprised shriek. “Draco! What on earth have you done?!”

“I couldn’t find my shoes.”

“So that prompted you to tear your closet apart?” Theo asks, stepping back into the doorway, surveying the mess. “You? Mr. Everything Has to Look Perfect All the Time?”

Theo gives him a searching look. “Wait… are you nervous?”

“Why would I be nervous?” Draco scoffs, his voice slipping dangerously close to his old Hogwarts-era sneer.

Theo hums thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “Might it have anything to do with a certain ambassador?”

Yes, Draco thinks.

“I’m not nervous, so absolutely not,” he lies, deliberately avoiding Theo’s gaze.

“Sure, I believe you,” Theo deadpans before heading back into the closet to search for clothes.

Draco rebuilds his Occlumency walls as he waits. After all, this is the sort of event he’s supposed to use them for.

Theo’s muffled shout interrupts his thoughts. “Victory!”

A moment later, Theo appears, holding a garment bag in one hand and shiny dragonhide wingtips in the other.

“The fact that this was wasting away in the back of your closet is criminal,” Theo says, dead serious. “My work here is done.”

Draco grimaces when he sees the garment bag. “I am not wearing that.”

“Oh, but you are,” Theo sings, unzipping the bag.

“I refused to wear it when my mother bought it, and I’m not wearing it now,” Draco retorts, his tone petulant.

Theo rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue. “Here’s the difference between me and Cissa: your little strops don’t work on me.”

Draco refuses to dignify that with a response, and they silently lock into a battle of wills. Eventually, they both break into laughter at the absurdity of the situation.

“Fine, you win,” Draco sighs, reaching for the suit and shoes. “We all know I have no control over my life anyway.”

“And you’d have it no other way!” Theo declares, swishing his robe dramatically. “Have fun tonight—don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“No danger of that,” Draco replies dryly.

“Prat.”

“Wanker.”

“Tosser.”

“Git.”

Theo ends their very mature exchange by flipping two fingers at Draco as he sweeps out the door.

After dressing and pulling his hair back properly, Draco steps into Scorpius' room to say goodnight before leaving. He can’t help but smile as he watches his son peruse the small bookshelf stuffed with both Muggle and wizarding children’s books.

“Hi, Daddy!” Scorpius says with a huge yawn when he spots Draco. “You come for night-night?”

“Of course!” Draco replies, stepping over to pull back the blankets for Scorpius to climb into bed. “You know I couldn’t leave without that.”

“I’m sorry Penny had to do bath time tonight. Auntie Theo took entirely too long picking out my clothes,” he adds. “What do you think?”

Scorpius yawns again, eyeing his father sleepily. “I fink you look very nice.”

“Thanks, Scorp,” Draco says, squeezing into the bed beside him. “What are we reading?”

Scorpius hands over his well-loved copy of The Sleepy Dragon before grabbing Pesto and snuggling into Draco’s side.

“Well, what a surprise!” Draco teases, earning a sleepy giggle from his son.

“I love you, Scorpius,” he whispers, kissing the top of the toddler’s head.

“I love you too, Daddy,” Scorpius replies, yawning again before pulling Draco’s head down to plant a kiss on his cheek.

True to form, Scorpius is asleep before they reach the third page, but Draco finishes the book anyway, not quite ready to leave for the evening.

He spends a few quiet moments watching Scorpius sleep before gently extracting himself from his son’s grip. After making sure the nightlight is on, he presses one last kiss to Scorpius' forehead.

Draco steps into the hall, casts a quick smoothing charm on his suit and heads for the Floo. He’s waylaid again as Penny calls out from the kitchen while he makes his way down the hall.

“Penny is being too hard on Master Draco.”

Draco scoffs as he enters the kitchen, a sarcastic retort ready on his tongue. But the comment dies away when he sees Penny’s large eyes shining with an unusual display of emotion.

“Don’t worry about it, Penny, you’re fi—” He’s cut off mid-sentence by Penny’s croaking voice.

“Penny is knowing Master Draco almost better than Master Draco is knowing himself.”

“Well, that’s certainly true,” Draco concedes, crouching down to her level.

“Penny is knowing that Master Draco is nervous and is needing Penny’s help, but Penny is too hard on him,” she says, sounding uncharacteristically morose.

“I’m not nerv—” Penny raises a tiny hand, stopping him mid-protest.

“Master Draco is spending so much time taking care of Master Scorpius, and before that, Mistress Astoria, while working hard at his career. And even before that, he was working to change the worst parts of himself. Penny thinks that Master Draco is forgetting who he is.”

Draco looks down, knowing better than to interrupt again. Penny isn’t sentimental often, and when she is, it’s best to let her speak.

“Penny is not forgetting who Master Draco is, though. Mistress Narcissa may have given birth, but it is Penny who is raising Master Draco like her own. So, Master Draco is not needing to be nervous, but is needing to remember that being a Malfoy means something different because of him.”

She pauses, placing a small hand on his chin, gently lifting his face to meet her gaze. “Master Draco is needing to remember that Penny taught him to stand tall, command attention, and charm a room. Penny is reminding Master Draco that he is a good person.”

If they’re both a little misty-eyed after her speech, that’s between the two of them.

“Thank you, Penny,” Draco says quietly as he stands. “I really do have to go, though. Have a good night and a good vacation. I’ll see you when you get back.”

Penny gives him a lopsided grin as he leaves the kitchen. And if Draco stands a bit taller, feeling more ready to face society again... well, that’s between him and Penny too.

Hermione

When Hermione and Harry walk into the MACUSA atrium, it’s nearly empty, save for Candy and a couple of security guards. Their echoing footsteps catch Candy’s attention, and he starts toward them.

“Hey, y’all!” Candy calls out with a wave. “Don’t y’all look like a couple of prize hogs at the fair!”

Hermione and Harry exchange confused looks, neither quite sure how to respond.

“Believe it or not,” a familiar drawl sounds behind them, “that was a compliment.”

“Hoo-wee!” Candy shouts when he sees Malfoy. “You look like sex on a stick, baby!”

Malfoy flushes slightly, shooting Candy a mock-scathing look. “You know, I’m starting to worry you’ve actually suffered brain damage.”

While Hermione doesn’t fully grasp Candy’s colorful expression, she finds herself silently agreeing. To her surprise, Malfoy is wearing color. Not just any color—his three-piece suit is a deep, rich scarlet, just a shade off of Gryffindor red, as if he somehow knew what she was wearing.

Hermione’s pulse quickens, taking in how the suit is expertly tailored to every line of his frame. He looks… well, divine. Merlin, since when do I even notice things like that? Her gaze dips, almost unbidden, and her cheeks heat as she realizes just how spectacularly the suit fits him. For Circe’s sake, she thinks, willing herself to look away. He’s just Draco Malfoy—irritating, impossible, unreasonably fit Draco Malfoy.

“I didn’t even know you owned anything other than black!” Harry laughs. “In six years of school, the most color you wore was the green stripe on your tie.”

“This is the first—and will probably be the last—time I wear this suit,” Malfoy says with a grimace.

Not if I have anything to do with it, Hermione muses silently.

“I had hoped to blend in tonight, but…” He trails off with a resigned shrug.

“Honey, you’re 6’5”, have a hair color you can see from space, and you’re built like a brick shithouse,” Candy says, patting Malfoy’s arm. “Blending in was never an option, but it’s cute that you think so!”

“I think you all look great!” Hermione finally finds her voice, forcing herself to speak.

Her bodyguards cut a dashing picture, even without uniforms or standard black suits. Harry opted for brown brogues, a navy blue suit, a white shirt, and a blue and red striped tie. His wild hair is as hopeless as ever, and his round glasses, as always, sit slightly askew.

Candy’s ebony skin glows in contrast to his champagne suit, paired with a black shirt covered in a champagne paisley print, black cowboy boots, and a bolo tie featuring a gold and onyx slide.

“Just out of curiosity,” Malfoy says, flipping his wand through his fingers with a bored expression, “are we going to discuss clothes all night, or are we actually going to this gala at some point?”

“You can pretend to be grumpy all you want, Puddin’, but you know you love us,” Candy says, rolling his eyes affectionately. “I’ll head over first, make sure everything’s in order, and send a Patronus when it’s time for you to come through.”

The others nod in agreement before Candy gives a jaunty salute and disapparates with a pop.

“Merlin, I really like him, but is he always that…” Harry trails off, scratching his chin as he searches for the right word.

“Over the top?” Malfoy suggests. “Yes, always. But he wouldn’t be Candy otherwise.”

“You won’t hear me complain, though,” he adds. “He’s saved my life, literally and figuratively, more times than I can count.”

“I know the feeling,” Harry and Hermione chime in simultaneously, nudging each other playfully.

“That includes the nights he camped in my living room so he could take over when Scorpius had colic, and I was barely getting an hour of sleep each night,” Malfoy says quietly, before smirking. “Speaking of over the top, wait until you see his Patronus.”

Almost on cue, an ethereal blue dolphin glides through the wall, flipping and spinning before coming to a stop in front of Malfoy.

“Alright, party people, time to get this show on the road!” Candy’s Texas twang is even more delightful when delivered by his Patronus.

“Oh, Merlin, that’s amazing!” Hermione laughs, joined by Harry.

“You heard the man,” Malfoy says, gesturing toward the Floos. “Trust me, you don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Draco

Contrary to popular belief, Draco’s favorite color is not the emerald green of Slytherin House. At least, it wasn’t. After seeing Hermione Granger in a Slytherin green evening gown, that might change.

Trailing behind Potter and Granger, Draco lets himself really look at her.

Turnabout’s fair play, he thinks, knowing Granger thought she was being subtle when she checked him out earlier.

Her floor-length gown sparkles with emerald green sequins, the belt of large green stones cinching her tiny waist. The bodice features a deep V and an off-the-shoulder design, with tulle cap sleeves that leave her arms exposed, including her scar. Matching earrings dangle from her ears, while her gold heels give her a few extra inches of height.

Her makeup is delicate, enhancing her features, but what captivates Draco the most is her hair. The top half is pulled back by loose, elegant braids, blending seamlessly into the long curls cascading down her back.

I still think her hair would be a dream to play with. That thought isn’t new, but the fact that he finds himself reaching for her curls is. He quickly jams his hand in his pocket before he can do something to get himself hexed.

What the fuck, Malfoy?! he berates himself.

Harry’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. “Are you squeezing in or coming through after us?”

“I’ll be right behind you.” Draco’s pulse jolts when Granger gives him a small smile before disappearing in a swirl of green flames. He takes a breath, eyes fixed on the empty space where she stood. Keep it together, he reminds himself before following them.

When Draco steps out of the Floo, he catches the end of Harry’s sentence and immediately knows he’s in for it. Thankfully, the arrival area is empty except for their group.

“...and then Malfoy said your Patronus was over the top, but I like it!” Harry finishes.

Here the fuck we go, Draco thinks, leaning casually against the wall, waiting for the inevitable.

Candy squawks indignantly, “Over the top?! You take that back, Draco Malfoy!”

“No.”

“You’re gonna stand there and talk shit about Antonio? With that melodramatic, overgrown Patronus of yours?!”

“Wait… who’s Antonio?” Granger asks, trying to suppress a grin.

“His Patronus, obviously,” Draco drawls sarcastically, fighting to keep his own grin in check. “Do keep up, Granger.”

“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever heard of naming their Patronus,” Harry laughs.

“Show them yours. Now,” Candy demands, crossing his arms.

“No.”

“Do it, or I’ll take you out at the knees, and you know it.”

Draco sighs heavily, pushing himself off the wall. “Fine. But only because, after dealing with Theo and this suit, I’ve reached my limit for tantrums today.”

He pulls his wand from the shoulder holster under his jacket and steps back, concentrating on the memory he usually uses.

He’s flying under the stars, tears of relief streaming down his face. He’s finally free—free from Lucius’ expectations, free from the horrors of Voldemort in his home, and free from the house arrest that confined him to Malfoy Manor. In a few weeks, he’ll start his new life in America, and he’s never felt lighter.

“Expecto Patronum,” Draco says, moving his wand through the practiced motions. Within seconds, the blue light of his large Hebridean Black Patronus fills the hallway.

“I’m sorry to inform you, Malfoy,” Granger says, giggling, “but Candy’s right—you have no room to talk about over-the-top Patronuses.”

“Of course your Patronus would be a dragon,” Harry scoffs. “Honestly.”

“I’m sorry for making fun of Antonio,” Draco says begrudgingly, cutting his eyes toward Candy. “Satisfied?”

“For now!” Candy responds brightly.

“Well, since that’s sorted, I’m going to escort Hermione around to get her small talk out of the way,” Harry says.

Draco nods. “We’ll start checking the perimeter and coordinating with event security.”

“We’ll meet y’all backstage in 30 minutes to go over the plans for the speech again,” Candy adds, leading the way toward the ballroom.

Harry and Hermione merge into the crowd, while Candy heads left, focused on meeting with on-site security. He suddenly doubles back when he notices Draco still standing in place.

Candy slips a hand under Draco’s chin, only to have it swatted away.

“What the fuck are you doing now?” Draco growls.

“If you don’t close your mouth, you’ll catch flies, Honey-Bunch,” Candy says with a wink.

“As usual, I have no earthly idea what you’re on about.”

“Staring is impolite,” Candy singsongs, “and staring at Madam Ambassador’s ass is highly unprofessional to boot.”

Draco splutters in indignation. “I absolutely was not! You’ve completely lost the plot.”

“Sure. I believe you,” Candy replies, over-enunciating every word with a grin.

Rolling his eyes, Draco turns on his heel. “Come on, we’ve got work to do,” he mutters over his shoulder.

Hermione

Unequivocally, the seemingly never-ending small talk is Hermione’s least favorite part of her job. Give her a good, old-fashioned international relations crisis over schmoozing at events any day. Twenty minutes in, and she’d rather read Percy Weasley’s old report on the thickness of cauldron bottoms than listen to one more bragging businessman.

When she and Harry finally catch a break between conversations, they grab glasses of champagne off a floating tray. That’s when Harry decides to hit her with a verbal Bombarda.

“So,” Harry begins, “is this the part where I point out that you and Malfoy are about as subtle as a pair of graphorns?”

Hermione chokes, champagne nearly coming out of her nose. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this thing between the two of you,” Harry says with a roll of his eyes. “Godric, some days you could cut the sexual tension in your office with a knife.”

Hermione lets out a truly inelegant squawk. “Harry! Do I need to check you for a Confundus?”

“I’m not confused about anything,” Harry says. “Honestly. You were practically undressing him with your eyes not even an hour ago.”

“I was not!” Hermione hisses through clenched teeth.

“You know,” Harry says, ignoring her indignation, “I’d wager this has been going on a lot longer than you’re willing to admit.”

“In fact, I’d say it goes back to Hogwarts,” he continues, tapping his finger on his chin. “Definitely by sixth year, if Slughorn’s Amortentia lesson is anything to go by.”

“You’ve lost your mind!” Hermione exclaims. “My Amortentia was Ron.”

Harry snorts. “You’re really going to look me in my mother’s eyes and tell me Ron Weasley has ever smelled like anything other than greasy food, cheese, and cheap beer?”

Hermione crosses her arms, refusing to dignify that with a response.

“I do, however, know someone who has every reason, then and now, to smell like ‘new parchment and freshly mown grass,’” Harry says cheekily. “I haven’t gotten too up close and personal, but I’m sure spearmint toothpaste is also within the realm of possibilities.”

Hermione says nothing, closing her eyes and praying for the sweet release of death.

Harry slings an arm around her shoulders, tugging her close. “In all seriousness, Hermione, you know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I know,” she sighs, leaning her head on his shoulder. “It’s just… a lot.”

Harry gives her a curious look but stays quiet.

“It’s not about our past,” Hermione continues. “We were kids just trying to survive. I’ve moved on, and he’s apologized multiple times. He’s obviously changed… actions speak louder than words and all that.”

“Then what is it?” Harry asks quietly.

“Well, there’s Scorpius to consider.”

“If you don’t want to date a single dad, that’s your prerogative,” Harry says.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Hermione explains, “but kids are something I’m just not that familiar with.”

“Okay…” Harry draws out the word.

“Only child of older parents who were also only children, remember?” Hermione continues. “No cousins; all of my parents’ friends were either childless or had much older kids.”

Harry hums thoughtfully before pulling out his wand and casually checking her for Polyjuice use. When that reveals nothing, he follows up with a quick Finite Incantatem.

“What are you doing now, Harry?” Hermione asks, exasperated.

“Just making sure you’re the real Hermione Granger,” he quips. “Because the Hermione I know has never let unfamiliarity with a topic stop her before.”

Hermione clicks her tongue in response, cutting her eyes at him.

“I’m serious!” Harry laughs. “Don’t believe me?”

He begins counting off on his fingers. “Let me tell you about the Unstoppable Hermione Granger.”

“She’s literally kept my dumb arse alive since we were eleven, in so many ways I’ve lost count.”

“She figured out Rita Skeeter was an unregistered Animagus, trapped her in an indestructible jar, held her there for months, and threatened her with Azkaban if she ever spied again... a threat that still holds today.”

“Shut up, Harry!” Hermione hisses. “If you say that too loudly, I’ll be the one going to Azkaban.”

“She’s the reason I wasn’t out hunting Horcruxes forever.” Ignoring her, Harry continues. “The real Hermione Granger brewed Polyjuice Potion in a bathroom at twelve.”

“Yes, well, needs must,” Hermione sniffs.

“She broke into Gringotts pretending to be Bellatrix Lestrange, raided a vault, rescued a dragon, and rode said dragon to safety.”

“As if I’d leave the poor creature behind!” Hermione exclaims.

“There’s plenty more, but we’re running out of time,” Harry says with a grin. “Long story short, Hermione Granger has never let the fear of the unknown stop her. No need to start now.”

He guides her through the crowd, heading for their pre-speech meet-up with Candy and Malfoy.

“Besides,” he adds with a wink, “you and Mini Malfoy have been obsessed with each other from the moment you met. You’ll be fine. Kids are resilient.”

Hermione stops, grabbing him in a hug. “Thanks, Harry. That means a lot.”

“Don’t overthink it,” he says, squeezing her tightly. “Besides, there’s only room for one moping single in our flat, so something has to give.”

Hermione laughs. “I’m not jumping into anything, but I promise not to overthink.”

When they arrive backstage, Candy and Malfoy are already waiting. Candy, as always, is talking nonstop while Malfoy has taken up his usual position against the wall.

Only he could make leaning look that good, Hermione muses.

“Your stage awaits, Madame Ambassador,” Candy says, bowing with a flourish and throwing her a wink as he straightens. “Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, Candy,” Hermione replies with a grimace. “I hate giving speeches, but such is life, I suppose.”

“We’re at T-minus three minutes. Places, everyone!” Candy claps his hands, his usual exuberance intact. “I’ll be back here, making sure no one tries anything.”

“Potter and I will head out front and get in position,” Malfoy adds in a clipped tone.

“Constant vigilance!” Harry exclaims in his best Mad-Eye Moody voice.

Watching the three of them shift into Auror mode never fails to amuse Hermione. Their voices sharpen, spines straighten, and professional masks slip into place.

Hermione moves to her designated waiting area, nerves bubbling up as Candy takes up his post near the hallway.

“Break a leg!” Harry calls out before slipping through the curtains to his spot at the left side of the stage.

Hermione tries to smile but suspects it comes out more like a grimace. “I hate public speaking,” she grumbles, though no one is listening.

Her nerves build the closer her speech gets. Deep breaths, Hermione. You’ve done harder things.

As she looks down at the notecard in her hand, a rogue curl springs loose, brushing against her face. Before she can bat it away, cool fingertips graze her cheek, tucking the curl gently behind her ear.

Her eyes snap up to meet Malfoy’s. “You’ve faced scarier things, Golden Girl. You’ll be fine,” he murmurs, so close she can feel the cool edge to his magic, a calmness under the confidence. He slips his hands into his pockets and walks away.

Hermione’s cheeks burn as she watches him go, her mind buzzing. It was just a small gesture—a few quiet words, that’s all. So why is her pulse racing as if she’d been given a message no one else could hear? She presses her hand to her cheek, grounding herself. It was nothing… right? She shakes her head, forcing herself back to the speech as the curtains go up.

Deep breaths, Hermione, she reminds herself as she steps onto the stage. Just picture everyone in their underwear.

She catches sight of Malfoy just before reaching the podium. Except Malfoy. Definitely shouldn’t be picturing that right now.

Her speech passes in a blur, her mind still distracted by the feel of Malfoy’s hand in her hair. The applause catches her by surprise, but it seems to have gone well.

All that’s left is to signal for the food and step off the stage—an easy enough task, except the stairs lack a railing, and her dress is far from practical.

That’s all I need: to faceplant in front of everyone.

As she reaches the top of the stairs, she notices Malfoy has angled his body toward her, arm outstretched, offering his hand. His silver eyes are bright, the earlier occlusion gone.

The gesture—a subtle vulnerability from someone like him, an Auror who rarely lets his guard down—stuns her. For someone with his background to turn his back on a room full of people and drop his Occlumency shields… for her?

Hermione’s warm fingers grasp his cool hand, and her magic seems to leap in response to the touch. Malfoy gently guides her down the steps, his hand steady, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He releases her only when she’s safely on the floor.

As she walks away, she glances back in time to see him slip his Occlumency shields and professional mask back into place. Her gaze lingers just long enough to catch the subtle flex of his hand—the only sign that he felt it too.

Draco

Well, so much for Slytherin subtlety and self-preservation, Draco muses as he watches Granger settle at her table for dinner. At least Candy wasn’t around—small mercies.

“What did we say about staring, Dear?” Candy’s singsong voice interrupts his thoughts as he approaches.

“I’m not staring, Candy,” Draco sighs, already exasperated. “I’m observing the room. You know, our job for the evening?”

“Don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s rainin’,” Candy scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“If I didn’t know better,” he continues, “I’d say you, my overgrown friend, have a crush on Ms. Granger.”

“I do not,” Draco retorts, immediately cringing at how petulant he sounds, and suspecting the signature Malfoy sneer is plastered on his face. “Besides, we’re a little old for the word crush.”

“We’ve been over this,” Candy sighs dramatically. “Just because I talk slow doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

“I have never said you were stu—”

Candy holds up a hand, cutting Draco off. “And I’m also not blind, Sugar Britches.”

Draco pointedly refuses to meet Candy’s eyes.

“For what it’s worth, I’m certain she feels the same way,” Candy adds, bumping Draco’s shoulder playfully.

Draco turns to him, giving a disbelieving look.

“Don’t play dumb with me; it doesn’t suit you,” Candy sniffs, crossing his arms.

“Alright, fine,” Draco groans. “Not that it matters but with everything she’s got going on, do you really think she’d want to add my circus to the mix?” With her career, her spotless reputation, does Granger really need the weight of his past hanging over her? It’s one thing to work together, another thing entirely to invite that chaos into her life.

“I think you’re selling yourself short—and underestimating Ms. Granger’s ability to handle your ‘circus.’”

Draco keeps his face impassive but Candy’s words needle him. “I’m afraid we’ve got too much history between us to—”

“I’m sorry?!” Candy interjects loudly, his voice echoing. “I KNOW that Draco Motherfuckin’ Malfoy didn’t just say he’s afraid of something.”

Draco scoffs, shooting Candy an irritated glare.

“Because the Draco Malfoy I know ain’t scared of shit,” Candy finishes, raising an eyebrow daringly.

Candy crosses his arms over his chest, completely unconcerned with who might overhear their conversation.

“The Draco Malfoy I know survived livin’ with that no-nose-having-ass-bitch and managed to keep his sanity and soul intact while doin’ it.”

“Honestly, it’s not as if I had a choice.”

“The Draco Malfoy I know moved halfway across the world to start his life on his own terms, expectations be damned, rebuildin’ himself from the ground up, keepin’ only the best parts, and not givin’ a flyin’ fuck what anyone thought.”

Draco rolls his eyes, straightening his tie with a sigh, clearly trying to maintain his composure.

“The Draco Malfoy I know accepted a marriage he didn’t ask for because it was ‘the right thing to do,’ rather than leave Astoria to be married off to her parents’ god-awful second choice.”

“I wouldn’t have wished that eighty-year-old lech on my worst enemy.”

“The Draco Malfoy I know has more commendations than he knows what to do with,” Candy scoffs, jabbing a finger at Draco’s chest.

“Are you trying to make me blush?” Draco yawns, but there’s warmth in his eyes.

“The Draco Malfoy I know is the best friend, the best Auror, and the best father I’ve ever seen. And, I repeat, he ain’t scared of shit.” Candy steps up, brushing invisible dust from Draco’s shoulders, tweaking his already perfect lapels with a practiced hand.

“Now, get your blonde ass over there and get ya girl, or I swear I’m gonna beat the brakes off you,” he says sweetly, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Before Draco can recover from his second (or is it third?) dressing down of the night, Candy blows him a kiss and strolls off to patrol the room, leaving Draco staring after him, thoughtful and more than a little amused.

Draco begins his patrol, though conveniently, no matter where he goes in the room, his eyes always seem to land on Granger seated at the head table. More than once, he catches the distinct feeling he’s being watched, only to glance up and find her eyes locked on him.

Maybe I’m not the only one fighting a losing battle, he muses as he steps into the entry hall to continue his rounds.

When he re-enters the ballroom several minutes later, Granger is conspicuously absent from her seat. It takes everything in him not to break into a run as he heads straight for Potter, who’s mingling with guests.

“Potter,” Draco hisses, pulling him aside. “Where the fuck is Granger?”

“She just went to the loo a few minutes ago,” Potter replies, yanking his arm from Draco’s grip. “What’s your problem?”

“And you didn’t think it was important for one of her personal protection officers to check the hallway for her?” Draco whisper-shouts, doing his best not to cause a scene.

“She’s fine, Malfoy,” the other man says, rolling his eyes. “You and Candy have gone over this place a thousand times, and I’ve been with her all night.”

“You were right beside her when she was nearly blown to pieces too,” Draco snarls, turning on his heel and heading toward the hallway, silently praying Candy’s rounds have covered the area.

But any hope of that fades as soon as Draco spots Candy across the room, far from where Granger would have gone.

Draco steps into the hallway, magic chilling the air around him. Shadows stretch, his magic crackling beneath his skin. He clenches his jaw, instincts kicking in as voices drift toward him—one male, one female. Granger. His pulse quickens, and the temperature drops again as his magic spikes. He moves closer, careful to stay just outside her line of sight, his breath coming in tight, controlled inhales.

Draco’s stomach twists as McLaggen’s hand wraps around her elbow, his thumb brushing possessively over her bare skin. He sees her pull back, her shoulders tight, her lips pressed together—but McLaggen only steps closer, his hand moving from her arm to her shoulder, fingers curling into her skin as though he has any right to touch her. Draco’s grip on his magic slips, and the hallway grows colder still, his own breath visible in the sudden chill.

Hermione shoves McLaggen away, her voice taut with controlled fury. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Cormac? Back off.” Her words come out sharper than he’s ever heard, each one a slap meant to drive McLaggen back. But the bastard only chuckles, leaning closer as if this is all some kind of game.

That’s enough. Draco steps forward, the cold biting hard into his skin, barely able to keep his fury from bursting forth. “I believe Madam Ambassador asked you to back off, McLaggen.” His voice sharpens to an arctic chill, each word sinking like a splinter of ice through the frigid hallway.

The words come out low and controlled, his voice freezing the air between them as he takes another step. He can feel Granger’s gaze flicker to him, hear her sharp exhale as he approaches.

McLaggen manages to put his arm around Granger’s shoulders, and if Draco was angry before, now he’s incandescent with rage.

I am going to tear him to pieces.

“Malfoy?” McLaggen’s eyes narrow in irritation, but he tries to sound cool. “Who do you think you are, getting involved in Hermione’s business?”

“Me?” Draco gives a low, mirthless laugh as he strides closer, his presence looming, intimidating. He draws his wand from the holster across his chest with a smooth, deliberate motion. “I’m the Auror who’s going to tear you limb from limb and then get a commendation for it.”

Granger meets McLaggen’s eye, her own voice sharp. “If you have trouble with boundaries, I suggest listening to Malfoy.” She shrugs off his grip with a grim look, letting McLaggen see her wand at the ready.

“Listen here, Death Eater—”

“How original,” Draco sneers, drawing himself up to his full, imposing height. His voice is icy, dripping with disdain. “Apparently, you’ve never learned that ‘no’ means ‘no.’”

He leans in, his towering frame blocking McLaggen’s escape. “That’s okay. I’ll be happy to teach you.”

McLaggen gulps, realizing how dire the situation is. He backs against the wall, his confidence evaporating under Draco’s relentless gaze.

“Hermione, put your pet Death Eater back on his leash,” McLaggen spits. “I never thought you’d sink so low as to spend time with the likes of him.”

Granger’s eyes flash with anger, her voice cold and venomous. “Ex-Death Eater. And he said what he said. Leave me the fuck alone, McLaggen.”

McLaggen wisely falls silent, his arrogance replaced by fear. His eyes dart between them, realizing his odds are grim.

Draco glances at Granger, silently checking to ensure she’s okay. She gives him a quick, reassuring nod in response.

“If you’re ready, Madam Ambassador,” Draco says, his voice suddenly calm and posh as he offers her his arm. “I’ll escort you back to the ballroom. I believe Mr. McLaggen should stay here and… cool his heels, shall we say?”

Granger’s eyes widen as she realizes what Draco’s done. With a wordless spell, he’s not only locked McLaggen in place but his barely controlled magic has frozen the other man’s shoes to the floor.

Granger slips her hand into the crook of Draco’s elbow, her fingers gripping tightly, betraying her nerves. “Lead the way, Auror Lieutenant Malfoy.”

As they walk silently down the hall, both are lost in their thoughts. Just before they reach the entrance to the ballroom, Draco gently pulls them to a stop, turning to face her.

"Are you okay, Granger?" he asks quietly, his voice softer than usual.

“I really am,” she replies with a small smile. “Thank you for finding me.”

Draco shrugs, trying to downplay the intensity of the situation. “You seemed to have it under control, but a little backup never hurts.”

Granger studies his face, her gaze lingering. “What about you? Are you okay?”

He tilts his head, looking at her with mild confusion. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Your lips are turning blue,” she says dryly, as if it should be obvious.

“Oh.” Draco lets out a soft laugh, the tension easing. “My magic has always run cold, but it tends to put on a bit of a show in high-stakes situations.”

He visibly reins in his magic, and she watches as the color returns to his face and lips.

“Better?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Much,” she replies with a light giggle, her relief evident.

They start walking again, and Draco casually asks, “By the way, why didn’t you text me? I gave you my number for emergencies, remember?”

“I know,” she sighs, her tone tinged with frustration. “I just can’t get used to carrying my phone in magical situations. You know how it is—no one in Wizarding England really uses them, and half the magical buildings there are so archaically warded that phones wouldn’t work even if they wanted to.”

“True,” Draco agrees. “It took me a while to get used to it too. But try to remember next time. If all else fails, you can always reach me that way.”

“I will,” she promises, her quick agreement betraying how unsettled she still feels about the encounter with McLaggen.

“Good,” Draco mutters, his tone darkening. “Now, let’s go find Potter so I can tear him a new arsehole.”

Granger winces. “Don’t be too hard on him. I told him I’d be fine.”

Draco shoots her a sidelong glance. “Not the point, Granger.”

He stalks across the ballroom, laser-focused on Potter's back as Granger trails behind him, clearly trying to mitigate the situation. Potter, surrounded by a group of admirers, is in the middle of a lively story, oblivious to the storm approaching.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I need to steal you away for a moment, Harry,” Granger interjects, attempting to diffuse the tension before Draco can explode.

He joins them with his usual jovial smile, but it falters as soon as he registers Draco's scowl. Before he can react, Draco grips Harry by the arm and physically turns him toward the door behind them.

“Hallway. Now,” Draco growls, his voice low and dangerous, the anger from earlier quickly boiling back to the surface.

Granger bites her lip as Candy, sensing trouble from across the room, heads over to join them. The group slips into the hallway, and Granger discreetly casts a Muffliato to prevent anyone from overhearing the impending confrontation.

“Honestly, Malfoy. What’s your pr—”Potter begins, only to be cut off by a wandless, wordless silencing spell from Draco.

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco spits, his tone cold and venomous, reminiscent of their sixth-year rivalry. “You don’t get to talk right now.”

Candy and Granger wisely step back, letting the two Aurors have their confrontation.

Draco, now towering over the other man, jabs a finger into his chest. “Do you have any idea what kind of situation you just put Granger in?” His voice rises with each word. “Or better yet, care to explain why you weren’t doing your job tonight?”

Potter shakes off the silencing spell, standing to his full height, ready for a fight. “What the fuck are you talking about, Malfoy?” He shouts, his frustration mirroring Draco’s. “She was fine! She went to the bathroom for a few minutes, that's it!”

Draco’s magic pulses dangerously, the hallway growing colder by the second. Frost creeps along the nearby flower vases, a physical manifestation of his rage.

“I was with her for at least ten minutes,” Draco snarls. “And who knows how long she’d been missing before that!”

Potter pales as the realization of his negligence hits him.

Draco continues, his voice laced with bitter sarcasm. “What, were you too busy basking in the glory of being the Chosen One to notice that your best friend—the one you swore to protect—was in trouble?”

His magic surges, and ice crystals begin to form in the air. Granger’s Muffliato might block the sound, but the intensity of Draco’s magic is palpable.

Draco sneers, his anger reaching a peak. “Want to know what I walked in on, Potter? Fucking Cormac McLaggen had her cornered, pawing at her like a damn animal.”

Potter’s head whips around to Granger, guilt flashing across his face. “McLaggen? Hermione, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“And that,” Candy chimes in firmly, before Granger can respond, “is the point, Harry. You didn’t know what she was walking into.”

Draco nods, his fists clenched. “Exactly.”

He’s about to launch into another tirade when Granger steps forward, placing a hand on his chest, directly over his rapidly beating heart.

“Malfoy,” she says softly, pulling his attention back to her. “I appreciate you looking out for me, but I’m fine. You said it yourself—I had it under control.”

Her voice is calm, soothing, as she continues, her touch grounding him. “You need to calm down. Your lips are turning blue again.”

Draco’s mind flickers briefly, a touch of levity returning. Looking at my mouth a lot, aren’t we, Granger? he thinks, though he doesn’t say it out loud.

Granger turns to Potter, addressing both of them now. “I shouldn’t have gone off alone, and Harry shouldn’t have let me. We’re both at fault. Right, Harry?”

“Right,” he mutters, his remorse evident. “Lesson learned.”

Candy, sensing the tension dissipating, speaks up with his usual humor. “Now, for the love of all things warm and sunny, fix the damn temperature in here. I’m too Texan for your dramatic ice magic.”

Draco takes a deep breath, visibly relaxing as the air returns to a more tolerable temperature. The frost recedes, and the tension finally begins to lift.

“Wait,” Potter says, his eyes widening. “That cold was you?”

Draco shrugs. “It’s just what my magic does when the adrenaline kicks in.”

Potter shakes his head in disbelief. “Well, that’s just disturbing in a way that biscuits and lifts can’t quite reach.”

Draco rolls his eyes while Candy and Granger exchange a laugh.

“Come on,” Granger says, addressing them all with a small smile. “Let me go say goodnight to the event organizers, and then we can head back to the office.”

Hermione

Hermione watches in amusement as Malfoy and Candy step out of the Floo. True to form, Malfoy emerges from the fireplace like he's stepping onto a magazine cover, while Candy stumbles over his feet, nearly sprawling onto the floor.

Is there anything he doesn’t look good doing? Hermione wonders, biting back a smile.

“Show-off,” Candy grumbles, giving a playful kick to the back of Malfoy’s knee.

“It’s not my fault you have all the grace of a newborn giraffe,” Malfoy replies, his voice dripping with mock haughtiness.

“Don’t worry, Candy, I’m just as bad,” Harry laughs, stepping in with his usual easygoing nature.

Hermione pulls Candy into a hug. “Thank you both for coming. I know my schedule can be inconvenient.”

As soon as she lets go, she realizes her dilemma: awkwardly hug Malfoy or awkwardly not hug him. Judging by the smirk on his face, he’s fully aware of the predicament.

To her surprise, Malfoy makes the first move, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. She notices that even in her heels, she doesn’t quite reach his shoulder.

“You’re welcome, Granger,” he says with a wink, apparently unconcerned that Harry and Candy are watching.

Hermione blushes, pulling her hair over one shoulder and clearing her throat, twice. Harry and Candy exchange amused, knowing glances that scream, ‘I knew it!’

“Well, I suppose this is where we part ways for the weekend—or what’s left of it,” she says, trying to regain her composure. “Come on, Harry, I need to put my report together.”

“Oh, but I was just going to suggest we all go grab a drink!” Candy exclaims.

“Yes, please!” Harry jumps in, while Malfoy, without missing a beat, drawls, “Absolutely not.”

“Come on, Hermione,” Harry grins. “What’s the point of having an assistant if you’re writing your own reports on the weekend?”

Hermione glares at him in response, not dignifying the suggestion with an answer.

“And you, Buttercup?” Candy prods, poking him in the chest. “What’s your excuse? Theo’s babysitting tonight.”

Malfoy casts a Tempus charm, revealing it’s nearing 1:00 AM. He raises an eyebrow at Candy. “Did you forget your godson thinks 5:00 AM is a perfectly acceptable time to get up on Sunday mornings?”

“I know!” Harry exclaims, snapping his fingers with a grin. “Malfoy, you can make sure Hermione gets home!”

Before either of them can protest, Candy grabs Harry’s arm, winks, and they both Disapparate with a loud pop.

“Did they just—” Hermione starts, trailing off in disbelief.

“Children,” Malfoy sighs, shaking his head. “We work with children.”

For a moment, they avoid each other’s eyes, suddenly unsure how to navigate the situation without Harry and Candy as buffers.

“I can skip making notes tonight,” Hermione suggests. “That way, you can get home sooner.”

“It’s fine,” Malfoy replies with a tired yawn. “If I’m not ready to get up when Scorp is, he’ll just crawl into bed with me.”

“That’s so sweet!” Hermione coos, smiling at the thought.

“You’d think so,” Malfoy says, snorting with laughter. “Until you get a three-year-old launching himself onto your chest and prying your eyes open. Not to mention the ‘Daddy-can’t-function-yet’ box of cereal that gets crumbs all over the bed while he sings along to whatever Disney film he’s picked.”

Hermione laughs at the vivid picture he paints. “Alright, how about we split the difference? I’ll make a few quick notes, and then we’ll head out.”

“Lead the way, Milady,” Malfoy says, bowing with exaggerated grace.

A giggle escapes Hermione before she can stop herself. Circe, how does he manage to turn me into a giggling idiot?

They make their way to her office, settling into a comfortable silence as they work. Time slips away, as it often does when Hermione gets focused, and nearly 45 minutes pass before she notices the clock.

“Oh, goodness!” she exclaims, standing up abruptly. “I’m so sorry, Malfoy! Why didn’t you say something?”

“I think I actually fell asleep,” he admits with a sleepy chuckle. Malfoy rolls his shoulders, stretching the tension out of his muscles with a yawn.

Hermione freezes as he steps into the light. He’s taken off his jacket and tie, leaving him in just his waistcoat, with the familiar wand holster strapped across his broad shoulders and chest. To make things worse—or better, depending on your perspective—he’s undone the top two buttons of his shirt and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing his tattoos.

Merlin, help me, Hermione thinks, her heart speeding up at the sight.

“Ready to head back down?” he asks, trying—and failing—to stifle another jaw-popping yawn.

Bless him, he must be exhausted, Hermione thinks before nodding. “Ready if you are.”

As they reach the atrium, Hermione instinctively turns toward the Floos but pauses after just a few steps.

“Wait, you usually Apparate, right? We can do that if you’d prefer.”

A small smirk tugs at the corner of Malfoy’s mouth. “It’s Scorpius who has exacting travel preferences; I’m fine with either.”

Hermione tilts her head in confusion. “I thought kids hated Apparition?”

“Most do,” he shrugs. “But Scorpius has inherited the Malfoy flair for the dramatic, I’m afraid. I think he loves apparating because it lets him show up spotless, while his nursery friends crawl out of the Floo looking like they’ve been through a coal mine.”

Hermione can’t suppress a snort of laughter at the perfect mental image. “Well, in honor of Scorpius, we’ll Apparate!”

She holds out her arm for side-along Apparition and tries to ignore the rush of magic when Malfoy’s hand wraps around her forearm. She concentrates on her living room, making sure they don’t appear in her bedroom—a mistake she’d rather avoid, given the circumstances.

Hermione has never been a fan of the sensation of being squeezed through a tube, but it’s hard to hate when it brings her home in mere seconds. “Here we are, home sweet home,” she murmurs as the lights of her living room flicker on at their arrival.

“Very nice,” Malfoy replies, his voice just as soft. “If you don’t mind, I’ll do a quick sweep.”

Hermione nods, slipping her wand from the hidden pocket in her dress, just in case. “Thank you.”

As he moves through her home, she takes a deep, steadying breath. Play it cool, Hermione; he’s here for work.

A few minutes later, Malfoy returns. “You’re all clear,” he says, offering her a small smile. “Not that it’s surprising. Your wards are impressive.”

“Old habit,” Hermione shrugs. The memory of their year on the run, where wards had been a matter of survival, flickers briefly in her mind.

Malfoy doesn’t respond, his gaze dropping to the floor as her words seem to resonate. Strands of his hair have slipped free from their knot, falling loose around his face, softened by the late hour.

Before she can think better of it, Hermione’s hand moves of its own accord, gently tucking a lock behind his ear. Her fingers linger, brushing against his jaw.

So much for playing it cool, she thinks, her hand cupping his face.

“Thank you– for everything tonight.” she whispers, her fingers lingering on his cheek longer than she planned.

“Of course, Granger,” His gaze meets hers, quiet but warm, and he leans in just enough that her heart starts to race.

Her gaze flickers from his plush lips to the warmth in his eyes, noticing that his attention follows the same path on her. Her other hand finds the firm muscle of his arm as she rises on tiptoes, bringing herself closer.

He seems to understand her unspoken intentions. One of his hands tangles gently in the hair at the nape of her neck, while the other settles on her waist. He leans down, closing the distance between them.

They pause, mere millimeters apart, their breaths mingling in the quiet space. The moment is charged, both of them ready to bridge that final gap—

Suddenly, a flamingo-shaped Patronus bursts into the room, rudely shattering the moment.

“Draco!” Theo’s voice rings out. Hermione recognizes it immediately, though deeper and more frantic than she remembers from their school days. “I don’t know where the bloody hell you are, but I need you home!”

The Patronus continues in a shriek, “Scorpius woke me up crying, saying he didn’t feel well, and you know Auntie Theo can’t handle illness!”

Theo’s voice rises into a near hysterical pitch. “Sweet Baby Merlin, help me! Scorp, please don’t throw up! If you do, I—” The Patronus fades away just as Theo’s message is cut off by the sound of gagging.

Draco lets out a deep sigh and rests his forehead gently against Hermione’s. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“Of course,” Hermione replies, squeezing his hand before stepping back. “Scorpius needs you… and Theo, apparently.”

Draco rolls his eyes, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Theo’s a drama queen.”

He steps back reluctantly, his gaze holding hers for a beat longer than necessary. “We’ll talk soon, yes?”

Hermione’s pulse quickens, the words feeling far less casual than he intended. “I’d like that,” she manages, her voice softer than she’d like.

“Sweet dreams, Granger,” He gives her a small, wistful smile, the kind she wasn’t used to seeing from him—open, warm, and disarmingly vulnerable. Since when did ‘sweet dreams’ sound like an invitation?

“Goodnight, Malfoy,” she whispers as he disapparates with a soft pop.

Two hours later, Hermione is woken by the unmistakable sound of a rather drunk Harry trying (and failing) to quietly make his way to his room. Groaning softly, she gets up to check on him.

“Alright, Harry?” she asks, cracking her door open just enough to peer into the hallway.

“Yeah,” he slurs, leaning heavily against his door across the hall, his glasses more than slightly askew. “Sorry I woke you.”

“It’s fine,” Hermione replies with a sleepy yawn. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“That’s why you’re the best,” Harry mumbles, his usual drunken sentimentality kicking in. “You’re always lookin’ out for me. G’night.”

“Goodnight, Harry,” she responds, smiling fondly as she shuts her door with a soft click.

As Hermione settles back into bed, she glances at the phone on her nightstand. It’s not an emergency, but I think this counts as a legitimate reason to contact him, she thinks, reaching for the device.

H: How is Scorpius?

She winces when she sees it’s just past 4 AM. If anyone’s awake, surely it’s the guy with the sick toddler, she reasons. Less than 30 seconds later, his reply arrives.

D: Better and worse.

The short text is followed by a picture that keeps Malfoy mostly out of frame, focusing instead on a sleeping Scorpius snuggled up against his side in a dimly lit room, with Pesto tucked under one arm. Judging by the soft-looking t-shirt and joggers barely visible at the edge of the photo, Malfoy’s at least had time to change.

D: Better in that he calmed down when I got here. I’m not sure who was crying more—Scorpius or Theo.

D: Worse in that he’s now spiked a fever. I’m worried this might be more than the 24-hour bug he had a while back.

H: Poor little love. The next time he's awake, tell him Minnie hopes he feels better soon.

H: How are you?

D: I’ll tell him! I feel fine. I hate that he’s sick, but so far, I don’t think I have it.

H: Thank goodness for that! Is there anything I can do to help?

D: Not right now, but thanks. The only thing to do is stay cuddled up with him and keep him hydrated.

The idea of Draco Malfoy using the phrase “cuddled up” makes Hermione’s heart swell. He really is such a dad, she thinks with a smile.

H: I suppose I should ask after Theo too.

D: I’m sure you can imagine my eye roll. He’s fine; he’s supposed to go check on the Nott Estate in the morning, so he’s hiding out in his suite until then.

D: Wait… why are you up?

H: I wasn’t until a very drunk Harry thought he was being stealthy when he came home a few minutes ago.

D: I’ve always said that Potter doesn’t have a subtle or stealthy bone in his body.

H: LOL

D: I should try to get some sleep while Scorp’s asleep. Thanks again for checking on him.

H: Anytime. Goodnight, Malfoy.

D: Sweet dreams, Granger.

Hermione puts her phone back on her nightstand, unable to keep the smile off her face as she drifts off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Draco

June 28, 2009

New York City

Draco gently extricates himself from his sleeping son’s grip, hoping his bladder doesn’t explode before he reaches the bathroom. Maybe he’ll stay asleep long enough for a quick shower and change of clothes, he thinks optimistically as he tiptoes across the room.

Just a few steps away, he hears Scorpius shifting in bed.

Sighing inwardly, Draco resigns himself to another quick Scourgify. So much for that shower, he thinks, glancing back at his son.

“Daddy? Where you goin’?” Scorpius asks, his voice sleepy and mumbled.

“Just to the loo, Scorp,” Draco answers softly. “I’ll be right back.”

Scorpius pouts, clearly unhappy about his father leaving, but nods with a tired “‘Kay.”

Draco casts a longing glance at his luxurious shower stall—the rainfall fixture practically taunting him. Magical controls ensure it’s always at the perfect temperature, with the best water pressure. He may have shed many of his Malfoy luxuries, but that shower was non-negotiable.

With a deep sigh, he turns away from the shower, his bladder reminding him that he’s been trapped under a toddler for hours. After washing his hands, he casts a quick wandless scourgify over himself and his clothes before heading back.

“See? Told you I wouldn’t be gone long,” Draco says cheerfully. “I need to grab more Pedialyte from the kitchen and find something you’ll eat. Are you staying here or coming with me?”

“Wif you,” Scorpius whines, reaching up with grabby hands.

“Thought so,” Draco chuckles, lifting him up. “Up you get!”

The house was quiet with Penny and Theo away, and with Scorpius sick, they’d traded their usual MACUSA rush for a slower, cozy routine. Draco is lost in thought as they enter the kitchen. Sunday’s pediatric visit had confirmed Muggle flu, leaving Scorpius on bed rest and fluids.

Draco’s mind had whirled as they left the clinic, uncertain if “rest and fluids” would be enough. Once, Malfoy pride would have stopped him from asking for help, but that pride didn’t stand a chance where Scorpius was concerned.

“What good did isolation, stubborn pride, and a refusal to ask for help ever do for you?” his Mind Healer had once asked. Remembering this, Draco pulled out his phone.

“Hello?” Granger’s voice was soft over the line.

“Granger, it’s Malfoy,” he began.

She didn’t bother pointing out that his name had popped up on caller ID.

“Sorry to bother you, but I just left the Healer with Scorpius, and he has Muggle flu,” Draco explained.

“Poor lamb,” she cooed. “Anything I can do to help?”

“I just have a few questions. I know nothing about Muggle illnesses, so who better to ask than the Brightest Witch of Her Age, who also happens to be Muggleborn?”

“Alright, ask away!” she laughed.

She confirmed the Healer’s instructions and suggested electrolyte drinks and Muggle medicines for children.

Not five minutes later, another call came in—from Candy.

“How’s my little sugar lump doin’?” Candy asked, his concern clear.

Draco repeated what he’d told Granger, and Candy promised to arrive with supplies within the hour. True to his word, he apparated in 45 minutes later, his head encased in a Bubble Head Charm.

“I love y’all, but y’all can keep this flu to yourselves,” Candy said, setting grocery bags on the kitchen island.

“Thanks, Candy,” Draco replied gratefully. “I was just figuring out what to do when you called.”

“It takes our strange little village!” Candy grinned, blowing a kiss at Scorpius before disapparating.

Draco snaps out of his reverie as they reach the fridge. “Alright, Scorp, what’ll it be?” he asks, gesturing to the drink options.

Scorpius points listlessly to the grape bottle.

“And how about a popsicle, soup, or applesauce?”

“Po’sicle,” Scorpius murmurs, his thumb barely leaving his mouth.

Draco’s heart aches at the sight of his normally lively son so lethargic. “You got it, love,” he says, pressing a kiss to Scorpius’s feverish forehead. “Time for more medicine too.”

A few minutes later, they’re back in Draco’s bed, with Scorpius’ cup and popsicle charmed to prevent spills and melting.

“Do you want to keep watching this?” Draco asks. “Or do you want something else?”

“Fis movie,” Scorpius mumbles around his popsicle.

‘This movie’ is the umpteenth showing of Finding Nemo, which has been on repeat since Sunday morning. Why did I even ask? Draco thinks with an internal sigh.

“Whatever you want, buddy,” he says, settling Scorpius against his chest.

As the film begins yet again, Draco lets his mind wander, thinking back to his recent conversation with Granger. A soft smile spreads across his face.

Hermione

Hermione hums to herself as she gets ready on Monday morning, replaying moments from her weekend interactions with Malfoy in her mind. She wonders if she imagined the tenderness in his eyes or the almost-kiss in her apartment.

They’d texted on and off throughout the weekend, beginning with her checking on Scorpius, which gradually turned into casual conversation. By Sunday afternoon, their exchange had evolved into a flurry of messages.

H: How are things going?

D: Currently nap-trapped.

H: Nap-trapped?

He responded with a selfie showing Scorpius sprawled across his chest, the toddler’s hair and Pesto obscuring half of Malfoy’s face.

D: I think I’m breathing hair and dragon fur instead of air.

H: I see your toddler and raise you one gigantic orange fur ball.

She sent her own selfie with Crookshanks wrapped around her head, one paw covering her eye.

D: Scorpius is cuter, so I think I win.

H: True! How’s he doing?

D: As well as can be expected, I suppose. We’ve been cooped up in my bedroom since the gala, except for the pediatric clinic visit. I might go mad from staring at the same walls and listening to the same film on repeat.

H: Oh, you poor dear!

D: Your mockery wounds me, Granger. When I’m locked up in the American version of the Janus Thickey ward, remember this conversation.

H: LOL

D: Also, I hope you know I’m kidding. I could do without the same film on repeat, but whatever Scorp wants, he gets until he’s better.

H: I know! But adult company might do you wonders.

D: One can dream.

Smiling at the memory, Hermione tucks a change of clothes into her beaded bag, her evening plans already decided.

As she and Harry reach her office, she wonders if he or Candy will be with her today. Malfoy had mentioned in his texts that he’d be out at least Monday and Tuesday, with either Harry or Candy filling in.

“Top of the mornin’ to ya, Madam Ambassador!” Candy announces, turning away from Septima’s desk. “Howdy, Harry! Thought I’d work up here and let you keep your regular schedule.”

Mystery solved, Hermione thinks.

After greeting Candy and exchanging pleasantries with Septima, Hermione heads to her desk while Harry heads home.

To her surprise, Candy isn’t as chatty a worker as she’d expected, and they spend a few hours in companionable silence, each absorbed in their tasks.

“Can I ask you a question?” Hermione eventually breaks the quiet.

“But of course, Madam Ambassador,” Candy replies, his Southern charm making her smile despite her repeated reminders that he doesn’t need to call her by her title.

“What was Malfoy like when you two were in training together?”

Candy’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “If you’re askin’ how he went from the ‘Malfoy’ you knew to the Draco I know, that’s his story to tell,” he says with a wicked grin. “But if you’re curious about how I introduced him to the modern world, I’m more than happy to oblige!”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to know!” Hermione laughs.

With that, Candy dives into a story. He sets the scene: their first day out of training, standing outside the MACUSA Auror Department bullpen.

“Now, keep in mind, he’d been complainin’ about the uniform all through Auror Academy,” Candy begins. “So I shouldn’t have been surprised when he showed up wearin’ what he wanted on day one!”

“Start as you mean to go on, I suppose,” Hermione snorts.

Candy continues, “He opens the door, and it’s loud in there—phones ringin’, people talkin’ over each other—you know how it is. After a few seconds, Draco looks over at me like he’s seen a ghost--not in the fun way either-- and says, ‘What on earth is that infernal racket?’”

Candy’s attempt to mimic Malfoy’s refined accent has Hermione in stitches.

“I just stared at him, tryin’ to figure out what he meant,” Candy says, struggling to keep a straight face. “Then it hits me. I go, ‘Look, darlin’, I know y’all practically live in the Dark Ages over there, but are you tellin’ me you’ve never heard a telephone ring?’”

“If looks could kill!” Candy shakes his head, grinning. “He just glared and muttered, ‘Obviously.’”

Hermione wipes away tears of laughter, motioning for him to continue.

“That also explained why he didn’t get the Janet Jackson reference I made when we met,” Candy says, feigning disappointment. “So, I took it upon myself to educate him in pop culture and No-Maj technology!”

“Please tell me you were the one to teach him how to use a phone,” Hermione giggles.

“Guilty as charged!” Candy replies with a wink. “But that’s a story best told over a drink.”

After they return from lunch in the MACUSA cafeteria, Hermione decides to set her plan into motion.

“Candy?” she asks, drawing his attention from his files.

“Yes, ma’am?” he responds, cheerfully.

“Would you help me with some plans for this evening?”

His ebony eyes sparkle, as if he already knows where this is headed. “I’d be delighted!”

She explains her plan to surprise Malfoy with dinner and asks Candy to pick up dinner and more supplies for Scorpius.

“Well, isn’t this just a spectacular turn of events!” he exclaims. “Just so you know, my godson’s a picky eater, so keep that in mind.”

They finalize a plan for Candy to pick up dinner and supplies. Hermione quickly texts Harry to fill him in, then messages Malfoy to casually find out his favorite takeaway.

H: Random question: what’s your favorite takeaway?

D: Chinese, hands down. Why?

H: Just curious!

D: Have you had American-style Chinese takeaway yet?

H: No, not yet! Hopefully soon, though.

D: Once you try it, you’ll never go back to the British stuff.

H: Duly noted.

D: After three days of protein drinks, I’d do some sketchy shite for Szechuan beef or spicy sesame noodles. Hell, I’d eat both at once at this point.

H: Why three days of protein drinks?

D: Scorpius won’t let me put him down long enough to cook. Duh.

H: LOL

H: Anyway, back to work!

D: Just know, I’ll be tortured by daydreams of Chinese takeaway the rest of the day.

As 5:00 approaches, Hermione wraps up her day while Harry pops in to cover for Candy. Meanwhile, Candy heads out to pick up a smorgasbord of Chinese food, along with extra drinks, popsicles, and medicine for Scorpius—just in case Malfoy is running low.

“So, hot date with Malfoy tonight, huh?” Harry teases, smirking.

“It’s not a date!” Hermione exclaims, rolling her eyes. “I’m just helping out since Scorpius is sick.”

Harry hums, clearly unconvinced. “Right. You’re just risking the flu to see him.”

“Scorpius is past the contagious window,” Hermione scoffs.

“Looked that up, did you?” Harry’s smirk widens into a full grin.

“Absolutely not,” Hermione replies, straightening her posture. “I already knew that.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to change,” she says pointedly.

In the bathroom, Hermione gives her outfit a quick once-over. The soft leggings and oversized tunic may not win any fashion awards, but they’re perfect for a casual evening of (hopefully) giving Malfoy a break while she entertains a sick toddler. Plus, she thinks she looks cute.

When she returns to her office, Candy and Harry are finalizing their plans to hit a wizarding bar for a European Quidditch match.

“Well, don’t you look cute as a bug’s ear!” Candy exclaims, spotting her.

“You’re too kind, Candy,” Hermione laughs.

“Almost forgot to mention it but I put the food under a stasis charm for you,” Candy adds, tapping his forehead.

“Ready?” Harry asks, clearly eager to get to the bar and the game.

“Almost.” Hermione shrinks the bags on her desk, tucking them into her beaded bag. “Now I’m ready.”

The trio heads to the Floo area on the main floor, with Harry and Candy already deep into a Quidditch debate.

At the Floo, Harry pulls her into a side hug. “Let me know when you’re ready to leave. If I’m not home, I’ll swing by and check everything over before you head out.”

“You got it!” Hermione says brightly, grabbing a handful of Floo powder.

She tosses the powder into the grate, watching the emerald flames roar to life as Candy calls out, “Malfoy House, Harlem!” With a quick wave to Harry and Candy, Hermione steps into the green flames and disappears.

When Hermione steps into the small sitting room, she’s immediately surprised by the decor. Her expectations of dramatic Slytherin tones vanish as she takes in the bright, light beige walls and crisp hardwood, the space warm and inviting. Abstract paintings and modern light fixtures add an unexpected touch. The sage-green couch and low coffee table make for a minimalist, cozy entryway—not the heart of the house.

Hermione lingers by the fireplace, assuming Malfoy would have been alerted by the Floo, but after a couple of minutes, he still hasn’t appeared.

Peeking around the door frame, she spots the kitchen down a short hall and sees shadows moving inside. Debating whether to head that way or call out, she silently laments, I didn’t really think this through. Sneaking up on an Auror, especially one caring for a sick child, might not be the best idea.

Finally, she splits the difference, walking partway down the hall before softly calling, “Malfoy, are you in there?”

There’s a clatter—something like a plastic cup falling—followed by footsteps approaching.

“Granger?” his voice echoes from the other room.

When he appears, Scorpius perched on his hip, Hermione’s heart clenches at the sight. Both are in their pyjamas, neither looking as though they’ve slept much. Malfoy’s eyes have dark circles beneath them, and both are rumpled, yet they’re a picture of warmth.

“Erm… surprise?” Hermione says, bouncing awkwardly on the balls of her feet in her slippers.

“It certainly is that,” he replies, a smirk tugging at his lips.

They stand there for a few beats, staring at each other, Scorpius blinking sleepily and looking between them.

“I brought dinner!” Hermione says brightly, trying to break the tension. “I thought you could use something besides another protein shake.”

An unreadable emotion flickers across Malfoy’s face before he closes the short distance between them.

“You, Granger, are a goddess among women!” he exclaims with a laugh, pulling her into a one-armed hug while holding Scorpius with the other.

Goodness, he really is gigantic, Hermione thinks, realizing that without her usual heels, she barely reaches the middle of his chest.

This puts her face-to-face with Scorpius.

“Hi, love,” she whispers gently. “I’m sorry you don’t feel well.”

“Hi, Minnie,” Scorpius whispers back, his voice raspy. “I ‘kay.”

“Oh, so you upgrade to ‘okay’ when Minnie’s here, huh?” Malfoy teases, stepping back but keeping a firm hold on his son.

“Where are my manners?” Malfoy says, smacking his forehead. “The kitchen’s through here.”

The kitchen is spacious and filled with natural light from large windows overlooking a small, walled garden. Gleaming white cabinets and countertops are paired with stainless steel appliances, set against the same rich hardwood floors Hermione noticed in the hallway.

As she unpacks her infamous beaded bag, unshrinking the grocery and takeaway bags, Malfoy and Scorpius watch her with mild curiosity.

“Not to look a gift hippogriff in the mouth, Granger,” Malfoy says, “but to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“You seemed like you could use an extra set of hands,” Hermione replies with a casual shrug, though her heart races. Come on, Hermione, be brave. You nearly kissed the man two nights ago, she reminds herself.

“And,” she adds, her voice softening, “I missed you... and Scorp.”

The sleepy smiles that light up Malfoy’s and Scorpius’s faces are breathtaking.

“We missed you too,” Malfoy replies quietly, his voice carrying a touch of vulnerability. “Didn’t we, ScorpScorp?”

Scorpius nods, sitting up straighter in his father’s arms, and reaches for Hermione. “Want Minnie, Daddy,” he says softly.

“No arguments here, you clingy little koala,” Malfoy deadpans, handing Scorpius over to her.

Hermione settles him on her hip, nuzzling the top of his head. “Such a sweet boy. I wish you felt better,” she murmurs.

As she holds Scorpius, Hermione notices something unexpected: this is the first time she’s seen Malfoy with his hair down. The white-blonde strands fall loosely to his shoulders, with just enough wave to set it apart from his father’s bone-straight locks.

Unable to stop herself from asking, she says, “I hope this isn’t rude, but how come your hair’s down? I didn’t think you ever wore it this way.”

Malfoy huffs a small laugh, nodding toward his son. “You’ll see in a second.”

True to his word, a baby-soft hand reaches up, gently nestling in Hermione’s hair at the base of her skull.

“It’s a comfort thing for him,” Malfoy explains with a fond smile. “He’s done it since he was a baby.”

“Well, consider me honored to be included,” Hermione says sincerely, resting her head lightly against Scorpius’s.

“So, what do we have here?” Malfoy asks, nodding toward the bags on the kitchen island.

“Oh, right!” Hermione exclaims. “We’ve got a feast of Chinese takeaway: crab rangoons, egg rolls, your Szechuan beef with fried rice, and spicy sesame noodles. I got sesame chicken and lo mein, and there’s plain fried rice and wonton soup in case Scorp feels up to it.”

“And,” she adds with a smile, “I also brought more Pedialyte, ice lollies, and some extra medicine… just in case you’re running low.”

Malfoy stares at her, mouth slightly open, so she quickly adds, “Candy picked it all up for me. I just told him what to get and brought it over.”

He blinks, processing her words, then pushes off the counter, crossing the space between them in three quick strides.

“Thank you,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Really.”

Scorpius, ever the mimic of his father, promptly smacks a kiss on the other side of Hermione’s face. “Fank you, Minnie,” he says with a small smile.

“You’re both very welcome,” she replies, her cheeks flushing at their gestures.

“I hate to ask,” Malfoy begins, rubbing the back of his neck, “but would you mind hanging out with Scorp while I take a quick shower? I’ve been surviving on Scourgify since Sunday.”

“Of course!” Hermione says brightly. “We’ll get everything set up while you’re gone.”

After Malfoy leaves the kitchen, Hermione busies herself putting the popsicles and Pedialyte away. She leaves the medicine on the counter, unsure where he typically stores it.

“Okay, Scorp,” she begins brightly, “do you want to try eating something?”

He gives the takeaway boxes a wary look that instantly reminds her of an eleven-year-old Malfoy wrinkling his nose at Hogwarts’ food.

“For me?” she asks playfully, batting her eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion.

Scorpius smirks, a look that could only be Malfoy-esque, and gives a small nod. “For Minnie.”

“Do you want rice or soup?” Hermione asks, gently seating him at the small table in the kitchen corner.

Scorpius eyes the wonton soup as though it’s a questionable potion ingredient, casting it the same dubious glance his father reserves for anything unfamiliar. Hermione has to stifle a laugh, covering it with a cough.

“Rice, please,” he says politely.

“Coming right up!” she chirps, spooning some rice into a child-sized bowl she summoned with an Accio. “Just small bites, okay? Since you haven’t been feeling well.”

Scorpius picks up his spoon with an expression that reads obviously and begins taking careful, tiny bites.

Hermione leaves her food and Malfoy’s under the stasis charm, figuring they can wait until he returns. The quiet stretches on for a few minutes before she decides to break it.

“I love your jammies!” she says, taking in Scorpius’s adorable footie pyjamas. The navy-blue fabric is dotted with twinkling gold stars, bright spinning planets, and the occasional shooting star zipping across the material.

“Fanks,” Scorpius replies through a mouthful of rice. After he swallows, he adds, “Me too.”

Hermione smiles as she gets a better look at his slightly messy French braid. “And your hair looks great! I love to plait mine too. Did your daddy do it for you?”

Sweet Circe, who else would’ve done it? she thinks, cringing at her own question.

“Yes,” Scorpius replies slowly, giving her a look as if she’s asked something utterly obvious. “No knots in da morning.”

Hermione wonders if she’s hopeless at talking to three-year-olds, but then she hears a small giggle, lifting her mood.

“You so silly, Minnie!” Scorpius laughs, and she can’t help but join in.

Draco

Draco stands under the scalding spray, savoring his first moment alone in days. His thoughts return to Granger’s unexpected arrival, replaying the evening as he rinses off.

“So, it’s definitely not just me,” he mutters, realizing he hadn’t blown the moments after the gala out of proportion. For the first time ever, the thought of letting someone in didn’t seem outlandish–as long as that someone was Granger.

The bravado he’d wielded at Hogwarts never extended to real romance. Back then, most girls were more interested in his name than in him. The war had left no space for such distractions—survival, his mother’s safety, and the constant threat of death consumed his thoughts. An unplanned marriage and the responsibilities of single fatherhood had seemingly extinguished whatever romantic inclinations he’d once had.

“Or so you thought,” he murmurs, shutting off the shower.

With a quick drying charm, Draco dries himself head to toe, pulls on fresh clothes, and gratefully sweeps his hair out of his face.

Heading down the two flights of stairs to the kitchen, Draco pauses just beyond the doorway, listening to the sound of Granger and Scorpius giggling together.

I could certainly get used to hearing that all the time, he thinks with a faint smile.

They haven’t noticed him yet, so he lingers in the doorway, content to watch. Granger and Scorpius are having a serious discussion about the pros and cons of wonton soup. To Draco’s surprise, Scorpius takes a tentative bite of a wonton. For a second, it’s touch-and-go, but when he smiles up at Granger, who cheers his effort, Draco feels his heart lift.

“Good job, Scorp!” he says, stepping into the room and revealing his presence.

“Minnie asked me to try it,” Scorpius says with an exaggerated shrug. “It’s ‘kay.”

Draco chuckles, pleased to see some of his son’s usual spark returning.

“Well, that’s high praise coming from you,” he says, sitting across from them at the table.

“I hope it was okay for me to do that,” Granger whispers, looking slightly uncertain.

“Anyone who can get him to eat something besides pasta and rice is welcome to work their magic,” Draco laughs.

“Apparently, all I have to do is bat my eyelashes, and the Malfoy boys are quick to do my bidding,” she teases, smirking playfully.

Draco snorts in amusement as Granger hands him the containers of his meal before opening her own.

“You didn’t have to wait for me!” he exclaims. “If I’d known that, I would’ve hurried up.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “Starting without you would’ve defeated the purpose.”

Draco flashes her a signature smirk before diving into his dinner, eyes rolling back dramatically as he savors his first hot meal in days.

“It’s really good,” Granger laughs, “but I don’t think it’s worth swallowing your tongue over.”

He decides to take a calculated risk, knowing her reaction will be worth it no matter how it plays out. Casting a wandless, wordless Legilimens, Draco leans back, waiting for her response.

It only takes a second before her brows furrow—she’s felt the cool brush of his magic against the edge of her mind.

“Yes, well, it’s either that or make noises entirely unsuitable for the dinner table,” he quips with a wicked grin.

Granger’s eyes snap to his, realization dawning. She blushes instantly but recovers quickly, lifting an eyebrow in a silent challenge.

“And where, pray tell, would those noises be more suitable?” she asks, her voice laced with curiosity.

Draco doesn’t miss a beat. “Usually in my shower,” he replies smoothly, “under a silencing charm when I finally get some time to myself.”

For a moment, the connection goes quiet, and he wonders if he’s gone too far. But then Granger bursts into laughter.

“Hmm… now I’m surprised you weren’t gone longer.”

Draco nearly chokes on his egg roll, breaking the Legilimency connection as Granger gives him a knowing look, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You ‘kay, Daddy?” Scorpius asks, patting Draco’s hand in concern. “Little bites, ‘member?”

“Yeah, Malfoy, little bites,” Granger echoes with a giggle. “Your dinner isn’t going to run away, I promise.”

“Well, aren’t you two quite the pair?” Draco drawls sarcastically, shooting her a smirk before turning his attention back to his son.

“How are you feeling, Scorp?” he asks gently. “Any better?”

Scorpius considers for a moment, then holds his thumb and forefinger a few centimeters apart. “Fis much,” he replies in his tiny voice.

Draco watches thoughtfully as Granger and Scorpius finish their meals, having already devoured his own. The soft glow of the moment lingers in the air, and he finds himself smiling, quietly tucking the memory away.

I think this evening might be one for the Pensieve, he muses, hiding his smile behind his hand.

Hermione

Hermione and Malfoy make quick work of cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. Scorpius has already gone to the living room, insisting she stay to watch his favorite movie.

“So, what are we watching?” she asks, putting the last of the leftovers away.

“Finding Nemo,” Malfoy replies with an affectionate roll of his eyes. “It’ll be the 40th consecutive showing since Saturday.”

“I’m not familiar with it. What’s it about?”

“It’s about this little fish and his da—” He stops mid-sentence, looking suddenly horrified.

“Oh my gods, my son needs therapy,” Malfoy says, dragging a hand down his face. “I’ve got to call my Mind Healer. I thought I was handling this correctly, but—”

“Malfoy!” Hermione interrupts, stepping closer to catch his gaze. “What are you talking about?”

“The film, Granger!” he exclaims, voice rising slightly. “It’s about a little fish whose mother dies when he’s born, and of course, his dad is overprotective and always messing things up—and then Nemo gets lost—”

“Malfoy!” she interjects again, cutting him off. “I’m sure it’s not that deep, but you need to calm down.”

“Let me check on Scorpius. You sit and breathe for a minute,” she says softly, rubbing small circles on his back. “Would it be okay if I ask him about the film?”

He nods, flopping back into his seat with a sigh.

When Hermione returns a few minutes later, Malfoy’s breathing has evened out, though he still looks a bit unsettled. She tries to keep a straight face as she crosses the kitchen.

“Scorpius is fine… if a little tired of waiting for us,” she says with a smirk. “Do you want to know what he said when I asked why this is his favorite film?”

Malfoy raises an eyebrow, clearly curious.

“And I quote: ‘I like fish, and Dory’s funny,’” she reports, unable to contain a grin.

“For fuck’s sake,” Malfoy groans, dropping his head onto the table. “I need more therapy.”

“Don’t we all?” Hermione retorts, snorting with laughter.

Malfoy shoots her a mock-scathing look but soon starts laughing as well.

“Come on, you ridiculous man,” she teases, still giggling as she grabs his hand and pulls him out of the chair. “We’ve got a film to watch.”

As he stands, he interlaces their fingers, holding her hand as they walk out of the kitchen. Just before they enter the living room, Malfoy lifts her hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss across it.

“Thank you again for everything,” he says quietly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before reluctantly letting it go.

Although Hermione has only seen a small part of the house, she instinctively knows this room will be her favorite. The walls are a calming light blue, perfectly complemented by the warm, comfortable-looking brown furniture.

Toys are scattered from one corner in a colorful sprawl across the plush navy carpet. Two walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, crammed with all sorts of books. A large television occupies part of a third wall, with shorter, equally full bookshelves beneath it.

The pièce de résistance, however, is the largest U-shaped sofa Hermione has ever seen, dominating the space. Scorpius is curled up in the middle, clutching Pesto and wrapped in one of the many bright crocheted blankets draped around the room. When Hermione shoots Malfoy an incredulous look, he simply shrugs.

“It’s nice to be able to stretch out,” he explains with a grin. “Watch this.”

With a snap of his fingers, the arms of the U-shaped sofa slide inward, transforming it into one massive, sprawling square. Scorpius immediately rolls into the center, spreading out like a content little starfish.

“Perfection,” Malfoy sighs dramatically, flinging himself backward onto the couch. True to his word, he stretches out comfortably, taking full advantage of the space.

“With all that room, Scorpius and I will be drowning in it!” Hermione laughs, settling down on the opposite end and leaving Scorpius to claim the middle as his domain.

“Daddy, everybody needs a blanket!” Scorpius exclaims suddenly.

“Sorry, buddy, I almost forgot,” Malfoy replies, summoning two more blankets from across the room. As Hermione catches hers, he shoots her a knowing look over Scorpius’s head.

“Someone has very specific movie-watching expectations,” he adds with a smirk. “Those expectations also include cuddling, so be prepared.”

Sure enough, Scorpius sits up against the back of the couch, tugging at his dad until they’re cozily pressed together.

“Come on, Minnie,” Scorpius says, patting the empty spot next to Pesto on his other side. “You cuddle too!”

Hermione quickly moves as Malfoy sends her an “I told you so” look. Once they’re all settled, a few wand flourishes dim the lights, and the movie begins.

They’re no more than fifteen minutes into Finding Nemo when Hermione notices something out of the corner of her eye. A quick glance to her left reveals that Malfoy has fallen asleep, his head tilted awkwardly as he snores softly.

This must be a familiar scene, as her heart melts when Scorpius notices too. He grabs a small pillow from somewhere in the couch and carefully places it behind his father’s head.

Hermione watches in amazement as Scorpius gently removes the hair tie from Malfoy’s messy bun. When he catches her watching, he gives a small shrug. “Daddy’s head hurts when he sleeps like dat.”

About thirty minutes later, Malfoy is still asleep, but Scorpius is getting restless. Feeling a bit better, he gives Hermione a mischievous look before climbing down from the couch and heading to his toy corner.

He returns holding a small pack of washable markers.

“What are those for, Scorp?” Hermione asks warily.

“You see, Minnie,” he says with a smirk, pulling Malfoy’s arm into his lap and turning his back to the movie.

Malfoy’s black, sleeveless shirt reveals not only his toned muscles but also an array of intricate tattoos. Besides the large piece on his left forearm and another on that bicep, Hermione catches glimpses of a back piece peeking out from under his shirt. His right arm is covered in a black floral sleeve, featuring magical and mundane plants, flowers, and herbs. Hidden among the leaves, she spots a potion bottle, a snitch, a roll of parchment, and a quill, among other items.

“Are you sure you should do that, Scorp?” she asks as he begins coloring the sprig of lavender on the inside of Malfoy’s arm.

“It’s ‘kay, Minnie,” Scorpius whispers confidently. “Promise.”

Malfoy remains fast asleep while Scorpius moves on to the Tudor rose near his wrist.

Hermione watches for a moment before Scorpius hands her a marker. “You color too, Minnie.”

They share a conspiratorial giggle as she begins coloring the Scottish thistle on the outside of Malfoy’s arm. The movie plays softly in the background while they continue their colorful mission.

Hermione is carefully shading the snitch hidden among the plants near Malfoy’s elbow when his voice suddenly makes her jump. “Et tu, Brute?”

“Erm... does it help if I say Scorp started it?” she squeaks.

“He always does,” Malfoy chuckles. “You’re fine. Even if the markers weren’t washable, there’s this thing called magic.”

“How long have you been awake?” Hermione asks, her cheeks flushing.

“Long enough to know you’ve been coloring solo for at least ten minutes,” he drawls, nodding toward Scorpius, who’s now asleep behind her.

“Sweet Circe, that’s embarrassing,” she says, blushing even more.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” Malfoy says softly, reaching up to twirl one of her curls around his finger. “I thought it was cute.”

When he gives her a lopsided grin and crooks his finger in a “come here” motion, she doesn’t hesitate to snuggle into his side. Hermione rests her head on his chest, tracing the tattoo on his left forearm, while he wraps his right arm around her, gently running his fingers through her hair.

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, basking in the rare moment alone—as alone as one can be with a sleeping toddler nearby.

Just as Hermione decides that listening to his heartbeat is her new favorite thing, he speaks. She quickly realizes that hearing his voice rumble through his chest might be tied for first place.

“What are you doing Saturday?” Malfoy asks quietly, his hand still playing with the ends of her hair.

“Nothing that I know of,” Hermione replies. “Why?”

“There’s an interdepartmental Quidditch match, and the DMLE team is playing,” he says. “Would you like to come? I know Quidditch isn’t exactly your thing.”

“I’d love to!” she says, sitting up to look at him.

“Ideally, I’d be asking you to dinner somewhere nice,” Malfoy continues, his tone softening, “but I feel like I should wait until we don’t need extra security before I do that.”

“This will be fun!” Hermione says, waving off his worries. “It’s a date!”

“It’s a date,” he agrees, leaning his forehead against hers.

They stay like that a little longer, wrapped in each other’s presence, though both are lost in thought.

“If you keep playing with my hair, I’m going to fall asleep,” Hermione yawns, breaking the silence.

With her head on his chest, she feels more than hears his small huff of laughter. “If I don’t stop, I’m going to fall asleep too.”

“I should check if Harry’s back so I can—” she begins, only to be interrupted by the sudden appearance of Harry’s Patronus.

“I’m home whenever you’re ready, Hermione,” Harry’s message is quietly delivered by his stag before it fades.

“I should go, so you can get some rest while Scorpius is still asleep,” she says, reluctantly pulling herself away from Malfoy.

“You’re right, as usual,” he concedes, standing and offering her a hand to help her up from the depths of the couch. “He’ll probably be up again when the medicine wears off.”

Neither of them breaks the silence as they walk to the Floo, their fingers interlaced. When they reach the fireplace, Malfoy pulls her into an all-encompassing hug, his hand weaving through her curls.

Hermione trails her fingers down his spine, pulling away with a surprised laugh when she feels him shiver. “Ticklish, are we?”

“No!” he lies, shaking his head a bit too emphatically.

“I think I should try again,” Hermione teases. “For science.”

She repeats the motion, tracing her fingers from his shoulder blades to the small of his back. She can’t help but laugh as he twitches, clearly struggling to hide just how ticklish he is.

“You’ll pay for that, Granger,” Malfoy warns, his low tone at odds with the playful gleam in his eyes. “Mark my words.”

Their gazes lock, and just like on Saturday night, they slowly move closer with each breath. Her eyes flutter closed as he tips her chin up, his hand sliding into the hair at the nape of her neck.

Malfoy presses his lips to hers in a series of soft kisses—once, twice, and a third time—pulling back with a tenderness that leaves her breathless.

He smiles, devastatingly so, as she winds her arms around his neck, lifting onto her tiptoes.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Hermione whispers, capturing his mouth again.

She starts gently, her lips moving against his, before nipping at his bottom lip and deepening the kiss as he parts his lips. Malfoy, not to be outdone, quickly regains the upper hand, kissing her deeply, as if he might never have the chance again.

What feels like only seconds—yet could have been an eternity—passes before they finally pull apart, both gasping for air.

“I should…” Hermione begins, still breathless as she gathers her thoughts. “I should go.”

“Probably a good idea,” Malfoy agrees, though he steals one last kiss before letting her go.

Reluctantly, she steps back–her hand lingering in his, as if delaying the inevitable moment she’ll have to leave him. She grabs a handful of Floo powder as she moves into the fireplace.

“Goodnight, Malfoy.”

“Sweet dreams, Granger.”

Chapter Text

Hermione

July 1, 2009

New York City

“Harry!” Hermione yells, her voice echoing through the apartment. “Come on!”

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry grumbles, tucking in his shirt as he strides into the living room. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

He pauses, giving her a knowing look over the top of his glasses. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Malfoy’s first day back, would it? You’re probably going through withdrawal. I mean, it’s been what—two whole days since you’ve seen him?”

“Please, not this again,” Hermione groans, rolling her eyes.

“You can deny it all you want, but I know you two snogged each other’s brains out Monday night,” Harry sing-songs.

“If I buy you two bagels on the way, will you please promise to never say that again?” Hermione snaps, shooting him a glare.

“What?” Harry gives her a dry look as he scoffs. “I needed a cigarette just looking at you when you got home, Hermione.”

She rolls her eyes as they leave the apartment, choosing not to dignify his comment with a response.

Their short commute and the elevator ride to the 25th floor have never seemed so interminable.

Come on… hurry up! she thinks as the lower floors of MACUSA crawl by.

Harry’s frequent snorts of laughter aren’t helping her efforts to stay calm.

You’re being utterly ridiculous, she berates herself, taking a deep breath. When the elevator finally stops at the 25th floor, Harry makes an exaggerated show of stepping to the back.

“Wouldn’t want to get trampled, since I’m sure you’ll be out of here like there’s fiendfyre at your heels!” he quips, grinning as Hermione shoots him a death glare.

Despite Harry’s relentless teasing, Hermione forces herself to keep her stride measured, though her pulse betrays her as every step brings her closer to Malfoy. Her professional mask is firmly in place, yet beneath it, a simmering anticipation makes her acutely aware of the distance between them growing shorter.

When Hermione rounds the corner to her office, her pulse quickens at the familiar sight. Malfoy is in his usual spot, leaning casually against the wall with one foot propped up, flipping his wand through his fingers. Clad head-to-toe in his signature black, he looks as composed as ever.

He glances up as she approaches, and their eyes lock. In an instant, Hermione feels the cool brush of his magic slip into her mind—a familiar, almost teasing touch.

"Good morning, Granger."

Hermione wouldn’t admit it under Veritaserum, but Malfoy’s slow drawl is even more enticing when it echoes inside her head.

"Good morning," she replies, her voice steady. "Legilimency and Occlumency at the same time?"

"Just had a feeling I’d need all the help I can get to stay professional today."

"That makes two of us," she quips, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Hel-loooo," Harry cuts in, dragging out the word in exasperation. "If you two are going to have silent conversations all day, count me out!"

"Sorry, Harry," Hermione says, wincing as her cheeks warm with embarrassment. "We won’t do it again."

"I am decidedly not sorry, but whatever Granger says goes," Malfoy retorts, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Gentlemen, please behave,” Hermione sighs, though she can’t stifle her laughter when Harry’s cheerful “You got it, Boss,” overlaps with Malfoy’s resigned, “If I must.”

As a result of Saturday’s gala, Hermione is scheduled to visit a British-owned potion manufacturing facility later in the day. Since Harry and Malfoy are both accompanying her, she’s already bracing herself for a day full of their good-natured bickering.

"Oh!" Malfoy says suddenly, pushing himself off the wall. "Septima asked me to let you know she’s already at the potions facility setting everything up."

He waits for Hermione’s nod before continuing. "Thankfully, I managed to convince her that we really don’t need her to set up a tea service for the tour."

"Thank you!" Hermione laughs. "You may have just averted an international relations disaster."

Harry and Malfoy share matching grimaces, both shuddering at the memory of Septima’s infamous tea.

"On that note, I’m off to check in with Candy," Harry says, turning toward the elevators. "I’ll let him know when to expect us back."

A comfortable silence falls as Hermione leads the way into her office to gather what she needs for today’s visit. As a plan forms in her mind, a decidedly Malfoy-esque smirk spreads across her face.

The moment they step inside, she turns on her heel, grabs the center strap of Malfoy’s wand holster, and pulls him down to her level, pressing her lips to his in a bold kiss. She deepens the kiss as his lips part in surprise, her tongue eagerly seeking his.

When they finally break apart a couple of minutes later, Hermione allows herself a mental victory lap at the dazed expression on Malfoy’s face.

I even managed to break through his Occlumency, she thinks smugly.

“Well,” Malfoy says, blinking as if trying to reboot his brain, “I suppose that answers that question.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione giggles, unable to hold it back any longer.

“I was going to ask if you were okay after Monday night’s… finale,” he explains, pulling her into his chest and resting his chin atop her head. “But I think that kiss covers it.”

“It does,” she agrees, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Definitely shouldn’t make a habit of it at work, though.”

“No, definitely not,” he replies, though the reluctance in his voice gives him away.

With a sigh, Hermione steps back, letting her fingers linger against his arm for one stolen second before returning to her desk, sitting down as her gaze follows him. She tells herself to focus, but a part of her mind remains acutely aware of the distance between them, and of how very much she wishes it weren’t there.

She meets his eyes, her tone a little more serious. “I suppose I’m not alone in wanting to see where this goes?”

“You are decidedly not alone,” Malfoy answers, flashing her one of those heart-stopping smiles she’s starting to crave.

Before Hermione can respond, the soft ding of the elevator signals Harry’s return.

“We’ll table the rest of this conversation for later,” Malfoy says, throwing her a conspiratorial wink as he reasserts his Occlumency shields just before Harry steps inside.

“Ready to go?” Harry asks, blissfully unaware of what just transpired in his absence.

Draco

Draco has never been more grateful for Occlumency. Without it, he’d likely lose his job—especially since Granger apparently has no qualms about snogging him senseless in her office. And her pencil skirt and heels? Complete distractions.

Occlumency didn’t just help him organize his thoughts and focus; it provided a convenient mask, keeping his emotions from betraying him. It was a skill he found especially useful around Granger, whose presence tended to unsettle him in ways he wasn’t accustomed to.

At least she wore her hair up today, Draco muses, his eyes flicking to where she walks ahead, animatedly engaging with their guide at the magical greenhouse. Otherwise, I’d be completely useless.

“I imagine you’ll be as excited as her when we get to the brewing rooms,” Harry says, falling back to walk alongside him. “You were better than Hermione at Potions, weren’t you?”

Draco nods. “It was the only class I could beat her in. Otherwise, I was always just behind her.”

“I suppose being Snape’s favorite didn’t hurt,” Harry teases, elbowing him lightly in the ribs.

Draco rolls his eyes but smirks. “I may have been his godson, but I’m good at potions on my own merit, Potter.”

Though Draco hadn’t pursued Potions professionally like Snape, it remained a hobby he indulged in. The detached garage behind his house had been converted into a small lab, where he brewed all the potions he used at home.

When they finally reach one of the large brewing rooms upstairs, Draco does his best to keep a neutral expression, determined not to give Harry the satisfaction of proving him right. The room is massive, clearly expanded with magic, and packed with every type of cauldron and potion-making tool he could imagine.

Their tour guide pauses at several stations, explaining the brewing processes for Wiggenweld Potion, Draught of Peace, Skele-Gro, and Draught of Living Death. Draco listens attentively, but it’s the final stop at an alcove at the end of the room that truly catches his attention.

“This, of course, is my favorite part of the tour!” the older witch says with a wide grin. “I love hearing what different people smell in Amortentia!”

Oh, fuck no, Draco thinks, resisting the urge to visibly recoil. I am definitely not doing this in public.

Judging by the expression on Granger’s face, she shares his reluctance. Potter, on the other hand, looks far too enthusiastic.

“I’ll go first!” Potter says, practically bouncing on his heels. “I never got a chance to try it at school, so why not now?”

He leans over the cauldron, inhaling deeply through the rising steam. “Hmm… I smell coffee, clove cigarettes… ooh, that’s definitely rum! And…” He pauses, concentrating. “Some kind of cologne, I think? It’s musky but floral at the same time. I like it, whatever it is!”

Merlin, help me. Draco groans internally. He just described Theo. The horrifying realization that Harry and Theo could actually get together is enough to make his head spin. The world simply wouldn’t survive those two chaos demons.

His distress must be obvious because Granger leans closer, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Why do you look like you’ve just seen Umbridge in her knickers?” she whispers.

Draco gags at the mental image her words conjure. “Trust me, you don’t want to know. And thank you for that horrific thought.”

“You’re welcome,” Granger replies with a wicked grin, waggling her eyebrows playfully.

Potter finally steps back from the Amortentia cauldron, his eyes flicking between the other two as he decides who to target next.

“You’re up, Malfoy!” he announces, giving Draco a playful shove toward the cauldron.

Draco rolls his eyes, already knowing what he’ll smell before the familiar scent reaches him. Parchment and books—a hint of a library–Earl Grey tea, and notes of citrus and herbs—lemon and lavender, in particular. Almost the same as sixth year.

“Well?” the tour guide asks with a curious smile, while Potter and Granger both watch him expectantly.

“I’d rather not share with the class, thanks,” Draco drawls dryly.

“Spoilsport,” Potter pouts, though his expression quickly brightens as he turns to Granger, clearly ready for more mischief.

Before she can step back, he nudges her toward the cauldron. She approaches reluctantly, shooting him a warning glare.

“Let me guess,” Potter says with a grin. “Butterbeer, some type of greasy fo—”

“Honestly, Harry,” she cuts in, shaking her head. “Freshly mown grass, new parchment, spearmint toothpaste, coffee and tea, warm sugar... and a hint of spice from a cologne.”

Potter hums thoughtfully, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he shoots a knowing look at Draco. “Sounds a lot like someone’s sixth-year Amortentia—though, clearly with some ‘grown-up’ additions.”

Granger flushes slightly and elbows Potter, trying to hush him, but the damage is done. Draco’s lips twitch, suppressing a smirk as he catches her embarrassed expression.

Hermione

With their tour finished, the trio heads back toward the Floos on the main level of the facility.

“Did you see that greenhouse?!” Hermione exclaims, grabbing Harry’s arm excitedly. “Neville would lose his mind!”

“Yeah, he really would,” Harry agrees with a chuckle. “Though he’s done quite a lot with the greenhouses at Hogwarts already.”

“I take it he’s the Herbology professor now?” Malfoy asks, sounding genuinely curious.

Hermione nods. “He apprenticed with Professor Sprout right after graduation and took over when she retired a few years ago.”

“I always forget that you haven’t kept up with all of that,” Harry mentions. “How often do you go back to England?”

“Since my house arrest ended, only for Astoria’s funeral when we stayed for about a month,” Draco says.

Hermione smiles, noting the easy rapport between Malfoy and Harry—a far cry from their Hogwarts animosity. Just as she’s about to comment on it, several things happen almost simultaneously.

An almighty crash echoes from nearby, followed by an explosion that rattles the tiles underfoot. Time seems to slow as Hermione watches Malfoy and Harry instantly snap into Auror mode.

“I’ve got Granger. Go see what’s happening!” Malfoy commands sharply.

Harry nods and takes off toward the explosion without a second’s hesitation.

In one swift move, Malfoy grabs her wrist and pulls her behind him, shielding her with his body. Hermione barely registers the calming brush of his thumb against her pulse before he guides her through a door she hadn’t noticed, his wand drawn and ready.

They find themselves in a small supply closet. With shelves lining the narrow walls and Malfoy standing protectively in front of her, Hermione has no choice but to lean against the back wall, her breath coming in shallow bursts.

“You’re alright,” Malfoy says, his voice low and steady—a calm contrast to the tension in the air. “I’ve got you.”

He still holds her wrist, his thumb tracing slow, reassuring circles against her skin. The combination of his protective stance—ready to defend her at any moment—and the soothing gesture sends her heart fluttering unexpectedly.

“I know,” she whispers, her voice barely audible in the confined space. “I’m okay. I promise.”

The darkness presses in on them, heightening Hermione’s other senses. She feels the warmth radiating from him, senses the quiet strength in his presence. The sound of his even breathing fills the silence, punctuated by the occasional soft click of his rings tapping against his wand as he adjusts his grip.

She catches the faint scent of parchment, spearmint, and the spicy notes of his cologne. So close to my Amortentia, but not quite right.

They wait in silence, the moments stretching with no indication of what’s happening outside. At last, Malfoy releases her wrist, shifting his wand to his other hand. Hermione crosses her arms, resisting the urge to wrap them around his waist, knowing instinctively he’d want her shielded behind him.

“So… you’re really not going to share your Amortentia?” Hermione whispers, feeling bold enough to break the tension. She wishes she could see his face as he answers.

“I’d be happy to share with you, if you’d like,” he replies, his voice close and soft in the darkness.

She nods, then remembers he can’t see her gesture. “I would like that.”

“Parchment and books—the smell of a library. Earl Grey tea. That’s been the same since sixth year.”

“I never pegged Pansy for much of a library girl,” Hermione says with a quiet laugh.

Malfoy lets out a low chuckle. “Fun fact, Granger—Pansy and Daphne Greengrass have been together since fifth year.”

“Wait, what? That can’t be right! You and Pansy started dating in fifth year.”

“All a cover, I assure you.”

Hermione feels like she’s missed a piece of the puzzle. “A cover? For what?”

“Granger, Granger, Granger,” he tuts softly. “Pureblood girls can’t be gay.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, and the missing piece finally slots into place. She makes a soft sound of realization, and Malfoy shifts slightly, his voice dropping lower, closer, as if trying to catch her gaze over his shoulder.

“The lavender and lemon… that’s new.”

The darkness presses around them, and Hermione holds her breath as she feels him draw closer. She’s struck by the trust he’s offering, so rare and fragile, and lets herself lean into it. Her heart races at the vulnerability in his words and the quiet intimacy of their exchange.

Hermione is acutely aware of the lingering lavender and lemon scent from her shampoo, but any response she might have made is cut off as the door suddenly swings open.

“All clear!” Harry announces, grinning. “False alarm—someone blew up a cauldron on the next floor.”

He laughs, waggling his eyebrows. “Don’t you two look cozy?”

“More like packed in here like sardines,” Malfoy quips. “If you’d kindly move your arse, we’d like to stretch out.”

“This closet is tiny. I don’t know how Malfoy managed to stand it,” Hermione agrees, stepping out with a grin.

******************************************************************************

Draco

July 3, 2009

New York City

"Scorp, you 'wake?" Draco whispers as he slides into bed next to his son, propping his head on one hand and dodging as Scorpius sleepily tries to bat him away.

If Draco were to count the times he’d slept past six o’clock since Scorpius was born, he’d barely need one hand. This is the first time in months that he’s gotten to wake his son up with his Annoying Dad routine.

"Come on, Scorp, it’s Saturday!" he teases, raising his voice just a little.

"Shhhh, Daddy," Scorpius mumbles, half-heartedly trying to cover Draco’s mouth with his tiny hand.

"But it’s Quidditch day!" Draco laughs, swooping in to lift Scorpius and pepper his face with kisses.

“Pancakes too?” Scorpius croaks, cracking one bleary eye open.

“Pancakes too,” Draco agrees, already moving to gather Scorpius' clothes. "If we hurry, we can make it to the diner you like."

That finally coaxes Scorpius upright in his nest of blankets, blinking sleepily at Draco. When Scorpius wakes up on his own, he’s all sunshine and energy, but when he’s woken up? He’s like a tiny, grumpy owl, hair sticking out in all directions like ruffled feathers as he glares just for the sake of it.

“Yay! We’re here!” Scorpius cheers after they apparate to the stadium’s official Apparition point a couple of hours later. "Are you going to win, Daddy?"

"I’m certainly going to try," Draco answers with a grin.

After their breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes (and a hefty dose of caffeine for Draco), he feels a little guilty leaving the others to deal with a hyperactive Scorpius. Almost.

"Here, we missed some chocolate," Draco says, passing a wandless cleaning charm over Scorpius’ face as the boy giggles and squirms at the sensation.

“Is Harry Potter playing wif you today?” Scorpius asks.

“He is, but he’s playing Chaser.”

Today’s MACUSA Intramural Quidditch League match is between the DMLE and the DRCMC, marking Harry’s debut on the team as he takes over for an Auror who transferred to the Los Angeles office.

Draco does a final check to make sure they have everything when Scorpius suddenly gasps, making him nearly jump out of his skin.

“There’s Minnie!” Scorpius exclaims, smacking Draco on the shoulder for his undivided attention. “And Harry Potter! And Uncle Candy! And Mr. Tony!”

“Hurry, Daddy! Let’s go!” Scorpius kicks his feet eagerly, trying to propel them forward faster.

“Hey, watch where you’re kicking,” Draco laughs, grabbing one tiny trainer mid-swing. “If you kick me, we’ll both end up on the ground—and then we’ll definitely take longer to get to Minnie.”

“Want to walk?” Draco asks, making an attempt to set Scorpius down.

“Nope!” Scorpius quips, popping the ‘p’ with dramatic emphasis.

“Don’t know why I bother asking,” Draco chuckles, switching Scorpius to his other hip.

Scorpius shakes his head wildly, hands flying up in exaggerated confusion. “I don’t know either, Daddy!”

They’re halfway across the pitch when Scorpius begins waving wildly at the group, inadvertently smacking Draco’s face a few times in his excitement. Before they can reach the others, they’re stopped by a witch in a DRCMC Quidditch kit, who Draco doesn’t recognize.

“Hi, Draco!” she exclaims with a too-bright smile. “It’s so good to see you!”

“Erm, hello,” he replies cautiously, shifting Scorpius slightly higher on his hip.

“I’m Laura, remember?!” The witch’s hand darts out as if to touch his arm, but Draco steps back smoothly, angling Scorpius out of her reach.

“We worked together on the joint raid to take down that Nundu breeder last year?” she continues, trying to jog his memory.

With a heavy sigh, Draco pieces it together. He’s no stranger to awkward flirting attempts, but the audacity to try when he’s with Scorpius—that has his temper simmering just beneath the surface.

“I haven’t been in the field in years. You must have me confused with someone else,” he finally says, his tone flat and deliberately disinterested.

Undeterred, Laura turns her attention to Scorpius—a poorly advised move if her goal is to endear herself to either Malfoy.

“And this must be little Scorpion!” she coos, mangling his son’s name in a tone that grates on Draco’s already frayed patience.

A quick glance at Scorpius reveals that, in addition to their matching messy buns and black Ray-Bans, they’re also sharing identical Malfoy judgy looks—stony, unimpressed, and thoroughly dismissive.

“My name is Scorpius,” the little boy drawls, perfectly mimicking Draco’s tone at that age.

“Please excuse us,” Draco says curtly, stepping around her without a backward glance, ignoring her flustered stammering.

As they walk away, Scorpius leans back in Draco’s arms and calls out over his shoulder with all the sarcasm he can muster: “Bye, Lori!”

Draco has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“Alright, Scorp,” he says in his best Serious Dad voice, though amusement flickers beneath it. “That was your one free pass to be rude for the year. Worth it?”

“Yes!” Scorpius responds with zero hesitation, his mischievous grin wide and unapologetic.

They’re finally close enough to the rest of the group for Draco to get a proper look at Granger.

She’s trying to kill me, he thinks, unable to look away as he drinks in the sight of her.

Her curls are practically sentient, floating wildly in the breeze, and he wonders how he ever tried to convince himself they were "too much." She’s skipped her usual delicate makeup, letting her freckles and natural rosy flush take center stage.

His gaze traces the line of her throat, lingering at the dip of her collarbone, and he briefly imagines pressing a kiss there. As his eyes drift lower, he realizes he wants to map the constellation of freckles on her shoulders with his tongue. Bloody hell, I’m going to need a cold shower if this keeps up.

Her sundress, a soft gold that gives a subtle nod to Gryffindor, brings out the warm glow of her olive skin. The cut highlights her gentle curves and stops mid-thigh, showing off her toned legs. Flat, strappy sandals accentuate her adorably petite stature, while revealing her hot pink toenail polish.

Draco takes a steadying breath before sending out a tendril of magic, brushing gently against the front of her mind. He feels the sunshine warmth of her magic mingling with the cool edge of his own as she welcomes the Legilimency connection.

“Good morning, Granger,” he says, pleased that his mental voice sounds more composed than he feels.

“Good morning, Malfoy,” she replies with a sly grin. “See something you like?”

Draco has the grace to blush before responding. “You look beautiful. I’m also thoroughly convinced you’re trying to kill me.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you mean!” she says, feigning innocence, though her doe-eyed look fools no one. “Thank you for the flowers; they’re beautiful! Luckily, they arrived when Harry was in the shower.”

Draco’s wry tone is even more evident via Legilimency. “Well, I know this is the weirdest first date ever but I had to at least make sure you had flowers.”

This morning, Draco had sent a dozen roses to her flat, ordered via a Muggle florist since he knew how much she loved to mix the magical and non-magical world, due to arrive shortly before she would be leaving for the match. He had something else set up for later but he was going to let that be a surprise. Before he can say anything else, their mental connection is broken by Potter’s sudden interruption.

“Absolutely not, nope,” Potter scowls, snapping his fingers between them as Candy and Tony stifle their laughter. “What did I tell you two about having your weird, silent conversations?”

Draco rolls his eyes, choosing to ignore the group—just in time, as Scorpius launches himself at Granger with unbridled enthusiasm.

“Hi, Minnie!” Scorpius squeals, wrapping his arms around her neck.

“Hello, Scorp!” Granger exclaims, catching him easily. “All better, I hope?”

“Yes!” Scorpius chirps, nodding eagerly.

“Mini Malfoy, are you wearing a Slytherin jersey?” Harry asks in mock disgust.

Scorpius is indeed sporting a tiny version of his father’s old jersey, though he’s paired it with ripped jeans and black leather high-tops in a fashion that’s entirely his own.

Scorpius nods enthusiastically. “Nana Cissa gived it to me! It looks like Daddy’s from Ho’warts!”

“Ugh, starting the rivalry early, huh, Malfoy?” Potter teases, before getting pulled into a debate with Tony and Candy about the supremacy of different magical schools and houses.

The Hogwarts vs. Ilvermorny rivalry runs deep between the three. Candy and Tony, former students of Ilvermorny’s Thunderbird and Wampus houses respectively, love to rile Harry by calling Hogwarts “old-fashioned” or “dangerous”—a surefire way to ignite his defenses. The exchange mirrors Harry and Draco’s school-age Gryffindor vs. Slytherin rivalry, but on an international scale.

As Draco shifts the dragonhide duffel bag on his shoulder, the move catches Candy’s eye.

“Well, as I live and breathe!” Candy exclaims, eyeing Draco’s outfit. “Do my eyes deceive me, or are you actually wearing color, Draco Malfoy?!”

“I don’t think navy blue counts as ‘color,’ Candy,” Tony chimes in.

“It does for him!” Candy retorts.

Draco glances down, puzzled. Black jeans? Check. His usual black dragonhide belt and boots? Check. The coordinating thigh holster for flying? Check. The Tom Ford t-shirt… alright, navy instead of black, but close enough, he thinks. Colorful was the last word he’d use to describe himself.

And yet, he realized he hadn’t been as quick to dismiss the dark blue shirt as he would have a year ago. As Candy’s laughter rings out, he feels the familiar urge to roll his eyes—and somehow, it doesn’t bother him. Not one bit. Candy and Tony’s voices fade as Draco’s attention shifts, his gaze naturally finding Granger and Scorpius a few feet away.

His focus sharpens, his expression softening as he turns to his son. “I need to change and warm up soon, Scorp,” he says, reaching to take Scorpius from Granger, his voice low and easy as their fingers brush. “So let’s get you set up.”

“Do you ever put him down?” Tony scoffs.

“If you’re jealous, Tony, just say so,” Draco fires back with mock sweetness. “You and Scorpius are almost the same height, so if you need me to carry you around, just ask.”

Even Tony can’t help but laugh at the mental image Draco’s words conjure.

“Besides,” Draco adds, holding both arms out to his sides as Scorpius clings tightly like the “clingy little koala” he is, “maybe I’m not the problem?”

The group bursts into laughter as Tony mouths “asshole” over Scorpius’ head, and Draco blows him a teasing kiss in return.

Oblivious to the teasing, Scorpius pats Granger’s arm. “Watch me practice, Minnie!”

“I’d love to!” she replies, following them a few feet away from the group. Draco crouches beside his son, unshrinking the toy broom and oversized snitch from Scorpius’ bag.

Draco watches with a smile as Scorpius and Granger laugh, the boy circling them on his toy broom, a focused look on his face as he aims for the snitch—one Draco often wears himself. His smile only deepens when Granger shoots him a playful wink over Scorpius’ head.

“Listen up, you two—I’ve got a hundred galleons riding on the DMLE winning this game,” Tony says as Draco and Harry gather their things to head to the locker room. “If you lose, I swear on my Ma’s grave—God rest her soul,” He pauses to cross himself. “I’ll fire you before we leave today. Capisce?”

Since Harry had planned to stay in the States and continue with MACUSA after Granger no longer needed a bodyguard, he’d fully integrated into the Auror Department. De Luca had been thrilled with Harry’s knack for following even the coldest, most convoluted trails, making him the go-to for cold cases. Harry relished the challenge of unraveling mysteries, and being able to set his own hours and work from home only sweetened the deal.

Before Draco and Potter can respond, a loud crack of Apparition startles the group as Theo materializes in their midst, bypassing the stadium’s wards in a way that shouldn’t have been possible.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Tony exclaims. “Do you always have to make such an entrance, Theo?”

“Of course, darling,” Theo purrs, smirking. “It is, after all…all about me.”

Draco can only shake his head at his friend’s antics. “Theo, how did—”

“Never you mind, my giant blonde friend,” Theo interrupts smoothly. “More importantly, why didn’t anyone tell me two-thirds of the Golden Trio would be here today?”

“Hello, Nott!” Granger says cheerily.

“Long time no see, Granger!” Theo exclaims, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "And, please, call me Theo!"

Draco stifles a groan as Theo’s attention shifts to Potter, who promptly blushes from his messy hairline to his shirt collar. The world really won’t survive those two together, Draco thinks.

“Well, well, well. The Boy Who Lived has become The Man Who Is Giving Me Life!” Theo croons, pulling Harry into a hug. “How are you, gorgeous?”

Potter stands there, dumbstruck. His mouth opens, closes, and opens again, fingers fidgeting nervously with his glasses as Theo steps even closer, practically radiating mischief. As Theo tilts his head flirtatiously, Potter’s cheeks flush deeper, and his eyes dart away. He’s clearly trying to process what’s happening—but failing spectacularly.

“I know, I know. I leave people speechless wherever I go,” Theo sighs dramatically, giving Harry a wink.

Twenty minutes later, Draco and Potter are in the air, warming up for the match. Draco has to stifle a laugh at the still-dazed look on the other man’s face, undoubtedly thanks to Theo’s antics.

With their distinctive hair, it’s easy for Draco to spot Granger and Scorpius as they settle into their seats. Even from this distance, Scorpius seems to be talking nonstop, and, to her credit, Granger is fully engaged, nodding and smiling at everything he says.

His heart swells as he watches them, their laughter carrying across the pitch. What he’d once feared—that his son might grow up as isolated as he had—has transformed into seeing him flourish, surrounded by people who adored him, Hermione included. How did this happen? He’d gone from feeling lucky she tolerated him to finding her edging towards the center of his world. Scorpius’s wide grin, Hermione’s soft laugh—together, they made him feel something as close to peace as he’d known in years.

I could definitely get used to this, Draco thinks, settling into position.

Hermione

When Hermione learned that Candy and Tony would be her escorts for the match, she was genuinely thrilled. She and Candy have developed a fast friendship, and she’s eager to get to know Tony better.

Tony De Luca fascinates Hermione. A walking New York City stereotype, the Ilvermorny graduate is as staunchly proud of being Muggleborn—well, “No-Maj-born,” as he frequently corrects her—as she is. The only son of a single mother, De Luca spends ten years after school living in the non-magical world, working for NYPD and only stepping in as a Reserve Auror for MACUSA when needed. After his mother passed away, he fully transitioned into the magical world, but even after more than two decades with MACUSA, he still occasionally volunteers as an Auxiliary Officer at his local precinct.

The match is shaping up to be the most fun Hermione has had in years—and it’s barely started. With Scorpius and Theo Nott joining, their group easily claims the title of rowdiest in the section. To her left, De Luca and Candy keep up a lively banter, providing a relentless commentary on the match. Scorpius abandons his seat to sit on her lap, chattering nonstop to Theo, who sits to her right.

“Scorpius, darling, do be quiet,” Theo sighs, his tone dripping with the dramatic flair Hermione is starting to expect.

“Auntie Feo, darling? Nope,” Scorpius shoots back without missing a beat, making Hermione burst out laughing.

“Merlin’s pants, I have not yet had enough caffeine, nicotine, or alcohol for this,” Theo mutters, pulling a clove cigarette from his jacket and lighting it with a snap of his fingers. With another snap, he summons one of the stadium’s house-elves.

“I need an espresso martini, please and thank you,” he says, balancing the cigarette between his fingers.

“Theodore, honestly! It’s 10 AM!” Candy exclaims in disbelief.

“Yes, well, it’s 4:20 somewhere… or however that song goes,” Theo retorts with a wink.

When his drink arrives mere seconds later, Theo nearly downs it in one gulp, letting out a satisfied sigh. As the rich scent of espresso and clove smoke wafts toward her, Hermione is suddenly reminded of Harry’s Amortentia description.

Theo gives Hermione an exaggerated sigh when he catches her staring. “I know I’m gorgeous, Granger, and I’m flattered, but alas, you aren’t my type.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that, Theo,” Hermione laughs. “But I think I may know someone who is your type.”

She eyes Theo as he finishes his drink and cigarette, fully aware that his bold sense of style and unapologetic confidence will be hard for Harry to resist. He's wearing a black t-shirt with a scandalously low V-neck, paired with jeans that seem to have more rips than fabric. A hot pink sequined bomber jacket tops off the look, somehow perfectly complemented by studded combat boots.

Theo’s dark, tousled curls rival Harry’s famously messy hair, though his look is more artfully disheveled—a style Harry could never quite manage. With a lip ring, double nose rings in his right nostril, several earrings in each ear, and a stack of necklaces, he’s effortlessly pulling off a look that would overwhelm most people. Hermione can already tell his kohl-rimmed sapphire blue eyes will be Harry’s undoing.

“I have no idea what you’re insinuating, Granger,” Theo sniffs, turning back to banter with Scorpius.

“I didn’t realize you were religious, Theo,” Tony remarks dryly, eyeing the oversized, bejeweled cross hanging from the other man's neck.

“I’m not,” Theo replies, rolling his eyes as he blows smoke from the corner of his mouth. “It’s called an aesthetic, you neanderthal. Look it up.”

Tony scratches the side of his nose with his middle finger, careful to keep things subtle with Scorpius around—a gesture not lost on anyone. Theo returns the favor without missing a beat, only to wince when Candy hits both of them with a quick stinging jinx.

In the midst of Theo and Tony’s chaos, another stadium house-elf pops up in front of Hermione and Scorpius. He holds two trays, each bearing a card with their names on it. She glances over the assortment of snacks, and her heart softens. Every single item—down to the Muggle lemonade—is a perfect match for her tastes. Beside her, Scorpius’s tray is piled high with his favorite treats, a testament to how Malfoy always puts his son first, even as he thinks of her. In the quiet care of his gesture, she feels a gentle invitation—a way of reaching out to her and Scorpius together, as if he is quietly offering her a place beside them. It’s a touch more than she’d expected, and somehow, it leaves her feeling both seen and cherished.

After passing over the trays, the house-elf hands her a small envelope. “For you, Ambassador Granger.” With that, he’s gone with another small pop.

She opens the envelope to find a note written in Malfoy’s elegant script:

Granger,

What’s a first date without a meal? While this pales in comparison to what I wish we could do today, I do hope you enjoy it… and that I remembered all of your favorites. I’m so glad you’re here today.

DLM

Hermione reads the note a second, and then a third time, before tucking it carefully into her bag. It’s a simple gesture, yet she feels thoroughly spoiled. Malfoy has grasped concepts that eluded Ron for the better part of a decade. For Hermione, it was never about big, public gestures—the kind Ron would pull out every couple of years when he thought he might be losing her. It’s about things like this, or the surprise flowers she’d received earlier. Malfoy has quietly noticed all of her favorites, remembered them, and arranged them throughout her day to make her feel special. The time and attention he’s given her, and the care he’s shown in attending to the small details, make her feel treasured and wanted in a way that Weasley fireworks over the Burrow never could.

When she looks up, Tony and Theo are still bickering, but Candy catches her eye, giving her a knowing smile. Hermione refocuses on the game, her gaze quickly finding Malfoy among the players. She’s startled to notice he’s wielding a Beater’s bat.

“Wait,” she says, turning to Candy and Tony with a puzzled look. “Malfoy’s not playing Seeker anymore?”

The two men exchange amused glances before Tony speaks up. “Have you seen him lately? He’s too damn big! ”

“Seekers need to be fast and light.” Candy adds, catching on to her confusion. “Draco might’ve played Seeker back when he was knee-high to a Bowtruckle, but now? He’s all Beater.”

As if on cue, they look back just in time to see Malfoy swing his bat with a powerful crack, sending a bludger hurtling away from Harry and straight toward one of the DRCMC’s Chasers. The opposing player narrowly dodges, nearly toppling off their broom, allowing Harry to take advantage and score his first goal for the team.

“Did you see that, Minnie?!” Scorpius exclaims, patting her arm in excitement. “That was so cool!”

Despite their earlier sniping, Scorpius has now cozied up with Theo, clutching a colorful ball of yarn as Theo begins crocheting with practiced ease.

“Wait,” Hermione asks, her curiosity piqued. “You made all those blankets?”

“I knew it!” Theo suddenly yells, startling everyone around them. “I knew something was going on, but Draco wouldn’t tell me a damn thing.”

He turns to Hermione, quickly casting a Muffliato over Scorpius’ ears and fixing her with a mischievous grin. “So, spill it, darling. Are you going to give me the juicy details, or will I have to extract them bit by bit?”

“There’s really nothing to tell,” Hermione protests, her cheeks flushing. “I just brought over dinner one evening when Scorpius wasn’t feeling well.”

“Mhmm, sure,” Theo replies sarcastically, not looking up from the blanket he’s working on. “Keep your little secrets, but Auntie Theo knows all and sees all. I’ll get to the bottom of it eventually.”

“Grown-ups are weird,” Scorpius mumbles as the Muffliato fades, completely oblivious to the conversation.

Hermione has lost track of how many goals Harry has scored. She’d almost forgotten how athletic he is, especially with how little time he’s had for Quidditch in recent years. As he scores yet another goal, Malfoy is right beside him, fending off bludgers and blocking opponents attempting to knock Harry off course. Their exuberant celebration after the quaffle sails through the hoop has both Hermione and Theo bursting into laughter.

“Honestly, no one would ever believe this, Granger,” Theo says, shaking his head in amusement.

“I’m watching it, and I don’t believe it!” Hermione replies, still laughing.

“Believe what?” Candy and Tony ask in unison.

“Believe that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy not only tolerate each other in the same room but actually work together on the same team,” Theo explains, his eyes twinkling with humor.

“There wasn’t a single moment in six years of school when they weren’t at each other’s throats,” Hermione adds, noticing Tony’s puzzled expression. Candy, however, seems unfazed.

“Yeah, Daddy was a brat,” Scorpius chimes in casually, his eyes fixed on the match.

Theo, Candy, and Tony snort with laughter at the unexpectedly blunt comment from the little boy.

“Who told you that, Scorp?” Hermione asks, barely suppressing her grin.

“Daddy,” he says, giving her a look that clearly says duh. “He told me he didn’t learn how to be kind or nice when he was little, like me. He had to learn it the hard way when he got big.”

Scorpius continues, returning his eyes to the game. “Daddy says he doesn’t want me to learn the hard way, so he’s teaching me now how to be a good friend and be kind and nice and brave.”

Unaware of the emotional impact his words have on the adults around him, Scorpius remains transfixed by his father.

Candy stands up and walks over to where Scorpius has finally settled into his own seat between Hermione and Theo. He crouches down, gently tilting the boy’s chin so that Scorpius is looking directly into his eyes.

“Listen to me, Dumplin’, and listen good,” Candy says, his voice soft but firm. “Your daddy is my best friend, so trust me when I say he’s the bravest, kindest, smartest, and nicest person I know. And you are just. Like. Him.”

He punctuates each of his last words with a gentle tap on Scorpius’ nose, making the little boy giggle.

“I know, Uncle Candy!” Scorpius says, beaming as he tries to peer around Candy to catch the game. “I’m trying to see Daddy and Harry Potter!”

Within minutes, the DMLE’s Seeker catches the Snitch, and the cheers are deafening. De Luca may be the loudest of all, though it’s hard to tell whether he’s more excited about his department’s win or the money he just won from his bet.

“Come on, Minnie! Let’s go find Daddy!” Scorpius exclaims, grabbing Hermione’s hand and dashing down the stairs toward the field.

As soon as they step onto the pitch, Hermione and Scorpius spot Harry and Malfoy. Scorpius takes off at a sprint, calling for his father the entire way. Hermione is taken aback by the wave of emotion she feels as Malfoy crouches down, arms open, ready to catch Scorpius as he launches himself into his dad’s embrace. Their joy is contagious, and she finds herself grinning widely as she watches the scene unfold.

Malfoy flashes her one of those heart-stopping smiles as he picks up Scorpius and heads over to her. Hermione hadn’t gotten a close look at him in his Quidditch kit before the game, but now that she has, she’s seriously considering filing a petition for him to wear it to the office.

The leather gauntlets and thigh holster are just unfair, she thinks, feeling her cheeks heat up, probably blushing as much as Harry had earlier.

“Daddy’s team won, Minnie!” Scorpius shouts excitedly as they approach.

“I know, Scorp. Isn’t it exciting?”

“It was all down to Potter and the other Chasers,” Malfoy says with a modest shrug.

A breeze picks up, and suddenly, the familiar scent hits her—her Amortentia, unmistakable and complete in a way it never was before. The warmth of Draco’s presence fills her senses, and she breathes in the familiar scents: new parchment, coffee, tea, spearmint, cologne—mingling with a new sweetness, like warm sugar and freshly cut grass. She realizes with a sudden, steady certainty that it isn’t just him alone she was drawn to. Somehow, this scent is them—Malfoy and Scorpius together. The notion settles into her heart like a puzzle piece clicking into place, and she smiled softly, understanding that this is how she wanted to feel every day.

“Oooooh, you’ve got it bad,” Harry sings as he slings one arm around her shoulders.

“Will you shut up?!” Hermione hisses, trying to push him off. “And get off me, you sweaty oaf!”

“Is that any way to treat our illustrious winner, Granger?” Theo teases, wagging a finger at her.

Harry’s instant blush delights Hermione to no end. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Hermione watches as a quiet understanding flickers between the two men. Theo’s eyebrow raises slightly, as if asking a silent question, while Harry’s lips part in an answer neither of them speaks. Theo’s eyes sparkle with daring, the smirk on his lips inviting Harry closer. For a heartbeat, she can almost see Harry’s worries, fears, and the very stadium disappear, replaced only by Theo’s steady gaze. She isn’t sure love-at-second-sight exists–but if it does, she just saw it in action

“Congratulations, gorgeous!” Theo says, pulling Harry into a hug and kissing both of his cheeks. “In honor of your win, you can take me to lunch.”

Malfoy and Hermione exchange knowing looks as Harry’s eyes widen, clearly realizing Theo is his Amortentia.

“Lunch… lunch is good,” Harry finally stammers, as Theo releases him.

“Oh, lovely! I just knew we played for the same team!” Theo quips, steering Harry away. “I mean, your eyes have been glued to my delectable derriere and heart-stopping face all day, so I figured it was safe to assume.”

“I’m assuming you saw this coming at the potions factory?” Hermione asks quietly, moving closer to Malfoy.

“I did,” he groans. “I’m just not prepared for those two chaos demons to join forces.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” She laughs at his dramatics. “Candy and Tony are ready to go to lunch. Maybe you’ll feel better after you eat.”

“Doubtful,” he sighs, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow as Scorpius runs to catch up with Candy and Tony.

Realizing they have a rare moment where the entire group’s focus isn’t on them, Hermione casts a strong Notice-Me-Not charm and pulls Malfoy down into a kiss. In the crowded, noisy stadium, her charm makes their world small and secret, their surroundings slipping out of focus as she reaches for him. His eyes widen, caught between surprise and that familiar spark she’s grown to adore, as her lips meet his. Time seems to slow, his hands moving gently to hold her waist as he deepens the kiss, his fingers tracing slow, steady paths that leave her heart racing. Just for now, everything beyond them falls away.

“Best first date ever,” she murmurs against his lips as she slowly breaks the kiss. “Now, how do I get you to wear the Quidditch kit to work?”

She adores the blush that spreads across his high cheekbones as he gapes at her, momentarily lost for words. Hermione smiles again, marveling at how they’ve come to this point.

Chapter Text

Draco

July 6, 2009

New York City

Draco has been wandering the quiet halls of his house for hours now, feeling rather like the Bloody Baron. Another Tempus charm shows him that it’s 9:02 PM.

Only two minutes after the last time you checked, he thinks, climbing the stairs again towards his bedroom. He nearly stops to check on Scorpius but thinks better of it, afraid that if he opens the door again, he'll wake his son.

Draco enters his bedroom, searching for something else to clean or organize, but there’s nothing left to do. The bathroom has been polished to near perfection, and the kitchen and living room are immaculate.

He feels restless and out of sorts, detesting the quiet that has settled since putting Scorpius to bed hours ago. He’s been unable to be still all evening and has lost count of how many times he’s taken his hair down, only to put it back up again. He’s changed shirts at least three times, as if that would be the remedy he needs to settle.

With a sigh, he reaches behind his head, grabs the back of his shirt by the collar, and yanks it over his head, his hair falling loose in the process. He hesitates for a moment, debating whether to tie it back up but decides it feels better this way — at least for now.

Heading toward his dresser, he’s intent on finding another soft, faded t-shirt but stops short, relishing the cool air on his skin. Some nights, it feels like his scars and the magic etched into his tattoos need to breathe. Tonight is one of those nights.

Draco makes his way downstairs to his small study, pulling a random book from the shelf before flopping onto the leather sofa. Glancing at the cover, he sees its Great Expectations.

Fitting, he thinks, since he’s been roaming the house like the Miss Havisham of Harlem.

But reading proves futile. He spends ten minutes on the same two sentences before realizing he hasn’t absorbed a single word. With another frustrated sigh, he snaps the book shut, conjuring a glass and summoning a bottle of wine from the kitchen.

After draining half the glass while staring blankly out the window, he tries reading again. This time, he makes it through two paragraphs before the book slips from his hand, landing beside him on the couch. Another Tempus charm flashes a mocking 9:15 PM.

A sudden ping breaks the silence, coming from his cell phone, forgotten on the desk. Draco would have been embarrassed at how quickly he jumped up to check the message — if anyone had been there to see it.

Hermione

Hermione stretches languidly across her bed, reaching for her cell phone. Sundays were made for relaxation, and this one had been no exception.

She and Harry had devoured a Full English before Harry had gone out. Though he didn’t admit it, she had a strong suspicion he’d gone to meet Theo. When Harry returned later that afternoon, he’d called through her door that he was going to take a nap and hadn’t emerged from his room since.

She had indulged in a ridiculously long, luxurious bath, complete with a face mask and hair treatment, before giving herself a mani-pedi. This week’s emerald green polish had been chosen purely for how good it looked against her skin — for no other reason, of course.

After a leisurely dinner, she’d settled down with a new romance novel, which she was just now putting aside. A glance at her phone shows it’s just after 9:15 PM.

"Time flies when you’re having fun," she muses.

Hermione hadn’t talked to Malfoy since the previous evening, when they’d discussed their plans for today. They’d started texting but had moved to a call, allowing him to prep the snacks and other things he’d need for his trip to the Bronx Zoo with Scorpius. Visiting the zoo had been on her to-do list ever since moving to New York, and she wished she could’ve joined them. But with her attacker still on the loose, risking Scorpius’ safety hadn’t been worth it.

H: “How did it go at the zoo today?”

His reply was almost immediate.

D: “It was great! We had a lot of fun.”

A second message arrived before she finished reading the first.

D: “I wish you could’ve gone with us.”

H: “We’ll plan another trip when all of this is over. Plus, I believe I was promised dinner at a nice restaurant once we don’t have to worry about security.”

D: “A promise I fully intend to keep.”

H: “What are you doing now?”

D: “Reading and having a glass of wine. Not doing too well with the reading, though.”

Hermione shoots out of bed, a plan already forming, fueled by her Gryffindor courage. A glance in the full-length mirror reveals wild curls, with extra bounce and shine from her earlier hair treatment. She’s makeup-free, her signature freckles on display. She debates changing out of her midnight-blue satin pajamas but decides against it. She’s comfortable, and while the camisole and shorts subtly show off her curves, they’re hardly scandalous.

After slipping on her slippers, she grabs her novel and heads toward Harry’s room. The deathly quiet around his door suggests he’s cast a silencing charm. Hermione knocks anyway, knowing he’ll hear her, as long as he hasn’t added a muffling charm too.

“Harry?” she calls. “I’m flooing to Malfoy’s. I’ll be back later!”

Hermione laughs as a smattering of green sparks shoots from under the door.

“Green means ‘go,’ I take it?” she asks sarcastically. More green sparks dance around her in response.

Shaking her head at Harry’s antics, she walks to the Floo. “I guess he really needs some downtime.”

Hermione steps out of the Malfoys' fireplace and into the dark, quiet house. She toes off her slippers and heads toward the light across the landing.

She’s halfway there when Malfoy appears in the doorway of the softly lit room she’s walking toward.

“Granger?” he asks, stepping onto the landing. “Everything alright?”

Hermione holds up her book, giving it a playful shake. “I heard you were having a reading party, so I decided to gatecrash.”

“Looks like it’s a pyjama party, too.” A softer smirk graces his face as he drops into a regal bow, gesturing toward the door behind him. “After you, Milady.”

As she approaches, Hermione notices three things in rapid succession. One, he’s shirtless. Two, his pale skin and hair glow in the moonlight, making him look like some kind of battle-scarred angel. Three, this man has the alarming ability to turn her into a brainless, giggling mess.

She’s seen Malfoy shirtless before, back when she and Harry found him in the gym, but she’d been too busy trying not to stare. Now, she takes in the web of scars littering his upper body. Thin, silver lines crisscross from his collarbone to the waistband of his black joggers, each one catching the moonlight. The worst is the thick, ropey scar that runs from near his left shoulder to his right hip, nearly bisecting his heart.

Hermione pauses, her fingers hovering over a faint silver line that traces across his collarbone. Her heart beats faster. She feels a strange urge to close the distance—not just physically, but entirely. Her hand moves, almost of its own accord. Surprised by her own courage, she traces the longest and worst scar. Then, almost instinctively, she trails her hand along the line of his Adonis belt, from his right hip to his left. Her fingertips skim over the hard ridges of his abs before resting on the firm muscle of his chest.

Malfoy clears his throat, snapping her back to reality. She blinks up at him, noticing the incredulous raise of his eyebrows, his smirk clashing with the flush spreading across his cheeks.

“Merlin, Granger,” he laughs, “at least take me to dinner first.”

Hermione’s brain finally catches up with her body, and mortification floods her. “Oh. My. Gods.” She presses both hands to her face, muffling her voice as she speaks. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know what came over me.”

“I’d say I just have that effect on people, but I think it’s just you,” he teases, gently grasping her wrists and pulling her hands away from her face. “Seriously, it’s fine. Can’t say I’m complaining.”

Hermione laughs, though still embarrassed. “I hope you’ve got some wine left, because now I really need some.”

“Plenty of that to go around,” he replies with a grin, gesturing for her to lead the way into his study.

“Well, this room is certainly cozy,” Hermione remarks, admiring the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, soft rug, and plush leather furniture.

“Thanks.” Malfoy gestures toward the large desk across from the couch. “I use it as a home office for Estate work. Plus, it’s a nice place to unwind after Scorp goes to bed.”

“Oh! I should be quieter, then, so I don’t wake him.” Hermione slaps a hand over her mouth. “I talk too loud sometimes.”

Malfoy waves her concerns away. “Trust me, my son could sleep through a hurricane. Besides, he’s two floors up, and I’ve got a muffling charm woven into his room.”

Hermione settles onto the couch, tucking her legs beneath her as she opens her book.

“I’ll be right back,” Malfoy calls over his shoulder as he leaves the room. Hermione hums in acknowledgment without looking up from her novel. He returns a few minutes later, levitating a tray laden with an assortment of sweet and salty snacks.

“Well, aren’t you quite the host!” Hermione laughs, scanning the selection before grabbing some popcorn.

“It’s not a party without snacks, Granger,” he deadpans, pouring wine into her conjured glass.

Hermione chuckles when she sees just how much of the tray is devoted to sweets. “Let’s see… Cauldron cakes, chocolate frogs, pumpkin pasties, licorice wands, and sugar quills?! I’ve heard your sweet tooth was legendary, but honestly!”

Malfoy catches a chocolate frog in mid-leap, taking a bite with surprising grace. Hermione, so accustomed to Ron’s horrendous table manners, raises an eyebrow as Malfoy chews with his mouth closed, swallows, and wipes his mouth before speaking.

Honestly, Hermione, the things you put up with for far too long.

Malfoy grins, reaching for a pumpkin pasty. “People think I go to the gym because I’m vain, but really, it’s just because I like eating junk food… and a lot of it.”

“Why do I feel like that’s a new development?” Hermione teases. “Hogwarts-era Malfoy definitely worked out for vanity reasons.”

“Obviously,” he snorts. “And except for sweets, that little bastard was such a picky eater, he makes Scorp look adventurous.”

“Alright, that’s it!” Hermione claps her hands together. “That’s another thing I didn’t know about you, so we’re playing 20 Questions!”

“For what?” Malfoy asks, giving her a puzzled look.

“To get to know each other better, obviously!” Hermione scoffs.

“We’ve known each other since we were eleven,” Malfoy drawls, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Hermione shakes her head emphatically. “We’ve known of each other. If we’re going to keep moving forward with this—” she gestures between the two of them, “we need to learn more!”

Malfoy arches a brow as he swirls the wine in his glass, taking a slow sip. “Surprise, surprise—Granger wants to learn something!”

“Just for that,” Hermione laughs as she flicks a piece of popcorn at him, grinning when he fails to dodge in time. His unamused look only fuels her amusement. “I’m going first.”

“Why do I have a feeling we’re going to need more wine for this?” he sighs, topping up both their glasses.

“Let’s see, where to begin?” Hermione muses, turning to face him. She props herself against one arm of the couch, drawing her knees up. “What’s your favorite breakfast?”

Malfoy barks out a laugh, batting her hand away from the popcorn as he grabs a handful for himself. “I’ve gone full colonial on that one. My favorite is American-style pancakes with bacon, scrambled eggs, toast, hash browns—the works.”

“See?! I would never have guessed that!” Hermione exclaims triumphantly. “And that’s why this game is important!”

Malfoy gives her a nod, conceding her point before adding, “Here’s a bonus breakfast fact: my pancake habit has been inherited by Scorpius. Saturdays are always pancake days.”

“How fun!” Hermione smiles as she picks up a sugar quill, twirling it between her fingers. “Your turn.”

Malfoy looks thoughtful for a moment before snapping his fingers. “What’s your favorite season?”

“Winter, for sure!” Hermione says enthusiastically. “Christmas, snow, hot chocolate—what’s not to love?”

“I’m with you,” he agrees, “it’s my favorite too.”

“I probably know the answer to this, but—favorite color?” Hermione asks, reaching for a cauldron cake. “Also, I think I’ll have to start going to the gym with you. I don’t think I’ve had this much sugar in one sitting ever.”

“You’re welcome to join anytime,” Malfoy says, his smug grin suggesting this was his plan all along. “And what do you think my favorite color is?”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “Slytherin green, of course.”

“It wasn’t before, but recent events have changed that. So, yes.”

“Recent events?” Hermione asks, her tone puzzled.

He arches an eyebrow. “Does your gala dress ring a bell? You looked stunning. Honestly, I had a hard time keeping my hands to myself that night.”

Hermione beams under his praise. “It was a mutual struggle, believe me. Harry even accused me of undressing you with my eyes—if you can believe that!”

“I can. You weren’t exactly subtle.” He leans forward, brushing his lips against hers. But before he can deepen the kiss, Hermione pushes him back to his side of the couch.

“Nice try, Malfoy, but it’s still your turn!”

Malfoy sighs theatrically. “I know this is a loaded question, but what’s your favorite book?”

Hermione sits up, clearly intrigued. “Nonfiction or fiction?”

“One of each.”

“For nonfiction, it’s Hogwarts: A History—”

“No! I never would’ve guessed!” Malfoy gasps, clutching his chest in mock shock before dodging the throw pillow Hermione hurls at him.

“And for fiction, though I probably shouldn’t tell you after that display, it’s Pride and Prejudice.”

Malfoy hums thoughtfully, then picks up her discarded romance novel, holding it above his head when she reaches to snatch it back. “Pride and Prejudice? You’re sure it’s not The Pirate’s Treasure?”

“Leave my cheesy romance novels alone!” Hermione laughs. “Everyone needs a brain break book. I’m sure you’ve got some questionable literature hidden around here too.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Malfoy smirks.

They continue their game, going well past twenty questions before settling into a comfortable silence. Hermione wastes no time fitting herself to Malfoy’s side as he runs a hand through her curls.

“So,” Hermione says, breaking the quiet after a while, “shall we finish our conversation from the other day? Now that we’re done with questions and have given up all pretense of reading?”

Malfoy lets out a soft laugh. “Sure, we can do that.”

She shifts on the couch, turning to face him. “I still want to see where this goes, but I think, with everything we’ve both got going on, we should take our time.”

“I agree,” he says with a nod. “Especially since I have to think about Scorpius.”

“He’s so enamored with you—” Malfoy starts, but Hermione cuts him off.

“The feeling’s mutual.” Her heart tightens at the smile that lights up his face.

“You don’t know how happy that makes me,” he says, pulling her closer. “But I need us to be sure of where this is going before we tell him.”

“I completely agree,” Hermione replies. “I think we should keep this between us for a while, take things at our own pace.”

“No arguments here.”

They lapse into another quiet stretch, simply enjoying each other’s company.

This time, Malfoy breaks the silence. “You know, people will have a lot to say about the two of us—”

“I don’t care about other people’s opinions,” Hermione interrupts again.

“Neither do I, but it’s something to keep in mind,” he continues, shooting her a dry look for interrupting. “It’s another reason to figure this out quietly. We’ll need to be ready for the explosion when we eventually go public—especially in Wizarding Britain.”

“I know,” she sighs. “You’re right.”

“Did that hurt, Granger?” Malfoy asks, tilting his head to look at her.

Hermione frowns in confusion. “Did what hurt?”

“Admitting I’m right.” His smirk is as smug as ever.

“I’d watch your mouth if I were you, Malfoy,” Hermione says, her voice filled with mock menace.

“Oh? And why’s that?” The challenge is clear in his tone.

“You seem to forget that I know your deepest, darkest secret,” she sings, her grin widening.

Before he can react, Hermione launches herself at him, straddling his lap. She wiggles her fingers in front of his face, her triumphant grin growing.

“You’re ticklish,” she declares, diving into her attack, fingers digging into his ribs.

The effect is immediate—he squirms, trying to escape her.

“I thought you righteous Gryffindors didn’t fight dirty?!” Malfoy gasps, catching a breath when Hermione pauses.

“That’s just what we want you to think,” Hermione retorts with a wink before diving back in for round two.

She can’t help but laugh when Malfoy finally gives in, his deep belly laugh making warmth bloom inside her.

“Hermione, stop!” Malfoy begs, laughing, as he tries to tickle her back—only to find she isn’t ticklish.

“No, Draco, I shan’t,” she says loftily, nose in the air.

Hermione finally relents after a few more minutes, but she stays where she is, her knees on either side of his hips. Her hands drift into his hair as they both catch their breath.

“I like your hair this length,” Hermione says quietly, running her nails gently along his scalp.

“That makes one of us, I suppose,” Draco yawns. “But thank you.”

“Why wear it long if you don’t like it?” she asks.

“I can’t help it, but I’ve gotten used to it,” he sighs. “My Malfoy ancestors were—no surprise here—exceedingly vain. So vain, in fact, that the signature Malfoy hair, eye color, and skin tone are literally woven into the family magic.”

Draco gives her a small grin at her confused expression. “Family magic is an interesting branch of magical theory—you should study it sometime.”

“Anyway,” he continues, “I didn’t know until after Lucius died, but apparently, long hair is a family magic requirement for the ‘patriarch.’”

He says the last word with distaste. “This is as short as I can wear it. Any shorter, and the magic grows it back double-time.”

“How interesting!” Hermione exclaims. “I’ll definitely need to do some reading on the subject.”

“You know,” she adds, “it’s so different from how you used to wear it. After I saw you in my office after the attack, I told Harry it made you look like Draco Malfoy: The Remix.”

“Add in the tattoos, and that’s definitely true,” he drawls.

“Speaking of,” Hermione says, shaking her head affectionately at his imperious “go on” hand gesture, “can I ask one more question? Would you mind telling me about your tattoos?”

“I don’t mind at all,” Draco replies, smiling before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m so used to them, I don’t really notice them anymore, so this is a refresher course for me.”

Hermione shifts back slightly on his thighs to get a better look. “I don’t have any tattoos, and I don’t really know anyone who does, so I’ll admit—I’m intrigued.”

“I should warn you: 19-year-old, dramatic, newly-unleashed-on-the-world Draco probably shouldn’t have been making tattoo decisions—but here we are.”

“I know the story behind this one.” Her fingers skim over the covered Dark Mark on his left forearm before moving up to trace the compass rose on his left bicep. “But not this one.”

Draco rolls his eyes before responding. “Something about finding my own way or my true north.”

“If you regret them, why don’t you have them removed? There’s a Muggle way but there’s got to be an easier magical option.” Hermione muses as she continues tracing the tattoo with one finger.

“Oh, I don’t regret them but, you have to admit, all of the symbolism is a little melodramatic.” he laughs. “Sometimes it’s okay for a tattoo to just be a tattoo.”

Hermione shrugs, switching her attention and wandering fingers to the floral sleeve covering his right arm. “Am I correct in assuming that all of these flowers and plants have meaning, too? Flower language is still a Pureblood thing, right?”

“You are correct and, yes, it’s definitely still a thing, along with ballroom dancing and etiquette lessons.”

She traces along the sprig of lavender, Tudor rose, Scottish thistle and wild rose scattered along his arm. “All places you’ve lived or spent a lot of time?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Let’s see if I can figure out some more.” Hermione says thoughtfully. “Chamomile, nasturtium, rosemary, sage and thyme.”

She scrunches her nose, deep in thought over what they all mean. “Rosemary is for remembrance, sage is wisdom, thyme is for courage or strength. Right?”

“Are you sure you didn’t attend some Pureblood tutoring sessions?” Draco asks with a quiet laugh.

“Quite sure! I did, however, find a book on flower language in the Hogwarts library.” Hermione quips. “I’m not sure about the others, though.”

“Chamomile symbolizes patience in adversity and nasturtium is for conquest or victory in battle.” Malfoy answers before giving her a lopsided grin. “I told you they were melodramatic!”

“Oh, shush, I think they’re nice!” Hermione says, smacking him on the arm. “Dittany, asphodel, mallowsweet, flutterby bush. Potion ingredients so no surprise there!”

“No, I suppose not.”

Hermione moved on from examining flowers, plants and the foliage surrounding them to focus on the small items hidden among the rest of the sleeve.

“Broomstick, snitch, potion bottle, quill and parchment…oh, is that an owl?!”

“That would be Archimedes, my first owl.”

“Only you would name an owl Archimedes.” Hermione scoffs.

“Says the woman with a cat named Crookshanks,” he retorts with a raised brow.

Hermione waves away his response, continuing her search for hidden items. “Of course you’d have a Honeyduke’s chocolate bar!”

“What else?” She muses. “Is that a little bald eagle? How cute! Wait, why do you have a cowboy hat hidden in here?”

“That, Hermione, is a long story that involves Candy, copious amounts of alcohol and a mechanical bull.”

“I don’t think I even want to know.” Hermione jokes. “Is that a slug? Gross, why would you have that?”

“Do you remember that unfortunate incident during second year?”

“Why? Why would you want to commemorate that in a tattoo?” Hermione groans, resting her forehead against his.

“The reformed part of me wants to tell you that it’s a reminder that words have power and to watch how I use them.” Draco says as he fights a grin. “The prat still residing deep inside me would like you to know that it’s really because the memory of Weasley belching up slugs fills me with such glee, I could cast a Patronus with it.”

“Gods, you really are an arsehole sometimes.” Hermione laughs.

“Never claimed otherwise.” Draco says. “Ready to see the craziest tattoo I have?”

“Yes!” Hermione exclaims, reluctantly settling back into her previous spot on the couch when he indicates that she’ll have to move.

Draco turns his back to her, allowing her to see the back piece that she’d previously only seen the edges of. The tattoo is huge, covering from the top of his shoulders to his waist and spanning all the way across his back.

The entire thing is done in blacks and greys, a large Chinese-style dragon twisting through clouds of smoke and plumes of flame as it loops around itself. It’s a monster in battle mode, breathing fire and reaching out with vicious-looking talons, thanks to the magic that tattoo is imbued with.

“That is insane!” Hermione gasps. “How long did that take?!”

Having given her plenty of time to look, Draco returns to his previous spot on the couch. “Several hours a day for a few days. Even with a magical tattoo artist and healing spells at each session, it took forever.”

“Absolutely not. Not for me anyway.” Hermione says with a shake of her head. “There’s not enough Gryffindor courage in the world for me to attempt that.”

When he stretches his arms above his head with a yawn, she catches sight of a small tattoo on the inside of his left bicep. “I missed that one before!”

On closer inspection, she sees that it’s a crudely drawn picture of what looks to be two stick figures riding a broom back and forth across the space. She raises an eyebrow in askance as she straddles his lap again.

He follows her gaze before letting out a quiet laugh. “Scorp drew that and insisted that I get a tattoo of it.”

“Well, he is very persuasive, isn’t he?” Hermione asked with a laugh of her own. “That’s very sweet, though.”

“I thought so.” Draco agrees. “At least I talked him out of having to get his picture of Candy, Tony and Theo tattooed with it.”

“Is this all of them or do you have more?”

“I do have more but I think we’ve covered enough for today,” he says, giving her another soft smile.

“But if there’s more I want to see them!” Hermione exclaims, with a playful pout to her voice. “I like them.”

“I’ll have to take my joggers off for you to see the rest, so another time.” Draco gently taps her nose to punctuate his last two words.

Hermione can feel blood rush to her face at his words. “Oh, well, I suppose you are out of room, unless you decide to put some on your chest or stomach.”

“Nah, I think I’ve got enough going on in that area.”

Draco closes his eyes as she returns to running her hands through his hair from the roots to the ends. After a few minutes of this, she returns to massaging his scalp with her nails.

Hermione can’t help a satisfied smirk of her own when a deep groan rumbles up from his chest. His silver eyes are mesmerizing as his gaze flicks from her eyes to her mouth and back again.

The air between them is charged as Hermione reaches to trace his full, pink lips with the tip of her finger. She catches a glimpse of a smile on his unfairly gorgeous mouth before he tilts his head up and closes the distance between them.

His kiss is everything she remembers and more: sweet, purposeful and filled with just enough heat that she can’t stop the shiver that runs down her spine. She feels his sly grin against her lips before he pulls back so they can catch their breath.

After a short interlude, Draco’s hands find her waist, pulling her closer. Hermione closes the gap between them this time, sliding her hands through his hair as she presses their lips together. She feels his tongue against her lips and it feels like lightning runs through her veins as he tilts her head and deepens the kiss. His tongue slides against hers, pulling a soft sound from her. Hermione feels another of his satisfied smirks just before he pulls away again.

Hermione takes matters into her own hands, her mouth leaving his in order to drop kisses across his cheekbone, before pressing a kiss to a spot just beneath his right ear and moving to nip softly along his jawline. She makes a mental note of which places cause him to shiver with delight and which spots cause him to throw his head back with a groan. She presses a kiss to his throat, feeling the warmth of his skin under her lips. His heartbeat thrums under her fingertips as she nips softly at the place where his neck meets his shoulder. His skin is warm, smelling faintly of her Amortentia—an intoxicating reminder of how close they are.

Draco follows her path in reverse, leaving a chaste kiss on the dip in her collarbone before pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her neck and jawline as he returns to her mouth, claiming it with an intensity that takes her breath away.

They stay that way for what feels like an eternity, locked in each other’s embrace and snogging like teenagers. When they finally break apart for much-needed air, Hermione notices the clock on the mantle and sits up with a squeak.

“Circe, it’s 11:00! I should go home before Harry thinks I’ve gotten lost.”

“We do have to work tomorrow, unfortunately.” Draco says thoughtfully.

Hermione is still floating as he escorts her to the Floo a couple of minutes later, fully aware of the fact that she is still smiling like an idiot. They linger at the fireplace, neither wanting to break the spell that had woven around them that evening. Hermione glances up at Draco, catching a soft, almost boyish smile she hadn’t expected to see.

“Thank you,” she whispers, squeezing his hand. “For all of it—letting me crash your evening, sharing...all of this.”

He chuckles softly, brushing a loose curl from her forehead. “You’re welcome to crash my evenings whenever you’d like.” A smirk plays on his lips. “It was certainly entertaining.”

She rolls her eyes with a laugh, but her heart feels like it’s still in his study, tucked into the softness of the evening. “See you tomorrow,” she says, smiling as she steps into the Floo, the warmth of his gaze still lingering as she calls out her address.

Reality comes crashing back in rapidly when she steps out of her fireplace and is greeted by the sight of Theo lounging across her settee, a tropical-print, silk kimono tied roguishly at his waist as he sips from a bottle of wine. He has the most obvious case of sex hair that she’s ever seen.

“Fucking finally.” He sits up and squeals when he sees her.

“Finally, what?” Hermione asks.

“Tell me everything, you slag!” He exclaims, practically vibrating with excitement. "I know you went to see Draco."

“Where’s Harry?” She asks, attempting to deflect Theo.

“Sleeping off a full afternoon of ravishing me thoroughly.” Theo quips with no hesitation. “Now stop stalling and spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill.” She says, mocking his intonation. “We read for a while, talked, shared some snacks—-”

“Booooring.” Theo sings, cutting Hermione off mid sentence. “Let’s talk about my day instead!”

Hermione groans, throwing herself into the armchair with exaggerated drama. She covers her face, though a smile pulls at her lips. “Theo, I’m begging you,” she says, voice muffled through her hands, “I don’t need the details. Harry’s practically my brother.” She sneaks a glance at him from between her fingers. “And I’m sure you have far too many details.”

Theo brushes her concerns away with a flippant wave. “Honestly, I should be the one asleep right now, the man is relentless.”

Hermione lowers herself into an armchair with a groan, covering her face with her hands.

“Seriously!” Theo exclaims, balancing his wand between both index fingers. “Wand for comparison!”

“THEO!”

“That means you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon.” He stage whispers, still holding up his wand.

“Merlin, Circe and Morgana, I am going to my room now!” Hermione exclaims. “I’ve lived in a tent with Harry and managed to not learn the things you’re trying to tell me now.”

Theo’s cackling laughter follows her all the way to her room, only drowned out when she casts a muffling charm at her door.

Chapter Text

Hermione

July 7, 2009

New York City

“Good morning, Ambassador Granger!” Septima calls cheerily as Harry and Hermione walk down the hall. “Good morning, Auror Potter!”

“Good morning!” they reply in unison.

“I’m surprised Malfoy isn’t here yet,” Harry says, glancing at the empty spot where Draco usually leans against the wall, waiting for them each morning. “Must’ve had a late night or something.”

Hermione pointedly ignores Harry’s faux thoughtful expression, suddenly finding the ceiling tiles fascinating.

“Auror Malfoy is already in the office, actually,” Septima offers helpfully. “Though, you might be right about the late night.”

“I’ve never seen him less than perfectly polished, but this morning, he came in fifteen minutes later than usual, looking like he’d run the whole way,” she adds with a giggle. “His hair was half-up, and his shirt was untucked. I don’t think he even noticed.”

Hermione decides it’s best to stay silent, sure that any response would give everything away.

“On that note, I’m off to the A.D.—see you later!” Harry exclaims, leaning toward Hermione as if to kiss her cheek, though he uses the motion to tease her instead.

“Well, well, well…” he whispers. “Aren’t you quite the little snake charmer?”

Hermione shoots him a murderous look, then leans in to hiss at him, “I could say the same to you. Or was there another reason Theodore Nott was half-naked in my living room last night?”

Harry stumbles back, horrified. “How did—I don’t—what—?”

“Have a nice day!” Hermione winks and flounces into her office.

Draco

“Late night, Malfoy?”

Draco looks up to see Hermione grinning wickedly at him, her head tilted as if she’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“Back to ‘Malfoy’ already, Granger?”

“Only while we’re at work, where someone might overhear. Remember, we’re keeping things quiet.”

His eyes lazily travel from the curls spilling out of the bun atop her head, down to her gauzy black blouse—short-sleeved, of course—and turquoise pencil skirt, before finally landing on her towering black patent leather peep-toe pumps.

“You really are trying to kill me.” He sighs dramatically, letting his head drop onto the desk. “I knew it.”

“And just how am I trying to kill you?” Hermione asks, her voice filled with amusement.

“First the sundress, then the pyjamas, and now the pencil skirt and heels again.” He groans, straightening up. “Just put it on my headstone: ‘Here lies Draco Malfoy, killed by Hermione Granger’s legs.’”

Hermione’s bright laughter fills the room as she settles at her desk, propping her chin on her hand while giving him a thoughtful look.

“Are you going to make it?” Hermione rolls her eyes with a good-natured smile. “We weren’t up that late.”

“Says you!” Draco scoffs. “I’m old—”

“I’m almost a year older than you, and we’re not even thirty yet!” Hermione interrupts with a laugh.

“I’m old, and I’m tired. Pretty sure having a child has made me age in dog years,” Draco continues, shooting her a mock glare. “You’re lucky I was still awake when you left!”

“It wasn’t even 11:15 when I left!” she exclaims. “Besides, you said you were going straight to bed.”

“Yes, and I usually fall asleep reading by 9:15 or 9:30,” Draco shrugs. “Also, I said I was going straight to bed. I didn’t say I was going straight to sleep.”

“Oh, really?” Hermione asks, intrigued. “And why didn’t you go straight to sleep?”

“I’m sure you can guess,” he says, throwing her a smirk, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m sure I couldn’t,” she teases with a sing-song voice.

“Let’s count the ways, shall we?” His tone is playful. “First, you show up in your pyjamas—which were fucking adorable, by the way. Then, you grope me in my own hallway.”

Hermione squawks in indignation, but he ignores her.

“Then you sit in my lap for the better part of two hours, playing with my hair, running your hands all over me, and wiggling constantly.” Draco sighs, shaking his head. “So, no, I can’t imagine why the touch-starved single father didn’t go straight to sleep.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Hermione trails off, a flirtatious grin spreading across her face.

Before he can respond, they both jump as a loud crack echoes through the office, and Penny appears. Judging by the thunderous look on her face, it’s clear she is not happy.

“Master Draco is all out of sorts this morning,” she croaks, straightening her hat. “Master Draco is leaving a mess everywhere he is going this morning.”

Penny had decided long ago that her official "I’m here to handle business" uniform would be heavily inspired by Queen Elizabeth II. The powder-pink skirt suit, flower-bedecked hat, and pearls the size of gobstones were usually reserved for when she was particularly perturbed, so Draco knew she was not to be trifled with.

“Sorry, Penny,” he grimaces.

Penny stands in the middle of the office, her large eyes roving between his desk and Hermione’s. “Master Draco is also having absolutely no manners,” she huffs.

“Oh. Right!” Draco clears his throat. “Penny, this is Ambassador Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is Penny.”

Hermione stands and walks around her desk, extending a hand to Penny. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Penny!”

“The pleasure is being Penny’s, Ambassador,” Penny says warmly, clasping Hermione’s hand between both of hers. “Penny is hearing lots about Ambassador Granger from Master Scorpius and Master Draco.”

Draco is flabbergasted by the exchange—he’d never seen Penny so amiable with anyone new before.

“Is everything alright at home, Penny?” he asks. “I know you don’t like to pop in for no reason.”

“Everything is being fine, Master Draco,” the house-elf sighs. “Penny is popping in because Master Draco is forgetting his breakfast with all his rushing and mess-making this morning.”

Penny reaches into her black leather handbag—one Draco knows contains an illegal Undetectable Extension charm that would put even Hermione’s to shame—and pulls out his blueberry scone and giant travel mug of coffee.

Hermione’s stomach rumbles loudly as the combined scent of the coffee and scone wafts through the room. Penny rolls her eyes before disapparating. She returns less than a minute later, pulling another scone and mug from her bag, along with cream and sugar.

“Penny is needing to do everything for everybody today,” she grumbles. “Penny is not knowing how Ambassador Granger likes her coffee, so Penny is bringing everything.”

“Thank you so much, Penny!” Hermione exclaims. “This smells amazing!”

“Did Master Draco forget how to use a mirror today?” Penny asks, turning her attention back to Draco. “Master Draco is looking like Penny was raising him in a barn.”

With a start, Draco realizes he hadn’t looked in a mirror at all this morning. After his late night with Hermione, he’d stumbled into bed, spent a decent amount of time not sleeping, and then woke up 45 minutes late this morning. He had taken the world’s quickest shower before throwing on his clothes and leaving for work. Thankfully, Penny had stepped in and gotten Scorpius ready. Even with her help, they’d still arrived at MACUSA 15 minutes later than usual.

He lifts a hand to the back of his head while glancing down at his clothes. For fuck’s sake! he berates himself. Not only was his hair barely up, but it was still wet. His shirt was untucked, and his wand holster wasn't buckled properly across his chest.

Penny heaves a dramatic sigh, snapping her fingers to conjure a stool behind Draco’s chair. She pulls a hairbrush from her handbag, steps onto the stool, casts a drying charm on his head, and begins yanking his hair out of its messy knot.

“Ow, Penny! That’s attached, you know!” Draco grumbles, rubbing the back of his head.

Penny smacks his hand with the brush. “If Master Draco would be checking a mirror, Penny wouldn’t be having to do this.”

Draco resigns himself to his fate as Penny roughly drags the brush through his hair, pulling it back so tightly that his eyes water. With another snap of her fingers, his shirt is tucked in and his wand holster fastened so tightly he can barely breathe.

A quick glance at Hermione’s desk shows she’s been watching the entire exchange, her face filled with amused disbelief.

“Now, if Master Draco and Ambassador Granger are being capable of feeding themselves, Penny is going home,” she says sarcastically.

“I think we can manage, Penny,” Draco sighs.

“Penny is having her doubts, Master Draco.”

“We’ll take it from here. Thank you again, Penny,” Hermione says graciously.

“Oh, Penny,” she continues, “I meant to ask earlier—how were you able to Apparate up here? The wards should have made you Apparate into the designated point.”

“Wards are being a suggestion to Penny, Ambassador Granger.” Penny smirks.

“I’m guessing you’re the reason Theo was able to do the same at the match?” Draco asks in his usual dry tone.

“Master Theodore was needing a little push.” Penny raises her hand to snap her fingers, preparing to Disapparate, but pauses.

“Wait,” she begins, her eyes narrowing. “Is Ambassador Granger being the same ‘Granger’ who punched Master Draco in his third year?”

Draco and Hermione share a wary glance, unsure where this is going. Finally, Hermione decides honesty is the best policy.

“Yes, Penny, that was me,” Hermione admits with a slight lift of her chin.

“Good!” Penny exclaims, clapping her hands together. “Sometimes Master Draco is needing bopped in the nose.” With that, the house-elf disappears as quickly as she’d arrived.

They sit in silence for a moment, staring at the spot where Penny had stood.

“What, and I cannot stress this enough, the fuck, Draco?” Hermione asks, laughing incredulously.

“Welcome to my life, Hermione.” Draco groans, resting his head back on his desk.

Hermione

“Hey, y’all!” Candy shouts as he bursts through the office door after lunch.

Hermione and Draco had been working diligently since Penny left, but after a few hours of reading US-UK trade agreements on the importation of mooncalf fur, Hermione was more than ready for a break.

“Hi, Candy!” Hermione exclaims brightly.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Malfoy drawls, looking up from the Auror schedules he’d been working on.

“Thought I’d drop off your mail, Babydoll!” Candy says, handing Draco a stack of envelopes before settling on the corner of his desk. “I left yours with Septima, Madam Ambassador.”

“It’s Hermione, even at work, remember? And thank you!”

“Candy, what did I tell you about sitting on my desk?” Draco asks thunderously. “I believe I said that if you sat on my desk—”

“You’d hex off an ass cheek… blah, blah, blah,” Candy interrupts, waving his hands carelessly. “And yet, here I sit, luscious booty still intact.”

Hermione laughs as Draco conjures a gust of wind, pushing Candy off his desk.

“Of all the nerve!” Candy huffs, picking himself up off the floor. “I’ll just go over there with Hermione, where I’m wanted!”

“I thought you’d never take the hint,” Draco says, his signature smirk softening the edge of his words.

“Now, Malfoy,” Hermione tuts with mock disapproval. “Is that any way to treat one of your best friends?”

“Trust me, Granger, he’s earned it,” Draco drawls.

“Y’all kill me with this last name thing,” Candy laughs. “You sound like characters from a Victorian novel.”

“Old habits die hard, Candy,” Hermione says with a shrug, biting back a grin as Draco gives her a wink behind his best friend’s back.

Any further conversation halts as the door flies open and slams against the wall, causing all three of them to jump.

“We have a problem!” Harry bellows, rushing through the doorway with Tony close behind.

“What happened?” Hermione asks, sitting up straight.

Harry removes his glasses, wipes them on his shirt, and then returns them to his nose before turning his gaze on her—a nervous tic she knows well. “I left some files at home by accident, so I decided to walk back during lunch to grab them. I stopped by that Halal cart we like, you know, the one on—”

“There’s a point in there somewhere, Potter, I just know it,” Draco interrupts, tension radiating from every line of his body.

Harry holds up both hands, flipping Draco off without turning to face him.

“Anyway, when I got back to our building, the whole place was crawling with Muggle police and firefighters. All the windows on the first two floors were blown out, and I heard them mention a gas leak, but I could feel Dark Magic all over the place, so I sent a Patronus to Tony.”

“He’s right about the Dark Magic,” Tony confirms. “We couldn’t pinpoint the spell, but it seems like whoever couldn’t get in tried to cause as much damage as possible.”

“I’ve got a team of Aurors and Obliviators there now to investigate and handle any No-Majs who may have seen something,” Tony continues.

Harry’s expression is grave as she turns to him again. “The energy and time, not to mention the sheer anger, that it would have taken to cause this much damage? They meant every bit of this.”

As Harry finishes, Draco’s gaze hardens. He stays silent, but Hermione notices how his shoulders tense, his grip white-knuckling on the edge of his desk. The temperature dips several degrees, his magic pulsing with a cold, quiet fury she’d only seen once before. Despite herself, she feels a flicker of reassurance—if anyone would keep her safe, it would be him. He glances at her, his expression softening for just a moment.

“You alright there, Snowflake?” Candy asks, eyeing Draco cautiously as the temperature in the room drops again.

“Sorry.” Draco shrugs as the room warms back up.

“Keep it together, Malfoy. I don’t need frostbite on top of everything else,” Harry says sarcastically.

This time, it’s Draco’s turn to flip Harry off.

“Will you two cut it out?!” Tony barks.

Both Draco and Harry immediately snap to attention at his tone, reminded that, despite their casual relationship, Tony is still their boss.

Hermione leans back in her chair and closes her eyes, her mind racing. She had known for months that someone was after her, but since nothing besides a couple of letters had happened after the initial incident, it had been easy to move on. She had begun to hope the attacker had realized how lucky they were to escape without getting caught and decided to leave her alone, rather than risk another encounter.

It’s never that easy, and you know it, she thinks.

She feels a cool brush of magic against the front of her mind, but it’s different this time. Draco doesn’t seem to be trying to establish a Legilimency connection. After a second nudge of his magic, she realizes he knows she needs time to think but wants her to know he’s there when she needs him. Hermione lets the warmth of her magic slide against his in acknowledgment, hoping he can feel her gratitude.

As she gradually tunes back into the conversation, she realizes Candy, Harry, and Tony are debating which MACUSA safehouses are available and which one might suit her needs best.

Oh, absolutely not, Hermione thinks, anger rising at the thought of running and hiding.

Magic crackles through her curls as she stands and slaps her palms down on her desk, quickly gaining the attention of the others.

“Let me make one thing very clear,” she begins, her voice cracking like a whip. “I refuse to run and hide. I will not leave my job and my life to cower from some coward who’s too afraid to show their face.” She holds up a hand as Harry starts to protest. “I am not finished.”

Even through her anger, she notes that Draco stays quiet, allowing her to speak without interrupting—a fact she greatly appreciates. She loves Harry and knows he means well, but sometimes he sees her as a defenseless little sister instead of the highly capable witch she is.

“I’ll agree to more security and contingency plans, if that’s what’s necessary,” she continues. “I’ll even agree to stay somewhere else in the city for a while. But I will not flee New York and be locked away in some safe house in the middle of nowhere.”

The office falls into a heavy silence for several moments. It’s Draco who breaks it.

“Well then, it looks like you two are moving in with me.”

Draco

Given the way everyone stopped talking and turned to look at him, Draco fully expected to hear the sound of a freeze-frame from one of Scorpius’ films.

“I—” Potter stammers. “You? With— but... with you?”

“I know words are hard but do try to keep up.” Draco feels himself slipping into his second favorite coping mechanism—a delightful mix of barbed comments, pretentiousness, and that classic Malfoy sense of superiority.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, counting to ten. Just before he reaches eight, he feels the warmth of Hermione’s magic, calming and steadying him. A quick glance in her direction shows her giving him a soft but insistent look, urging him to try again.

This is how you know you’re in deep, Draco thinks.

“I’m sorry, Potter, that was rude.” He hopes Hermione appreciates the Herculean effort it took to say that with a straight face—and knows that he’d try anything for her. “But I am quite serious about you and Granger moving in.”

Potter stares at him like he has three heads, while Hermione continues to silently observe the room. Draco can practically see the thoughts running through her mind. Other than returning the favor by nudging his magic against hers, he leaves her to it.

“Are you sure about this, Draco?” Candy asks, knowing better than almost anyone how Draco treasures his hard-won privacy and freedom. He also knows that when it comes to Scorpius’ safety and well-being, Draco lives up to his namesake.

Opening his home to Harry and Hermione isn't easy, but neither is feeling as if he has to keep every vulnerability locked away. Scorpius loves her; that alone makes the risk worth it. And he… he isn’t sure where he’d be if she walked away now.

“I am.” Draco looks directly at Candy, making sure his friend can see that he’s not hiding behind Occlumency—that he’s making this decision with both eyes open, so to speak.

The thought of danger coming closer makes his pulse race. And if they couldn’t keep her safe here, what chance did they have anywhere else? But he wouldn’t show her that worry—Hermione needed reassurance, not fear.

“It makes sense,” Tony muses. “Almost no one knows where you live, what with Auror addresses being locked down and your sense of privacy being what it is. Plus, with your wards being stronger than even the ones at the MACUSA safehouses, it fits Ms. Granger’s request to stay in the city.”

“Do you have enough room for all of us?” Harry asks, still processing.

“Yes, Potter.” Draco rolls his eyes. “You and Granger will have a whole floor to yourselves.”

Another glance at Hermione tells Draco that she’s made her decision, even if he’s not yet sure what it is.

“I’ll agree to it, as long as you’re sure we won’t put Scorpius at risk or disrupt his routine too much,” she says, a determined look on her face.

“Scorpius will be as safe at home as he always is. Plus, I already have plans to make everything even safer,” Draco assures her, a small smile breaking through. “As for disrupting him? He’ll be thrilled to have you and Potter around, so don’t worry about it.”

“Right.” Tony claps his hands together. “We’ve got a lot to do, so let’s get moving.”

“I know one thing,” Candy scoffs. “I’m gonna hogtie the son of a bitch when I find him.”

A small laugh escapes Hermione as Candy continues mumbling about “lily-livered, yellow-bellied, low-down, stinkin’ cowards,” sounding for all the world like a cartoon cowboy.

Candy heads toward the door. “I’ll floo through to your house, Lovey, and restrict access to only Tony’s office. I’m also setting it so only us, plus Theo, can even floo in.”

“Thanks, Candy,” Draco says with a nod of appreciation, which Candy returns with a wink.

“I’ll let Septima know what’s going on and send her home for the day,” Hermione says, following Candy to the door. “Harry, can you head to the flat and start packing? Don’t forget to sweet-talk Crooks—he hates his carrier.”

Draco groans, flopping back in his chair, one hand over his eyes.

“Problem, Malfoy?” Hermione asks archly, turning back from the door. “My familiar is non-negotiable.”

“Oh, I know.” Draco sighs, uncovering one eye to look at her. “It’s just that Scorpius is going to be beside himself; he’s been asking for a cat for ages, and I told him we’d revisit the idea when he turns five. So, I hope you’re prepared to lose ownership of that monstrosity you call a cat to a toddler.”

“I’m sure we can work out a suitable custody agreement,” Hermione says, a warm smile lighting up her face. “Hopefully, I can at least get weekend visitation.”

“Now that that’s settled, I’m off.” Harry gives Hermione a mock salute. “Coming, De Luca?”

“Right behind you.” Tony takes off at a trot to keep up with Harry’s long strides. Their height difference isn’t quite as dramatic as the one between De Luca and Draco, but it’s close.

When Hermione walks back into the office, Draco is leaning back in his chair, eyes closed. “Are you alright?”

He hums thoughtfully, not moving or opening his eyes at first. “I am. Just thinking through everything we need to do.”

Draco finally sits up, looks at her, and casts a locking charm at the door before opening his arms in invitation. Hermione drops into his lap, leaning into him as he wraps his arms around her.

“Are you really sure about this?” she asks quietly. “I don’t want anything to happen to Scorp because of me.”

“We can’t control everything, but we’ll control what we can,” Draco says, pressing a kiss to her head. “I’ll keep you both safe. You know that, right?”

Hermione nods. “I know, but Scorpius is your first priority. I can handle myself.”

“I have no doubt about that, you scary witch,” he says with a teasing smile. “But remember, you don’t have to fight by yourself anymore.”

“Fair enough,” she agrees, sitting up to meet his gaze. “But that means we fight together—beside you, not behind you.”

“Together,” Draco concedes with a sharp nod.

Hermione gives him a small smile, then closes the distance between them to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “I know I said we can’t make a habit of that at work, but I think we can make an exception in this situation.”

“I agree,” he says, a smirk crossing his face before he kisses her again, briefly. “Plus, we need to make sure there are no lingering effects from my brief bout of ‘dramatic ice magic,’ as Candy calls it.”

A few minutes later, Draco watches as Hermione fiddles with the various rings he wears. He doesn’t really notice them anymore, so seeing them through her eyes is an interesting experience. Her fingers trace the engravings almost absentmindedly, twisting and turning each ring with curiosity.

“Malfoy signet ring, Black signet ring,” she muses, touching the rings on each middle finger. “I’m kind of surprised you wear these, to be honest.”

“I didn’t for a long time,” he admits. “It took a while, but eventually I decided that, while my family history leaves a lot to be desired, I get to choose what those names mean now.”

“Very true,” Hermione smiles.

“Wait!” She pulls his left hand closer, examining the Malfoy signet ring. “You changed your family motto?”

“I did. I didn’t want the old one to stick around,” Draco says, looking down at the words per aspera ad astra engraved around the ring’s face. “I thought about not having one at all, but a lot of the wards and family magic require a motto, so I changed it.”

“I think it’s lovely,” Hermione says, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

As her focus shifts back to his hands, she makes a surprised noise, peering at the ring on his right pinky. “Are you telling me Slytherin House had class rings, and the rest of us didn’t?!”

“Apparently?” Draco replies, sounding confused. “I didn’t realize it was just a Slytherin thing, but I guess it’s not that surprising.”

“No, I suppose not,” she says, tapping the black tungsten band on his left thumb. “And what about this one?”

“Just something I found in the Malfoy vaults a long time ago,” he shrugs. “Wearing three felt weird, so I added this one to even it out. Plus, I fidget with it during meetings.”

“I’ve noticed,” Hermione says with a smile. “If you’re not flipping your wand, you’re fidgeting with this ring or taking the others on and off. And if you’re not doing that, you’re doodling or folding paper into some shape or other. A lot of nervous energy, I take it?”

“Obviously,” he replies wryly. “Now that you’ll be seeing me at home, you’ll really get the full experience. Fair warning: there’s a lot of pacing involved.”

“I look forward to it,” Hermione laughs.

Draco pulls her close, relishing the scent of tea, books, lavender, and lemon as he breathes deeply.

“We are terrible at following our own rules,” she says with a sigh, sitting up.

“Today’s a special case,” he replies, wrapping a curl around his finger and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We’ll get back to professionalism in a minute.”

“Besides, I need moral support before I tell Penny,” he adds with a shudder. “She’s going to be livid.”

“She won’t be happy about me and Harry moving in?” Hermione asks.

“That’s not it at all,” Draco says emphatically. “She knows Scorpius and I care about you, so she will too. She’s just not going to be happy when she finds out you’ve been in this kind of danger.”

Hermione is momentarily taken aback by the wave of emotions that hit her. Ever since the irreversible Obliviation of her parents and the end of her relationship with Ron—and by extension, the rest of the Weasleys—the list of people who cared about her had dwindled to Harry, with occasional appearances by Kingsley, Neville, and Luna. Until now.

“I told you, you don’t have to fight alone anymore,” Draco says softly.

Hermione nods, not quite trusting her voice.

“After Penny leaves, I need to go pick up Scorpius so I can talk to him. I want him to understand that changes are coming, but I don’t want to scare him. Plus, he’s going to lose it when he realizes you’re moving in.”

“I’d imagine so!” Hermione leans into his embrace, nuzzling her nose against the spot on his neck where his scent is strongest. “I’m excited to spend more time with both of you.”

A low rumble vibrates through Draco’s chest, almost like an overgrown kitten. Hermione moves in to kiss him again, only to find herself suddenly on her feet, a conjured gust of wind pushing her back toward her own desk.

“Absolutely not, you minx.” Draco shakes his head dramatically, the gesture strikingly similar to Scorpius. “We have things to do. You’ll have to take a rain check.”

She shoots him a mock pout as she releases the locking charm on the door. “Fine, but don’t think I won’t cash that in later.”

He gives Hermione a lopsided grin before taking a deep breath.

“Penny!”

Penny appears almost before Draco finishes calling her, landing in front of his desk with a tiny fist planted on one cocked hip. “Master Draco is calling Penny? When Penny is doing her favorite task?”

“Yes, well, emergencies happen even on laundry day, Penny.” Draco kneels beside his desk, bringing himself closer to her level.

He quickly fills Penny in on Hermione’s situation. By the time he’s done, Penny’s long ears are practically shaking with rage. “Someone is threatening Ambassador Granger?”

“Yes,” Draco says solemnly. “I called you because we need your help. Granger and Potter are going to move in with us since it’s the safest option.”

“It is,” Penny agrees, her voice firm. “But Penny is making it even more safe.”

“Thank you, Penny. I appreciate all your help,” Hermione says. “I’m sorry to cause you trouble.”

Penny rounds on Hermione, a move typically reserved for Draco. “Ambassador Granger is having nothing to apologize for. She is not being the one causing problems.”

Penny waits for Hermione’s nod of acknowledgment before turning back to Draco. “Master Draco is helping with more security when he gets home?”

“Of course,” Draco replies.

“Master Draco and Ambassador Granger is not needing to worry. Penny is taking care of it.” With that, Penny disapparates with a pop.

“Well,” Draco says, standing and leaning against his desk. “That went better than I thought.”

Hermione lets out a snort of laughter. “She’s still rather like a general preparing for war, though.”

Draco casts a wandless Tempus, finally seeing the time he’s been waiting for. “Come on, nap time is over. Let’s go get Scorpius.”

“I can stay here,” Hermione offers. “I know you probably need to talk to him alone.”

“After this afternoon, you’re not staying alone,” Draco replies, shaking his head. “We’ll go back to the Auror Department. I’ll talk to him in my office while you’re in Candy’s. At least that way we’ll still be able to see each other.”

Hermione

Hermione had never been more grateful to be the only full-time ambassador on her floor. Both she and Draco were more shaken by the afternoon’s events than they cared to admit, and the deserted floor allowed them to indulge in a bit of unprofessional behavior, holding hands all the way to the elevator.

As they walk, she ponders the events of the afternoon. Draco’s offer to move in felt heavy with meaning. Just a few months ago, she would have sworn that he would have sooner lived alone in a cave than let anyone into his life this way. But Draco as she knows him now–with his love for his son and his quiet, steady strength–is more different than she could have ever imagined. She feels her cheeks warm, realizing how glad she is that she said yes, not just for safety, but because she wants to be near him, near Scorpius, to find what this new life might mean.

Draco gives her hand one last squeeze before letting go as the elevator announces its arrival from an upper floor. His timing is impeccable, as the older woman on the elevator looks like she’d deliver a lecture to rival McGonagall's if she’d caught them at anything less than their best behavior.

Hermione takes note of the curious glances that follow her as she trails Draco through MACUSA’s on-site preschool. It dawns on her that she’s the first woman to accompany him here, and her heart twists at the thought of all Draco and Scorpius have been through.

With any luck, this won’t be the only nursery pick-up I get to do, she sighs internally.

Hermione is pulled from her thoughts by the soft voice of Scorpius’ teacher. “Auror Malfoy, you’re early today!”

“Hello, Mrs. Weston,” Draco greets the older woman warmly. “Something’s come up, and I need to take Scorpius home.”

Hermione realizes that Draco wasn’t exaggerating when he said Mrs. Weston looked like Mrs. Claus. The red sweater set and matching glasses chain really complete the image.

Mrs. Weston’s eyes twinkle with mischief as she turns to Hermione. “I’m Scorpius’ teacher, Elizabeth Weston. It’s lovely to meet you!”

“Hermione Granger,” she responds, shaking the teacher’s hand. “It’s lovely to meet you too.”

“You must be the ‘Minnie’ I’ve heard so much about?”

Hermione can’t decide what’s more amusing: Mrs. Weston’s girlish giggle as she asks the question, or the blush that spreads from Draco’s hairline to the collar of his shirt.

“That would be me!” Hermione stifles a giggle of her own at the exaggerated wink Mrs. Weston sends her when Draco isn’t looking.

“Right this way!” Mrs. Weston says, leading them into her softly lit classroom. “Almost everyone is up from their nap, but, well, you know Scorpius!”

Draco snorts as Mrs. Weston points to where Scorpius is still sound asleep on his mat, clutching Pesto tightly in one hand.

When Draco moves to sit on the floor beside Scorpius, Hermione joins him, suddenly wishing she’d worn trousers and flats instead of her usual pencil skirt and heels.

“Scorp, you 'wake?” Draco whispers, grinning as Scorpius bats a hand in his direction. “It’s time to get up.”

Scorpius manages to smack Draco’s hand away before turning his back to them with a deep sigh. Hermione can’t help but laugh, both at his actions and his t-shirt, which features animated Crups barking, wagging their tails, and chasing little red balls across the light blue fabric. As always, his high tops match perfectly.

“You know,” Hermione mutters, “I’m starting to think Scorp’s shoe collection rivals my own.”

Draco grimaces. “Yeah, it’s kind of a problem.”

“Okay, Scorp,” he continues. “Up you get.”

Hermione’s heart skips a beat as Draco pulls Scorpius into his lap. Scorpius stretches sleepily, rubbing his eyes and grumbling incoherently as he buries his face in Draco’s neck. She can suddenly picture this as a forever, a thought she hasn’t dared in years.

“I know, love,” Draco coos, his hand resting steadily on Scorpius’ back, soothing him with gentle circles. “It’s dreadful to be woken from a good nap, but needs must.”

As Draco murmurs softly and ruffles Scorpius’ hair, Hermione feels a surge of emotion she’s long kept at bay. These simple moments—the laughter, the ease between them—feel more like home than any flat or office ever has. Her breath catches with the sudden realization that she’d do nearly anything to keep having moments like this.

Oh, Hermione, you are done for.

“Oh!” Draco says brightly, laughing as Scorpius burrows deeper into his neck. “Guess who came with me to pick you up?”

“No guesses,” Scorpius mumbles sleepily.

“Hi, Scorp,” Hermione says softly, grinning when Scorpius sits up a bit, cracking open one eye.

He more or less tumbles out of Draco’s arms into Hermione’s, burying his face in her shoulder and wrapping a tiny fist around the hair at the back of her head. “Hi, Minnie.”

As Scorpius' sleepy head rests on her shoulder, Hermione glances at Draco, their eyes meeting in a shared understanding. It's as if she's been accepted into a circle—one she hadn’t realized she’d longed for until now. This easy comfort, this shared laughter and unspoken warmth... how had she lived without it for so long?

Draco rolls his eyes. “I warned you—he’s got more Malfoy drama than I do.”

“Doubtful,” Hermione scoffs, turning her attention back to Scorpius, who is now sitting up and looking at her. She tucks loose pieces of his disheveled hair behind his ears, then traces a pillow line down his face. “That must have been some nap!”

She should probably feel more out of place here, shouldn’t she? But looking into Scorpius’ sleepy smile, she felt an unshakeable sense of belonging. It was exhilarating, but also terrifying.

Scorpius giggles sleepily and nods.

“You little traitor!” Draco laughs. “I get my head bitten off and smacked when I wake you, and Minnie gets this?!”

Hermione bursts out laughing at the Malfoy smirk Scorpius throws his father.

“Watching you get a taste of your own medicine is just…” She pantomimes a chef’s kiss.

“Go ahead, laugh it up, witch,” Draco drawls, rolling his eyes as he reaches down to help her off the floor. “Now that you’re staying with us, you’ll get the full ‘three-nager’ experience soon enough.”

They’re halfway across the atrium when Hermione realizes two things. First, Draco wasn’t exaggerating when he called Scorpius a “clingy little koala”—the toddler is practically cutting off her air supply. Second, judging by the amused glances from the receptionists, their attempts at subtlety have completely flown out the window.

“Merlin, Circe, and Morgana,” Hermione sighs as the elevator doors shut behind them, letting her head rest against the wall. “You can never tell him I said this, but Harry was right.”

Draco raises an eyebrow, giving her a confused look. “About what?”

“We’re about as subtle as a pair of graphorns.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Draco replies haughtily. “Garden gnomes will sprout wings and fly before I tell Potter he was right about anything.”

The elevator arrives at the Auror Department, and Hermione gratefully passes Scorpius over to Draco, feeling oxygen finally move through her lungs again. “I’ve got some work to go through, so take all the time you need.”

After several minutes, Hermione gives the file in front of her a final cursory glance before vanishing it—thankfully, it’s just a duplicate.

“Who wants to read about the importation of mooncalf fur anyway?” she mutters to herself.

Besides, she has more entertaining options at hand. Fortunately, Candy’s chair is comfortable and offers a perfect view of Draco’s office across the hall. At this point, Hermione would give her left arm for an Extendable Ear to hear the conversation between the Malfoys. Without one, she settles for watching and guessing.

Scorpius sits on his father’s desk, legs swinging over the edge as he munches on his snack. When they’d first split into different offices, Hermione had thought her heart might explode at the domestic scene—Draco gently brushing out the nap-induced mess that was Scorpius’ hair before tying it back up in a messy bun. Then, watching his large hands opening a packet of animal crackers and a juice box for his son had nearly done her in.

Now she laughs as Draco tries to speak, only for Scorpius to interrupt him every few seconds by cramming an animal cracker into his dad’s mouth, barely giving him time to chew before following it up with a sip from the juice box.

Oh, Sweet Circe, what a time to not have a camera, Hermione thinks, amused.

She can tell the exact moment Draco tells Scorpius that she and Harry are moving in. The little boy spins around wildly to look at her, nearly falling off the desk, only to be saved by his father’s quick reflexes. Draco gently holds Scorpius’ chin, making sure he listens as he finishes the explanation.

The moment Draco stops speaking, Scorpius launches himself off the desk in a sprint. Both Hermione and Draco instinctively reach for their wands, each opening an office door. At this level of excitement, Scorpius is just as likely to crash through the glass or vanish it entirely with a burst of accidental magic.

“Minnie!” he yells, launching himself into her lap.

“Scorp!” Hermione exclaims, catching him.

“You coming to stay at my house?!” Scorpius is nose to nose with her, his tiny hands cupping her face. “You and Harry Potter?!”

Hermione shoots Draco a mischievous look as he leans against the far wall of Candy’s office.

“You haven’t heard the best part, Scorp,” she whispers conspiratorially. “I have a cat that’s moving in too.”

“What?!” Scorpius gasps, jumping to the floor to glare at his dad. “Daddy, you didn’t tell me about Minnie’s cat!”

“Must have slipped my mind,” Draco drawls.

Scorpius runs back across the office, grabbing Draco’s hand, then turns and extends his other hand toward Hermione.

“Come on, Minnie, let’s go home!” he exclaims, looking up at her with a grin.

Draco smiles, making her heart skip a beat as Scorpius takes her hand and drags them down the hall to the Floo.

“Yes, Minnie, let’s go home.”

Chapter Text

Hermione

July 7, 2009

New York City

Draco, Hermione, and Scorpius step out of the Floo and into chaos. Candy is by the front door, muttering incantations as he works on the wards. He throws them a quick nod of acknowledgment but continues his task. From the sounds drifting out of Draco’s office across the hall, it seems Penny and Tony are setting up a war room, both determined to be in charge.

The small sitting room is overflowing with what appears to be the entirety of Hermione’s apartment—boxes stacked everywhere, shrunken furniture scattered across the floor. Harry is in the middle of lifting a stack of boxes, presumably to carry upstairs, but pauses when he sees them. Theo is lying on his stomach on the sofa, chin propped on his hands and legs kicking idly as he watches Harry.

“Potter–” “Harry–”

Hermione and Draco start simultaneously. After Draco gestures for her to go first, she tries again.

“Harry, maybe I should have been more clear, but I don’t think you needed to pack up the entire flat.”

“I told you!” Tony yells from across the hall.

Harry shrugs, leaning down to lift the boxes again. “It’s easy enough to pack everything with magic. Anything we don’t need, we’ll just shrink down further and store it.”

“Speaking of magic,” Draco says, mimicking the wand motions for Wingardium Leviosa, “you do realize you can levitate the boxes, right?”

“Someone,” Harry pauses to shoot an affectionate look at Theo, “hid my wand, and I’m absolute pants at wandless magic. So, Muggle-style moving it is.”

Theo watches Harry walk away with a look that’s verging on indecent for mixed company, then waggles his eyebrows at Hermione and Draco. “I am not sorry. I mean, can you blame me? The man has biceps like pythons and Quidditch thighs that could crush a watermelon!”

Hermione’s eye roll matches Draco’s, though Draco manages to fit in a full-body shudder at Theo’s words.

“Merlin, I wish I was a watermelon,” Theo mutters, mostly to himself, but Draco still gags audibly.

Hermione watches their exchange with amusement, but a small, insistent tug on her hand pulls her attention away. She glances down to find Scorpius looking up at her, his face a mix of hope and curiosity.

“Minnie, where’s your kitty?”

She takes a quick look around the room before crouching beside him and pointing to the cat carrier near the door. “He’s in there, but he’ll probably hide for a while until he gets used to being somewhere new.”

“Oh.” Scorpius sighs, his eyes dropping to the floor—a move that reminds her of Draco—before looking back up at her, pleading. “Can we go sit wif him?”

“Of course, love,” Hermione says, giving his hand a squeeze before leading him toward Crookshanks’ carrier. “We just have to be patient.”

She settles on the floor, wishing again that she’d worn something more comfortable but, as usual, refusing to transfigure her clothes. Scorpius climbs into her lap, tucking his head under her chin and giggling when she gives him a light squeeze.

“I have to tell you, Scorp, Crookshanks is an old cat, and he doesn’t always love people. So we need to give him time and let him come to us, okay?”

“‘Kay,” Scorpius agrees with a sharp nod before leaning closer to the carrier and whispering, “It’s ‘kay, Cookie, I wait.”

Hermione meets Draco’s gaze over Scorpius’ head and isn’t surprised when she feels the beginnings of a legilimency connection.

“Cookie?” she asks in a playful tone.

Draco’s shrug matches the amused drawl of his voice as it echoes in her mind. “‘Feo’? ‘Minnie’? Did you really think Crookshanks would escape without a mispronunciation-based nickname from Scorp?”

Before Hermione can do more than snort with laughter, the squashed orange face of her familiar peeks out from the carrier but quickly retreats with a hiss when he spots Harry entering the room.

“Hello to you, too,” Harry grumbles, dropping onto the couch as Theo all but climbs into his lap.

Undeterred, Scorpius crouches by the carrier, his small fingers carefully holding out a cat treat Hermione had summoned from one of the boxes. “It’s ‘kay, Cookie,” he whispers softly. “It’s yummy, promise.”

Crookshanks sniffs warily from the door of his carrier, his whiskers twitching as he eyes the offering. Slowly, the cat inches closer, his movements deliberate and cautious, before finally taking the treat. To Hermione’s amazement, Crookshanks brushes his head against Scorpius’ outstretched hand.

“Hims likes me!” Scorpius giggles, his joy bubbling over and spreading through the room like sunlight.

Hermione meets Draco’s gaze over his son’s head, and for a moment, they share an unspoken understanding. Their matching expressions say it all: “Well, that settles it.”

“All done with the wards, Muffin!” Candy exclaims as he enters the room, sidling up to where Draco is perched on the windowsill. “Ugh, you’re sittin’ down and still taller than me.”

“Well, you are 5’6,” Draco drawls, giving Candy an amused look.

“5’7, actually,” Candy sniffs before crossing the room to pick up Scorpius.

“Hello, Lovebug!” Candy exclaims brightly, settling Scorpius on his hip. He offers his hand in a fist bump, which the little boy meets with his tiny fist and a noise meant to mimic an explosion.

“Hi, Uncle Candy!” Scorpius laughs. “What are you doing at my house?”

“I came to help your Daddy with the wards,” Candy responds. “But I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Sugarfoot, it’s gonna be Floo only for you for a while.”

The disgusted look on Scorpius’ face speaks volumes, given his well-known hatred of Floo travel, and the room erupts in laughter at the toddler’s flair for drama. Hermione joins in, trying not to think too much about why there’s a need for anti-apparition wards. There will be plenty of time to process that later, she tells herself.

Penny and Tony stride into the room like two commanding officers arriving to rally the troops. The house-elf is engrossed in reading her list, feverishly double-checking everything.

“Alright!” Tony claps his hands. “Thanks to Penny, we’ve figured out how to do the Fidelius without causing the house to disappear from view of your neighbors, so no Statute of Secrecy violations here! We’re ready when you are.”

Penny levitates herself up to Draco, joining him on the windowsill. Hermione had taken Penny’s earlier comment about “raising” Draco as a tongue-in-cheek joke, but now, watching the way Penny fusses over Draco like a mother hen with her chick, she sees the truth in it. The old elf brushes invisible lint off Draco’s shirt, straightens his already-perfect collar, checks one of the buckles on his wand holster, and ensures his hair is still impeccably styled. She only settles when Draco wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side and kissing the top of her wrinkled head—all without ever taking his eyes off Tony’s conversation with Candy.

“Penny has finished setting up Master Scorpius’ room to be just like Master Draco and Master Theodore’s rooms at the Manor, except Penny is already keying in everyone here to the wards,” Penny says when there’s a lull in the conversation.

Draco

Candy, with his uncanny ability to read a room, throws Draco a meaningful look before turning his attention back to Scorpius. “Come on, Little Bit, I’ll take you up to your room so you can play while we do all the boring grown-up stuff.”

Penny’s words have an immediate effect on Draco and Theo, causing both to sit bolt upright. Draco meets Theo’s wide-eyed stare before they both turn to the elf, knowing they’re remembering the same day.

Summer 1997/em>

Draco and Theo fly lazily above the grounds of Malfoy Manor, enjoying their first days home from fifth year.

“Draco, look!” Theo points to a figure stopping in the field below. While Narcissa Malfoy is often seen in the cultivated gardens surrounding the Manor, it’s rare to see her this far out. The sight makes both boys slow their brooms to a halt, curiosity on their faces. The tension radiating from Narcissa is palpable, even from a distance. It’s enough to make Draco land a few feet in front of her, with Theo close behind.

“My boys,” Narcissa breathes, rushing forward to gather them into her arms.

If memory serves Draco, and it usually does, his mother hasn’t hugged him since he left for Hogwarts his first year. He can’t remember her hugging Theo since they were children.

The rare display of affection puts both boys on edge, despite her best intentions.

“Mother,” Draco begins, confusion lacing his voice. “Are you—”

“Quiet, my dragon.” Narcissa silences him, stepping back to meet their eyes. Her use of the nickname she hasn’t spoken in years stands out sharply. “You must both do everything that Penny and I say. Do not ask questions, and do not argue.”

Draco and Theo exchange a frightened look, too scared to speak, and nod.

Narcissa turns sharply, leading them briskly back to the Manor. To Draco’s surprise, she enters through the servant’s entrance he sometimes uses for late-night flying sessions. She keeps a quick pace, guiding them down the back hallways leading to his suite of rooms.

Penny is already waiting when they arrive. The air pulses with the strength of wards, marked by the elf’s distinctive magical signature.

Narcissa leads them into the sitting room between Draco and Theo’s bedrooms, relaxing only slightly once they’re behind the wards.

“Penny has warded your entire suite so that only the two of you, Penny, and myself can access it. No one, not even the other house elves, can see the door unless invited by one of you,” Narcissa says seriously. “You are not to invite anyone, and you are to tell no one about this. Do not leave this suite for any reason unless Penny or I escort you. Do you understand?”

“Mother, what is going—” Draco begins, but Narcissa cuts him off again.

“Do you understand, Draco?” Her tone leaves no room for argument. “Theodore, do you understand?”

Despite their confusion and fear, both boys nod.

Within hours, Voldemort establishes his headquarters at Malfoy Manor, with Lucius allowing the Death Eaters and Fenrir Greyback’s pack to move onto the grounds.

Within days, Draco and Theo have secretly invited every house-elf in the Manor to their rooms, hoping to protect them.

Within weeks, Draco is branded with the Dark Mark.

Potter’s confused voice pulls Draco out of his memory. “What about their rooms?”

“The day Voldemort moved in, Penny warded our suite so that only the two of us, plus Penny and Cissa, could even see the door,” Theo answers quietly.

“No one else could cross the threshold unless we invited them,” Draco adds. “It was their best attempt to shield us from what was happening in the Manor.”

“Penny, that was so brave of you,” Hermione says softly, her voice full of admiration. “Not to mention incredible magic.”

“Masters Draco and Theodore was being brave and doing plenty of saving too,” Penny croaks, poking Draco in the side.

Draco huffs a dramatic sigh at her words. “As if we’d stand by and let the Death Eaters use house-elves for target practice.”

“They invited all of the house-elves into their rooms. The elves was still having plenty of work to do, but they was also having somewhere to hide,” Penny continues, ignoring Draco’s interruption.

“Notice she doesn’t include herself in that group,” Draco says dryly. “Someone was too stubborn to stay in there with us.”

Penny rolls her large eyes in response.

Theo’s laugh instantly lightens the mood. “I’ve always said if the Order had access to Penny, she’d have ended the war on a random Tuesday—before getting back to the laundry.”

Penny flaps her hands dismissively. “You is crazy, Master Theodore. Laundry day is being on Monday.”

Once Candy rejoins them, Tony explains the next steps. “Okay, before we get started, we need to decide on the Secret Keeper.”

“I’ll do it!” Candy volunteers, almost before Tony finishes his sentence.

“You do remember what that could mean, don’t you?” Draco asks, referring to the fact that Secret Keepers for Fidelius Charms often become targets themselves.

“They’d have to catch me first,” Candy replies with a grin. “After all, Mama McCandless didn’t raise no bitch.”

“Now that we have that settled, let’s get started,” Tony says.

Hermione

With the Fidelius complete, Hermione finds herself alone in the entryway with Draco. Tony and Candy have returned to work, Harry and Theo have made themselves scarce, and Penny has gone back to her suite, likely dealing with magical exhaustion.

Hermione still marvels at what they’ve accomplished. Fidelius Charms are notoriously complex, but Penny hadn’t just maintained the wards—she’d gone above and beyond, creating an illusion of the house for Draco’s Muggle neighbors while keeping it invisible to magical eyes.

The memory of Penny, calmly adjusting her hat after casting the charm as if it were the simplest spell in the world, brings a fond smile to Hermione’s face. It had struck her then how much quiet strength this little elf carried—protecting Draco and Theo during Voldemort’s reign, and now, shielding them all with the same unwavering determination.

Although Hermione had been here twice before, today is the first time she’s seen the outside of the impressive house. Draco hadn’t been exaggerating when he told Harry there was plenty of room for all of them. The large, white brick structure stands in a neighborhood of posh, older homes. It’s gorgeous, even if it must be quite the adjustment after Malfoy Manor.

“If you’re ready, I’ll give you the tour and show you where your room is,” Draco’s voice pulls Hermione from her thoughts as she stands by the window.

“Ready!” Hermione laughs, taking his offered hand and following him down the hall.

“We’ll head upstairs since you’ve seen everything on this floor. You probably noticed it when you brought dinner, but the door to the back garden and garage is through the kitchen,” Draco says as they pass the entryway and study, turning toward the stairs before reaching the kitchen and living room she’s spent time in before. “I brew all of our potions in the garage, so it’s fully stocked, and you’re welcome to use anything in there. Penny’s suite is in the basement, and Theo’s is on the ground floor, though I don’t go down there much.”

“Oh, wow!” Hermione gasps as they start up the stairs, her eyes drawn to the large stained-glass skylight casting a kaleidoscope of colors over the staircase. “That’s amazing!”

Draco hums thoughtfully, looking a bit sheepish. “It is, but the rooftop garden is pretty abysmal, I’m afraid. The skylight is the best part by far.”

“Leave it to you to have a skylight that looks like it belongs in a 13th-century cathedral,” Hermione teases, softening her words with a smile.

“Yes, well, I suppose you can take the boy out of the Manor, but you can’t quite take the Manor out of the boy.”

“Have you lived here since you’ve been in New York?” Hermione asks as they reach the next floor, where she and Harry will be staying.

“No, I had a flat in Manhattan first,” Draco answers, leaning against the wall opposite her. “But this is the only place Scorp has lived.”

“I can’t imagine him living somewhere like my flat, so it makes sense that you’d want more space for him,” Hermione says.

Draco snorts. “You’re right about that. We’ve stayed with my mother at her flat in Paris a few times, and let’s just say, my son needs a lot of room to roam.”

As Draco talks, Hermione wanders toward the bedroom facing the street. It’s clear from the scattered boxes and belongings that Harry has claimed this room. Lost in thought, she nearly jumps when Draco slides his arms around her waist, having quietly snuck up behind her. She feels the rumble of his laugh against her back, which only makes her lean into him more.

“In hindsight, sneaking up on you after today probably wasn’t the best idea,” Draco says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Sorry,” Hermione laughs. “I got lost in space for a second.”

“Potter gave you the better room,” Draco remarks as he leads her down the hallway to what will be her room, stopping at another door along the way. “You’ll have to share a bathroom, though.”

The bathroom, like the rest of the house, is spacious and well-lit. The blue mosaic tiles give it a Mediterranean vibe, and a large shower stall dominates the far wall.

“I shared a tent with him for a year,” Hermione deadpans. “I think I can handle sharing a bathroom for the foreseeable future. I will miss my bathtub, though.”

“You can use the one in my bathroom whenever you want,” Draco says, his tone suddenly flirtatious.

Judging by the way his smirk falters mid-sentence, Hermione can tell he’s as surprised by his words as she is.

“I mean, obviously I wouldn’t be—” Draco stammers, his blush creeping from his hairline to his collar.

Merlin, he’s so adorably fussy and buttoned-up, Hermione thinks, not for the first time. She’s noticed that Draco often wavers between being prim-and-proper and unexpectedly flirtatious, almost without realizing it.

“I know what you meant, Draco,” Hermione laughs, deciding to put him out of his misery. She heads toward her new room, giving him a moment to compose himself.

Her new bedroom is painted in calming neutrals, with sage green accents appearing in the lamps, rugs, and pillows. The large windows along the back wall offer a great view of the garden and the rest of the neighborhood.

“I hope it’s okay,” Draco says from the doorway.

“It’s lovely!” she assures him, crossing the room to wrap him in a strong hug. “Thank you again for letting us move in. I know it’s not easy for you to let people in, especially with Scorpius involved.”

He returns the hug just as fiercely. “It’s easier than you might think, since it’s for you.”

“Draco Malfoy! Who knew you could be so sweet?” Hermione exclaims.

“Certainly not me,” Draco drawls, turning to lead the way up the final flight of stairs. “Come on, we’re almost done with the tour.”

As they reach the floor where his and Scorpius’ rooms are, Hermione hears the lilting sound of the little boy’s voice through his closed door.

“Who’s he talking to?” she asks, pausing at the top of the stairs.

“Himself,” Draco replies with a smirk. “A terrible habit. Must have inherited it from his mother.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “You say that like I haven’t seen you having conversations with yourself at work.”

“Yes, well, even I need expert advice every now and then,” Draco shrugs.

Before Hermione can come up with a witty response, the shimmer of magic at the end of the hall catches her attention.

“What’s that?” she asks, nodding toward the wards.

“Entrance to the rooftop,” Draco explains. “It’s warded heavily so Scorp can’t accidentally get up there, but I’ll key you into the wards so you can go up whenever you like.”

“Thanks!” Hermione says, following him down the hall. They pass a partially open door, and Draco seems to give it a wide berth.

“That’s my room,” Draco mumbles, waving dismissively at the door.

Fussy, fussy, fussy, Hermione thinks, noticing the blush creeping up the back of his neck. She can’t see much from this angle, but she catches a glimpse of soothing dark colors, and what looks like an enormous bed.

She almost jokes about the bathtub but holds back, afraid he might spontaneously combust.

As they approach the rooftop, Hermione feels the cool burst of Draco’s magic wash over her as he adds her to the wards. He motions for her to go first.

“Remember, it’s pretty bleak,” Draco warns as she steps out onto the rooftop garden.

Hermione surveys the rooftop, envisioning an eventual haven amidst the city. 'It’s not bleak,' she mused aloud. 'It just needs someone to see its potential.' She picks up a stick and leaf that have blown onto the roof and transfigures them into a chair and sunshade. “There, better already! Now I’ve got somewhere to sit when I want to read up here.”

“Use it as much as you’d like,” Draco says as they head back downstairs.

As they approach Scorpius’ room, they can still hear him chattering away.

Draco opens the door, and Hermione is greeted by a sight she can hardly believe. Scorpius is sitting in the middle of his bed, flipping through a large picture book spread across his lap, narrating the pictures to Crookshanks. Her large, typically unfriendly cat is curled around Scorpius’ back, lazily flicking his tail as he rests his head on a small, uncovered portion of the boy’s lap.

To her utter amazement, Crookshanks looks at her and purrs before nuzzling his head against Scorpius. “I didn’t even know he could purr.”

“You’re never getting that cat back,” Draco says dryly.

“Absolutely not,” Hermione agrees with a laugh.

“Oh, hi!” Scorpius exclaims, finally noticing their presence. “I just reading to Cookie.”

“He looks like he’s really enjoying it!” Hermione says brightly.

“Yeah!” Scorpius agrees, shifting to wrap Crookshanks in a hug. “I love him!”

As soon as Scorpius lets go, Crookshanks completely ignores Hermione and hops off the bed, choosing instead to stretch out in a puddle of sunshine, further proving that she’s lost custody of her cat to a toddler.

“Daddy, what’s for dinner?” Scorpius asks, walking over to Draco with his arms raised, signaling that he wants to be picked up.

“Haven’t a clue,” Draco replies, scooping Scorpius up and settling him on his hip. “Didn’t plan on feeding you tonight.”

Hermione can’t help but laugh at the eye roll Scorpius gives his father—an expression identical to the one she’s seen Draco use hundreds of times. “Well, I’m hungry!”

“Hi, Hungry, I’m Daddy,” Draco jokes.

That... should not have been as attractive as it was, Hermione thinks.

“You so silly, Daddy!” Scorpius giggles. “Can we have pasketti?”

“Sure thing, love,” Draco says, planting a kiss on Scorpius’ forehead.

As they pass by her and Harry’s rooms, Hermione overhears Scorpius mentioning helping Draco in the kitchen.

“Wait,” she says, stopping on the landing. “You’re cooking?”

Draco throws her a smirk over his shoulder as he starts to walk away. “How else do you think we’re going to have pasketti for dinner?”

Draco

After dinner and putting Scorpius to bed, Draco has retreated to his study. He looks up from his novel to see Hermione standing in the doorway of the study, book in hand.

“Do you think we’ll actually get some reading done this time?”

“We might,” he says with a small laugh. “Though that awful shirt you’re wearing might be a distraction.”

Hermione glances down at the faded Gryffindor Quidditch shirt she’d nicked from Harry and shrugs. “It’s comfy!”

“It’s horrifying,” Draco deadpans as Hermione sits beside him on the couch.

He turns his attention back to his book, but it isn’t long before he feels her staring at him.

“Everything alright?” Draco asks, turning to meet her gaze.

“Since when do you wear glasses?”

The glasses in question are just prescription versions of his usual Ray-Bans—nothing special in his opinion. But he notices the sudden breathiness in Hermione’s voice, and if it’s because of his glasses, he’ll make a note to wear them more often.

“I’ve needed them since sixth year,” Draco replies, pushing the glasses up to rest on top of his head. “Turns out, doing all your reading and schoolwork by candlelight—”

“Put them back on,” Hermione interrupts, her voice firm, her eyes determined.

“Okay, okay.” Draco raises his hands in surrender. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted—years of reading and working by candlelight at home and school didn’t do wonders for my vision.”

“Why don’t you wear them at work?”

“Because I’m stubborn and prefer to wait until my eyes are so tired I have to wear them?” He phrases it like a guess, though they both know it’s the truth.

Draco starts to take the glasses off again as he looks at her—he doesn’t need them for that distance, after all—but she stops him with a sharp glare.

“If you take them off again, I’ll use a Sticking Charm to keep them on your face,” she growls, although the effect is more adorable than menacing.

“Yes, ma’am,” Draco retorts with a mock salute.

Hermione grins, satisfied, before leaning back against the opposite arm of the couch and tossing her legs over his lap.

They read in comfortable silence for a while before Hermione speaks again. “Did you know you said ‘pasketti’ earlier instead of ‘spaghetti’?”

Draco throws his head back and laughs, realizing she’s right. “Hazard of having a toddler, I suppose.”

Hermione hums thoughtfully in response.

“If you think that was bad, you should’ve been there when I asked Candy if he needed to go potty before a DMLE meeting,” Draco says, shaking his head at the memory. Candy, of course, still loved to bring it up.

“You did not!” Hermione exclaims, dissolving into laughter.

“Oh, but I did,” Draco groans, bringing both hands up to cover his face. “In my defense, Scorp and I were deep in the trenches of potty training. I was so used to asking every ten minutes, it was muscle memory at that point.”

Their laughter eventually fades, and they return to their books for a while. Suddenly, Hermione sits bolt upright, remembering the sight of Penny reading from a list earlier.

“Draco, who taught Penny to read?” she asks. “I’ve never encountered a house-elf who can.”

Draco feels the blush creeping from his chest up to his face. “Well, I suppose that would be me.”

June 5, 1991

The doors to Draco’s suite fly open as he runs inside, letter in hand.

“Penny, it came!” he shouts, knowing the house-elf is nearby.

True to form, she pops up in front of him at the sound of his voice. “What came, Master Draco?”

“My Hogwarts letter!” Draco waves the parchment excitedly in front of her long nose. “See?!”

“Penny does see, Master Draco,” she says calmly. “Penny is glad Master Draco is so excited.”

“I knew it would arrive today, but it was still fun to see the owl,” Draco sighs, flinging himself onto his bed.

“Will you come with us to Diagon Alley to get my school things?” he asks.

“If Master Lucius and Mistress Narcissa allow Penny to go, Penny will go,” the elf replies solemnly.

“Well, if I say you’re going, they’ll have no choice,” Draco says petulantly.

“Of course, Master Draco.”

Something in her tone makes Draco sit up. “What’s wrong, Penny?”

“Nothing is being wrong,” Penny croaks.

“I know you’ll miss me,” Draco says softly. “I’ll miss you too.”

“Penny will miss Master Draco greatly.”

“It’s okay, though!” he exclaims. “I’ll write to you every week, and you can write back. That will do until I come home for the holidays.”

“Penny thinks Master Draco will be much too busy with his studies and friends,” she says with a small smile. “Penny will listen to all his stories when Master Draco returns home.”

Despite his best efforts, Draco feels his lower lip tremble as his eyes fill with tears. “For Merlin’s sake, Draco, pull it together! You’re eleven years old!,” he thinks.

“Why don’t you want to exchange letters, Penny?” he asks, cursing the wobble in his voice.

“Penny does want to exchange letters, but Penny…” The elf pauses, taking a shuddering breath. “But Penny cannot exchange letters.”

Draco frowns in confusion. “If you’re afraid Mother and Father won’t let you, I’ll take care of that.”

“No, Master Draco, that is not being the problem.” Penny’s posture is slightly slumped as she wrings her hands, something Draco has never seen her do.

“Then what—” Draco cuts himself off as realization dawns.

Penny had always told him bedtime stories, but she never read them from his books. And after he learned to read, she’d insisted he read to her “for practice.”

“Penny,” he asks quietly, “can you read?”

Penny lifts her chin defiantly. “No, Master Draco. Penny is not being able to read or write.”

“Oh, well, I’ll help you!” Draco exclaims, hopping off the bed and running to the bookshelf where his tutor’s reading books are kept. “We’ve got three months until I go to Hogwarts. Plenty of time!”

“You is crazy, Master Draco,” Penny sighs, though she gives him an affectionate look.

“And you love me for it,” Draco grins.

“You?!” Hermione asks incredulously, snapping Draco out of his memory. “When was this?”

“Well, I helped her get started,” Draco says with a bashful shrug. “We began the day I got my Hogwarts letter so we could write to each other while I was at school.”

“Draco!” Hermione exclaims, launching herself into his lap. “That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard!”

Draco flushes again under her praise. “I just got out the books my tutor used to teach me to read and showed her the basics. She took it from there.”

“Still,” Hermione says, pressing a kiss to his lips, “it was incredibly sweet.”

“I do have my moments,” Draco smirks, pulling her in for another kiss.

They stay wrapped in each other for the rest of the evening, their books long forgotten.

Chapter Text

Hermione

July 17, 2009

New York City

Hermione yawns widely as she wakes up, rewarded with a mouthful of Crookshanks’ tail.

“So, you finally remembered I exist?” Hermione asks, not bothering to open her eyes, spluttering as she tries to dislodge orange fur from her lips. Crookshanks merely yowls in response before hopping off the bed and sauntering away.

Since she and Harry moved into Draco’s house two weeks ago, Crookshanks has switched his allegiance to Scorpius. If he isn’t following the little boy around the house, he’s holed up in Scorpius’ room, with Hermione barely catching glimpses of him.

“Overgrown, ungrateful furball,” Hermione mutters.

A soft giggle makes her roll over and open her eyes. Scorpius is standing beside her bed, just barely able to see over the edge.

“Good morning, Minnie,” he whispers in that loud way only small children can manage.

“Good morning, Scorp,” Hermione whispers back. “Does your daddy know you’re down here?”

She recalls how Draco intercepted Scorpius last Saturday when the little boy had been on a mission to wake her up for pancakes. Judging by the quick, quiet footsteps coming down the stairs, she already knows the answer to her question.

“Nope!” Scorpius takes great delight in popping the "p" at the end of the word, giving her a smirk that rivals any Draco has given her.

“Scorp, please tell me you are not in there trying to wake Minnie up.” Draco says, his voice quiet and still rough with sleep as he reaches the partially open bedroom door.

“In his defense,” Hermione says with a yawn, “I was waking up on my own, and then Crookshanks sped up the process by shoving his tail in my mouth.”

Draco fully opens the door, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorframe. “Still.”

“Daddy, you said, ‘Don’t wake up Minnie.’” Scorpius huffs, attempting again to match Draco’s tone. He throws his arms out in an exaggerated gesture. “I didn’t!”

“Yes, well, next time I’ll be more specific and tell you not to come stare at Minnie until she wakes up, you little gremlin.”

Hermione grins as she watches father and son affectionately snark at each other. She finally sits up, stretching her arms overhead and yawning again.

“I’m going to need a lot of coffee before I’m awake enough to keep up with you two,” she says, shaking her head. “What’s for breakfast? Waffles?”

Scorpius whips around, eyes wide. “No, Minnie, pancakes!”

He bolts for the door, pushing Draco off his spot against the doorframe. “Hurry, Daddy, Minnie needs coffee!”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Draco sighs dramatically, heading for the stairs.

Hermione finally gets out of bed, immediately scooping Scorpius up for a hug as she stands. “Thank you for making sure I have coffee first thing this morning!”

“You welcome!” Scorpius beams before wiggling his way back to the floor. “I go make sure Daddy does it right.”

With that, he runs out the door and down the stairs, leaving Hermione laughing at his words as she heads to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, when she makes it to the kitchen, Draco is leaning against the counter, gripping his coffee mug with both hands like it’s tethering him to the earth. Despite looking barely awake, he’s still smiling at his son’s antics.

Scorpius is running around the kitchen, pretending Pesto is flying, evidently reenacting a dream he had the night before. Hermione narrowly avoids a collision with him as she makes her way to her spot at the bar, where her perfectly made coffee waits under a stasis charm. It had only taken one time of Draco watching her prepare it before he memorized her preferences as easily as he did her tea order.

“Thank you,” Hermione mouths when she looks up and catches him watching her. He sends her a quick wink before raising his own mug in a “cheers” gesture, while Scorpius prattles on.

Draco starts summoning bowls, utensils, and ingredients from various cabinets, evidently awake enough now to start cooking. “Alright, buddy, hop up here if you’re going to help me.”

Scorpius heads toward the stool he uses in the kitchen but abruptly stops. “Oh, wait! I be right back.”

Hermione watches with amusement as Scorpius dashes out of the room, and Draco just as quickly moves to her side of the bar. Taking advantage of their brief moment alone, he cups her jaw and brushes a soft kiss against her lips. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” she whispers. Just as she leans in for another kiss, they spring apart at the sound of Scorpius’ footsteps echoing down the hall. Between work and their determination to keep their relationship quiet for now, moments together are relegated to the evenings after Scorpius goes to bed and any stolen time they can find throughout the day.

“I had to get Cookie!” Scorpius exclaims as he slides back into the kitchen, climbing onto his stool with Crookshanks trailing behind. “Hims needs pancakes too!”

“I’m pretty sure cats aren’t supposed to have pancakes, Scorp,” Draco says as he starts adding ingredients to the bowl.

“Normally, you’d be correct,” Hermione says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “But, as we’ve established, Crooks is far from normal. You should’ve seen the stuff students and house-elves fed him at Hogwarts.”

“I can only imagine,” Draco drawls.

Hermione settles back with her coffee, content to watch as Draco and Scorpius chat and laugh while preparing breakfast together. Their identical expressions of concentration and messy morning hair make her smile. As much as she loves their similarities, their differences amuse her even more. Draco’s quiet demeanor and black joggers and t-shirt are in stark contrast to Scorpius’ Quidditch-themed footie pyjamas and non-stop chatter.

What timeline did I stumble into where a barefoot, pyjama-clad Draco Malfoy is making me breakfast with the world’s cutest three-year-old on his hip? Hermione muses silently.

Sometimes it still feels surreal that she and Draco are in a relationship, not because of their past, but because of how unexpected it all is. Over the last few years, she had settled for and accepted less than she deserved, both with Ron and other aspects of her life—but no more. Her breakup with Ron had woken her up and led to a reawakening she sometimes affectionately refers to as The Remix.

As they move to the table to eat, Hermione sits in her usual spot to Draco’s right, delighted but not surprised when he grasps her hand under the table and gives her a small smile.

A couple of hours later, Hermione stares at her reflection, debating what to do with her hair. She isn’t going anywhere, given her current situation, but her curls are particularly unruly today, and it's driving her crazy.

“What are you doing, Minnie?” Scorpius asks, popping his head around the bathroom door. “Are you going wif us to Mr. Tony’s?” He and Draco are meeting Tony for a baseball game this afternoon.

“No, I have to stay here, but I’m trying to figure out what to do with my hair,” she says with a smile. “It’s pretty wild today!”

“You could do space buns!” Scorpius exclaims as he scrambles up onto the counter. The suggestion doesn’t surprise her, considering he’s already sporting the hairstyle himself.

“I probably have too much hair to fit all of it into space buns, but let’s give it a try!” Hermione laughs.

As expected, her curls are far too voluminous to fit entirely into two knots, but she manages to wrangle the top half into space buns. By the time she’s done, she feels like she’s gone three rounds with a Nundu, but the joy on Scorpius’ face makes it worth the effort.

“He talked you into it, I see,” Draco’s drawl surprises both Hermione and Scorpius as he leans against the doorframe.

“Well, I did say he’s very persuasive!” Hermione quips. “What do you think?”

“Very cute,” Draco smirks.

“You could join the Space Bun Club, you know,” Hermione jokes, shooting a pointed look at his hair. Gone is the messy bun from breakfast, replaced by his usual slicked-back knot.

“I would gladly step in front of another Sectumsempra for either of you, but I am not joining the Space Bun Club,” Draco says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Scorpius and Hermione heave matching deep sighs. “We’ll wear him down eventually, Scorp.”

“Yep!”

Draco shakes his head fondly before turning his attention to Scorpius. “Come on, you’ve got to finish getting ready if we’re going to the game.”

“Want to help me pick my shoes, Minnie?” Scorpius asks, giving her the biggest set of puppy eyes he can muster. As if she could tell him no.

Hermione hadn’t seen much of Scorpius’ room the day they moved in, but now she can see it perfectly reflects the little boy.

The large room is easily the size of hers and Harry’s put together and features the calming colors and large windows seen throughout the house. Beyond that, it’s a magical child’s dream. The small bookshelves beneath the windows are overflowing with books, and he has enough toys and art supplies to fill a preschool.

“Look, Minnie!” Scorpius points to the ceiling, which is painted like the night sky.

“Oh, wow, that’s amazing!” Hermione exclaims.

“Dats Draco and dats Scorpius!” He points out their namesake constellations before leaning toward her conspiratorially. “Me and Daddy’s names are cons—, conste—... Daddy, how do you say dat word?!”

Draco huffs out a laugh before responding, “Constellations.”

“Yeah!”

“It’s very nice, Scorp. Thank you for showing me,” Hermione says warmly.

The major point of interest for Hermione, however, is the positively stuffed walk-in closet. “Oh, my gods,” she laughs as she steps in. “I was right—he has more clothes and shoes than I do!”

Draco does have the grace to blush. “If it makes you feel any better, I donate everything as he outgrows it.”

The organized closet contains racks of brightly colored children’s clothes, some Muggle, some magical, with pictures that move across the fabric. Hermione flips through a selection of tiny t-shirts, laughing at the sheer size of the collection.

“Theo says we both overcompensate with clothing because my mother dressed us like miniature adults in dark colors,” Draco drawls. “I dress like a giant bat with a strict uniform because of it, according to Theo, while he went completely the opposite way.”

“And now you make sure Scorpius has a wardrobe truly suited for a child,” Hermione muses.

“More like several children, but yes,” Draco jokes.

“How did you end up with the high-tops?” Hermione asks curiously.

“Scorpius wasn’t the best sleeper when we got back from the funeral, not that I was much better at the time. He’d pretty much only sleep if someone was walking around with him,” Draco says quietly. “So, most nights, I’d put him in a baby sling, Floo somewhere in the city, and walk. After a few weeks, I passed a store with tiny baby dinosaur-printed high-tops in the window. They were so absurd they made me laugh for the first time since before Scorp was born. So, I went back the next day and bought them, and from then on, they became his thing.”

Before Hermione can do more than squeeze his hand in response, Scorpius grabs her hand and pulls her toward the shelves containing his impressive collection of shoes. It’s obvious he has every color, pattern, and fabric option available in his size. “Help me pick!”

Hermione hums thoughtfully as she looks at the baseball equipment on his t-shirt, well aware of Scorpius’ love for matching his shoes to his shirts. “What about these brown leather ones that match the baseball gloves?”

“Yeah! I picked fis shirt ‘cause me and Mr. Tony love baseball!” he exclaims.

Once they’re back in the main part of Scorpius’ room, he proudly shows her the miniature Quidditch pitch, complete with flying players, that sits on top of one bookshelf. Beside it is a small paddock of tiny magical creatures, and he makes sure to point out the dragons and unicorns.

A series of picture frames and albums sit atop the other bookshelf. As Hermione moves closer, she spots a photo of Astoria at her Hogwarts graduation, along with one of Draco and Scorpius after a MACUSA Quidditch match, which looks to have been taken last year. There’s a group shot of Draco, Astoria, and Theo with Pansy and Daphne, next to a picture of Narcissa presenting Pesto to Scorpius. At the center is a photograph that makes Hermione’s heart clench: an exhausted and sick Astoria beaming at an impossibly tiny baby Scorpius, while Draco stands beside her hospital bed, watching them both.

“Dats my Mummy,” Scorpius says when he notices Hermione looking at the picture. “Her name was A’toria.”

“I remember her a little from Hogwarts,” Hermione says warmly. “She was very friendly and very pretty.”

“Yeah!” Scorpius exclaims. “Dats what everybody says.”

He continues his room tour, showing her different toys, all of which are his favorites. Suddenly, he decides he’s done and bolts for the door. “Hurry, Daddy! I want to see Mr. Tony!” he yells as he runs down the stairs.

Hermione shakes her head, laughing as she goes to follow him. She’s stopped by Draco’s hand on her arm.

“Thanks for indulging him,” he says with a small smile.

“Of course!” Hermione exclaims. “He’s so much fun.”

Draco’s stiff posture and downcast gaze tell her he’s having trouble saying something. When she shifts to interlace their fingers and gives his hand a reassuring squeeze, he finally looks up at her.

“About the pictures. The ones of Astoria, I mean.” Draco clears his throat. “I don’t make him keep them up here. I’ve tried scattering them throughout the house so he can see them everywhere, but he—”

“He keeps them up here with all the other things he treasures most?” Hermione interjects. “I would never think you’d make him hide pictures of his mother.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you and my Mind Healer compare notes,” Draco grumbles good-naturedly.

Hermione rolls her eyes fondly before stepping into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I don’t know if anyone has told you lately, but you’re doing an incredible job, Draco. With Scorpius, your career, handling everything my situation has thrown at you… and us.” She pauses, her voice softening. “It’s amazing watching you balance it all. And I’m so grateful for you.”

When Draco doesn’t respond, she hesitates, tipping her head back to search his expression. Worry prickles at her, but instead of resistance, she sees something raw and vulnerable in his eyes—a quiet gratitude she hadn’t expected.

“Sorry, that was probably too much, but I felt like you needed to hear it.”

“Not too much. You are never too much,” Draco rasps before tangling a hand in her curls and kissing her deeply. They get carried away, and Hermione finds herself backed against the hallway wall, caged in by Draco’s arms as he kisses her breathless.

“Daddy! Hurry up!” They break apart reluctantly when Scorpius’ voice echoes up the stairs.

“That’s my cue, I suppose,” Draco jokes, resting his forehead against hers.

“Yeah, you’d better go before he takes off without you,” Hermione laughs. “I’m going to head up to the rooftop and read. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“See you then.” Draco kisses her fiercely one more time before turning and heading downstairs.

Draco

Draco slips out of Scorpius’ room, closing the door softly behind him and adding temporary monitoring charms to the existing muffling spell. After attending a baseball game with Tony, Scorpius had been more than ready for an early dinner and bedtime. He’d been so tired that he nearly fell asleep in his pasta, leaving Draco to opt for a Scourgify over a bath for once.

He takes the stairs quickly, mindful that he needs to transfigure the kitchen table to a slightly larger size, as Tony and Candy are joining them for dinner. Having had enough cold, formal dinners to last several lifetimes, Draco had purposely bought a house without a formal dining room—but sometimes, he still needed to make extra space.

He’s only just entered the kitchen when he hears the Floo flare to life, followed by the sound of cowboy boots clicking down the hallway.

“Howdy, Pumpkin!” Candy exclaims cheerfully as he enters the room.

“Hello,” Draco replies, finishing the table’s transfiguration and using a duplication charm to add a couple of extra chairs. “What’s that?” he asks, eyeing the box in Candy’s hands.

“Tony’s handling supper, so I thought I’d take charge of drinks.” Candy sounds far too pleased with himself for Draco’s liking, so he walks over to the bar to peek into the box.

“Ugh, absolutely not,” Draco groans, backing away slowly.

“Oh, hi, Candy!” Hermione greets warmly as she enters the room. “Why does Dr—er, Malfoy look green?”

Draco flinches internally at the switch back to “Malfoy,” though he understands perfectly well why they’re doing it for now. It also serves as a reminder that Hermione will have to revert to “Granger” until his guests leave.

“I’m in charge of drinks tonight, so I brought tequila!” Candy crows triumphantly. “But don’t worry, I brought beer and wine too, if tequila ain’t your thing.”

“And let’s just say that tequila and I are not on speaking terms,” Draco grimaces, reading the question on Hermione’s face before she can ask it. “Trust me, it’s a long story.”

“It’s a good one, though!” Theo quips as he and Harry finally emerge from Theo’s suite and enter the kitchen.

Candy waves over his shoulder as he heads out the back door toward the garage. “I’m gonna round up some Sober Up potions, just in case!”

“Ugh,” Theo pouts, eyeing the drink selection. “I disentangled myself from Harry and left our love nest for cheap beer and mid-level tequila?”

“Don’t be an arse, Theo,” Draco sighs, as Hermione and Harry laugh at Theo’s flair for the dramatic.

Draco opens the refrigerator to put away the beer, rolling his eyes as Theo continues lamenting the drink selection.

“Fuck, I left my tarot cards downstairs, and I was going to see if anyone wanted a reading!” Theo whines. “Harry, darling, could you go get them for me? I’d Accio them, but there are at least two closed doors in the way.”

“Of course, love. I’ll pop down in a bit.” Harry’s expression is both lovestruck and bemused as he kisses Theo.

“Oh, Theo,” Hermione laughs. “Surely, you don’t believe all the tripe Trelaw—”

Theo inhales sharply, raising one hand to stop Hermione while pressing the other to his chest. “I will hear no slander against Sybil, Granger, and that’s final!”

“I’m sure she’s a wonderful person,” Hermione concedes, “but you have to admit—”

“No slander!” Theo exclaims, shaking his head emphatically, his curls flying everywhere.

“Might as well let it go, Granger,” Draco drawls as he leans against the counter across from her. “Trelawney is the mother Theo never had.”

“No, Cissa is the mother I never had,” Theo corrects. “Sybil is the fun aunt who teaches you how to smoke and gamble.”

“That’s something I can’t quite wrap my brain around,” Harry muses. “I wouldn’t have guessed you two were friends at Hogwarts, much less that you were raised like brothers.”

“How did that happen, anyway?” Hermione asks, sliding into her usual place at the bar.

“My mum, Octavia, died shortly after I was born, and my father was thoroughly uninterested in a scrawny baby who looked just like the wife he didn’t want either. I mean, seriously, Lucius Malfoy was a peach compared to Caspian Nott,” Theo says in a tight voice. He relaxes slightly when Harry wraps him in a hug and kisses his temple. “Cissa and my mum were best friends—to the point that Cissa would have been there when I was born if someone hadn’t been hogging all her attention.”

At this, Theo throws a mock glare at Draco, who returns it in kind. “Anyway, when she came to Mum’s funeral and realized that I’d been abandoned to the nursery with an ancient house-elf who could barely see, she took me home to the Manor, where I was raised with this prat. I very rarely went home or saw my father after that.”

“Oh, Theo,” Hermione sighs, putting a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

Theo flaps his hands dramatically as his smile returns. “I’m fine!”

“As for why you didn’t see us interact much at school,” he continues, “when Young Master Malfoy slipped Daddy Luci’s—”

“Oh my gods, Theo, I have begged you not to call him that,” Draco shudders.

“Da—ddy Lu—ci,” Theo says slowly, dragging out each word for dramatic effect.

Draco digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to block out Theo’s taunting grin.

“When Draco slipped Daddy Luci’s leash at school, well, I don’t have to tell you what happened.” Theo snorts. “I wanted no part of that. Believe it or not, at that point in my life, I just wanted to blend in. So I ignored him until we went back to the Manor.”

“That,” Draco begins in a sarcastic tone as he reaches out to pat Theo on the head, “and who wants to be stuck hanging out with their little brother at school?”

Theo shrieks indignantly, trying to dodge Draco’s reach. “Three weeks, Draco! You’re three weeks older than me!”

“It still counts, baby brother,” Draco singsongs, joining Harry and Hermione’s laughter at Theo’s glare.

“Whatever,” Theo says, moving toward the tequila still sitting on the counter, summoning glasses and other necessary ingredients. “Enough of Sad Story Hour with Theo.”

He gives them a saucy grin as a lime flies into his hand. “You know what I always say: when life gives you shitty tequila, make margaritas!”

The door opens, and Candy returns with the "just in case" Sober Up potions he’d pilfered from Draco’s garage lab. His smile is bright as he brandishes the vials. “I will always find the good stuff so we can drink and get home safely, or my name isn’t August Wilson McCandless III.”

“Wait, that’s your whole name?” Theo asks incredulously. “And I thought Theodore Octavius Nott was a mouthful!”

Harry snorts, taking a sip of his beer before cutting a sidelong glance at Theo. “He is.”

A chorus of “Harry!”, “Really, Potter?!”, and “TMI!” erupts from all sides while Theo preens and bats his eyelashes at Harry.

A while later, once Tony arrives, they all gather around the table. Tony has brought enough street tacos to feed an army, which pair perfectly with Candy’s drink selections and Theo’s margaritas.

Draco mostly sits back, content to watch everyone enjoying themselves—until Hermione asks about a story he didn’t realize she’d heard of.

“You know, Candy,” she begins, pausing to take a sip of her wine, “you told me the story of teaching Malfoy to use a phone was best told over a round of drinks.” She gestures to the drinks on the table with a flourish.

“So, I did!” Candy laughs, summoning more drinks to the table.

“And you!” she exclaims, pointing across the table at Draco. “You pretty much said the same thing about a story involving a mechanical bull.”

“As luck would have it, Petal, those stories happened on the same night,” Candy says with a wink. “So, here we go!”

“Let’s not and say we did,” Draco grumbles.

“Oh no, she’s got to hear this story!” Tony laughs. “I swear, I almost bought a Pensieve just so I could watch the memory anytime I wanted.”

“Me too!” Candy shouts, slapping Tony on the back with such force it nearly sends him out of his chair. “The first thing you need to know is that while Draco here can handle wine or beer just fine, he cannot hold his liquor.”

“At least I’m not the only one who found that out the hard way,” Theo adds as Draco rests his elbows on the table, burying his head in his hands.

“How bad are we talking?” Harry interjects, clearly enjoying Draco’s discomfort.

“Let’s just say that if he wasn’t too tall, you’d probably find him dancing on a table,” Candy says, with Theo nodding in agreement as he laughs.

“Potter,” Draco says sharply, “do me a favor and hit me with a Stupefy. Right between the eyes will do nicely.”

Harry barks out a laugh. “Oh no! Your reactions are the best part of this.”

“So, we’d just rounded up a good-sized group of Death Eaters hiding out here,” Candy begins, launching back into the story with enthusiasm. “Casework was brilliant! We both got commendations and promotions, and wouldn’t you know it, we were officially promoted on Draco’s 21st birthday. Naturally, we decided to go bar hopping to celebrate.”

“Candy, if you were ever my friend, you’ll stop this story now,” Draco groans, his head falling into his hands.

“Not a chance, Cupcake!” Candy shoots back. “He stuck to beer at the first couple places—very responsible. But then we upped the ante, and by the time we got to what would be our final stop, I couldn’t believe he was still standing.”

“Where does the phone come in?” Hermione asks, already laughing.

“Patience, Granger,” Draco mutters into the table.

Candy continues undeterred. “We end up at this western-themed bar—I got caught up chatting with the bartender, and this one”—he gestures to Draco—“vanishes. Next thing I know, I find him in the middle of the bar, shirt half-unbuttoned, wearing a cowboy hat, and riding a mechanical bull like he was born to do it.”

The table erupts into laughter, Hermione wiping tears from her eyes. “Are you serious?!” she wheezes.

“Serious as a heart attack,” Candy replies. “Perfect form! But then he gets thrown off, and I decide we’re done. I’m half-carrying him out when I remember we’re in a No-Maj area, so no Floos or Apparition—not that we were sober enough to try that without losing an arm.”

“And this is where the phone comes in,” Draco mutters darkly.

“Right!” Candy claps his hands. “So we’re sitting on the filthy sidewalk, and I’m too drunk to think straight. Finally, Hot Stuff over here looks at me with the saddest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen and says, ‘We could call De Luca… but I don’t know how to use a phone.’”

“So I, in all my drunken wisdom, promise to teach him. I dial Tony’s number, hand Draco the phone—and he immediately yells into the wrong end!” Candy howls.

This sends the table into fresh hysterics. Even Hermione can’t hold back. “This is the best thing I’ve ever heard,” she gasps.

“Finally, I fix the phone, tell him to talk only after Tony picks up, and hand it back. Tony answers, thinking it’s an emergency, only for Draco to start shouting about bulls and cowboy hats.” Candy pauses, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Meanwhile, I’m ranting in the background about how he ‘went to school in a castle and practically grew up in the Dark Ages.’”

“I don’t know how we didn’t violate the Statute of Secrecy,” Draco mutters.

Tony picks up the story. “So there I am, 3 a.m., thinking it’s the NYPD calling me in, and instead, it’s these two drunk idiots. Once I piece together where they are, I grab a cab and head over. When I get there, they’re slumped on the sidewalk, barely coherent.”

“He bribed the cabbie to help haul us into the car,” Candy chimes in, grinning.

“Damn right I did,” Tony says. “And when we got to my place, I bribed him again to get you upstairs.”

“This is where it really gets good,” Candy declares.

“Does it, though?” Draco drawls, crossing his arms.

“I dump them in the guest room, shoes and all, and leave the curtains wide open. No hangover potions either—that was payback.”

Draco finally jumps in to end his suffering. “We woke up hours later, blinded by sunlight, while Tony serenaded us with Italian love songs.”

“Perfect payback,” Tony says with a wicked grin.

Draco glares. “And to make matters worse, Candy was wrapped around me like a clingy bowtruckle.”

“You make a terrible little spoon,” Candy retorts.

“And then we did the walk of shame to a diner for breakfast, I swore off tequila forever, and we went home. The end,” Draco finishes flatly, shooting Hermione a look that dares her to laugh again.

She doesn’t dare hold it back. “This is my favorite story ever,” she says, still giggling.

The table erupts into laughter again, Draco included this time, before Harry pipes up. “You know, Malfoy, I was going to tell the story about the time you were turned into a bouncing baby ferret, but I think you’ve had enough mortification for one evening.”

Theo, Candy, and Tony instantly bristle on Draco’s behalf.

“All that story proves is how barbaric that deathtrap you call a school is,” Candy spits, with Tony nodding in agreement.

Predictably, this leads to the usual argument between Candy, Tony, and Harry about magical schools. For once, Draco is happy to listen, glad the attention is off him.

A few minutes later, after the group calms down, Theo sighs. “Poor Hermione, we really should have found another woman to invite so you wouldn’t be completely surrounded by testosterone.”

“I’m used to it at this point in my life,” Hermione assures him.

“We should have invited Judith,” Candy mumbles into his glass, giving Tony a meaningful glance. Tony glares at him in return.

“Wait, who’s Judith?” Theo asks, sitting up straight, evidently intrigued by Tony’s reaction.

“She’s one of the receptionists at MACUSA,” Harry explains, his tone confused as he’s not sure why they’re bringing her up.

Draco sees an opportunity for revenge and decides to take it. “She’s also been Tony’s girlfriend for ten years, but we’re all supposed to pretend we don’t know,” he says in a stage whisper.

Tony arches an eyebrow at him before dropping a conversational Bombarda. “Oh? Just like we’re all supposed to pretend we don’t know that your girlfriend is sitting at this table?”

Candy and Harry do a terrible job of hiding their knowing smiles, while Harry simultaneously clamps a hand over Theo’s mouth to stop whatever he was about to say.

Draco glances over at Hermione to gauge her reaction, only to find her wearing an unreadable expression. He’ll stun Tony in front of everyone if she heads upstairs early because of this.

Hermione knocks back the last of her margarita, slams the glass down, and pushes away from the table. She makes her way around the table to Draco’s side.

He throws out a quick Legilimency connection as she approaches.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have baited him,” Draco says.

“Ready or not, here we go,” Hermione retorts as she stops beside his chair and places her hand along his jaw.

Before he can blink, she leans down and kisses him passionately. Draco loses all sense of time and space as he threads his fingers through her hair, deepening the kiss while Hermione responds enthusiastically. They only remember their audience when the surprised silence gives way to catcalls and cheering.

Draco can feel himself blushing to the roots of his hair as Hermione throws a cheeky grin at Harry before dropping into Draco’s lap.

“Subtle as a pair of graphorns,” she says, as Harry laughs loudly and salutes her with his beer bottle.

A few hours later, Draco is reading in his study, grateful for the quiet that descended once everyone went home, when an amused scoff catches his attention.

“You are entirely overdressed for a pyjama party.”

Draco suppresses a groan as he looks up to see Hermione leaning against the doorway, clad in the same pyjama set she wore the night she invited herself over. He’s been on edge all afternoon, thanks to their stolen moment in the hallway, and this is certainly not helping.

“I’m pretty sure these are the exact same joggers I was wearing last time,” Draco says when he finally finds his voice.

“Perhaps,” Hermione agrees. She tilts her head playfully from side to side, as if she’s evaluating something, while walking toward him. “But last time, your shirt was off and your hair was down.”

Hermione tilts her head, her curls falling to one side as she teases him about his hair. “I mean, with your hair like that, you might as well be going to work.”

Draco feels the corner of his mouth twitch into a smirk, but her words barely register. All he can focus on is the way her satin pyjamas catch the light, the flush in her cheeks, the way her presence fills the room. It strikes him—again, as it often does—how effortlessly she fits into his life. How her laugh brightens even the gloomiest corners. And now, here she is, teasing him, igniting something deep within that he can no longer ignore.

“Well,” he says, his voice low, “we can’t have that, can we?”

“No, we really can’t,” Hermione agrees, taking his book from his hands, marking his place, and setting it on the side table before straddling his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Someone’s just as keyed up as I am,” Draco drawls, a sense of wonder washing over him. Sometimes he still can’t believe she’s interested in him.

“You started it this afternoon,” Hermione says, punctuating each word with a playful poke to his chest. “And then left me hanging!”

“What do you suggest we do to make up for it?” he asks playfully, loving how his smirk is mirrored on her face.

“This, for a start,” Hermione says as she unties his hair from its knot, running her fingers through it and massaging his scalp.

This time, he doesn’t bother to bite back the groan that escapes his chest, his eyes nearly rolling back from the sensation. Hermione looks thoroughly pleased with herself.

“As much as I love the glasses, they have to go,” Hermione sighs as she removes the frames and sets them on top of his book.

“Obviously,” Draco drawls, capturing a curl and letting it wrap around his finger, unable to keep his hands to himself any longer. “Who reads at a pyjama party, anyway?”

“Certainly not us,” Hermione snorts, continuing to card her hands through his hair.

He gently grasps her chin, pulling her closer to brush a soft kiss across her lips. “Any other party rules I need to be aware of?”

“Yes,” she breathes before plucking at his t-shirt. “This has got to go.”

“Oh, really?” Draco raises an eyebrow, thoroughly enjoying their teasing. “And where should it go?”

He watches as the last thread of Hermione’s control snaps, and she scrabbles for the hem of his t-shirt.

“Anywhere, I don’t care!” Hermione exclaims, laughing at her own antics. “Off! Get this off!”

Draco grasps the collar at the back of his neck and yanks the shirt over his head, tossing it Merlin-knows-where in the study. “Is that better, princess?”

He smirks at the hitch in Hermione’s breath and the way her pupils dilate. “Oh, you liked that, huh?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Hermione replies in a teasing voice, refusing to admit anything.

Draco hums thoughtfully, running a finger across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. “This blush seems to indicate that you do.”

“So does yours!”

As their flirting escalates, Draco throws locking and silencing charms at the door. Thanks to the monitoring charms he’d put up earlier, he’d know if Scorpius was up before his son could even leave his room, but Theo and Harry could decide to leave Theo’s suite at any point.

“Just in case,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, drawing Hermione’s attention back to his shoulders and chest.

“Your body drives me insane,” she groans, running her hands over his abs and pecs before surging forward to kiss up the line of his throat. “You drive me insane.”

“Turnabout’s fair play,” Draco manages to choke out as she nips along the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, soothing it with a kiss.

“Oh, really?” Hermione teases as she sits up to meet his eyes. “Are you saying I drive you insane too?”

“Since the day I walked into your office.”

Any response she has is lost as Draco tangles both hands in her hair and pulls her into a fiery kiss. He runs his tongue along the seam of her lips until she opens for him. He doesn’t hold back the moan that escapes as his tongue slides along hers, relishing the lingering taste of salt and lime, mixed with something that is uniquely her.

_____________________________________________________________________

They pull apart, gasping for breath, faces flushed, but the fire in Hermione’s honey-colored eyes says she’s far from done. Draco feels the weight of her stare, matching his own, heat pooling between them, thick and heady. The tension thrums in the air. His gaze dips to where her legs are spread over his, the satin of her camisole clinging to her, nipples straining against the fabric. There's barely anything between them, and it's enough to drive him mad.

Draco realizes it's his turn to make the next move in this game Hermione started. He tugs on her hair, just enough to make her eyes snap to his. Holding her gaze, he grips her hips and lowers her fully into his lap. He smirks as her pupils widen when she realizes how hard he is.

Hermione leans forward, her clit rubbing along the thick length of him–her moan mingling with his at the sensation. Draco runs his hands up to her shoulders, giving her a look that asks for permission. When she nods, he carefully slides the straps of her top down her arms.

Her camisole falls open, and she gasps as he gently takes her breasts in hand, palming their weight before rolling her nipples between his fingers. He pushes his hips up to meet hers, softly pinching and teasing her nipples into stiff peaks.

“Oh my gods, Draco,” Hermione gasps, grinding herself feverishly against his heavy cock. She presses it between his stomach and her hot core, the thin layers of fabric adding delicious friction. They pant in unison as his hands move to her hips, helping her move faster against him. The world fades, and all he can focus on is the heat building between them.

Hermione shifts, sliding her hands back to his knees for balance. The movement changes the angle between them, the friction more intense now. Draco’s breath catches as he glances down, watching the strain of his joggers where they meet the damp satin covering her. Her moan pulls his eyes back to hers, heat sparking between them.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Hermione,” Draco growls before pressing open-mouthed kisses along her shoulders and collarbone.

He bends his head and wraps his lips around one nipple, sucking gently as his hand pays equal attention to the other breast. That’s all she needs to fall over the edge. A moan tears from her throat as her orgasm crashes over her, her back arching as it crests like a wave.

Draco releases her nipples and moves both hands to her arse, gripping her hard enough to leave bruises as he chases his own orgasm. He rocks into her, his mouth open in a silent shout as he comes a few seconds later.

For long moments, they remain entwined, bodies spent but unwilling to let go. Their mingled breaths fill the quiet, Hermione’s head tucked into the crook of his neck, her soft exhalations brushing his skin. Draco rests his cheek against her wild curls, his fingers tracing languid patterns along her spine.

Eventually, they pull apart just enough to meet each other’s gaze, soft smiles playing on their lips as they compose themselves. With a wandless cleaning charm, she erases the tangible evidence of their shared need, though the warmth still thrums between them.

Stretching out on the couch, their bodies tangle once more, trading lazy kisses. Words feel unnecessary—the silence between them brims with understanding, every unspoken sentiment already conveyed in the way they had come together.

Chapter Text

Draco

July 30, 2009

New York City

“Last night, I had a dream you turned into a snitch!” Scorpius crows excitedly from his spot on the bathroom counter.

Draco pauses mid-brush, confused. “Come again?”

“Yeah! We were at da park, and you turned into my snitch ‘cause I forgotted mine!” Scorpius laughs so hard he almost topples off the counter. “Dat was weird ‘cause most times you’re a broom!”

Draco can only blink at Scorpius, both of them staring at each other in the bathroom mirror. The hairbrush hangs uselessly in his hand.

“And Auntie Feo, Uncle Candy, Harry Potter, AND Minnie came to da park to play Quidditch wif me! But you woked me up, and I still don’t know who caughted you!” Scorpius dissolves into snorting giggles.

It takes a moment for Draco’s caffeine-deprived brain to process the story. When he does, he laughs so hard that tears stream down his face.

As they settle down from their fit of laughter, Draco dries his face and looks at Scorpius in the mirror, resting his chin on the little boy’s head.

“I love you, Scorp,” he says seriously. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“I love you too, Daddy!” Scorpius beams.

Draco finishes brushing Scorpius’ hair and meets his gaze in the mirror again. “Space buns? Or something else?”

“I want to match you!”

“Potter’s really going to call you ‘Mini Malfoy’ today,” Draco says drily, twisting Scorpius’ hair into a sleek bun to match his own.

Scorpius’ desire to match carries over to his clothing choice as he selects his black ripped jeans and the only plain black t-shirt he owns. Once dressed, the little boy perches on the closet floor, scanning the rows of shoes.

“Quick choice, Scorp—black like mine or your dinosaurs?” Draco asks as he casts a Tempus charm. He has to be at MACUSA early to help Candy with the latest group of new trainees, so they’re short on time this morning.

“Dinosaurs!” Scorpius crows.

“Brilliant,” Draco says, summoning the dinosaur-printed shoes with a flick of his wand before his son can change his mind.

“Dats so cool!” Scorpius yells as Draco snaps his fingers, making the laces tie themselves.

When they finally reach the kitchen, Draco hurriedly tosses his breakfast and lunch into his bag while Scorpius stuffs Pesto into his dragon bookbag.

“Where’s Minnie, Daddy?” Scorpius asks. “I want to see her!”

“Looks like she’s having a bit of a lie-in, buddy,” Draco answers as he starts making Hermione’s coffee. “I’m sure we’ll see her later.”

“‘Kay, Daddy.” Scorpius’ sigh is as dramatic as only a Malfoy’s could be.

Draco places Hermione’s mug at her usual spot at the bar, puts it under a stasis charm, and leaves a note propped against it. As he ushers Scorpius to the Floo, he catches himself glancing at the stairs. He’s grown used to Hermione’s presence in the mornings—her quiet muttering as she hunts for her things, her last-minute requests for more coffee. The empty staircase gives him pause, an unease stirring in his chest.

Can I be enough for her when she’s carrying so much? The question flickers, unbidden, but before he can chase it down, Scorpius’ tug at his sleeve brings him back.

“Come on, Daddy!” the little boy chirps, waving his arms for emphasis. Draco smiles and follows, making a mental note to check on her later.

Hermione

“See you tonight.”

By now, the short note Draco had left her that morning was the only thing keeping Hermione afloat.

The day had been one of the worst in recent memory—not because of any singular disaster, but because everything that could go wrong, did.

It began with a sleepless night. Not from nightmares, but because her mind refused to quiet. She’d finally drifted off around three in the morning, only to toss and turn until her alarm went off, leaving her running late.

She forgot to charm her curls, leaving them wild and reminiscent of her Hogwarts days. Her outfit felt uninspired, and she ran out of time for makeup.

Hurrying downstairs in the hope of catching Draco and Scorpius before they left, she found the kitchen empty. The perfectly made coffee waiting for her was a small comfort—until she spilled it the moment she released the stasis charm.

Things didn’t improve when Harry stumbled out of Theo’s suite, grumbling about how her schedule was ruining his sleep. Since they’d moved in with Draco, he had taken over escorting her to work, leaving Harry free to focus on his cold cases. This arrangement had worked well—until today.

Her arrival at the office felt like stepping into chaos. The desk was buried under new files, the phone wouldn’t stop ringing, and Septima had forgotten to tell her about multiple appointments. By mid-morning, Hermione had slogged through all her meetings, only to spend the rest of the day drowning in trade agreements, calls from Kingsley, Harry’s relentless complaints, and Septima’s desperate apologies in the form of endless cups of terrible tea.

Harry and Theo had dinner plans followed by a Broadway show, and Harry had evidently decided every hour he had to wait was somehow Hermione’s fault.

The final straw came when she broke a heel on her way back from the ladies’ room. Sure, it was a quick fix with magic, but that wasn’t the point.

By five o’clock, when Harry started packing up, the two of them weren’t even speaking. She’d hoped Draco might come to relieve Harry, but she remembered he was taking Scorpius home that evening. Candy and Tony were both tied up with new recruits, leaving her stuck with another trusted Auror she barely knew.

When she finally stomped into Tony’s office to use the Floo, he wisely stayed silent, stepping aside to let her pass.

Stepping into the quiet of Draco’s home feels like crossing a threshold into another world. The stillness isn’t just physical—it seeps into her bones, calming the whirlwind of her day.

Draco sits at his desk, reading documents related to the Malfoy Estate. She feels a pang of jealousy at how poised he looks. His clothes and hair are still immaculate, though a bit relaxed for the evening. He’s removed his wand holster, rolled up his sleeves, and loosened the top two buttons of his shirt. Hermione, by contrast, feels ready to burn her outfit and is sure her hair has its own orbit by now.

Taking a deep breath, she steps into the study, determined to shake off her bad day. Draco glances up from his paperwork, his gaze softening as he takes in her disheveled state.

“Rough day, sweetheart?” he asks quietly, setting his papers aside. He pushes back from the desk, concern etched on his face.

Hermione nods slowly, a tired smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You could say that.”

Draco opens his arms in a wordless invitation she wouldn’t dream of refusing. She settles sideways across his lap, resting her head in the crook of his neck as he wraps her in a tight hug, kissing the top of her head. They sit in silence for a few minutes, the comforting scents of tea, spearmint, and parchment mixing with his warmth and even breathing, lulling her into a calmer state.

Draco is the first to break the silence, gently grasping the slightly trembling hand she’d been trying to hide, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Did you remember to eat today, darling?”

Hermione shakes her head, unable to trust her voice. She often doesn’t know how to respond to the level of care he gives her. It’s a sensation she’s not used to; even her parents had left her to her own devices most of the time. People always laughed off her tendency to ignore her own needs, assuming she’d figure it out eventually.

Draco notices her momentary struggle, his expression softening further. He leans back slightly so she can see him better, his gaze intense yet gentle.

“You don’t have to do everything alone,” Draco says gently. “Let me take care of you.”

Hermione hesitates, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m not used to this… but I think I need it.”

A single tear escapes, and Draco wipes it away with his thumb, his touch tender. “You’ve carried so much for so long. Let me carry you now. It’s not weakness, Hermione—it’s trust.”

Hermione takes a deep breath, letting his words sink in. She relaxes further into his embrace. For the first time in a long while, she feels a glimmer of peace, knowing she doesn’t have to navigate life alone.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice steadier now. “For everything.”

Draco smiles, a soft, genuine smile that reaches his eyes. “Anytime.”

“Now, up you get,” he says as he helps her to her feet and leads her toward the door.

“Where are we going?”

“You’re going to take a bath while I cook dinner,” Draco says over his shoulder, heading to the kitchen.

“That sounds lovely, but since there’s only a shower in our bathroom, I packed all of my bath stuff away,” she says, protesting slightly, even after their conversation.

Draco hums thoughtfully. “Then it’s a good thing I picked some things up before I came home.”

Hermione stops near the stairs, giving him an incredulous look when he turns. “How did you know my day was bad enough that a bubble bath would be in order?”

“Lucky guess.” He shrugs before making a shooing motion, nodding toward the stairs. “Stop stalling and go take a bath.”

“Or what?” Hermione laughs, finally feeling the last of her bad day slide away.

Draco arches an eyebrow, pinning her with a serious look. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve carried someone kicking and screaming to the bathtub, and I doubt it’ll be the last.”

She laughs again, pulling him in for a lingering kiss. “Thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” he says with a nod. “Take your time. Dinner will be ready when you are.”

Hermione stops by her room to slip off her shoes and drop off her beaded bag. A glance in the mirror makes her gasp. Her curls have reached voluminous heights not seen since her school days, when she routinely stood over a steaming cauldron. “Sweet Circe.”

After muttering a quick charm, her hair isn’t perfect, but it’s much more manageable. Grabbing something to change into, she takes the stairs up to Draco’s bedroom.

The bedroom is sleek and tranquil, its black walls and charcoal-gray accents softened by a plush Alaskan King bed dressed in black satin and abstract pops of color from the art on the walls.

Leaving the lights off, Hermione enters the bathroom, deciding the natural light filtering through the frosted window is enough. While her own bathroom is tiled in bright Mediterranean blues, Draco’s is all soft gray marble. A deep garden tub sits along one wall, directly opposite a large double sink vanity. A glass shower stall takes up the far wall.

She walks to the vanity, her attention drawn to the bottles arranged there. The elegant French labels on the lemon bath salts and lavender-vanilla bubble bath make it clear they’re well out of her price range. Her Gryffindor stubbornness starts to flare at the display, but she pushes it aside, determined to enjoy the moment. Her fingers glide over the fluffy black towels next to the bottles, and she smiles when she realizes Draco has left them under a warming charm, just for her.

She starts the water, adding the bubble bath and salts before slipping out of her clothes. Twisting her hair into a knot at the top of her head, she secures it with her wand. She settles into the tub, resting her head against the back and closing her eyes as the water envelops her. She turns off the water when the bubbles nearly reach her collarbones and watches the light shift from late afternoon to evening, delighting in the way it dances through the leaves outside.

Her gaze shifts to the shower stall in front of her, and she tries to read the labels on the bottles from her spot in the tub. “I bet the view from this tub is spectacular when the shower is occupied,” she giggles to herself.

Reluctantly stepping out of the tub when her stomach reminds her she hasn’t eaten all day, Hermione finds a bottle of silky lavender-vanilla lotion beside the bubble bath and revels in how it makes her skin feel. After changing quickly into something more comfortable, she heads downstairs, drawn by the rich aromas wafting up from the kitchen.

She walks into the kitchen, momentarily speechless as she watches Draco move fluidly from one task to the next. She’s seen him cook before, but never like this. He blends magic and Muggle methods seamlessly, flipping sizzling chicken on the stove with a casual flick of his wand while kneading dough at the counter.

Realizing what he’s making, Hermione feels a pang of regret for all the years spent with a man so incapable—or unwilling—that even making a sandwich was a chore. “Are you making pasta?”

“Obviously,” Draco drawls, effortlessly transforming the dough into angel hair pasta with a wave of his wand. He turns, his words trailing off the moment his eyes land on her. “Wha—hoooly fuck.”

Hermione glances down at her satin periwinkle chemise before meeting his gaze with a shrug. “I know it’s not exactly dinner attire, but I couldn’t face getting dressed again.”

“No, it’s—” Draco falters, clearing his throat as his eyes sweep from her bare feet to the messy curls piled atop her head. “You look perfect.”

“How was your bath?” he asks, his voice more composed.

“Wonderful, thank you,” Hermione hums, stepping closer to wrap her arms around his waist. “I have to admit, I was tempted to protest, but then I remembered what we talked about.” She steps back, gazing up at him with a mischievous smile. “Besides, I have a feeling someone has a spoiling kink just waiting to be unleashed. Who am I to stand in the way?” Her manicured nail trails down the buttons of his dress shirt.

“Well, now that you mention it—” Draco smirks, leaning down to kiss her deeply before turning her toward the table with a gentle nudge. “Your salad’s ready, though dinner will take a few more minutes.”

“Flowers too?!” Hermione exclaims, spotting a small, colorful arrangement of daisies, roses, and carnations on the table.

“Scorp’s contribution,” Draco says over his shoulder as he resumes working on the pasta. “He was curious about our errands, so I told him you were having a rough day and we were getting things to cheer you up. He decided flowers were a must and picked out every single one.”

“He’s so sweet,” Hermione sighs. “I wish I’d seen him this evening.”

“Don’t worry. He’ll be up bright and early for pancakes,” Draco laughs.

Hermione smiles, then digs into her salad. The mix of spinach, strawberries, goat cheese, and balsamic vinaigrette is one of her favorites—something she hadn’t eaten much in years. Ron had hated it, even the sight of her eating it, let alone trying it himself.

Draco plates their dinner and joins her at the table. Hermione can’t hide her delight at the chicken piccata—a dish far removed from traditional British wizarding fare. She’s even more impressed to learn the recipe is Mrs. De Luca’s, taught to Draco by Tony himself.

As they eat, the conversation flows easily, accompanied by a perfectly paired white wine. Draco recounts his day, starting with Scorpius’ insistence on matching hair and outfits and ending with his dry, hilarious accounts of the Auror Academy’s newest recruits.

“That was amazing,” Hermione gushes as they finish. “Thank you for everything tonight.”

“You’re welcome,” Draco replies with a soft smile, leaning over to brush a kiss across her lips.

“Are you up for dessert?” Draco asks as he gathers their plates and charms them to wash themselves.

“Normally, I’d say no, but I still have room after today.”

“Good!” he says, opening the refrigerator. “Because I picked up a cheesecake.”

“Weird way to ask me to take you to bed, Malfoy, but yes.” Hermione smirks, bursting into laughter when he stumbles on his way back to the table.

“You are just precious,” she croons as he sets her plate down, her fingers brushing over the ferocious blush spreading across his high cheekbones.

“And you are going to give me a heart attack,” Draco mutters into his wine glass.

Hermione winks at him and takes a bite of cheesecake. She loves nothing more than getting a reaction out of him, so she doesn’t hold back her borderline-obscene groan at the taste of the dessert, slowly licking her fork clean.

As usual, Draco’s reaction doesn’t disappoint. She looks up to find him staring at her with wide eyes, quickened breathing, and a blush that has spread from his hairline to his collar.

“Don’t just sit there, Draco—eat your dessert,” Hermione quips.

Draco shakes his head, as if trying to get his brain back in gear. “Right. Dessert.”

The rest of the evening finds them in Draco’s study, as it often does. Hermione smiles, leaning against the bookshelf as Draco untucks his shirt, passes her a wine glass, and settles onto the couch.

“Oooh, someone’s getting wild!” Hermione laughs, pointing at his loose shirttails.

Draco clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Someone’s awfully cheeky all of a sudden.”

“Now that I’m feeling better, I have an entire day’s worth of cheek to catch up on.”

He hums in acknowledgment as she climbs into his lap, immediately taking his hair down and lightly scratching her nails along his scalp. She takes pride in his contented sigh, knowing no one else gets to see him like this. A moment later, she’s momentarily blinded as a cascade of curls falls over her eyes when Draco plucks her wand from her hair. Flipping her hair back, she catches his satisfied smirk.

“Turnabout’s fair play, Granger.”

“True, but your hair doesn’t try to strangle you,” she retorts before capturing his mouth in a kiss.

When she pulls away, Hermione meets Draco's eyes, her lips curving into a soft smile. "You look amazing tonight," she breathes, her voice a whisper in the quiet room.

His gaze lingers on her face, his soft expression making her feel treasured and wanted. "So do you," he replies, his voice low and husky.

Hermione leans closer, her body language inviting. "I've been thinking about this all evening," she confesses, tracing the strong line of his jaw with one finger before outlining his lips.

"About what?" Draco asks. She can see his pulse fluttering in his neck, his heart pounding as hard as hers.

"About us," she whispers, her eyes dropping to his lips again. "About how it feels when we're together like this."

Their lips meet, softly at first. Hermione sighs into the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer. Draco's hands find her waist, his grip firm as she deepens the kiss, her tongue seeking entrance to his mouth.

Their tongues move together, slow and sensual, each motion intensifying the heat between them. Hermione’s fingers thread through his hair, gently tugging at the silky platinum strands. Draco groans, the sound muffled by her lips, his hands sliding up her back as he pulls her closer.

The kiss lingers, each second stretching into eternity. Draco’s body presses flush against hers, their forms fitting perfectly together. Hermione feels his heart beating against her chest, its rapid rhythm matching her own.

Eventually, Hermione senses a tension building in Draco, a stark contrast to the easy fluidity of their evening so far. Gently pulling back, she cups his face in her hands. His stiff posture and avoidance of her gaze confirm something is troubling him.

“What’s wrong?” she asks softly.

Draco remains silent, his eyes fixed somewhere over her shoulder.

“Talk to me, love. What’s wrong?” Hermione repeats, starting to climb off his lap, thinking he might need space. But his grip tightens on her hips, keeping her in place.

“I’m just not very good at this,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hermione’s smile falters at the weight of his words. Vulnerability flickers in his eyes, a shadow over his usual confidence. Leaning forward, she cups his cheek, brushing her thumb gently across his skin.

“This?” she teases lightly, gesturing between them. “Because I’d disagree—you’re a fantastic kisser.”

Draco huffs a small laugh but shakes his head. “Not what I meant, but thank you.”

“Then tell me,” she says, her voice soft but steady. “You can say anything to me.”

He hesitates, the faint blush on his face deepening before he takes a steadying breath. “It’s no surprise that my upbringing had rules for everything,” he begins.

Hermione nods, silently encouraging him to continue.

“That included relationships. While most of our year was starting to flirt and pair off, I was bullying and lashing out—terrified of doing the wrong thing. I thought it was safer to keep everyone away. Not that it excuses my behavior,” he adds quickly.

“Oh, Draco,” Hermione sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

His lips twitch into a small, lopsided smile before he continues. “Then, in fifth year, Pansy and Daphne started dating and needed a cover story—so I stepped in. After that, there wasn’t much time or inclination for flirting, much less relationships, given everything that happened during the next two years.”

“No, I suppose not,” Hermione murmurs, her hand finding his and squeezing gently.

“And then there was the year under house arrest, which didn’t help anything,” Draco adds with a wry smile. “Plus, Candy jokes that the Slytherin dorms sound more like a convent than a housing unit for teenagers. He’s not wrong—despite all the Hogwarts rumors, most of us were all talk.”

Hermione chuckles, her thumb brushing over his knuckles.

“When I moved here, I tried to go out when I could during training. You can thank a handful of women from the New York club scene for my fantastic kissing skills,” he says with mock seriousness, tapping her nose.

“I’ll be sure to send them thank-you notes,” Hermione replies, laughing softly.

He sobers slightly, his gaze dropping again. “You already know Astoria and I weren’t a love match, so… it never really came up until it had to.”

Hermione doesn’t interrupt, letting him set the pace.

“For a while, her Healers thought she’d live a normal Muggle lifespan—short for a witch but still a good life. But then the bad days became more frequent, and she grew weaker, even if it wasn’t immediately life-threatening. We both wanted a child, so we started talking about it sooner rather than later, just in case.”

Hermione’s fingers gently comb through his hair, a quiet reassurance as he continues.

“The Healers agreed we were racing against time, so they put her on fertility potions to almost guarantee success. After that, it was just a matter of picking the day, taking a shot of Firewhisky, using George Weasley’s ‘Set The Mood’ potion, nox-ing the lights, and… getting it over with.”

Hermione arches a brow, unable to resist teasing. “Firewhisky and a WWW potion?”

Draco’s lips twitch into a smirk. “Let’s see how you’d fare if you had to sleep with Potter.”

Hermione shudders dramatically. “Fair enough.”

Draco lets out a breath of laughter, though his tone turns serious again. “So, there you have it—all the reasons why Draco Malfoy is Somehow a Father and Practically a Virgin.”

He brushes a soft kiss across her lips before leaning back to meet her gaze. “Don’t get me wrong, Hermione—I’m glad our relationship is progressing. I just don’t want to disappoint you. I want everything to be perfect.”

Draco

Draco waits for Hermione’s reaction, hoping he hasn’t overwhelmed her.

“First of all, there’s no way you could ever disappoint me!” Hermione declares, punctuating her words with soft kisses across his face, each one pulling a laugh from him. “It’s not going to be perfect, and that’s okay! Figuring this out together will be half the fun.”

He nods, though a self-deprecating chuckle escapes. “I’m just saying, whatever expectations you have, you might want to lower the bar. Significantly.”

Hermione smirks, her confidence unwavering. “Draco, love, I want you to look me in the eyes when I say this.”

His eyes widen in exaggerated compliance, his hands gesturing as if to emphasize that he’s already staring directly at her.

Hermione snorts, rolling her eyes at his antics before continuing. “I was with Ronald Weasley for the better part of a decade. The bar is in hell.”

Draco blinks, momentarily stunned, before a slow smirk curves his lips. “Well, then.” His hands thread through her hair, gently tugging her closer. “When you put it that way…”

This time, he takes control, meeting her with a kiss that leaves her breathless. His tongue grazes hers, igniting a fire that courses through his veins. Whatever doubts lingered in his mind melt away in the heat of her response.

______________________________________________________________________

Hermione slowly pulls away, her lips trailing soft, deliberate kisses along Draco’s jawline. His head tilts back, exposing his neck, an unspoken invitation she eagerly accepts. Her teeth graze his earlobe before her lips follow the column of his throat, drawing a shiver that ripples through him.

“You feel so good,” she murmurs against his skin, pressing her center against his hard length.

Draco answers with a soft moan, his hips arching instinctively to meet hers. His hands roam her back, gliding over the satin fabric of her chemise. She gasps, her fingers digging into his biceps, encouraging him to keep going.

Kissing her way to his collarbone, Hermione flicks her tongue against the warm skin there, eliciting a sharp inhale from him. His breath quickens as her fingers skim down the open buttons of his shirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. She pauses at the third button, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

Draco meets her gaze, his gray eyes heavy with desire. “Yes,” he breathes, his voice husky. She works quickly, slipping each button free as he unfastens his cuffs and shrugs the shirt off.

Leaning back, Hermione takes him in, her hands running over his broad shoulders and down the sculpted muscles of his chest. “I don’t know what’s more frustrating,” she muses, her fingers tracing his defined abs, “the fact that you look like this—or that you know exactly what it does to me.”

“All the more reason to keep up with the gym visits,” Draco quips, his breath still uneven.

Hermione laughs softly and leans forward to press her lips against the scar just below his collarbone. Slowly, she trails open-mouthed kisses along the jagged line across his chest, her fingers following its path.

Draco watches her intently, his heart pounding. For years, he’s buried himself in duty and routine, never imagining he could share a moment like this. But here she is, her touch reverent and unflinching as she takes in every scar, every imperfection, and somehow, she makes him feel whole.

Her kisses dip lower, down the length of his torso, following the darker blonde trail of hair leading to his waistband. She slides gracefully to her knees, her hands exploring his thighs, nails lightly scratching as she gauges his reaction. His sharp intake of breath and heated gaze are all the encouragement she needs to reach for his belt buckle.

“Oh, fuck,” Draco mutters, his composure wavering.

“You don’t have to,” he says hoarsely as she slides the belt free.

“I know,” Hermione replies softly, her voice steady but full of emotion. “But I want to, if you’ll let me.”

Her words are a tender promise, her touch deliberate as she adds, “You took care of me earlier. Let me return the favor.”

Draco nods, anticipation written across his features. “Just relax and enjoy,” she murmurs, her voice low and sultry.

The button pops free with ease, and the sound of the zipper echoes in the quiet room. Draco’s head thunks against the back of the couch as his eyes close, his senses overwhelmed.

A soft giggle pulls him back, and he sits up, shooting her a dry look. “Well, that’s encouraging.”

“Sorry,” Hermione grins, her cheeks flushed. “It’s just that, when I imagined this…”

Draco hums, cutting her off. “Been thinking about me in my pants a lot, have you?”

“Frequently,” she retorts, swatting his thigh playfully. “I guessed the boxer briefs right, though I would’ve pegged you for black silk.”

“I have those!” Draco protests, indignant. “Just not today.”

Hermione smirks, her tone dripping with faux sincerity. “Why would you, when you can have dancing, gold chain-wearing nifflers with little falling coins?”

“Exactly,” Draco sniffs with mock dignity.

Hermione’s grin deepens as she tugs his trousers and briefs down just enough to expose him to the cool air. His cock twitches, standing proudly as she admires him, her eyes drinking in his perfect length and thickness.

“You’re beautiful,” she breathes, her voice thick with desire.

Draco swallows hard, his hands clenching at his sides, unsure of where else to put them. He watches her as she leans forward, her tongue darting out to taste him. The first touch sends an electric jolt through his body, a groan slipping past his lips. Hermione hums in approval, swirling her tongue around the tip, tasting the precum already forming.

His head falls back again as her mouth engulfs him, her lips pressing firmly against his skin. She moves slowly, her head bobbing in a steady rhythm, and Draco watches her, completely enraptured. His hand slides into her hair, pulling it back to keep it out of her face. She hums her thanks, the sensation shooting through him.

Hermione’s honey-brown eyes smolder as they meet his, her hand joining the rhythm of her mouth. Draco moans, his fist muffling the sound as he fights to remain still.

You are not going to embarrass yourself like a fifth year, he tells himself, clinging to control, but her tongue flicks over him, her pace quickening, each movement calculated to undo him. His hips buck involuntarily, chasing the warmth of her mouth and the pressure of her touch.

“Fuck, baby, your mouth…” he groans, his voice raw with need.

Hermione grins around him, pleased by his reaction. Draco can tell she loves having this power over him, the ability to bring him to the brink with just her lips and tongue.

She pulls back, her lips brushing his skin one last time before she looks up, her eyes smoldering with mischief and desire. “You like that?” she asks, teasing.

He can only nod, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Good,” she purrs, her hand resuming its strokes.

Draco’s mind is a haze of pleasure as Hermione works him, the heat building inside him, the pressure becoming unbearable. “Please,” he begs, his voice cracking with desperation.

She licks back up his shaft, her lips wrapping around him again, this time taking him even deeper. Draco cries out, his body tense as the pressure inside him crests. Her pace quickens, her hand pumping furiously as her mouth moves relentlessly.

“Hermione, I’m gonna... I can’t…” he pants, his words broken by his urgency.

“Yes, baby, come for me,” Hermione whispers, her voice seductive.

With a desperate thrust, Draco comes, his release hitting hard as he shouts her name. Hermione swallows eagerly, drinking down every drop as his body trembles with the force of his orgasm.

Breathing heavily, Draco collapses against the couch, his eyes closed, basking in the afterglow. Hermione, ever tender, pulls his underwear back up before crawling beside him, her body pressing close, her fingers soothing as they run through his hair.

“How was that?” she asks, her voice soft and satisfied.

Draco turns to her, still trying to catch his breath, the ringing in his ears slowly fading. Words. You know words, Draco. In two languages.

“Incredible,” he whispers, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her cheek. “You’re incredible.”

She kisses him tenderly, her lips lingering just long enough for him to taste himself there. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this speechless,” Hermione murmurs against his lips.

“Words are hard,” Draco sighs dramatically, cutting his eyes at her. They both break into laughter, the tension of the moment and what it means for their relationship melting into their easy camaraderie.

After a few moments, Draco rallies and toes off his shoes.

“Going somewhere?” Hermione asks, eyebrow raised.

“No, just getting comfortable.” He pushes his trousers off, kicking them aside.

“Merlin, Circe, and Morgana,” Hermione breathes.

Draco follows her gaze as it sweeps over his legs. “Told you I’d have to take off my trousers for you to see the rest of my tattoos.”

“That’s insane,” Hermione murmured, her fingers grazing the intricate Phoenix spanning his thigh, its tail feathers curling like smoke down his calf.

“I knew you’d have a snake tattoo somewhere,” Hermione smirks, her hand running over the piece on his left thigh. Superimposed on a bed of abstract geometric symbols, the snake in his ouroboros tattoo bears a striking resemblance to the serpent on the Slytherin House insignia.

“I do love a good cliché,” Draco shrugs.

“No more tattoos, huh?” Hermione asks, her tone forlorn as she traces one of the Phoenix’s tail feathers.

“That’s it,” Draco agrees. “Other than Scorp’s drawing and constellation, I haven’t gotten any new ones since the Phoenix was done, about a year before he was born.”

Hermione

Hermione’s breath hitches as she watches Draco clear the top of his desk with a flick of his wrist, the objects vanishing without a trace. The room seems to shrink around them, the walls closing in as the intensity of the moment builds. Heat pools low in her belly, a slow burn spreading through her limbs, making her skin tingle with anticipation. She can’t tear her eyes away from him—the way his muscles move, the confident smirk etched on his face.

Her blatant admiration of his body is cut short when he scoops her up from the couch, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His lips crash down on hers, capturing her in a searing kiss that leaves her breathless.

“Where are we going?” She manages between kisses.

“It’s your turn,” he says, his voice sending shivers down her spine. “And I’m too tall for you to stay on the couch.”

With that, he carries her to the desk, laying her gently on the surface. She realizes he’s placed both warming and cushioning charms on the mahogany, making it soft and inviting beneath her.

“You think of everything, don’t you?” she asks, her voice breathless and unfamiliar.

Draco leans over her, bracing his forearms on either side of her head before kissing her again. “Only the best for my girl.”

“You’re really going to spoil me at this rate,” she murmurs against his lips.

He brushes soft kisses over each eyelid, then her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and her mouth before speaking again. “It’s going to happen, princess. Might as well stop fighting it now.”

“You know, I think that’s one fight I’m willing to lose,” she says thoughtfully.

Draco tangles his hands in her hair and pulls her impossibly closer. “Good.”

Hermione has always been aware of her short stature and small frame, but here, with him, she feels completely enveloped. With her legs still wrapped around his waist and his powerful frame caging her in, she feels positively delicate—dainty, even. Draco’s presence is intoxicating, and her heart races as he hovers above her, that confident smirk still playing at the corners of his lips. The intensity of the moment fills the air, making the world outside their bubble fade away. His eyes, molten silver, lock onto hers as he leans closer, closing the small gap between them. Their breaths mingle—warm and quick—as his hand comes up to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing softly against her skin.

His kiss is gentle when their lips meet again, a sweet exploration that makes her feel treasured. She tastes the faint trace of spearmint on his lips, smells the spice of his cologne, and her heart races as she arches against him, deepening the connection. The kiss intensifies, passion igniting like fiendfyre. Heat radiates from him as his body tenses, tilting his head to let their mouths move in perfect harmony.

Her hands slide up his back, nails scratching lightly, prompting Draco to deepen the kiss further. Hermione feels every ounce of his longing and passion in that moment, their kissing an exquisite blend of urgency and reverence—marked by hunger and gentleness.

Hermione’s breath catches as Draco’s mouth leaves hers, trailing kisses along her jaw and down her throat. She hisses when he nips at her pulse point, soothing the bite with his tongue before pressing a kiss to the dip of her collarbone.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, tracing a finger along the delicate lace at the top of her chemise. With a wandless spell, Hermione vanishes it, leaving only her tiny matching panties to shield her from his gaze. Draco arches a brow. “So impatient.”

“So very impatient,” she whispers, his hands and lips exploring her abdomen. She sighs when his large hands cup her breasts, teasing her nipples into stiff peaks. “I knew it.”

“Knew what, darling?” Draco asks, his voice soft as he kisses along the tops of her breasts.

“That your hands would be this perfect.”

A curious smile plays on his lips as she continues. “The first time you came to my office, I couldn’t stop staring at your hands. I remember thinking they looked like they’d be soft and rough in all the best ways.”

Draco chuckles quietly. “And I thought about how tiny you are—that your hair would be a dream to play with.”

“Ohhh—” Hermione’s reply is cut off when he wraps his lips around one nipple. She moans, arching her back as he sucks hungrily, his long fingers teasing the other.

“Draco—”

“Shh,” he soothes, his voice low and steady. “Patience, love.”

Hermione can’t understand how he ever thought he’d be bad at this. Between the low rumble of his voice, the press of his body, and the scent of her amortentia made real, she’s a writhing, gasping mess—and he’s only just begun.

His hands and lips trail down her belly, caressing her soft skin. After open-mouthed kisses to each of her hips, Draco sinks to his knees, framed between her legs. Hermione’s breath hitches as he leans forward, brushing a soft kiss over her satin-covered core.

“Draco, please!” She pouts, propping herself up to look at him. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“Alright, sweetheart,” he soothes, sliding her knickers down her thighs. “No more teasing.”

He tosses the satin aside and places her legs over his shoulders, gently kissing each ankle and calf in turn. She nearly gets lost in the molten silver of his eyes when he glances up, shyly tucking his hair behind his ears.

“I want to learn what you like. So tell me if I do something wrong.”

All Hermione can do is nod, her response stolen by the sight of him. A loud moan escapes her as his tongue licks a broad stripe from her entrance to her clit.

“Oh, my gods, Draco!” she gasps as he wraps his lips around her clit and sucks gently. She falls back against the desk, grateful for the cushioning charm, unable to prop herself up any longer.

When he pulls back just enough to blow a cool burst of air across her, she nearly screams. He resumes sucking and licking, pushing her to near incoherence. Somewhere in the haze of pleasure, she realizes he’s kissing her pussy the same way he kisses her mouth—sweet, deliberate, and hot enough to make her eyes roll back.

Suddenly, she senses the start of a Legilimency connection. The idea of hearing him while he worships her body sends lightning through her veins.

“Did you know I’ve been dying to know what you taste like?” Draco’s deep voice rumbles in her mind. “And now I do.”

“And what do I taste like?” Hermione manages, her voice choked with desire even in her thoughts.

“Like mine.”

The possessiveness in his words, paired with another firm suck on her clit, nearly pushes her over the edge. “Draco, I’m—” she starts, but he silences her with another deep, wet lick.

“Let go, princess,” he urges, his voice thick with need. “Just let go.”

She does, her body shuddering as waves of pleasure crash over her. Draco’s hands grip her thighs, holding her steady as he brings her closer and closer to the edge.

“Yes, yes, yes!” she cries, her voice breaking as she finally tips over the precipice. Her orgasm rips through her, leaving her trembling and breathless.

Draco stays with her, his lips and tongue drawing out every last drop of pleasure until she’s spent. Only then does he pull back, his face gleaming with her release, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he looks up at her. He kisses up her thigh, cleaning his mouth and making her giggle at the sensation. Standing, he leans over her again, capturing her mouth in a kiss that still tastes faintly of her.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Absolutely beautiful.”

Hermione smiles, her body still humming with pleasure as she cups his cheek, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw.

“Are you sure this is your first time doing that?” she asks, breathless.

“What can I say? I’m naturally good at most things.” Draco smirks.

“Well, of course,” she drawls.

Draco takes a seat in his desk chair, pulling her into his lap. He summons his shirt from across the room and helps her into it, wrapping it tightly around her before kissing her sweetly.

She smiles, pressing a soft kiss to Draco’s jaw. “Spoiling me again, aren’t you?”

Draco chuckles, pulling her close. “Always.”

Now, with Draco, she finally understands what it means to be seen and cherished, not as the woman who solves everyone else’s problems, but simply as herself. For the first time, she feels it in her bones—this is home. And perhaps, for once, she could let herself dream of a future built on this fragile, yet unshakable foundation.

Chapter Text

Draco

July 31, 2009

New York City

Draco swings his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up before his mind fully registers the movement. A loud crack of thunder rattles the windows, jolting him awake in the early hours of Saturday morning. Without hesitation, he heads to his son’s room, knowing that, much like himself at that age, Scorpius is terrified of thunderstorms. But unlike Draco’s younger self, Scorpius never has to face them alone, hiding under the covers.

Draco enters the room as another clap of thunder rumbles, lightning briefly illuminating the space. His heart twists at the sound of his son softly singing to himself, his tiny voice trembling. Scorpius stumbles over the words of the French lullaby, clutching Pesto in one hand and gripping a fistful of Crookshanks’ fur in the other. Draco’s heart breaks when his son looks up, his lips quivering and silver eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“Daddy!”

“I’m here, darling. It’s okay,” Draco whispers, gathering his son into his arms.

“I tried to be brave, Daddy,” Scorpius sobs, clinging tightly to him and tangling his small hands in Draco’s hair.

“You are brave, sweetheart. So, so brave,” Draco soothes, holding him close and gently rocking him. “Mon courageux petit scorpion.”

Draco picks up Pesto and carries Scorpius back to his room, murmuring to him in a mix of French and English. He tells him all the things he wishes someone had told him as a child—how strong, brave, and loved he is. Crookshanks trails behind them, fiercely loyal to his new favorite person.

Draco sits on the edge of his bed, cradling Scorpius in his arms. Crookshanks curls around Draco’s side, nuzzling his head against Scorpius’. The boy’s sobs have quieted, but he still flinches with each clap of thunder. His wide eyes stay locked on Draco’s face, one hand gripping his father’s shirt while the other searches for Pesto.

“You’re safe, love. I’ve got you,” Draco whispers, pressing a kiss to Scorpius’ forehead.

A few minutes later, Scorpius speaks, his voice a bit stronger. “I told Cookie and Pesto not to be scared, ‘cause Daddy would come get us.”

“I will always come when you need me, Scorpius. Always.” Draco’s voice wavers, but he doesn’t care. His Mind Healer had told him it’s important for Scorpius to see his father express emotion. Draco knows he would’ve been better off if his own parents had ever shown even a sliver of emotion when he was this age.

“Even when I’m big like you?” Scorpius yawns.

“Even when you’re big like me,” Draco assures him. “Now, are you ready to lie down and try to sleep again?”

Scorpius nods, his eyes drifting shut. Draco leans back against his pillows, pulling the blankets over both of them as Scorpius nestles against his chest, his little fingers tangling in his father’s hair. Crookshanks lies beside them, his rumbling purrs a comforting background sound.

“I love you, Daddy,” Scorpius mumbles, his voice barely audible through his drowsiness.

“I love you too, Scorp,” Draco murmurs.

He gently rubs his son’s back and softly sings the same French lullaby Scorpius had tried earlier. Outside, the storm rages, but in the quiet safety of each other’s arms, they both drift back to sleep.

Hermione

Hermione wakes several hours later, stretching lazily like the cat who has abandoned her. She’s always slept well during storms, and last night was no exception. The cat in question is, of course, nowhere to be found; no doubt he spent the night standing guard over Scorpius. Her cozy bed is tempting, but the house is quiet in that unique, lazy Saturday morning way, and she wants to make the most of it.

She gets up and pulls on a soft pair of black leggings beneath the oversized, faded Ramones t-shirt she slept in. The relic, one of many that once belonged to her father, is now treasured by the daughter he no longer remembers.

Cool air greets her as she leaves the warmth of her bedroom, and the scent of rain reminds her of similar mornings in London. She pulls her hair back into a messy bun as she pads barefoot toward the kitchen. The storm has faded into a cool, misty morning, filling Hermione with nostalgia for home.

As she enters the kitchen, she’s surprised to find it empty. Then she remembers Draco mentioning that Scorpius is terrified of storms, which means they were probably up and down throughout the night.

Let them rest, she thinks, crossing to the coffee maker.

With a familiar swish and flick of her wand, the coffee begins to brew, and eggs, milk, and flour float out from the refrigerator and pantry. Saturdays are for pancakes, after all, and she’d love to surprise her boys with them this morning.

As the batter mixes itself, Hermione hums softly, letting her thoughts drift. The day stretches before her like a blank slate, free from obligations, and she savors the quiet simplicity of the morning. After so many years of believing she’d never have something like this, these ordinary moments still feel like a dream.

A well-earned dream, she reminds herself with a soft smile.

By the time the pancakes are sizzling on the stove, the aroma has surely begun to drift upstairs. She imagines Scorpius waking up, his small feet padding down the hall as he tugs Draco out of bed, full of energy and chatter. For now, though, the house remains still, and Hermione cherishes these last few moments of peace before the day truly begins.

The kitchen is quiet, save for the hiss of pancakes cooking and Hermione’s soft humming, when she hears the creak of floorboards in the hall. To her surprise, the first footsteps to reach the kitchen aren’t Draco and Scorpius’ but Theo and Harry’s.

“Oh! Well, good morn—” Hermione starts, only to be cut off by Harry’s rib-crushing hug.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione,” he says, his face buried in her hair. “I acted like an arse all day yesterday, and you didn’t deserve it. Honestly, you should’ve hexed me.”

Hermione smiles as Harry moves to sit beside Theo at the bar. “The thought did cross my mind, but I decided against it. We all have bad days, so—apology accepted.”

“And all's right with the world again.” Theo sighs dramatically, snuggling into Harry’s side.

She can’t help but laugh at the sight they make. Harry is in his ratty Auror Academy t-shirt and faded flannel sleep pants with his hair nearly standing on end. Theo, on the other hand, is decked out in lavender silk pajamas with a monogrammed chest pocket and a fuzzy purple robe. His matching eye mask is pushed up into his artfully tousled curls, with fluffy puffskein slippers completing his look.

Harry’s grin is unusually wide for this early in the morning, and Theo looks more mischievous than usual—if that’s even possible. They’re definitely up to something, Hermione thinks as she sends dishes to the sink and charms them to wash themselves.

“So,” Theo begins, gesturing to the pancakes flipping on the stove. “What inspired this bout of kitchen magic?”

“After my bad day yesterday,” Hermione pauses to shoot a mock glare at Harry, “Draco made dinner while I took a bubble bath. Since he and Scorp seem to be having a bit of a lie-in, I thought I’d return the favor.”

Theo hums thoughtfully as he gets up to make himself an espresso. “I always say, ‘when you’re taken care of, it allows your divine feminine to emerge.’”

“I’ve been feeling all sorts of domestic since being with Harry,” he continues, batting his eyelashes flirtatiously.

Hermione smiles at their obvious affection for each other. Seeing Harry so at ease, so unguarded, always warms her heart. He deserves this happiness, and she’s grateful to have Theo in their lives. She catches a knowing look pass between them before Theo schools his expression into feigned innocence. Narrowing her eyes, she tries to figure out what they’re up to.

“Was it the dinner that unleashed your divine feminine, or was it the orgasm?” Harry asks nonchalantly, taking a sip from the cup Theo handed him.

Hermione chokes, her cheeks flaming. Oh. Sweet. Circe. She groans internally, her mind racing. She has no recollection of either she or Draco casting a Silencio last night. Every moment of their evening together flashes through her mind in exacting detail as horror sets in. Thank Merlin there’s a muffling charm on Scorp’s room.

“Harry James!” Theo admonishes, casting a stasis charm on the still-cooking pancakes. “I told you to let me handle this.”

“Soooooo, I’m guessing you’ve just learned two things,” Theo says as Harry grins wickedly. “One, you two forgot to set a silencing charm, and two, my bedroom is right below Draco’s study.”

Hermione is still gaping like a fish out of water when Draco enters the kitchen and wraps his arms around her from behind.

“Good morning,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Noticing Hermione’s frozen expression, he turns to glare at Theo and Harry. “And what, may I ask, have you done to my poor girlfriend?”

“Oh, it’s not what we did,” Harry laughs. “It’s what you didn’t do.”

“Potter, what on earth are you talking about?” Draco asks, his brow furrowing.

“Tell me, brother-mine, what year did they teach us silencing charms at school?” Theo asks sweetly, cocking his head with mock innocence.

“What a ridiculous question, Theo,” Draco drawls. “Second year. Why?”

Theo sucks his teeth and inspects his nails before responding. “Then I suppose you must have been sick that day. Otherwise, I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t have placed a charm on your study last night.”

Draco freezes as quickly as Hermione had, his face flushing as he pieces it all together. His eyes widen in horror, and for a moment, it looks like he’s contemplating obliviating himself on the spot.

Hermione suddenly snorts with laughter, her mind kicking back into gear. It doesn’t take long for Theo, Harry, and Draco to join in. Their laughter is so raucous that, if Scorpius isn’t already awake, he will be now.

“It could be worse,” Theo gasps as he tries to rein in his laughter. “Harry and I could have been the ones to forget a Silencio last night, which arguably would have been worse for you two.”

“Ugh, perish the thought.” Draco shudders.

“All I know,” Harry says loftily, “is that I am never going near the couch in Malfoy’s study again.”

Hermione gives him a devious look over her shoulder as she returns to the stove. “Don’t forget about the desk.”

“Just give away all my secrets, why don’t you?” Draco snarks as he pours a cup of coffee, the sparkle in his eyes belying the sarcastic tone of his voice.

Before she can respond, Scorpius careens into the room, with Crookshanks following at a much more sedate pace.

“Good morning, Minnie!” he exclaims, wrapping his arms around her legs and clinging to her like a Bowtruckle on a tree.

Hermione picks him up, hugging him tightly as he tucks his head against her neck. “Good morning, love! Did you sleep well?”

“No.” The little boy shakes his head emphatically. “I don’t like funderstorms.”

“I remember, sweetheart,” Hermione coos, pulling him close again. “Did Crookshanks help at all?”

At the mention of her cat, Scorpius wiggles down to the floor to pet Crookshanks, his little fingers scratching the half-Kneazle behind the ears. “Yes! Hims stayed wif me until Daddy came.”

“And then he followed us to my room, where he proceeded to snore in my ear for the rest of the night,” Draco interjects, casting a glance at Crookshanks.

“Cookie was purring, Daddy!” Scorpius exclaims in a shocked voice.

Draco snorts at his son’s defense of the cat, but his eyes soften as he ruffles Scorpius’s hair. “Okay, okay, I suppose ‘purring’ is one way to put it.”

“Come here, ScorpScorp,” Theo says softly, opening his arms to pick up the toddler.

“Hi, Auntie Feo! Hi, Uncle Harry!” Scorpius says brightly, playfully snapping the elastic band of Theo’s sleep mask.

Harry’s eyes snap to Hermione’s as the title registers with him and her heart clenches at the look of wonder on his face. While he’s never expressed the desire for children of his own, she knows that he craves a family and the sense of belonging that comes with it. He’d had it for a while with the Weasleys and had been left reeling when that was ripped away from him.

Harry clears his throat as he leans over to accept a one-armed hug from the little boy. “Morning, Mini Malfoy!”

“What did Auntie Theo tell you about thunder, darling?” Theo asks as he cuddles Scorpius.

“Funder is just trolls playing wif rocks,” Scorpius recites dutifully.

“Precisely.” Theo gently taps the end of Scorpius’ nose.

Hermione and Draco finish cooking breakfast as Theo and Harry regale Scorpius with increasingly outlandish theories about thunderstorms.

“I’m really sorry about last night,” Draco whispers, his fingers brushing her arm as he leans close to her at the stove. “I can’t believe I forgot to set a charm.”

“It’s okay.” Hermione leans her head against his arm, offering quiet reassurance. “I could have thought of it too.”

When they all sit down to breakfast, the conversation inevitably turns to the Quidditch match that Draco and Harry will be playing in later that day. There will be no rescheduling due to the weather.

“I hope you all have a great match, but with this weather, I probably wouldn’t go even if I could,” Hermione laughs, watching raindrops chase each other down the windowpane.

“I don’t blame you,” Draco says. “Playing in the rain isn’t as much fun as I remember it being in school.”

“You can say that again,” Harry grumbles.

Theo crowds into Harry’s space, tucking his head under the other man’s chin. “Never fear! I, your long-suffering boyfriend, will be at the match—no matter the weather!”

Draco rolls his eyes at the two of them before turning to Scorpius. “When you finish eating, we need to go upstairs and get you ready to go.”

Scorpius watches the rain for a moment before looking at his dad, a plan evidently forming in his mind. “Can I stay wif Minnie today, Daddy? Please? Rain is no fun for watching Quidditch.”

Hermione looks up in surprise. Scorpius is welcome to stay with her, of course, but in her concern about relating to small children, she hadn’t let herself acknowledge just how attached he’d become.

“Well, that’s up to Minnie, I suppose,” Draco says with a soft smile, clearly fine with whatever choice she makes. “But I’m okay with it, as long as she is and we’re not messing up her plans.”

Her chest tightens with a mix of affection and awe as she realizes that there’s nothing she’d rather do than spend the day with him. “I was just planning on having a lazy pyjama day, so you’re more than welcome to join me, Scorp!”

“Yay!” Scorpius cheers. “We can watch movies and play wif my toys and color!”

Hermione grins at Scorpius before glancing up to catch the soft look on Draco’s face. She’s not surprised at all when she feels the beginnings of a Legilimency connection.

“Thank you,” Draco’s voice is quiet in her thoughts. The smile on his face and the emotion in his eyes nearly take her breath away. She can feel his gratitude flowing through their connection, his silent words reaching her mind with a tenderness that makes her heart ache.

“Of course,” Hermione responds, knowing he can sense the emotion behind her words better than if she’d said them aloud. “I love spending time with him.”

After breakfast, Hermione spends several minutes trying to convince Draco to go to his match. She reminds him that as long as she’s behind the Fidelius Charm, her attacker could walk right up to the windows and still not see her. Apparently, that line of thinking isn’t as comforting as she’d hoped, but she finally manages to get him to step through the Floo. He still insists on blocking it when he gets to the other side, even though only their most trusted friends can use it.

Hermione can’t help the warm feeling that passes through her at the thought of Draco’s protectiveness. For so long, she has been the one doing the protecting. Letting someone else worry over her is strange—but it’s something she’s starting to get used to.

As the last flicker of emerald flame disappears, Hermione lets out a small sigh, feeling a sense of relief. She turns to Scorpius, who is already giggling and throwing his hands into the air.

“Yay! It’s Minnie Time!” he exclaims, his silver eyes sparkling with mischief. A wide smile spreads across his face as he practically wiggles with excitement. Watching him with a smile of her own, Hermione feels any lingering doubts about their day together fall away.

“First things first, Scorp!” Hermione says as Scorpius tugs on her hand, pulling her back down the hall. The smell of soot and Floo powder fades away, replaced by the warm scents of pancakes and syrup. “I’ve got to do something with my hair. Any suggestions?”

She just manages to hold back her laugh, knowing exactly what he’ll say. He doesn’t disappoint. “Let’s do space buns!” he proclaims, reaching up to pat the haphazard braid he slept in as if he’s already shaping it into his favorite style.

Hermione widens her eyes in mock realization. “Why didn’t I think of that?!” she gasps, slapping her forehead with a grin.

“I don’t know, Minnie!” Scorpius laughs, holding his hands up in a grabbing motion. Hermione scoops him up, both of them laughing as they head for the stairs. As she carries him, she imagines all the fun they’ll have that day—from space buns to movie marathons. Today, there are no plans, no obligations—just the simple joy of spending time together.

How did I get so lucky? she wonders, marveling at how natural this all feels, as if this little family has been waiting for her all along.

With the top half of her hair wrangled into space buns, Hermione walks back down the hall, Scorpius toddling along behind her. As they pass the door to the storage closet between her and Harry’s rooms, she stops in her tracks as an idea strikes.

“Hey, Scorp? How would you like to do some stuff that I did when I was little?” Hermione asks, remembering the box of toys, games, and puzzles she saved when clearing out her parents’ house.

“What kind of stuff?” Scorpius asks curiously as he peeks into the closet.

“Muggle stuff!” Hermione whispers conspiratorially.

They arrive in the cozy living room, the large windows giving them a view of the gentle rain coming down outside. Hermione feels another pang of nostalgia as she looks at the couch, another idea from her childhood springing to the forefront of her mind.

“Have you ever built a blanket fort, Scorp?” She is fairly certain she knows the answer to this question, as it’s unlikely Draco and Theo built forts at Malfoy Manor.

“No, what’s dat?” The quizzical look in his eyes has Hermione reaching for her wand.

“Watch this!” With a flick of her wand, she summons all of Theo’s crocheted blankets and the various pillows and cushions in the room, directing them towards the couch. After a few more dramatic flourishes, the couch frame has been used to build the largest and most elaborate blanket fort Hermione can conjure.

Scorpius’ mouth drops open in awe as he bounces on the balls of his feet and claps his hands. “Dats so cool!”

“Now we can watch films and play games in here!” Hermione exclaims as she crawls inside. Once settled, she casts a cushioning charm on the floor and conjures little fairy lights for good measure. Scorpius crawls in after her, the fairy lights reflecting in his eyes.

Crookshanks saunters in and curls up on a pillow, surveying the blanket fort as if it is now his kingdom.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Hermione coos as she scratches her cat under his chin. “I’m just chopped liver since you met Scorpius.”

Crookshanks sneezes in her face as if to assure her of her lowered status in his life. “Thanks, Crooks, I love you too,” Hermione says in a deadpan voice as she casts a cleansing charm on her face.

Scorpius laughs uproariously at the cat before scratching him behind the ears. “Be nice to Minnie, Cookie.”

As Hermione unpacks the box of games and toys, Scorpius oohs and aahs over everything, but he seems particularly enthralled with her vintage Candy Land game, so she sets it aside to play with first. He picks up the Rubik’s cube she stashed away years ago, twisting each side experimentally. “No-Maj stuff is fun!”

“It really is!” Hermione agrees, feeling a sense of amazement. Scorpius’ polite manners and curiosity about her Muggle toys reveal more about how much Draco has changed than almost anything the man himself could say.

Scorpius’ soft gasp interrupts her unpacking. “What’s dat, Minnie?” he asks, pointing at the old toy in her hand.

The doll was one of her favorites when she was not much older than Scorpius is now. “This is a Glo Worm! I used to sleep with him at night, kind of like you do with Pesto.”

A warm feeling spreads through her at the enraptured look on his face. “Would you like to hold him?”

“Yes, please,” Scorpius whispers, reaching for the doll.

“He used to light up,” Hermione says as she frowns at the toy. She taps the doll’s face with her wand, murmuring a Lumos Minima until she replicates the gentle glow that was so comforting when she was small.

“There! Good as new!” she says, smiling. Her heart feels as though it grows three sizes as Scorpius hugs the doll close, then sets it at his side opposite Pesto. “You can keep him, if you’d like.”

“Fank you, Minnie!” he giggles before climbing into her lap to give her a hug.

“You’re welcome, love.” Hermione returns his embrace fiercely. “Are you ready to learn how to play Candy Land?”

“Yes!” The little boy nods dramatically, watching as she sets up the game.

As Scorpius cuddles close with the Glo Worm and Pesto in his lap, Hermione feels a surge of contentment. This was a day she hadn’t planned, but it was turning into something more precious than she could have imagined.

A few hours later, they’re crawling out of their fort in search of lunch when Theo’s Patronus pops up. The glittering flamingo flamboyantly struts into view; there’s a dramatic pause before Theo’s voice echoes through the living room.

“You definitely made the right choice, Granger! Even with Impervius and warming charms, I’m wet and freezing. No sign of the Snitch, and at the rate everyone is scoring, we’ll be here until sometime this evening. I’ll update you again later.” The Patronus pauses briefly before making kissing noises. The effect is hysterical, especially coming from a flamingo. “Kisses, ScorpScorp!”

“Auntie Feo is so silly!” Scorpius shakes his head as the Patronus fades away. “What’s for lunch, Minnie? I’m hungry!”

“Let’s go see what we can find,” Hermione says as they walk hand-in-hand to the kitchen. Crookshanks continues to the stairs, evidently done with their shenanigans for the day.

She searches through the cabinets, hoping to find the main ingredient for her favorite rainy-day lunch from childhood. A triumphant noise escapes her when she finds the can and holds it up for Scorpius to see.

“How do you feel about beans on toast?” she smiles, knowing she’ll definitely have it, but less sure about Scorpius. “Do you want to try it?”

He screws up his face as if she’s holding a vial of newt eyes but then heaves a long-suffering sigh, the tiny martyr that he is. “For you, Minnie.”

After lunch—which Hermione declares delicious, though Scorpius only deems it “‘kay”—they return to their blanket fort. Hermione digs through her box and pulls out The Little Mermaid. At first, Scorpius seems unsure, but when she assures him there are talking fish, he perks up and settles in beside her.

While the movie plays, they work on a puzzle she found. After twenty minutes, Scorpius starts snapping his fingers over the pieces.

Hermione tilts her head, watching him curiously. “What are you doing, Scorp?”

His look of concentration—so much like Draco’s—never wavers as he tries again. “Trying to make da pieces move, cause fis is taking forever!”

“Sometimes, things are worth the wait, ScorpScorp.” She leans down and kisses the top of his head. He sighs in defeat, climbing into her lap with Glo Worm and Pesto secure in his little arms.

As they cuddle together in their fort, Hermione smiles, wondering what other childhood memories she can share with him before the day is done.

Draco

Draco steps from the Floo, casting a quick Scourgify to make sure there’s no lingering soot. He feels the tension melt from his shoulders as he blocks it behind him, relieved to be home. Tired and sore, he’s more than ready to spend time with Hermione and Scorpius.

“Ten hours is way too long for an intramural Quidditch match,” he grumbles as he steps into the hallway. After a day in the rain, returning to the warmth of home feels like a relief. The aroma of roast beef and gravy makes his mouth water, a reminder of how long it’s been since breakfast. As he draws closer, soft music fills the air, and the sight that greets him at the doorway nearly takes his breath away.

Hermione and Scorpius dance to a soft tune, backlit by the watery evening light that fills the cozy kitchen. The song is just upbeat enough to accommodate his son’s happy bouncing in Hermione’s arms. As they spin in a small circle, her hair sways, and Scorpius’ laughter fills the room, clear and joyful. She dips him low, and he shrieks in delight, wrapping his arms around her neck as she spins them back up.

Draco’s heart stutters as he watches them; it’s a glimpse into a life he never thought he would have but now can’t imagine living without. Draco stands back, content to watch from the doorway for a few precious seconds, until Scorpius sees him over Hermione’s shoulder.

“Hi, Daddy! You home!” Scorpius gasps, practically wiggling with delight.

“Oh, well, hello!” She smiles up at him as Scorpius launches himself from her arms.

Draco catches Scorpius, gathering him close, and for a moment, all the exhaustion from his long day fades away. Completeness fills him, and he realizes his feelings for Hermione are quickly growing into something he’s never experienced before.

“Looks like you two had quite the pyjama day,” he says, grinning. Hermione’s still in the same leggings and t-shirt from this morning, true to her word. Scorpius still wears his Norwegian Ridgeback footie pajamas that he insisted on wearing last night so he “could match Pesto.”

“Plus,” he continues with a smirk. “You revived the Space Bun Club.”

“We did!” Scorpius yells excitedly.

“Here’s your opportunity, Malfoy,” Hermione jokes, waggling her eyebrows. “You can still join the club.”

Draco mockingly turns up his nose. “I’d face a dragon for either of you, but I draw the line at space buns.”

“Your loss!” Hermione shrugs. “We still had a good day, even if he won’t join the club, didn’t we, Scorp?”

“Yes!” Scorpius squeals with delight again. “Daddy, we had the best day! Minnie showed me all this cool No-Maj stuff!”

Hermione shrugs at Draco’s curious look. “The weather this morning made me a bit homesick, and I remembered that I had a box of childhood things I saved from my parents' house. Scorpius and I spent the day playing with some old toys and puzzles.”

“You have to see what Minnie made, Daddy!” Scorpius exclaims as he wiggles to the floor, bouncing with excitement before running towards the living room. “Come on!”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Draco calls after him, pulling Hermione into a hug once Scorpius is out of the room. “I’m sorry you were feeling homesick. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She relaxes into his arms, tilting her face up as she closes her eyes and breathes him in, savoring the closeness. “Nostalgic is probably a better word than homesick. That’s why I made beans on toast for lunch, which Scorpius actually ate. Then I decided to do a roast when Theo sent his second message to tell me that he and Harry were staying in Manhattan tonight, and that you’d probably be gone until dinner time. My mum always made them on rainy days, even if it wasn’t Sunday.”

Draco’s stomach rumbles loudly as he inhales the mouthwatering scent. “It smells amazing in here—wait, did you say you got Scorpius to eat beans on toast?!”

“I did!” Hermione laughs. “He said they were ‘“‘kay,’” but he ate it all.”

“Your powers never cease to amaze me, witch.” He smirks, leaning down to brush a soft kiss across her lips, savoring the warmth and the faint scent of rosemary that clings to her hair. There’s a hint of reverence in his touch, like she’s cast a spell on him that he’s helpless to resist. “I guess you should go look at what you made before Scorp comes looking for me.”

“Very true,” Hermione agrees. “Make it quick! It sounds like we need to feed you or you’ll wither away!”

Draco snorts at her joke as he pulls her in for another kiss before turning to leave. “I’ll be right back.”

Hermione nods, shooing Draco out of the kitchen. “By the time you get back, everything will be ready.”

After lavishing an appropriate amount of praise on the blanket fort and washing up for dinner, Draco and Scorpius return to the kitchen to find Hermione pulling golden Yorkshire puddings out of the oven, the fragrant steam filling the room.

“Ready to try some roast, Scorp?” he asks, hoping to expand on Hermione’s earlier victory. “It smells great!”

Scorpius barely flicks a glance at the feast before offering a polite, “No, fanks.”

Hermione puts a hand on Draco’s arm, her eyes full of encouragement. He nods, answering her unspoken question.

“Will you try a few bites for me, love?” She bats her eyelashes with an exaggerated pout, hands clasped under her chin in a dramatic plea that makes Scorpius giggle.

The little boy shares a long glance with Pesto, as if hoping the stuffed dragon will offer a solution to this mess. “For Minnie,” he sighs.

“You really weren’t kidding about those eyelashes,” Draco chuckles, and Hermione joins him, her laughter bright and genuine.

After finishing dinner, with Scorpius proclaiming it “good,” they migrate back to the living room. Draco had been invited into the fort for one round of Candy Land, losing spectacularly before being kicked out by his son for being “too big.” Now he relaxes in one of the oversized armchairs, perfectly content as he listens to the gentle patter of rain against the windows and Hermione’s lilting voice as she reads book after book to his son inside their blanket fort.

It’s past Scorpius’ bedtime, but some rules are meant to be bent—besides, they have another free day tomorrow where he can sleep in. Draco lets his mind wander, daydreaming about more evenings like this. He imagines more pyjama days and blanket forts, trips to the park and the zoo; a time when Hermione is free to go out and explore the city with them. His breath catches when his imagination conjures more children—blonde like Scorpius but with wild curls and honey-brown eyes, because only the indomitable Hermione Granger could override the vain Malfoy family magic.

Draco shakes himself out of his musings, but not before silently praying to anyone who might be listening for those daydreams to come true. It’s then that he realizes Hermione’s reading has stopped. Crossing to the blanket fort and crouching down to peek inside, he sees that Hermione and Scorpius have fallen asleep. Hermione lies on her side, gently cradling his son, who in turn curls around Pesto and the Glo Worm doll she gave him earlier.

A storm of emotion rushes through him, and though his first instinct is to Occlude it away, he resists. Awe and wonder, hope and disbelief, love for his son—all battle for dominance, and he lets himself feel it all. There are feelings for Hermione that he doesn’t dare name yet, afraid to let himself go there just now.

Draco summons his wand from across the room and uses it to take down their space buns, then gently casts the plaiting charm he has yet to master. He Accios blankets from another room, covering Hermione and Scorpius before refreshing the cushioning charm on the floor. He allows himself another moment to watch them sleep before returning to the armchair, pulling up his own blanket and turning out the lights with a flick of his wrist. The soft glow of the fort’s fairy lights gently illuminates the room, allowing Draco to continue watching what he hopes is a glimpse of his future until he falls asleep.

Chapter Text

Draco

August 4, 2009

New York City

Draco has had plenty of rude awakenings in his life, both literally and metaphorically, but having his three-year-old slam into his chest might rank among the worst.

“Daddy, wake up!” Scorpius yells excitedly, oblivious to his dad’s struggle for air. “I go see Auntie Daphne and Auntie Pansy today!”

“Yeah, Scorp, I know,” Draco wheezes, sitting up against the headboard and surreptitiously checking for broken ribs before pulling his son in for a cuddle. “Don’t forget, you can’t jump on them like this.”

“I ‘member,” Scorpius says seriously. “‘Cause Auntie Pansy will eat me.”

Draco snorts at his son’s blunt declaration. “You never know with her.”

“Yep!” Scorpius agrees cheerfully, as he nestles closer to Draco’s chest.

Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room as Draco continues holding his son, breathing in the familiar scent of him while he can. Scorpius gets a mischievous look in his eye shortly before he digs his fingers in Draco’s still-smarting ribs.

“Just remember, son,” Draco laughs. “You started it.” With that, he begins his onslaught, tickling Scorpius until they’re both breathless with laughter and his son’s delighted shrieks have probably woken the whole neighborhood. As they settle down, Draco pulls Scorpius close again, determined to soak up every second with him today.

“I love you, Scorp,” Draco whispers, pressing a kiss to his son’s head. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I love you too, Daddy.” Scorpius sits up to hold Draco’s face in his little hands. “It’s just two sleeps fen I’ll be back!”

“Is that all?” Draco asks in an incredulous voice, widening his eyes in feigned shock. “I think we can handle that, can’t we?”

Scorpius gives one of his signature, dramatic nods. “Yep!”

After a few minutes, the little boy wiggles restlessly in Draco’s arms, gaze shifting to the door as if plotting his next move. A minute later, he slides to the floor. “Come on! I want to see Minnie before her goes to work!”

“Right behind you,” Draco calls as Scorpius runs from the room.

Draco stands and makes the bed with a flick of his wand, his mind already running through his to-do list. He’s taken the day off work to spend time with Scorpius before he leaves for his aunts’, marking his son’s first trip without him.

A couple of weeks earlier, Theo and Harry had spent a long weekend holed up in a cabin in the mountains. When Draco jokingly complained that all he wanted was some time alone with Hermione, he unwittingly set Theo on a mission to clear the house at the first available opportunity.

Theo and Harry would be taking a Portkey to England that afternoon to spend the weekend preparing to put Grimmauld Place on the market. Harry had initially tried to take the easy route and pawn the awful Black family home off on Draco or Narcissa, but they both urged him to sell it. Neither one of them had any interest in revisiting that particular bit of family history. Penny and Scorpius would travel with them to London before apparating the rest of the way to Parkinson Manor in the Lake District.

For the entirety of their short relationship, he and Hermione had made do with stolen moments after Scorpius went to bed. Now, with a whole weekend to themselves, maybe they can take things to the next level and talk about where their relationship is going. The thought fills him with nervous excitement. He’s been carrying this hope in his chest, terrified to name it but even more afraid to let it slip away.

Despite his growing excitement, he still feels anxious at the idea of his son being so far away. They’d never spent a night apart–not even when Scorpius had spent weeks in the NICU with Draco counting every precious, fragile breath as monitoring charms chimed constantly in the background. He would miss the little boy’s chatter, non-stop questions, and the quiet comfort of knowing his son is nearby.

But, as Scorpius said, it’s only two “sleeps” until they’ll be back together. Draco knows it’s important for Scorpius to spend time with his aunts. As he walks down the hall, he glances at his son’s room, his eyes lingering on the books and toys strewn across the floor. Two days isn’t long—but the thought of coming back to a quiet house tonight felt foreign, almost unnatural. “Get a grip, Draco,” he mutters to himself, pushing down the twinge of anxiety as he finally heads downstairs.

He enters the kitchen to find Hermione juggling making tea with one hand while holding Scorpius with the other. She smiles and gives him a sheepish shrug. “I have a newfound respect for your ability to make tea and coffee with one hand… even with magic, it’s hard!”

Draco snorts, reaching for his son to help her. “It’s definitely a skill I had to learn fast. Come here, you clingy little koala.”

Scorpius tightens his grip around Hermione’s neck. “No fanks.”

Draco sighs and exchanges an amused look with Hermione. “How about I make the tea, then?”

“No thanks,” Hermione smirks as Scorpius giggles. “How about you sit down and let me handle it for once?”

Draco raises his hands in surrender, laughing as he heads to the table. “Fine, I give up.”

There’s a comfortable rhythm to these mornings, one he rarely allows himself to imagine too deeply. Watching Hermione with Scorpius fills a quiet space in his heart that he hadn’t even realized was empty. The ease with which she tuned in to his son’s little quirks, the way she embraced him whole-heartedly—it was all too natural, like she’d been there all along. For the entirety of their short relationship, he’s guarded his heart, keeping it carefully locked away. This weekend, though… maybe he’d finally let himself hope for something more. Hope was something he hadn’t allowed himself to have a lot of in recent years. He’d learned the hard way that too much hope could be dangerous. But here, with her, he’s beginning to hope for things that he hadn’t thought about in years.

“I was in a tea and toast mood this morning,” Hermione says over her shoulder. “Hope that’s okay?”

“Sounds perfect.”

They settle in for breakfast, and Draco listens contentedly as Scorpius and Hermione chat about his upcoming trip. She seems to understand him in a way that makes Draco’s heart ache. He can’t help but think about how natural they look together—like family.

“We should enjoy the calm while we can,” Hermione says, giving Draco a knowing look as she pours his tea. “Theo has been talking about this trip for days. I can only imagine what he has planned for this morning!”

The morning calm, however, is shattered a few minutes later when Theo bursts into the kitchen, bringing his usual level of chaos.

"Good morning, darlings!" Theo announces, as he drapes himself dramatically across his usual chair at the bar. The iridescent sequins on his muumuu shimmer as he strikes a pose, scattering rainbow sparkles across the room. He looks every bit like he's stepped out of a fever dream, and Draco is certain that even Scorpius's eyes are dazzled by the spectacle.

Harry, as usual, follows at a much slower pace, grunting in greeting as he heads straight for the coffee maker. His standard work attire—khaki chinos, a white button-down, and trainers—stands in stark contrast to Theo’s flamboyant appearance.

“Everyone excited for this weekend?!” Theo exclaims as he waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione laughs as Draco shoots an eye roll so epic it could have its own gravitational field. Harry takes a long, steadying sip of his coffee, as if it’s the only thing keeping him upright at this hour. Only Scorpius indulges him with a response. “Yes!” he exclaims, raising Pesto above his head like a tiny athlete raising a trophy. “Pesto is too!”

“Brilliant, ScorpScorp!” Theo trills. “I’m sure you and Pesto will have loads of fun with Auntie Daphne and Auntie Pansy.”

A distinct pop adds to the general pandemonium in the room, signaling Penny’s arrival. Her attempt at a stony face is derailed by the smirk that pulls at her lips. “Penny is being glad that Master Theodore is staying at Grimmauld Place and not going to Parkinson Manor. Perhaps Penny will be getting some peace and quiet.”

“Penny, you wound me!” Theo laments as he dramatically swoons in his chair as Draco and Hermione laugh at their banter.

Draco shakes his head at the chaos that is his life as Penny, Scorpius and Theo leave the kitchen to pack. It’s a wonder Hermione hasn’t run screaming for a safehouse—or started issuing restraining orders. But then again, she always did love a challenge.

“Want me to walk you to the Floo?” he asks as he sends their empty plates and cups to the sink to wash themselves.

“That would be great!” Hermione exclaims as she gets up from the table before tossing a glance in Harry’s direction. “Don’t worry, Harry, you’ve got plenty of time for a second cup.”

Harry raises his coffee mug in a sleepy salute as Draco follows her out of the kitchen. They walk hand-in-hand down the hall to the Floo, his anxiety over Scorpius’ departure giving way to excitement again.

“So, you ready for our big weekend?” Hermione asks with a teasing smile as she bumps him with her shoulder.

“More ready than I should probably admit,” Draco says, his voice low as they reach the Floo. Before he knows it, he’s pinned her against the wall, his thigh between hers, her breath hitching at the sudden closeness. He’s almost dizzy with it—the sheer thrill of being alone with her, even for a few stolen moments. “What about you?”

Hermione gives him a look that wouldn’t be out of place on a lioness stalking her prey before pulling him down into a kiss that quickly turns into a heated prelude of their weekend. She nips lightly at his bottom lip as she pulls away with a smirk. "Does that answer your question, Malfoy?"

Draco hums thoughtfully as he tips her chin back, intending on another kiss when they’re interrupted by a tortured groan from Harry.

“Too early for this.” Harry mumbles as he enters the room. He visibly shudders and checks his watch. “You have less than eight hours until we all leave–save it for later.”

Hermione and Draco share matching eye rolls at Harry’s dramatics as she stretches up on her tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to Draco’s cheek. “Have a good day with Scorp, I’ll see you this afternoon.”

After Harry and Hermione disappear in a swirl of green flames, Draco walks back to the kitchen, intending on cleaning up but finding that Theo has returned and taken care of it.

“Thanks,” he says, indicating the clean countertops. “I thought you’d still be packing.”

“Everything was already picked out, I just had to get it in our bags.” Theo offers a lazy wave of his hand before giving Draco a wicked grin. “Sooooooo…”

“Why do I have a feeling that I’m not going to like where this is going?” Draco sighs.

The other man holds up his thumb and forefinger, just a centimeter of space between them. “I just have one tiny request about this weekend.”

“I’m sure I’m going to regret this with every fiber of my being but–what is it?”

“If there’s a new baby as a result of this weekend, I’m suggesting Theodore for a boy–”

“Theo! What the hell?!” Draco shouts, looking around to make sure Penny and Scorpius are still upstairs.

“Rude,” Theo says. “If it’s a girl, you could go with Theodora! Wait, can Malfoys even have girls?”

Draco drags a hand down his face in exasperation. “For Salazar’s sake, Theo, there will be no babies after this weekend.”

Theo shrugs. “I mean, you forgot a silencing charm—who’s to say the contraceptive charm won’t be next?”

Draco gives him a dry look. “I’d run if I were you.”

Theo yelps as he turns and runs down the hall, remembering all the times they fought growing up. He wrenches open the door to the stairs leading to his suite, throwing a blocking charm behind him as he does. “Ha! I made it to home base!”

Draco leans against the wall, arms crossed and a smirk playing on his lips. “You know you’ll have to come up eventually, Theo.”

Hermione

“Okay, that’s it! I can’t take it anymore!” Harry exclaims, snapping the file in front of him closed.

Hermione looks up from her own notes on the upcoming Quidditch World Cup—set to be hosted by the U.S. with England’s national team playing—and watches him in amusement.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks, setting her notes aside.

“My brain is already on holiday, and I’ve chased enough dead ends for one day,” Harry sighs. “Come on, we’re going to the cafeteria. It’s time for Biscuits and Bitching!”

“Biscuits and Bitching” had started back in their fourth year, ironically during Ron’s fling with Lavender. It became a time for Harry and Hermione to sit down with snacks and work through whatever was on their minds. Sometimes they vented about what was going wrong, but more often, it was just a chance to catch up and gossip.

Returning to Hermione’s office with biscuits in hand, they settle on opposite ends of the couch in front of her windows, taking in the view of Manhattan.

“All right, why did you call this meeting to order?” Hermione asks, taking a sip of her latte.

Harry takes a big bite of his chocolate chip cookie before responding. “I wanted to check in on you. You’ve had a lot going on lately—moving, new job, the attack, moving again, new relationship…”

“You realize all of those things apply to you, too, right?” Hermione laughs. “So we’ll definitely circle back to that!”

She finishes her first cookie and starts running through his list. “Moving to New York wasn’t a hardship, except for missing you every day at first. The job’s great, aside from the endless trade agreements. As for the attack, I’m okay. It shook me up for a while, but I feel safe now. Moving again? Draco’s house is much nicer than my flat, and it feels like we’re roomies again, so no complaints there!”

“And the new relationship? I think it’s going really well! We’re still taking things slow, but I’m excited.” Hermione pauses to take a bracing sip of her coffee. “Your turn!”

It was going more than well, though she isn’t ready to admit it aloud. It’s the way Draco looks at his son—with a kind of fierce, unwavering love that is both tender and protective, the way he anticipates her every need and want. It reminds her of what she’s always wanted in a partner: someone who can hold a family together, who loves deeply and without reservation. And with Scorpius’s shy, sleepy smiles and his bright, inquisitive eyes, Hermione often feels as if she’s stepping into a picture she’d once only dreamed of.

Harry’s eyes brighten as he ticks off each item on his fingers. “Like you, moving here was easy. The job’s amazing—I get paid to hang out with you, and when I’m not, I’m working on cold cases from home. Plus, Quidditch. About the attack, I’m good now. We got you out safely, and that’s what matters. Moving again—don’t tell Malfoy, but I actually like it there. Theo and I have our own space but can be around all of you whenever we want.”

“And Theo?” he says, pausing with a soft, besotted look that stirs Hermione’s heart. “Remember when I said I wanted someone to come in and turn my world upside down?”

Hermione nods, unable to trust her voice, seeing Harry happier than she’s seen him in years.

“It’s early, but I think this might be it, Hermione.”

Harry leans back, a rare vulnerability crossing his features. “You know, for years, I thought that kind of love wasn’t for me. That maybe it was a one-time thing with Ginny and losing it was punishment for everything I’d done—or failed to do.” He glances at her, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. "But Theo? He makes me feel like... maybe I deserve this after all. It’s terrifying, honestly. What if I screw this up too?"

“You haven’t screwed anything up,” Hermione reaches out to squeeze his hand, her own voice thick with emotion. "You absolutely deserve this, Harry. If anyone does, it’s you."

They spend the next hour chatting idly until it’s time to meet the others at the Portkey office. As they arrive early, Harry paces anxiously around the waiting area. Hermione sighs, trying to keep her eyes on him without getting dizzy. “Harry, sit down. They’ll be here soon enough.”

Just as he reluctantly settles beside her, he spots Draco and the others coming down the hall. “Is Malfoy supposed to be that shade of green?” he asks, grinning.

“No, and don’t mention it,” Hermione replies, giving him a warning glance. “Remember, you are Mr. Open Mouth-Insert Foot.”

He shrugs, grinning sheepishly. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

Through the glass wall, Hermione sees mismatched Portkeys lined up in the booths—a dented coffee can, an old baseball cap, a chipped teacup—each charged with the promise of far-off destinations. As Draco approaches, she notices the stiffness in his shoulders, his gaze pointedly avoiding the booths.

Poor thing, she thinks, imagining how hard it must be for him to send his son off for the first time.

“Hi, Minnie!” Scorpius chirps, breaking into a grin as he sees her.

She stands up, bracing herself as he launches into her arms. “Hi, Scorp! Are you ready for your trip?”

“Yes!” He nods enthusiastically before snuggling under her chin. She holds him close, breathing in his warmth, then hands him back to Draco.

Hermione steps closer, lacing her fingers with Draco’s as they watch Scorpius laugh with Penny. She feels the cool brush of Draco’s magic against her mind and lets it linger, squeezing his hand. Draco exhales shakily, his grip tightening around hers. For a fleeting moment, he lets his walls drop, his gratitude unspoken but palpable.

“Are you going to make it?” she asks lightly, her voice carrying a touch of humor even through Legilimency.

“I’ll be fine once they’re gone,” he replies, sighing. “Though I fully admit I’m acting like an idiot.”

“You’re allowed to change your mind, you know.” She says as he leans her head against his arm.

He squeezes her hand, managing a small smirk. “I’m not that much of an idiot.”

Harry sighs dramatically. “Merlin’s pants, what did I tell you two about that?”

“Oh, leave them be, love,” Theo coos. “I only wish you were a Legilimens. Just think of the things I could say.”

“Penny is thinking that Master Theodore should stop that thought right there,” the house-elf says, her tone dry.

A Portkey officer calls out a ten-minute warning for their group, and Scorpius cheers, clapping with joy. “I’m so excited to see my aunties, Daddy!”

Draco’s face softens as he pulls Scorpius close, kissing the top of his head. “I know, buddy. Be good for everyone, okay?”

“I will!” Scorpius hugs him fiercely, then turns to Hermione for one last squeeze. “Bye, Minnie!”

As the final goodbyes are exchanged, Draco launches into a laundry list of instructions for Penny. “Remember, Scorp can’t sleep without a nightlight, he prefers pasta to anything else but he’ll eat rice in a pinch, he needs Pesto—”

Penny fixes him with a look that would make Voldemort think twice. “Master Draco, Penny knows. Master Scorpius will be fine, and so will you.”

The teacup Portkey begins to glow, signaling their departure. With one last flurry of waves and hugs, Theo, Harry, Scorpius, and Penny grasp the cup, and then, in a flash, they’re gone.

Hermione watches quietly as Draco stares at the empty booth, his face unreadable. For a moment, he stands there, motionless. Then he turns to her, his color returning, a familiar smirk playing on his lips.

As Draco leads her out of the Portkey office and back toward the Auror Department to floo home, Hermione finds herself noticing details about his appearance that she hadn’t registered before. To her surprise, Draco is wearing a sage green oxford with the sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone. The color alone is striking—a soft, muted green that somehow brings out the silver in his eyes. But even more surprising is how casual he looks. She’s used to seeing him in sharply tailored black or impeccably fitted suits, not… this.

The biggest surprise, though, is his hair. It’s loose, falling in soft waves around his face and down to his shoulders. She’s only seen it down a few times before, and never in public. There’s something about it, something almost vulnerable, a glimpse of the softer side of him that few others ever get to see–that she’s only seen a couple of times.

Their fingers brush as they walk down a quiet corridor of the Auror Department, the buzz of Portkey travelers and other Ministry employees fading behind them, before she gathers the nerve to say something.

“If I’d known you were going to dress like this, I would have been more prepared.” She keeps her tone light and playful even as her eyes roam over him appreciatively.

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Prepared?”

“For the distraction,” she replies with a smirk, trying to keep her tone light even as her gaze softens, lingering on the wisps of hair brushing his collar. As always, it feels like a privilege to see him like this—unguarded, real, and somehow hers, if only for this moment. “Sage green really does bring out your eyes.”

Draco looks away, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Duly noted, I’ll have to wear it more often.”

“See that you do,” Hermione quips. “Plus, your hair is down?! Yep, totally unprepared for the distraction.”

Draco glances away, running a hand through his hair as though he’s not entirely sure about leaving it down. “Yes, well,” he says, clearing his throat, “someone once told me I should wear it like this more often.”

Hermione catches the faintest hint of a blush across his cheekbones and feels a surge of warmth at the vulnerability he’s showing, even if it’s hidden behind a smirk. “A very wise person indeed.”

They arrive at the Floo, and Draco takes her hand, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her knuckles as he pulls her close. “Ready for the weekend?”

Hermione feels a flutter of excitement at the thought of the next two days. “Absolutely!” she laughs, trying to keep her voice steady. “The question is, are you ready for two entire days alone with me?”

His smirk softens, and there’s an openness in his eyes that sends warmth rushing through her. “I’m counting on it, darling.” he says, his voice holding a hint of a promise.

Draco

It had taken a lot of cajoling, and a not-insignificant amount of snogging, for Draco to convince Hermione to go take a bubble bath and relax in her room but he had finally succeeded. He had plans to enact, dinner to cook and a surprise to set up. A dinner out wasn’t an option—not without shutting down the restaurant or bringing half the Auror Department as backup. But if he couldn’t take Hermione to the perfect evening, he’d bring it to her.

For weeks, Draco collected plants and furniture during his Saturday outings with Scorpius, ensuring his son never realized the surprise was for Minnie.

Draco silences his footsteps as he walks from the rooftop garden down the kitchen in an effort to not pique Hermione’s curiosity again. Everything is ready up there, so once he finishes cooking he can escort her to dinner. Tonight’s menu is French, an area where Draco knows he shines. The fougasse is ready to go in the oven, giving him the perfect amount of time to finish the coq au vin and roasted vegetables. The real star of the show is Joël Robuchon’s recipe for purée de pomme–Draco is convinced the man is a wizard, no matter what anyone says. Add the petit verdot he’s been saving for a special occasion and a tarte tatin for dessert and this is shaping up to be the most impressive dinner he’s made in a while.

With dinner made and plated, Draco places them under stasis before putting them on the kitchen table and sending them to the table on the rooftop with a flick of his wand. Now that everything is ready, all he has left to do is change and pick up Hermione.

Draco heads to his room, his mind already running through the evening ahead. He pauses at the base of the stairs, his hand brushing against the banister. The house feels quieter than it ever has without Scorpius’ chatter. Beneath the unease, though, is a spark of excitement: two days alone with Hermione. He’s already planned every detail, but a question lingers in the back of his mind.

What if this weekend changes everything?

Under normal circumstances, he would have dressed up and picked her up for dinner as their first date but, since that wasn’t possible at the moment, he saw no reason not to go through the motions for a date night at home. Hermione was entirely worth it, after all.

Draco flicks through the options in his closet, nearly pulling out the black suit Theo and Penny had threatened him out of the night of the gala. Instead, he pulls out the burgundy suit that Hermione seemed to love so much. This should do nicely, Draco thinks. He once assumed that he’d never wear this again but, as previously discovered, he would do nearly anything for her.

This time he leaves off the waistcoat and tie, although he still wears the same black silk shirt. He starts with just the top two buttons undone but changes it to three since he’s feeling a little daring. Draco stops to take a look in the mirror and decides that this will work. It’s still strange to have his hair down when he’s not going straight to bed but he’s getting used to it. With another flick of his wand, he conjures a bouquet of roses before heading down the stairs to Hermione’s room.

Draco pauses outside her door, listening to the soft music drifting through her door. Why are you so bloody nervous? She’s already your girlfriend. With one last steadying breath, Draco reaches out and knocks.

When Hermione opens the door, all coherent thought flees from his mind. She’s wearing a black cocktail dress with a sweetheart neckline that puts her freckles on display. Her delicate gold jewelry enhances the look and, like him, she’s resurrected something from the gala in the form of her gold heels. Her chocolate curls flow wildly nearly to her waist.

He realizes that he’s still standing there gaping at her when she gives him an amused look. He clears his throat, feeling his usual embarrassed flush spreading across his face.

“You look stunning.” Draco says, finally finding his voice. He extends the flowers in her direction. “Oh, and these are for you.”

Her bright smile matches the warmth in her shining eyes as she accepts the bouquet. “Thank you! You look fantastic, too.” She stretches up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “So, what’s the plan for this evening?”

“I thought that since I’ve yet to be able to take you out to dinner like I promised, I would bring the dinner to you.” Draco rubs a hand across the back of his neck, still a little anxious that he’s done too much, “Plus, I have a surprise for you.”

“There’s that spoiling kink again.” Hermione teases flirtatiously. “Whatever shall I do with you, Draco Malfoy?”

He gives her a devilish grin in response. “I’m sure you’ll think of something, darling.”

Draco offers her his arm and leads her upstairs. “I thought we’d dine on the rooftop, if that’s okay with you.”

“Sounds perfect!” Hermione leans her head against his arm as they walk and it feels like she’s always belonged there.

When they reach the door to the rooftop stairs, he turns to look at her again. “Stop when you get to the top, please.” He chuckles lightly at her confused look. “All part of the surprise, sweetheart.”

Draco is more than happy to let her lead the way. When she glances at him over her shoulder halfway up the stairs, he offers her a nonchalant shrug and a smirk–not bothering to hide the fact that he was staring at her.

Hermione stops at the top of the stairs and turns to wait for further instructions.

“Close your eyes and I’ll take it from here.” Draco says, raising one eyebrow at her until she complies. He steps forward and covers her eyes with one hand, opening the door with the other. She sighs contentedly and leans back against him. “Come on, love, one last step up.”

The scent of flowers floods the stairwell as Draco guides Hermione to the rooftop. Over the past few weeks, he’s transformed the once barren space into a vibrant oasis. Planters brimming with magical and mundane plants line the walls, lit by twinkling fairy lights. A dining table awaits at one end, while cozy lounge chairs and a small fire pit sit near a softly trickling fountain. Under the umbrella of Penny’s Fidelius charm, the space feels both intimate and infinite—a sanctuary for just the two of them.

“Ready?” Draco whispers, his lips grazing the shell of her ear.

“Yes,” Hermione breathes.

He drops his hand and waits for her response, praying to anyone who might be listening that she’ll like it. She’s quiet long enough that he’s afraid he’s made a massive misstep.

“Draco, this is–” Hermione cuts herself off as she turns, her eyes shining. “Thank you but this is too much. You didn’t need to–”

Draco shushes her as he grasps her chin in his hand, making her look at him. “What did I tell you before? You are never too much. Nothing is too much for you.” He brushes his thumb gently over her plush lips before leaning down and placing a soft kiss there.

Hermione twines her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a deeper kiss. She doesn’t pull back until she nearly leaves him breathless. “Thank you.”

“This is gorgeous!” She takes a few steps forward before slowly spinning in place to take it all in. “How did you do all of this without me finding out?”

“I picked everything up when Scorp and I were out on Saturdays. Thankfully, he never figured out what I was doing.” Draco laughs. “You’ve been spending more time in the living room so it was easy enough to come up here and work when you were reading down there.”

They spend a few minutes exploring each corner of the rooftop–seeing it through her eyes makes it feel brand new for Draco. Once they’ve made it back to where they started, he leads her towards the table. It occurs to him that he never asked her if she likes French food but there’s nothing to do for it now except forge ahead.

Hermione sniffs appreciatively as he pulls out her chair. “Whatever you made, it smells divine!”

“Hopefully it tastes that way too.” Draco quips as he takes his own seat and indicates the bread in front of them. “I made an herb fougasse to get us started, then we have coq au vin and roasted vegetables.”

Draco is nothing if not observant so the slight dilation of Hermione’s pupils does not escape his notice. He’s also quite sure that it has nothing to do with the food and everything to do with his use of French. Naturally, he has to really lean into the pronunciation as he continues.

“I also made purée de pomme, which is the real star of the show, in my opinion.” He opens the wine while talking. “Oh, and I made a tarte tatin for dessert.”

“This will all pair very well with this petit verdot that I’ve been saving but if you’d prefer something else, I can go grab it.” He smirks, making note of the fact that his speaking French evidently short-circuits her brain and vows to use it more often in the future.

Hermione stares at him for a minute as he waits for a response before filling her glass. She shakes her head as if to clear her thoughts and waves her hand at the wine bottle. “This sounds wonderful!”

After filling his glass, Draco lifts it in her direction, his eyes locked on hers. “To a fresh start. To finding the strength to let go of past mistakes and embrace hope for the future. And to you, darling—for making me believe in that future.”

Hermione

Hermione raises her glass, her heart swelling with gratitude and something far more profound. The garden was beautiful, a reflection of his quiet thoughtfulness—every detail crafted to make her feel cherished. For the first time in years, she feels like she isn’t chasing moments of happiness; they are simply here, waiting for her to accept them.

A soft smile graces her lips, her eyes shimmering as she touches her glass to his. “To a fresh start, and to having someone who makes it feel like home.”

After dinner, they had migrated to the chaise lounge across the roof–full from dinner and deliciously buzzed from the wine, talking quietly as the hour grew later. Now, Hermione is splayed across Draco’s chest, breathing in the scent of her Amortentia come to life as she brushes her fingers over the section of his largest scar that she can reach through the open buttons of his shirt. She’s nearly been lulled to sleep by the sound of his breathing and the rhythm of his heart as he runs one hand through her curls.

Contentment is not something that Hermione has known a lot of in her life. She is always striving to be the top of the class, the best employee, the friend who always has it all together. She very rarely just let herself be. But here, with Draco? She feels more content than she has in years.

Hermione shifts, propping herself up as she gazes down at him. Her hands trail down his abdomen, lingering over the ridges of muscle she can feel under his shirt, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

“You know,” she says, her voice lilting and flirtatious as she indicates his loose hair and undone buttons, “with all these distractions, you’re not making it easy for me to behave.”

His eyes darken as a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Who said anything about behaving?”

That’s all the permission Hermione needs. She moves quickly, straddling him as the hem of her dress creeps up her thighs. Leaning down, she captures his lips in a kiss that is fiery and possessive, her hands slipping into the open collar of shirt. She runs her tongue along the seam of his lips, deepening the kiss when he responds, opening for her even as he wraps his arms tighter around her.

She snakes a hand between them, intent on opening the remaining buttons on his shirt and pulling it free of his trousers. She shifts her focus, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his jawline and down his neck before trailing her lips along the skin exposed by the buttons he’s left open.

Hermione groans as he gently lifts her back up, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "Not here, love. Not this time."

"No one can see us," she whispers, breathless, but he shakes his head with a playful smirk.

A surprised squeak escapes her when Draco uses his quick reflexes to flip them, caging her in as her back presses into the soft cushion below her. He smirks as he watches her eyes widen at the move. “Call me old-fashioned, princess, but our first night together is not going to be spent on the roof.”

“Is that so?” Hermione challenges.

“It is,” Draco confirms. He leans down to claim her mouth in a searing kiss. “I’ve dreamed of having you in my bed for far too long to stay up here.”

Hermione places both hands against the firm wall of his chest, pushing lightly. The smirk she gives him rivals any he’s ever given her. “Well, then–lead the way.”

They could have apparated to Draco’s bedroom for all the attention Hermione gave the trip. How they safely made it down the stairs was anyone’s guess since neither of them were watching where they were going as hands and lips roamed over each other.

Hermione smirks again as Draco kicks the door closed behind them, even though they’re the only ones home; he shrugs when he catches her gaze and realizes what he did. She closes the small gap between them, twining her arms around his neck as she arches up to kiss him again. His hands run down her body, skimming over the curve of her arse until he grasps the backs of her thighs and lifts her. Her legs tighten around his waist, leaving her feeling weightless and delicate as he carries her to his bed. The tenderness he shows when laying her down is breathtaking. Shining silver eyes and soft white-blonde hair take up her whole field of vision.

“Hi,” he murmurs, smiling down at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Hello,” Hermione sighs, pressing a brief kiss to his lips. She catches a slight hint of hesitation in his eyes, prompting her to check in with him. “What is it, love?”

Draco shakes his head, not quite meeting her gaze. “I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

Hermione clicks her tongue as she grasps his chin and forces him to look at her. “What did I tell you before? You could never disappoint me. The bar is in hell, remember?”

He nods before giving her a dry look. “Yes, well, the best I can offer is three to five minutes of shock and awe and a promise to try again later.”

Bright laughter bursts from her as his words sink in and she’s happy to see that he joins in. “Oh, my gods, Draco! What am I going to do with you?”

_____________________________________________________________________

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” He smirks at her as he helps her sit up enough that he can reach the zipper on the back of her dress. The garment ends up somewhere on the floor behind him. Hermione preens as his wide-eyed gaze runs over her body, taking in the lacy set she’d picked out with this moment in mind.

“See something you like, Malfoy?” Hermione teases flirtatiously.

“You, baby,” Draco rasps as his teeth graze along the column of her throat. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

His eyes meet hers as he kisses down her chest, the silver nearly swallowed up by his blown pupils. He hovers there for a heartbeat, a silent question in his eyes. At her nod, he lowers his head, his lips capturing one pert nipple through the lace of her bra. Hermione cries out, her hands clenching around his arms, her body trembling with pleasure.

Draco suckles gently, his tongue circling the sensitive peak, drawing another moan from her. Her hips began to move involuntarily, grinding subtly against his thigh, seeking friction.

He switches to her other breast, lavishing the same attention, his hands roaming lower, cupping her arse, lifting her slightly. Hermione wraps her legs around his waist, her core pressing against him, her need evident.

Her hands fumble with his shirt, flicking open the last buttons and yanking it free from his trousers, her fingers eager to touch his bare skin. Draco breaks the kiss, his breathing harsh, his eyes burning with intensity.

"Take it off," Hermione demands, her voice commanding.

“Yes, ma’am,” Draco obliges, shrugging out of his shirt, his muscles flexing under her exploring hands. Hermione's fingers trace his pecs and follow the line of one scar, her touch light as a feather. "You're beautiful," she whispers, her eyes adoring.

Draco captures her lips again, his kiss fierce, claiming. Their bodies meld together, skin to skin, the heat between them reaching a fever pitch. Hermione's hands roam his back, her nails leaving trails of fire in their wake.

He removes her bra with exquisite care before returning her gently to her back; her legs still wrapped around his waist, her eyes locked onto his. "Don't stop," she pleads, her voice thick with desire.

Draco hovers above her, his weight supported on his elbows, his gaze intense. "Never," he vows, his lips descending to capture hers once more. He slowly sinks to his knees before grasping her hips and gently pulling her to the edge of the bed. His thumbs hook into the waistband of her soaked knickers and he slides them down her legs before tossing them behind him to join the rest of their discarded clothing.

He gives her one last heated look before lowering his mouth to her aching core. Her back arches off the bed as his tongue finds her clit, flicking it with a precision that sends sparks shooting through her body. She gasps, her fingers tightening their grip on the satin sheets beneath her, crumpling them into a mess of wrinkled fabric. The sensation is overwhelming, a wave of pleasure crashing over her, leaving her breathless and desperate for more.

"Draco," she moans, her voice trembling with need. "Don't stop, please."

He doesn't stop, his tongue circling her clit while his lips press firmly against her, teasing and coaxing every tremor of pleasure. His hands slide gently up her thighs, parting them further to reach her deepest desires, his touch igniting her every nerve.

She tries to keep her composure, but it's impossible. Her hips buck against his face, seeking more of what he's offering, more of the delicious pressure building inside her. "Fuck, you are so good," she breathes, her words interspersed with sharp intakes of breath.

Draco slips two fingers inside her, cautiously exploring, learning each sigh and gasp she gives him. The Malfoy signet ring brushes against her overheated skin, nearly sending her off the bed.

“Oh, my gods, your ring!” Hermione gasps, biting down on her lower lip to keep from screaming.

He misunderstands her meaning and backs off instantly. “Sorry, I forgot about it, let me just–”

Hermione cuts him off with something akin to a growl. “If you take that ring off, we’re going to have a serious problem, Draco.”

His eyes light up even as his face flushes as he registers her meaning. “Whatever you want, princess.” He returns his mouth to her as his fingers dive back into her wetness, curling upwards to find that perfect spot just inside her, the one that makes her whole body quiver. He presses against it, feeling her walls contract around him, a sure sign that he's hitting the mark. Her nails dig into his scalp, urging him on, guiding him deeper into her pleasure.

"Yes, right there," she cries out, her voice breaking as another wave of ecstasy crashes over her. "Keep going, don't stop."

He doesn't need to be told twice. His tongue swirls around her clit in lazy circles, while his fingers pump in and out of her with deliberate slowness, drawing out the moment, savoring every drop of her reaction. She knows that he can feel her legs trembling, her entire body tensing as she approaches the edge, teetering on the brink of climax.

"I-I'm gonna... I'm so close," she stammers, her words barely coherent as the pleasure overloads her senses.

He looks up at her, his eyes dark with intent, and smiles. With that, he changes tactics, switching from slow and steady to fast and furious. His tongue flicks her clit with lightning speed, while his fingers curl up inside her, stroking that sweet spot with relentless pressure as the cool metal of his ring adds delicious pressure and contrast. The change in rhythm is too much for her to handle, and she feels herself slipping over the edge, her orgasm barreling towards her.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," she chants, her voice rising in pitch as she gets closer and closer. "Please, Draco!"

He pulls away from her–grinning wickedly, knowing exactly how close she is, how much she needs him to finish what he started; after all, they’ve had plenty of practice with this since that night in his office. And then, just as suddenly as he pulled away, he returns with a vengeance. His mouth descends on her clit once more, this time with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt. His tongue plunges deep into her core, lapping at her, tasting her, worshiping her.

Her hips jerk violently, his strong arm anchoring her as pleasure tears through her. “Yes, Draco!” she cries, her body arching as his name falls from her lips like a prayer.

"You're amazing," he murmurs against her skin, his voice thick with desire. "So fucking incredible."

She smiles, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks of her orgasm. "You're not so bad yourself," she teases, her voice soft and breathless.

Draco chuckles, his hands sliding up her body, cupping her breasts, tweaking her nipples between his fingers. He kisses his way up her chest and neck before capturing her mouth again.

His hand fumbles around in the sheets, evidently looking for something as he kisses her. She pulls back just enough to mumble against his lips. “What is it?”

“Looking for my wand,” he mutters, breathless. “Contraceptive charm…”

“Not necessary–I’m on a Muggle birth control pill,” Hermione assures him.

Draco hums thoughtfully as he leans in to kiss her again. Their kisses grow more urgent, fueled by the promise of what was to come. Hermione's hands tug at his belt, her impatience clear. Draco helps her, his hands shaking slightly as he slides the leather of his belt through the buckle, his trousers falling open, revealing his hardened length barely contained in his black silk boxer briefs.

Hermione tuts softly when she sees what he’s wearing. “And here I was hoping for unicorns this time.”

“I went with the safe option,” he says in a deadpan voice, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “There was no way I’d be able to withstand you laughing in that general vicinity tonight.”

“Next time, then.” Hermione smirks.

Draco laughs at her declaration as he pulls her in and kisses her again.

Hermione's eyes darken as he pulls back, her hand reaching out to stroke him tentatively through the silk fabric. Draco sucks in a sharp breath, his hips bucking slightly at her touch. "Gods, Hermione," he groans, his control fraying as she slips his underwear down his legs, prompting him to kick them off with a tap on his thigh.

She smiles, her hand returning to tighten around him. "You like that?" she teases, her voice sultry.

"Fuck, yes," Draco admits, his head dropping to her neck, his teeth grazing her skin.

Hermione's hand moves in slow, deliberate strokes, continuing to learn his rhythm, his reactions. Draco's hips move in time with her, his breaths coming in short gasps now, each one punctuated by a groan.

He pulls back, his eyes searching hers. "I want to be inside you," he confesses, his voice strained.

Hermione nods, her eyes bright as she deftly flips their position. "That can be arranged," she breathes, her legs spreading wide over his hips, welcoming him.

As she reaches to position him at her entrance, his eyes lock onto hers. Slowly, she lowers inch by inch, feeling herself stretch around him. Hermione bites her lip, her hands gripping his as she adjusts to his size.

When her hips are flush with his, they both pause, savoring the connection. Draco presses his forehead to hers, his breathing ragged. "You okay?" he whispers, concern mingling with his desire.

Hermione nods, her eyes shining. "More than okay," she assures him, her voice strong as she rises up and sinks back down.

With a groan, Draco flips them, his thrusts slow and deep as he meets her, each one eliciting a soft moan from Hermione. Her hands find his hips, helping to guide his rhythm, her legs tightening around him. Their bodies sync in a seamless dance of passion as their moans grow louder. Her pleasure mounts as she meets his gaze, watching the storm in his eyes.

He quickens his pace, evidently driven by her cries, his hips slamming into hers with increasing force. Hermione's nails dig into his back, her body arching off the bed, her climax nearing.

"Draco," she gasps, her voice breaking. "I'm... so close."

Hearing her, feeling her tighten around him, Draco loses his hold, his own release crashing over him, his body shuddering with the force of it. They come together, their cries mingling in the air, their bodies locked in a final, intense embrace.

Panting, Draco collapses beside her, his chest heaving, his heart thundering loud enough that she thinks she can hear it. Hermione turns to him and splays herself across his chest, her eyes still glazed with passion, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.

_____________________________________________________________________

An hour later, Hermione lounges in Draco’s garden tub. He’s replenished the luxurious lavender-vanilla bubble bath and lemon bath salts that she’s grown to love and the richly scented bubbles caused by them nearly reach her shoulders. That’s not the best part of this particular bath, however. Her intuition from the first time she took a bubble bath in here had been correct; the tub provided a spectacular view of the glassed-in shower stall.

Her gaze follows the path of the water as it trails down his body and she sighs contentedly.

“What is it, princess?” Draco’s voice echoes off the wall in front of him as he reaches for the shampoo bottle, his back to Hermione.

“The view,” Hermione teases, her voice low, “is even better than I imagined.” She leans back, the warmth of the bath and Draco’s presence dissolving her usual need to think ahead.

She giggles when her words cause the bottle to slip from his fingers. “Oh, my gods. You literally blush everywhere.”

Draco shoots her a wry look over his shoulder as he Accios the shampoo bottle into his hand. “I’m starting to think I should have waited to take a shower.”

“Only kidding, darling,” he says when he catches her mock pout.

“You know,” Hermione says as she flicks at the bubbles piled in front of her. “I would be completely useless if I had had a tub like this in my flat. I don’t think I ever would have left it!” As it stood, she’d started stealing away to Draco’s bathroom at least two or three times a week for a bubble bath while he worked in his office.

Draco shrugs as he stands under the spray to rinse out his hair. “I wouldn’t know–I’ve never used it. In fact, the only time it was used before you moved in was a couple of times when Scorpius used it like a swimming pool.”

“You’re joking!” Hermione gasps. “Okay, that’s it, shower over! There’s plenty of room for two!”

He doesn’t need telling twice, as it seems like she blinks and he’s out of the shower and settling in the tub behind her. He removes her wand from her hair, running his hands through it as it tumbles around her shoulders. A shiver runs through her when he presses a kiss behind her ear. “Thought you’d never ask, princess.”

Hermione leans back against his chest. His arms are draped around her, hands drifting lazily through the bubbles. They’re quiet for a while, simply basking in each other’s presence. Draco is the first to speak.

"I didn’t think I’d ever be here—sharing an evening like this, imagining a future that doesn’t feel like a cage."

"You’ve come so far, Draco. You should be proud of yourself," Hermione murmurs, her fingers brushing his. As the words leave her lips, she realizes they were just as much for herself. She’s spent so long guarding her heart, wary of hoping for too much. But here, with him, the walls she had carefully built felt… unnecessary. Fragile, even. “You’ve created a wonderful life for yourself, and you’re raising the world’s sweetest child,” she continues, grounding herself in the truth of it.

She can feel his smile as he leans down to press a kiss against her neck. "I’ve spent so much time hiding—trying to be someone I thought I had to be. But with you... I feel like I can finally be myself."

Hermione tilts her head to press a kiss along his jaw. "You can. And if this—us—is the future, I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be." The words come easily, but they surprise her. After her recent breakup, she’s been cautious with love, second-guessing whether it was worth the risk to open herself up to someone. As Draco’s hand brushes hers, the world around her seems to still. She’s never felt so seen, so understood—a quiet certainty taking root where hesitation used to thrive. It terrifies her as much as it thrills her, but she decides not to let fear win.

Draco hesitates, his voice soft. "Do you think... this can last? That we can last?"

She squeezes his hand, hoping to provide a measure of comfort. "If we both want it to, then yes. I think we’re stronger together than apart."

Chapter Text

Draco

August 19, 2009

New York City

Over breakfast, Draco looks on as Hermione attempts to talk Penny out of doing her laundry. Somehow, she’s managed to sidestep the house-elf’s efforts the entire time she’s been living here.

“Seriously, Penny,” Hermione pleads. “I appreciate the offer but I’m happy to do my own laundry.”

“Ambassador Granger is not understanding,” Penny scoffs. “Penny is not asking to do the laundry, Penny is telling her that she is doing the laundry.”

Draco has been surprised at how well Hermione has done with living with a house-elf. It probably helps that Penny is obviously free, loves her family and is fiercely loved by them in return. Add in the fact that Penny chooses which tasks she wants to do–leaving the rest to Draco–has unlimited vacation days and makes more money than Potter & Hermione combined, and there isn’t much for Hermione to fuss about.

None of that matters right now, not when the immovable object that is Penny meets the unstoppable force that is Hermione.

“I do understand Penny but I am telling you that it isn’t necessary.”

Draco sucks in a harsh breath at that statement, knowing that Penny isn’t going to take it well. The noise catches their attention and both turn towards him, their stances identical–hands on hips with glowering expressions.

He holds his hands up in supplication. “I am not getting in the middle of this. I value my life,” Draco turns to look at Penny before doing the same to Hermione. “And my relationship too much to get involved.”

“Scorpius and I will be waiting by the Floo,” Draco says over his shoulder as he saunters out of the kitchen.

He and Scorpius are sitting on the sofa by the fireplace, quietly chatting about their upcoming day when Hermione comes into the room, a sheepish expression on her face.

Draco raises one eyebrow. “Lost that fight, I take it?”

“Spectacularly,” Hermione laughs as she catches Scorpius. As usual, he throws himself at her as soon as she is within reach. “Good morning, love.” She says before pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“G’morning, Minnie,” Scorpius yawns as he nestles into the crook of her neck. Today had been one of the rare days that Draco had had to wake his son up, so the little boy is still cuddly and sleepy–at least now that he’s moved past the “grumpy owl” portion of his morning.

Hermione passes Scorpius back to his father as they go to step into the Floo; she’s still a little apprehensive about being the one to carry him through the magical journey. They step out of the fireplace in Tony’s office and make their way downstairs to drop Scorpius off at the on-site nursery. His son has long since proclaimed that Hermione should join their morning routine and Draco was glad for it. Every day, they felt closer to becoming the family he envisioned.

As they cross the atrium, Draco hears an exuberant voice. “Mornin’, Malfoys!” Candy exclaims as he walks up. He turns to Hermione with a wink and a tip of his cowboy hat. “Mornin’, Hermione!”

Draco and Hermione greet him as Scorpius falls from Draco’s arms into his godfather’s. “G’morning, Uncle Candy.” He says quietly as he wraps his arms around Candy’s neck.

“Still sleepy, Lambchop?” Candy asks as he starts to sway in place as the little boy mumbles sleepily–making no move to leave Candy’s arms.

The sight of his son and his best friend reminds Draco of all the times that Candy came to help with overnights when Scorpius was a baby. Shortly after they returned home from their month-long stay in England, Scorpius developed colic. He was already a tiny, fragile, wisp of a baby and when the condition developed, Draco had been truly afraid that Scorpius would make himself sick from all of the crying. There was one night in particular that Candy had come through in a way no one else had been able to.

Three years earlier

Draco paces his living room, nearly wearing a path into the carpet. Hours have passed, but his son’s pitiful cries continue, leaving him wondering how Scorpius’ tiny vocal cords haven’t given out. Theo and Penny each took a turn, but Draco took over hours ago; he can’t sleep knowing his son is crying somewhere in the house.

Astoria’s funeral had been delayed until Scorpius was stable enough to leave the NICU and travel with Draco to England. They returned only two weeks ago, and soon after, Scorpius developed this latest complication. After a day of relentless crying, Draco took him back to the pediatric Healers, convinced he was somehow to blame.

But the Healers reassured him it wasn’t his fault—that colic is common, though its cause and treatment remain unknown. They sent him home without answers.

In his sleep-deprived haze, Draco thinks he hears the Floo. Only a few people have access to his wards, and none should be visiting in the early hours. When he hears the unmistakable click of cowboy boots down the hall, he realizes he isn’t imagining things.

Draco looks up to see his best friend leaning against the door jamb, still in his western shirt, starched jeans, and belt buckle, even at this hour.

“Well, Precious, the cavalry’s arrived,” Candy declares with a small smile. He would have been here sooner but he’d been on an undercover assignment since Draco left for England.

Candy walks into the room, shaking his head solemnly when he gets a better look at Draco. “Lands’ sakes, when was the last time you slept?”

Draco just shrugs, too exhausted to form a coherent answer.

“Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do,” Candy says, clapping his hands decisively. “You’re goin’ to take a shower, put on some clean PJs, and come back down to say goodnight to Scorpius. Then, you’re takin’ this Dreamless Sleep.” He pauses, expecting an argument that Draco’s too tired to give, and pulls a vial from his pocket.

“Candy, you don’t have to—” Draco starts, his voice raspy with exhaustion.

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to,” Candy replies firmly. “My best friend and my godson need me, so here I am.”

Draco glances at the clock, noting the time. “But you’re due at work in just a few hours.”

Candy scoffs as he carefully takes Scorpius from Draco’s arms. “If you think Tony cares more about me bein’ at work than me bein’ here, you don’t know him as well as you think.”

He gives Draco a light push toward the stairs. “Oldest of ten kids, remember? I’ve got this. Now, go on—git!”

Hours later, Draco wakes up, feeling more rested than he has since before Scorpius was born. As he heads downstairs, he realizes he can’t hear his son crying. Heart racing, he takes the last few steps two at a time, fearing something’s wrong.

In the living room, he pauses at the door to watch Candy swaying gently, Scorpius staring up at him with wide, silver eyes. As Draco steps closer, he overhears Candy murmuring to his son, who seems to be listening with rapt attention; one impossibly tiny hand wrapped around Candy’s finger.

“You just needed to let it all out, didn’t ya, Angel?” Candy yawns before continuing. “I called Mama McCandless to ask for advice, and you know what she said? She said, ‘August, that baby doesn’t have colic—he’s grievin’.’”

The words resonate deep within Draco. While he knows that Scorpius doesn’t understand what’s going on, he knows enough about magic and bonds that it wouldn’t surprise him to learn that his son can feel the loss of the bond between him and his mother. That, and he learned long ago to never doubt Mama McCandless and her own particular brand of magic and intuition.

He steps further into the room, catching Candy’s attention. “I don’t think I’d have come to that conclusion on my own, but I’m sure your mother is right.”

“She usually is,” Candy replies with a small grin, carefully passing Scorpius to Draco. “It took nearly every song I know, but this little guy finally settled down.”

Draco settles onto the couch, stretching out with Scorpius nestled comfortably on his chest, feeling grounded by his son’s familiar, comforting scent. “Thank you,” he says quietly, looking up at his best friend.

“I’m sure you’re ready to head home,” Draco murmurs, stifling a yawn as Candy starts to leave the room.

“You’re not gettin’ rid of me that easy, Honeybee!” Candy calls over his shoulder. “I’m makin’ breakfast.”

A little later, Draco is gently roused by the aroma wafting from the kitchen. Carrying Scorpius, he enters to find the kitchen in cheerful disarray as Candy, singing a cowboy ballad, flips eggs in a pan.

“Perfect timin’, Sugarbeet!” Candy grins. “I couldn’t decide between steak and eggs or huevos rancheros, so I thought, ¿por qué no los dos?”

The combination isn’t something Draco would normally have, but Candy’s spin on both dishes has always been a hit.

“Besides,” Candy adds with a knowing look, “you look like you could use something hearty. A stiff breeze might knock you over at this point.”

Draco chuckles at his friend’s dramatic concern, settling a now-sleeping Scorpius in a bassinet he’d summoned.

Candy’s boisterous laugh pulls Draco from his thoughts. “Well, looks like I’m joining the preschool drop-off parade!”

Draco chuckles, watching Candy effortlessly coax a giggle from Scorpius. Candy’s humor is a gift—one Draco often leans on in moments like these, a necessary balance to the darkness their work often reveals. But as they cross the atrium, Draco’s eyes flick toward the doors, his vigilance sharpening momentarily. Danger still lurks in the shadows of their lives, and it doesn’t care how many jokes are told to ease the tension.

“The more, the merrier!” Hermione chimes in.

Sometimes, Draco wonders what his younger self, the one who first arrived at MACUSA a decade ago, would think of all this. An eccentric best friend—so unlike anyone he’d ever known—a lively, spirited son who keeps him on his toes, and a girlfriend who’s become so close she feels like family. He hopes that cocky, wounded young man would have the sense to grab onto this life with both hands—and never let go.

Hermione

As their group makes its way across the atrium, Hermione can’t help but smile. Just six months ago, she had arrived in New York alone, uncertain about how everything would turn out. If someone had told her then that, in a relatively short amount of time, her job would be a dream come true, that she’d have a rowdy group of new friends, and that Harry would end up living and working alongside her, she probably wouldn’t have believed them. And that’s without even considering Draco and Scorpius.

To say her relationship with Draco was unexpected would be an understatement. Unexpected, yes—but deeply welcome and wanted. Draco constantly surprises her with his thoughtfulness and care, and as for Scorpius? Each day, he feels more and more like hers; she doubts he’ll ever know just how much he holds her heart in his little hands or how much he’s healed a part of her she hadn’t realized was broken.

She waves at Candy as he heads upstairs to the Auror Department, having handed off Scorpius. When they reach Scorpius’ classroom door, his teacher, Mrs. Weston, is there to greet them all. Over the past few weeks, Hermione has gotten to know her a bit and is just as fond of the older witch as Draco and Scorpius are.

Scorpius, now fully awake and his usual cheerful self, claps with delight when he sees his teacher. “Your shirt and necklace match again!” Sure enough, Mrs. Weston’s blue beaded glasses chain complements her blouse.

“Are your shoes black and white because of the panda on your shirt?” Mrs. Weston asks with exaggerated surprise, hands on her hips—though she already knows the answer.

“Yes!” Scorpius exclaims, nodding dramatically.

Hermione can’t help but hope he never outgrows this charming quirk of coordinating his high-tops with his t-shirts.

“Alright, Scorp, Minnie and I have to go upstairs to work,” Draco says, setting Scorpius down and crouching to adjust the dragon backpack snugly on his son’s shoulders. “Ready to have fun today?”

“Yes!” Scorpius pulls Draco into a hug, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Bye, Daddy, I love you!”

“I love you too, Scorp,” Draco replies, kissing his forehead and hugging him back. Hermione’s heart skips, as it always does when she witnesses this affectionate side of Draco. She doubts she’ll ever get used to the privilege of seeing it.

Lost in her thoughts, Hermione doesn’t realize Scorpius has come over to her until he tugs at her fingers. She crouches down, and he presses a tiny kiss to her cheek. “Bye, Minnie! I hope you have a good day!” he says sweetly.

Her eyes unexpectedly sting, and she clears her throat. “Thank you, Scorp. I hope you have a wonderful day too.” She places a kiss on the top of his head, taking a moment to blink away the moisture in her eyes.

As they walk through the preschool, a young woman Hermione recognizes as the assistant to the French ambassador approaches them urgently.

“Auror Malfoy, I’m glad I found you!” Her French accent lends a rhythmic lilt to her words as she grabs Draco’s sleeve, pulling him along. “Celeste needs you!”

Hermione doesn’t know who Celeste is or why the French ambassador’s assistant is suddenly whisking Draco away, and she follows, determined to put an end to whatever nonsense this is—only to stop short at the doorway.

Draco stands in the center of the infant room, cradling a tiny, fussy, pink-wrapped bundle as he murmurs softly in French. She can’t quite make out what he’s saying—not that she understands much of the language anyway—but the sight nearly takes her breath away.

The ambassador’s assistant—Lorraine, Hermione recalls now that her jealousy has faded—leans over and whispers conspiratorially, “Auror Malfoy truly is a sight to behold, no?”

Hermione nods, too captivated to respond.

“He really is,” a preschool worker chimes in, giving Hermione a knowing look. “When Scorpius was in this room, we called him the Baby Whisperer. I’ve never seen anyone calm fussy babies like he does. We still call him in from time to time.”

“Madame Laurent says he’s the only person Celeste actually likes,” Lorraine adds with a giggle.

Hermione can only hum thoughtfully, eyes locked on Draco. She knows what an incredible father he is with Scorpius, but seeing him with this tiny baby girl stirs something new. Suddenly, her mind is flooded with visions of more babies—blonde curls, honey-brown eyes. She hopes desperately he doesn’t attempt Legilimency, as there’s no way she could hide these thoughts from him.

When she looks up, his gaze is already on her, a soft smile playing on his lips. She blushes as he winks at her before gently handing Celeste back to a preschool worker.

Draco meets her at the door, guiding her out of the preschool with a hand at the small of her back. He doesn’t speak until they’re alone in the elevator. “No need to be jealous, love.” He smiles, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“I wasn’t jealous!” she exclaims, not quite meeting his eyes.

He gives her a knowing look. “Admit it, you were ready to fight Celeste—until you realized she was six months old.”

Hermione lifts her chin indignantly, choosing not to respond.

Draco chuckles softly, leaning down to murmur in her ear. “You can fight for me anytime, princess.”

Any response she might have is cut off as the elevator stops on the 20th floor to let more people on.

Later, after a quiet morning of work, Draco returns to Hermione’s office with tea for the two of them just as Septima pokes her head in the door.

“Ambassador? Head Auror De Luca is here to see you and Auror Lieutenant Malfoy,” she announces.

Hermione shoots Draco a confused look, which he returns with a shrug. He evidently has no idea why Tony would be paying them a visit.

“Thank you, Septima. Send him in,” Hermione replies.

Tony walks in, exuding his usual mix of bravado and attitude, though the smirk on his face suggests he’s up to something.

“You know,” he begins as he settles into one of the chairs by Hermione’s desk, “it just occurred to me that maybe Draco shouldn’t be working up here anymore now that you two are a couple.”

Draco stiffens instantly. “Hermione doesn’t work for MACUSA, and I don’t work for her or the Ministry, so you’d have no reason to—”

Tony cuts him off with a laugh. “Down boy! It was a joke!”

“Not a very funny one,” Draco mutters, crossing his arms with a hint of annoyance.

“Besides antagonizing Draco, what brings you up here today, Tony?” Hermione asks brightly. “Not that I’m complaining. I haven’t seen you much lately.”

“He’s too much fun not to mess with,” Tony snorts. “But actually, I came to give you an update on the case. Candy would’ve come himself, but one of the new trainees managed to swap his right hand with his right ear, so they’re down at the infirmary.”

The mention of the case quiets the room, reminding them all of the two attacks and the unknown threat still looming.

“Has something else happened?” Hermione asks, her magic faintly sparking through her curls. She immediately feels Draco establishing a connection between them, sending out just enough of his magic to let her know he’s there. She feels the warmth of her magic mingling with the cool edge of his, and hopes he can feel the hint of relief at the connection from her.

“No, nothing new,” Tony assures them. “Aside from a couple of letters—more of the usual bullshit—there’s been radio silence since the explosion at your apartment.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “As you know, we were able to pick up enough of the magical signature at the scene to run it through both MACUSA and the Ministry’s records, but there’s no match in either database.”

“How is that possible?” Hermione demands. “Aren’t both governments supposed to have a magical signature on file for every citizen?”

“‘Supposed to’ and what actually happens are two different things,” Draco sighs. “There will always be people who slip through the system.”

Tony nods. “Exactly.”

“How?” she presses. “With school and wand records, I thought it’d be impossible to get around the registry.”

“Plenty of people choose not to attend school or use a registered wand,” Draco explains. “Take Candy’s mother, for example. She’s a brilliant witch, but she didn’t go to Ilvermorny, and I doubt she’s ever held a wand in her life. She calls them ‘an unnecessary bit of tomfoolery.’”

He smiles at Hermione’s incredulous expression. “Aside from being proud of Candy, she has no use for MACUSA. I’d be shocked if her magical signature is on file, and there are others like her here and in England.”

Hermione leans back in her chair, processing this information. “So, where do we go from here?”

“Candy’s following every lead and tip we get,” Tony says as he stands. “For now, we’ll keep your protection plan in place, but if things remain quiet, we’ll gradually scale it back. If there are no incidents by the end of the year, you could potentially drop the extra security entirely.”

After Tony heads back to the Auror Department, Hermione finds herself grinning devilishly at Draco.

“Well, Malfoy, looks like you may have to plan that dinner date sooner than expected.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” he replies, a smirk playing on his lips.

Draco

Draco places the letter from the Malfoy Estate’s caretaker on his desk, knowing the news inside is bound to send Scorpius into orbit. After dinner and an early bath—he’s still mystified at how his son manages to get pasta sauce behind his ears every day—Draco and Scorpius settled in his office, each at their own desk. Scorpius’s little plastic desk, usually tucked away in the closet, is out for one of those rare times he wants to “work” alongside his dad.

Draco leans back in his chair, watching his son furiously coloring. Scorpius has filled the page with snitches, proudly announcing that his “jammies have snitches,” too.

“Guess what, Scorp?” Draco asks, his voice full of intrigue.

Scorpius drops his crayon immediately, eyes wide with excitement. “What, Daddy?”

“There’s a new baby unicorn at Malfoy Manor!” Draco grins, holding up a photo. “Look, Jeremy sent a picture.”

Scorpius gasps in awe as he sees the photo of the tiny white unicorn. “I love him! Can I name him, please?”

“Of course,” Draco laughs. “I wouldn’t give that job to anyone else.”

They both look up as Hermione enters the room, curiosity in her eyes. “At the risk of being nosy—what job?”

“Daddy said I can name the new baby unicorn!” Scorpius beams, waving the picture excitedly in Hermione’s direction.

She gives Draco a confused look, prompting him to mouth “at the Manor”.

“How exciting!” Hermione exclaims. “What are you going to call him?”

Scorpius hums thoughtfully, as Hermione and Draco share an amused look over his head. After a dramatic pause, he declares, “Oh, I know! I’m gonna name him Alfredo!”

“Perfect!” Hermione laughs as Draco establishes a Legilimency connection with her.

“I really should have guessed that,” he drawls.

“At least we didn’t have vodka sauce with dinner… I don’t think that would have made a very good name for a unicorn!” Hermione quips.

Just then, Scorpius grabs another piece of parchment. “I’m gonna draw a picture of Alfredo!” he announces, quickly setting to work.

Draco returns to his Estate paperwork while Scorpius draws, and Hermione settles onto the couch with a book. After a while, Scorpius grows bored with coloring and wanders over to her.

“What are you reading, Minnie?” he asks, startling her into a small shriek as she snaps her book shut—just long enough for Draco to glimpse the title: Chasing Gold. He mentally notes that Hermione has now moved on to Quidditch-themed romances.

“Er…nothing, Scorp,” Hermione says, quickly jamming the book between the couch cushions.

“Can you read to me?” he asks, holding up a well-loved anthology of Muggle fairy tales.

“Of course, love!” she coos, reaching down to scoop him up and settle him across her lap. “Any particular one?” Scorpius shakes his head with a sleepy yawn, so she opens the book and begins at the first story.

Draco abandons any pretense of paperwork as Hermione reads. Her lilting voice fills the room, weaving through tales of knights, princesses, dragons, and sea monsters. The office feels transformed, enchanted by her storytelling.

After the third story, she realizes that Scorpius has drifted off, and she closes the book gently. Looking up, she catches Draco watching her with a soft expression. She smiles. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asks, his voice just above a whisper, careful not to disturb the peacefulness in the room.

“For letting me in…for letting me spend time with him,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to Scorpius’s hair. “I didn’t realize this was what I’d been missing, but now I can’t imagine going without it.”

Draco’s throat tightens, filled with words he’s not quite ready to say. After a moment, he finds his voice. “Thank you for being patient with me.”

Taking a steadying breath, he moves to the couch and crouches in front of her and his sleeping son. “Thank you for being so open to him. When he was born, I was terrified he’d end up as isolated as I once was. But now, he has more people in his corner than I could have ever hoped for.”

He brushes a light kiss across her lips before standing and scooping up Scorpius. “I’ll be right back, just putting him to bed.”

When he returns, Hermione is gazing out the window, humming softly to herself. As he settles back on the couch, she straddles his lap, her hands immediately moving to take down his hair.

Draco chuckles as her fingers gently comb through his white-blonde strands. “So predictable, darling.”

Hermione gives his hair a playful tug. “You shouldn’t be surprised by now.”

“Oh, I’m not surprised at all,” he grins, digging into the cushions and triumphantly producing her hidden book. “This, however, is a surprise.”

She lets out an indignant gasp and reaches for the novel. “I told you before, leave my cheesy rom—”

Her protest is cut short as Draco captures her mouth in a deep, searing kiss. He smirks as he pulls away, taking in the dazed look on her face. “If you’re harboring a secret Quidditch player fantasy, just say so, princess. The kit doesn’t have to only come out on game days.”

Hermione is off his lap in record time, leaning down to kiss along his jawline before sauntering toward the door. “See you in my room in ten. I’ll be the one in the Slytherin-era Malfoy jersey.”

That sneaky witch, Draco thinks, amused. He hadn’t realized she’d nicked his old Quidditch jersey from his closet—not that he ever wears it; it hasn’t fit for years. Laughing, he takes the stairs to his room two at a time. After all, he’s only got eight minutes to change and get to her room.

Draco pauses outside her door, taking a moment to calm his rapid breathing before knocking softly. He already feels like an overeager teenager; no need to look like one, too.

As he steps inside, Draco nearly stumbles at the sight before him. She’s used every second of their ten-minute countdown to her advantage. The room glows warmly, candlelight scattered across her dresser and the table beside her favorite chair, where she lounges with effortless allure. The soft light highlights her chocolate curls spilling over her shoulder, framing her face in a way that makes him wonder just how he got this lucky. His old Quidditch jersey hugs her curves in all the right places, stopping just at the top of her thighs—a fantasy brought to life that he hadn’t even realized he held.

He doesn’t notice he’s been leaning against the door, transfixed, until her soft giggle breaks the silence. “See something you like, Malfoy?” she teases, raising a flirtatious eyebrow.

“Yes,” Draco replies, clearing his throat as he crosses the room in a few quick strides, taking a seat on the stool by her feet. “Gods, you’re stunning.”

He circles her slender ankle with his large hand, letting his palm slowly glide up her leg, savoring the contrast between her warm, golden skin and his own. He pauses just shy of the jersey’s hem, resting his hand with restrained anticipation.

Hermione tilts her head, smiling as she looks at him. “Definitely made the right call with the Quidditch kit—though you’re missing the cape.”

Draco hums thoughtfully as he leans in to kiss her. “Thought it would get in the way.”

“It probably would have,” she laughs, then squeals as he stands, sweeping her up in one fluid motion. She wraps her legs around his waist, her arms looping around his neck, a warm smile mirrored in his gaze. He walks them back to the bed before gently tossing her down and caging her in with his body. Her breath comes in shallow gasps, each exhale sending a shiver down his spine.

He reaches out, his hand cupping her face gently as he drinks in the sight of her. She leans into his touch, her lips parting slightly in invitation. Her eyes close as if savoring the sensation when his fingers brush against her cheek. He captures her mouth in another fierce kiss, his tongue sliding along hers.

_____________________________________________________________________

After a few minutes, Hermione pulls away with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Two requests: first, these stay on,” she says flirtatiously, indicating his Quidditch kit and her pilfered jersey. “Second, can you hold me up against the wall? I’ve always wanted to try that.”

Draco has never been more glad for all the ways his career and gym sessions have shaped his body. He would have no trouble holding her up for as long as she needed. He smirks before leaning in to press open-mouthed kisses down her throat as one hand wraps around the waistband of her ruined knickers. “Your wish is my command, princess.”

He slides the soaked fabric down her legs, dropping it to the floor by his feet. He feels his own arousal continue to build as he watches her squirm when the cool air meets her warm skin. It’s obvious just from looking at her, but he asks anyway, “Are you ready?”

Hermione’s moan is needy and breathless as she nods, chocolate curls shimmering in the candlelight. “Yes, please. So ready.”

With a growl, he picks her up and pivots, backing her against the wall beside her bed, one hand gripping her hip tightly, the other bracing against the plaster beside her head. The position forces her legs apart, and he can feel the warmth of her core pressing against him through the layers of fabric. Her breath hitches, her body already responding to his proximity, her nipples hardening against the cool fabric of his Slytherin jersey.

Hermione shivers at his touch, goosebumps rising on her skin. She arches her back slightly, pressing her arse against him and feeling the hard ridge of his erection through his trousers. He groans softly, one hand slipping under the jersey to cup her breasts, squeezing gently and rolling her nipple between two fingers.

“We talked about what I want,” she gasps. “But what do you want, Draco?”

He leans closer, his mouth just centimeters from hers. "I want you," he whispers, his breath hot against her mouth.

She grins, evidently loving his response. She snakes a hand between them, deftly undoing his uniform trousers before he helps her push them and his boxers down. His eyes blaze with desire as he pushes the hem of the jersey further up, baring her entirely to his gaze. His hand pauses briefly at her core before two fingers slip inside her with ease.

Hermione gasps, her nails digging into the fabric of his shoulders as he begins to move his fingers in and out, faster and faster. "You’re so wet for me," he whispers, his voice breaking as he continues to finger her, his thumb circling her clit with relentless pressure. "Gods, baby, you feel so good."

Her pupils are blown, consumed by the building passion inside her. He knows she won’t last much longer, not with him driving her this close to the edge. "I’m… I’m gonna come," she stammers, her voice breathless and desperate.

Draco withdraws his fingers, kissing the side of her neck as he does. Hermione whimpers, her body aching for release. But instead of giving it to her, he moves back, positioning himself at her entrance. "Not yet, princess," he coos, his voice soft and soothing.

“Please, Draco, I need you,” Hermione begs, tangling her hands in his hair and tugging at the platinum strands, knowing that the motion will spur him on.

As Draco enters her, his mind flickers to how many walls he’d built to keep others out. With Hermione, those walls had crumbled—not from force, but from the quiet, relentless patience she’s shown him. She arches against him, her hands gripping his shoulders, anchoring them both in this moment. He never wants to let go.

"Harder," Hermione pleads, her nails catching in the fabric of his jersey. "Please, Draco, harder!"

He complies, gripping her hips tightly as he pounds into her with renewed vigor. The candles flicker wildly, no doubt influenced by their heightened magic, the shadows dancing around them like living things. Draco’s vision blurs, his orgasm approaching like a freight train.

"I’m so close," she cries, her voice breaking. "Draco, I’m—"

"Come for me," he demands, his voice raw with passion. "Now, Hermione!"

And with that, she shatters, her climax crashing over her in waves. She clings to him, her body convulsing as he continues to thrust into her, chasing his own release. Finally, with a deep groan, he comes, his entire body shuddering as he empties himself into her.

Draco takes a second to catch his breath before turning and placing Hermione gently on the bed, collapsing beside her, both panting heavily. He buries his face in her neck, his breath warm against her skin. "That was incredible," he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

Hermione smiles, her body still shivering with residual pleasure. "Thank you for indulging me," she whispers, her fingers playing with the strands of hair that have fallen across his face.

Draco chuckles, lifting his head to meet her gaze. "Anything for you, princess," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss her softly.

Chapter Text

Hermione

October 31, 2009

New York City

“Minnie, you ‘wake?” Scorpius’ stage whisper pulls Hermione from a deep sleep, though she keeps her eyes shut, hoping to buy a few more minutes of rest.

“Not really, Scorp,” she mumbles, clinging desperately to the remnants of sleep. Maybe if she lets him climb in bed, she can steal a little more time.

“It’s my birfday!” His whisper grows louder, excitement bubbling over.

“I know, love,” Hermione whispers, reaching blindly to pull him closer for a cuddle. She knows that opening her eyes will seal her fate—there’ll be no more sleep once that happens.

“Minnie, did you have a bad dream?” His voice is curious, and Hermione can almost picture the tilt of his head as he waits for an answer.

“No, sweetheart,” she murmurs, placing Scorpius in the center of the bed and rolling toward him. “Let’s lay here quietly for a few minutes, okay?”

Scorpius, however, has no intention of being quiet. “Daddy?”

Hermione’s eyes snap open at the same time as Draco’s. Scorpius’ question hangs in the air, and the dawning horror on Draco’s face surely mirrors her own.

“How come Minnie doesn’t have to sleep in her big girl bed?” Scorpius demands, his tone huffy and his little chin tilted indignantly. “You said I have to sleep in my big boy bed ‘less I have a bad dream.”

Draco’s mortification is palpable, and Hermione feels her own cheeks heat as her mind scrambles for an explanation. How did we let this happen?! she wonders, flashing back to the night before.

They’d fallen into a habit over the last two months—spending the evening in one bedroom or the other, redressing as needed and separating before Scorpius ever woke. But last night? She’d slipped into one of his t-shirts, crawled back into bed for just a moment longer, and they’d evidently fallen asleep.

Scorpius clears his throat, his determination unwavering. “Why doesn’t Minnie have to sleep—”

Hermione glances at Draco, whose face is still bright red, and sighs. No longer than she’s known him, she knows Scorpius has never been one for letting things slide.

You’ve never lied to him before, no reason to start now, Hermione reminds herself.

“Alright, Scorp,” Draco says gently, sitting up and motioning for Hermione to do the same. “It’s time we had a little chat.”

Scorpius crosses his arms, clearly waiting for an explanation.

Hermione reaches the little boy’s hand, her nervousness softening into a smile as she crouches closer to his level. “Scorpius, you know how much I love spending time with you and your daddy, right?”

Scorpius nods enthusiastically, giggling a little. “Yeah! You my favorite Minnie!”

Hermione grins at Draco before continuing. “Well, your daddy and I have gotten really close. We’ve been spending lots of time together because… we care about each other a lot.”

Draco picks up the thread. “And we wanted to make sure you were happy and comfortable before we talked to you about it. But now feels like the right time to tell you that Minnie isn’t just Minnie anymore.”

Hermione squeezes Scorpius’ little hand. “I’m also your daddy’s girlfriend.”

Scorpius tilts his head curiously. “Like Uncle Harry is Auntie Feo’s boyfriend?”

“Exactly like that,” Draco says, pride softening his voice. “You’re a smart little thing, you know that?”

Scorpius thinks for a moment, his lips pursed. Then he grins. “Does fis mean you staying forever?”

Hermione’s heart clenches at the sweetness of the question, and she exchanges a soft look with Draco. “I’ll stay as long as it’s okay with you, Scorp,” she says gently.

Scorpius launches himself into Hermione’s arms, wrapping her in a hug. “’Kay. But I still get to sleep in here when I have a bad dream!”

“Deal,” Hermione laughs, holding him tightly.

Scorpius, ever the ball of energy, can only stay still for so long. After a few minutes, he starts to wiggle, ready for the next adventure. “Come on, it’s pancake time!” he announces, leaping off the bed and running out the door, Crookshanks trailing after him like a general leading his troops.

“Right behind you,” Draco calls, his voice still rough with sleep. As the door swings shut, Hermione collapses onto his chest, letting out an unrestrained snort of laughter.

“Oh my gods,” she gasps, her body shaking with mirth. “Of course that would happen to us!”

“I can’t even talk about it right now,” Draco groans, dragging his hands over his face as if to scrub the moment from existence.

“All in all, it went about as well as could be expected!” Hermione says brightly.

“Daddy! Minnie!” Scorpius’ voice drifts up the stairs, filled with exasperation. “Hurry up! Cookie wants pancakes!”

“You heard him,” Hermione says, rolling off Draco and standing with a grin. “And trust me—you don’t want to keep that furry little tyrant waiting.”

Draco lets out a long-suffering sigh, following her lead. “Merlin, help me,” he mutters under his breath, though the faint smile tugging at his lips betrays him.

Draco

A few hours later, Draco leans against the wall in the Portkey office, twirling his wand through his fingers as he waits for Pansy and Daphne’s arrival. Between Pansy’s clothing line and Daphne’s career as a high-powered corporate attorney, they don’t have a lot of time to visit but they always make sure to come in for Scorpius’ birthday.

“Hello, pet,” Pansy’s posh voice jolts Draco from his thoughts as she and Daphne make their way towards him.

“I will never understand how you move that quietly.” he says as he leans in to give them each a kiss on the cheek.

“Magic.” Pansy retorts blithely.

“Hiya, Drakey!” Daphne exclaims as she pulls him in for a hug. “Where’s my darling nephew?”

Draco reaches for their bags as he answers. “He’s waiting at home; you know how he feels about Floo travel.”

“Can’t say I blame him there,” Pansy drawls. “I’m not a big fan of it myself.”

As they walk to the Floo in Tony’s office, Draco listens as the two women fill him in on gossip from England. They’re just walking through the door of the Auror Department when Daphne turns and pins him with a knowing look.

“So,” she begins, dragging out the word in a singsong voice. “You and Granger, huh?”

Draco doesn’t bother hiding the smile that breaks out at her words. “Theo really tells you everything going on in my life, doesn’t he?”

Pansy’s voice is as sharp as her jet-black bob when she cuts in. “Someone has to, pet, since you can’t be bothered to do it.”

He feels a stab of guilt at her words. While he makes sure to keep them updated on Scorpius, and facilitates phone calls between the women and their nephew, he’s the worst about filling them in on his personal life. “To be fair, there hasn’t been a lot to report on until recently.”

“You look really happy, Drakey!” Daphne flings her curtain of blonde hair over her shoulder before giving him a wink. “That’s all we want for you.”

“You two do realize I have a name, right?” Draco drawls, rolling his eyes at their repeated use of their nicknames for him.

“Quite aware, actually.” Pansy sighs as she inspects her long black nails.

Draco gestures for them to enter Tony’s office first as he opens the door. After this many years of friendship, he knows they’re going to do what they want regardless of what he says. “Come on then, let’s not keep Scorp waiting any longer.”

The house is quiet as they walk down the hallway. As the group enters the kitchen, they spot Hermione and Scorpius outside in the small back garden. His heart skips a beat as he watches them, marveling again at the seamless way that Hermione fits into their lives.

They’ve gotten ready for the day since Draco left for MACUSA and it’s obvious that his son has worked his persuasive magic again–evidenced by their coordinating clothes and the reinstatement of the Space Bun Club. Though he can’t hear them, it’s obvious that they’re giggling loudly as Scorpius chases the multi-colored bubbles that fly out of Hermione’s wand and tumble across the garden. Magical confetti flies through the air, disappearing before it can hit the ground.

Draco is still standing in the same spot, no doubt looking like a lovesick fool, when Daphne sidles up to him and slides an arm around his waist. “Oh, Draco,” she breathes, eyes a little misty as she looks up at him. “I’m so happy for you and Scorp.”

Even Pansy has to clear her throat as they watch the scene unfold, though her face remains stoic as ever. “I don’t know about you, Daph, but I’m quite ready to kick off the celebrations.”

Later that afternoon, Draco stands on the rooftop, watching as the toy Quidditch team he’d charmed flits through the air above the garden. Scorpius had requested a Quidditch-themed costume party because it made perfect sense in his now four-year-old mind to combine his favorite sport with his Halloween birthday. Draco had even gone so far as to have Slytherin Quidditch uniforms made for the two of them, per his son’s request.

“At least this party will be more low-key,” Draco mumbles to himself. Since they couldn’t invite Scorpius’ friends to this party due to safety concerns, Draco had held a separate one the weekend prior at their favorite wizarding park. The memory of herding 15 preschoolers, while dealing with their simpering mothers, was still enough to make him shudder.

“There you are, Draco,” Narcissa’s voice breaks through the silence caused by the extensive warding around the house. “I wondered where you’d disappeared to.”

She breezes across the rooftop before delicately perching at the table. Despite the way her aesthetic had changed–from updos and formal robes to flowing blonde hair and luxury resort wear–her posture and bearing is still as impeccably Pureblood as ever.

His mother watches as a snitch flutters by, pausing briefly in front of her. “How fun! I’m sure Scorpius will be delighted.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Draco says as he sits down across from her.

“I would have offered to help but as usual, you don’t need me!” she laughs with an elegant flip of her hand.

Despite being able to see the coming confrontation clearly, Draco is powerless to stop it. Perhaps the combination of his heightened emotions–something that always happens around his son’s birthday–with seeing his mother for the first time in ages but he finds that he has little patience for her self-deprecating act. “Nothing could be further from the truth, Mum, and you know it.”

Both of them know that everything about her life for the past ten years–the younger boyfriends, the traveling, the avoidance of family life–is all one big coping mechanism. Whether or not his mother is ready to admit it is another matter entirely.

“Oh, Draco, you haven’t needed me for a very long time,” Narcissa sighs. “You’ve made a wonderful life for yourself and Scorpius, all on your own. If anything, I would have held you back.”

Draco nods stiffly, his jaw tightening. “I’ve done my best.”

“And it shows,” Narcissa replies. “I know you’ll say you don’t want praise, but I’m proud of what you’ve built here.”

There it is again—that same comment she always makes, the one that’s meant to sound like admiration but really feels like distance. Like she’s observing him from far away, not stepping into the world he’s created. Draco inhales sharply, his self-control already wearing thin. “It’s not about whether or not I want praise, Mum.”

She pauses to take a bracing breath. “And let’s be honest, I am half the reason you had to move to another continent and restart your life in the first place.”

He starts to speak but she holds up one hand to stop him. “You’ve always been stronger than me. When Scorpius was born, you were so in control of things–doing anything he could possibly need, keeping up with everything the Healers said, on top of handling Astoria’s situation. You obviously had everything under control.”

“That’s what you saw?” Draco lets out a harsh, mirthless laugh. “Mum, I was drowning. My best friend, the mother of my child, was actively dying–and for a few days, Scorpius wasn’t far behind her. I could barely keep up with all of the medical information being thrown at me with their situations, much less process my own thoughts and emotions.”

Narcissa turns her head away from him but the effort is in vain, he can still see the tears that match his own running down her face. He gets up and walks around to her side of the table, crouching in front of her chair where she has to look at him.

“You’re right, Mum, I did all of that because my son needed me.” He pauses to try and clear the emotion in his voice. “What you didn’t see was that your son needed you.”

Tears continue sliding down Narcissa’s cheeks, and her voice wavers. “I thought… I thought if I stayed, I would only make it worse. You seemed so determined, so capable. I didn’t want to get in the way.”

“Mum, I needed you to get in the way! I needed you to be in my corner the way I was in Scorpius’. I needed you to remind me that I didn’t have to do it all on my own.”

Narcissa takes his hand in hers, her grip trembling but firm. “You’re right, Draco. I… I failed you. Both you and Scorpius. Theo too, honestly. And I don’t know if I can ever make it right, but if you’ll let me, I’d like to try.”

Draco looks at her for a long moment, the tightness in his chest easing just slightly. “It’s not about making it right, Mum. It’s about showing up now for all of us. For Scorpius. For me. For Theo.”

“I will,” she promises, her voice steadier now. “I will.”

She kisses his forehead as Draco gathers her in his arms. “I love you, my dragon.”

He breathes in the rosewater scent of her perfume–a scent that still smells like home to him. “I love you too, Mum.”

As the snitch hums quietly in the background, Draco sits with his mother a while longer, a small weight finally lifting from his chest. For the first time in years, it feels like they’re on solid ground. Narcissa places her hand over his, her touch hesitant but steady. It’s a start.

Hermione

Hermione smiles to herself as she twirls in front of her full-length mirror. It takes a bit of maneuvering but she manages to cast a charm at her back, allowing the gossamer wings attached to her flowy gold dress to flutter lightly. She checks her curls one last time, having charmed them to voluminous heights before adding using a spell to scatter gold sparkles through them. She’s piled on more gold jewelry than she normally wears but, combined with her gold sandals, it adds to the overall effect.

A knock at her bedroom door draws her attention from the mirror. She opens the door to find Theo and Harry in the hallway, ready to escort her to the rooftop for the party.

“Are you really going as the Golden Girl?” Harry laughs brightly when he sees her.

Hermione rolls her eyes as she turns enough for him to see her wings. “Snitch, Harry. I’m going as a Golden Snitch.”

At Harry’s confused look, Theo pats him on the head. “Draco and Scorpius are dressed as Quidditch players, love.”

“I even transfigured a quaffle and an old bludger into costumes for Pesto and Crookshanks!” Hermione giggles. She surreptitiously glances at her arms to make sure that she healed all of the scratches acquired when she put her cat in his costume.

As the two men move back so she can exit her room, she finally takes note of their costumes–and nearly keels over in shock. “You two cannot go upstairs like that! That is entirely inappropriate for a four-year-old’s birthday dinner!”

“And whyever not?” Theo asks indignantly. “We’re going to a costume party at a club after this.”

Hermione splutters indignantly as she waves her hand at the two of them, indicating their general state of undress. Theo is wearing a “hot cop” costume, complete with hot pants and fishnet tights. His studded combat boots, messy hair and dramatic eye makeup really add to the look. Harry is only slightly better but his orange prisoner’s jumpsuit is still unbuttoned to his navel. His hair and glasses are as messy and askew as ever, although Theo has evidently done his eyeliner for him. They’ve even taken the trouble to put an Azkaban-esque tattoo on his neck.

“Really, Theo?!” She exclaims. With a flourish of her wand, she buttons both of their shirts to decent levels and transfigures Theo’s tiny shorts into uniform trousers. “You can change it all back when you leave.”

“Ugh, fine.” Theo groans. “Spoilsport.”

Harry at least has the decency to blush as he gestures for her to go first up the stairs. “Sorry, Hermione. We weren’t really thinking, I guess.”

When they make it to the rooftop, Hermione gasps in delight at the way Draco has decorated it for the party. He insisted on keeping it a surprise from both her and Scorpius, just as she did for her costume.

Toy Quidditch players–along with snitches, quaffles and bludgers–dart around the space, dodging balloons as they go. She laughs uproariously when two tiny bludgers simultaneously knock into Theo and Harry’s heads.

They’re the last to arrive so she gets to take in everyone else’s costumes. Candy and Tony are on the opposite side of the rooftop, chatting amiably. Candy has leaned into the cowboy schtick by wearing chaps and spurs with his usual western shirt, jeans and boots. He’s also added a vest, complete with plastic sheriff’s badge and toy gun, and has a lasso in hand. His omnipresent cowboy hat is a given. Tony has given his costume as much effort as could be expected–he’s thrown on the jersey and hat that he always wears to baseball games with Scorpius.

As her gaze falls on Daphne and Pansy, Theo’s voice interrupts her thoughts. “Absolutely not, Pans! You are not getting out of this without a costume.”

Pansy is wearing an elegant black sheath dress, her normal clothing standing in stark contrast to her wife’s elaborate, bubblegum pink ball gown and princess crown.

Pansy throws Theo a disdainful look as she brandishes her wand in the air. “I’m a witch–happy now?”

“No,” Theo retorts as he grabs his own wand. With a flick of his wrist, he conjures lifelike cat ears on top of Pansy’s sleek bob before using a makeup charm to apply a pink nose and whiskers to her face. “There! Now I’m happy. Honestly, Pans, it’s a party–pretend you have a soul.”

“Scorpius loves me as I am,” Pansy snarks, though she leaves the ears and makeup in place.

As their group breaks apart to drift across the rooftop, she finally sees Draco and Scorpius. They’re near the table with Narcissa, watching as more of the tiny Quidditch players flit around. Narcissa looks like a garden come to life. Her dress looks like it was conjured from real blossoms and she wears a crown of live flowers.

Draco and Scorpius are the real stars of the show. Their matching Slytherin Quidditch kits–capes included at Scorpius’ insistence–look dashing. Hermione’s breath catches as their faces light up when they see her.

“Minnie!” Scorpius exclaims as she walks up. “Are you a snitch?!”

Hermione twirls so that he can see her wings before answering him. “I am!”

She moves quickly as he launches himself towards her, laughing as he does. “I caughted you, Minnie!”

“So you did, Scorp,” she agrees as he wraps himself around her in a hug. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“You look lovely, darling,” Draco says as pulls her into his side and presses a kiss to her temple. She loves that they don’t have to hide anymore since everyone they care about now knows about their relationship.

“We have to get a picture of the three of you!” Narcissa exclaims, now that she can get a word in around her son and grandson.

“Pesto and Cookie too, Nana Cissa!” Scorpius exclaims.

“Of course, love, we have to have the whole family!” Narcissa agrees as she lines them up for the photo.

Family, Hermione thinks as they pose. Hopefully this will be the first of many family photos.

After dinner, featuring all of Scorpius’ favorite dishes, and a flurry of present opening, the group begins to scatter across the rooftop in quiet clusters. Hermione lingers at the edge of the celebration, watching Draco and Scorpius play with one of his new toys. The sight of them laughing together makes her smile, and she doesn’t notice Daphne and Pansy until they’ve settled into the seats across the table from her.

“Not bad, Granger,” Pansy says, nodding toward Draco and Scorpius. Her tone is sharp as ever, but there’s a glint of approval in her dark eyes. “You’ve got both boys wrapped around your finger.”

“Pans,” Daphne chides, lightly swatting her wife’s arm. She turns back to Hermione with a warm smile. “What she means is, we’re so happy for all of you, Hermione.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Draco like this,” she continues, her voice softening. “He’s lighter, more relaxed. Even when we were kids, he carried this burden, like the whole world would collapse if he slipped. But you’ve…balanced him.”

“And Scorpius worships the ground you walk on,” Pansy adds. “It’s all we’ve heard on phone calls for months–’Minnie’ this and ‘Minnie’ that.”

She pauses for an uncharacteristic grin. “He’s always been a happy kid but you’ve got him practically glowing.”

“I don’t know how much credit I can take,” Hermione says, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “They’re both amazing on their own. I’m just… lucky to be part of their lives.”

Pansy rolls her eyes. “Oh, please, Granger. You’re not ‘lucky.’ You’re bloody brilliant, and even Draco Malfoy isn’t stupid enough to let someone like you slip through his fingers. You keep him in line, and Scorpius thinks you’re the coolest person alive.”

“We’re glad you’re here, Hermione. For both of them.” Daphne says warmly, reaching to cover Hermione’s hand with her own. “Draco deserves this happiness, and Scorpius deserves this family.”

“Minnie! Come play wif us!” Scorpius calls from across the rooftop, waving enthusiastically.

Later that evening, Hermione sits her latest novel to the side, having been unable to concentrate on it at all. Something was bothering her but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She thinks back through her day, laughing quietly at the memory of Scorpius’ excitement for his birthday festivities. She had slipped downstairs to her room after dinner. While she had mostly moved into Draco’s bedroom, sometimes they each needed time alone and would retreat to their separate spaces.

She also wanted to give Draco and Scorpius time with their family, mindful of the fact that the birthday boy rarely had time with his aunts and grandmother. She had been delighted, but not surprised, when Draco and Scorpius came to tell her goodnight before completing the little boy’s bath and bedtime routine.

Hermione sits straight up in her chair, suddenly realizing what’s been bothering her this evening: Draco. When he’d stopped by with Scorpius, he’d said he was going to bed after he got Scorpius settled so Hermione had assumed the shadows in his eyes were due to tiredness.

Now that she thought about it, he’d gradually grown quiet as the evening wore on. If anyone else had noticed him withdrawing into himself, while simultaneously putting up a good front for his son, they hadn’t let on.

Hermione hurries out of her room and down the stairs, checking all of Draco’s usual haunts. The kitchen and his study are empty, likewise for the living room. She knows that he never spends time in the rooftop garden alone so if he’s not in the back garden that only leaves one place he could be.

Sure enough, she can see a light in the garage as she steps out into the empty garden. She can see Draco through the window, head bent over a cauldron as he stirs something. She smiles as she sees that he’s in the joggers, t-shirt and messy bun that make up his “home uniform”, as she has started to affectionately refer to it.

“Mind if I join you?” Hermione asks quietly as she slips through the unlocked door.

Draco looks up and gives her a small smile when he hears her. “Not at all.”

His eyes are glassy and red-rimmed and Hermione is quite sure it has nothing to do with whatever he has in the cauldron.

“What are you working on?”

“A Calming Draught. Mum is out and she says that mine works better than any others she’s tried.” Draco tucks her into his side when she reaches him. “She’s full of it, of course.”

“I’m sure she’s not!” Hermione protests. “I’m old enough and mature enough now to admit that you have always been brilliant at potions.”

Draco falls silent again, staring at the shimmering blue liquid swirling in the cauldron.

Hermione watches him, her heart aching at the sadness in his eyes. Draco’s shoulders look too tense for someone as strong as him, and she thinks about how much he carries—how much he’s always carried. She squeezes his hand, hoping to remind him he doesn’t have to do it alone anymore. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks softly.

He laughs quietly before looking down at her. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“Not usually, no.”

“If you’re willing to listen, I’m willing to talk.” Draco says as he grabs her hand and interlaces their fingers before guiding her to the comfortable-looking seating area across the room. “Come on, that needs to simmer for a while anyway.”

Hermione assumes he’ll want his own space and starts to sit in the second chair before Draco redirects her and she finds herself sitting sideways across his lap. They are apparently incapable of sitting separately when they’re able to spend time together like this.

She waits quietly, her head resting beneath his chin as he plays with her hair. If she’s learned anything since they first started working together months ago, she’s learned that he’ll talk when he’s ready.

“I’m always a bit of an emotional mess on Scorp’s birthday. This year is actually an improvement, believe it or not.” Draco says wryly when he finally breaks his silence.

Hermione hums thoughtfully but otherwise stays where she is. She’s noticed that he seems to find it easier to open up when he doesn’t have to make direct eye contact on top of baring his soul.

“I’m always excited, of course, and I love how happy he is about everything.” He continues. “But then I can’t help but think about when he was born and how, for a while, I was fairly convinced I’d lose both of them. Then, he’ll do something that looks or sounds exactly like Tori and I’m reminded all over again about how bloody unfair all of this is to him.”

“What happened when Scorpius was born?” Hermione asks as she sits up to look at Draco.

“Astoria was in hospital for weeks while her Healers tried to keep the blood curse under control and keep it from affecting Scorpius. Eventually, nothing they tried worked and he had to be delivered several weeks early; he should have been born closer to New Year’s. Between that and the lingering effects from the curse, it was touch and go with Scorp for a few days.”

“Is he okay now, though? Does the curse still affect him?” Hermione can’t help the slight note of panic in her voice at the thought of Scorpius battling something like that.

Draco shushes her gently. “He’s fine, I promise. It was only a concern while Astoria was pregnant and while they dealt with the after effects of the curse. It was never going to be a long-term issue for him.”

Hermione scoffs at herself. “Circe, I'm supposed to be helping you, not making it worse.”

“You are helping,” Draco says, giving her a small smile before kissing her forehead. “More than you know.”

She rests her head against his shoulder as she waits to see if he’ll speak again.

“I suppose that’s the other part of my issue today.” He continues. “I didn’t want you to think that I’m not invested in us or that I’m hung up on Astoria.”

“I haven’t thought that, not for a second.” Hermione assures him. “As for Astoria…she was your best friend and the mother of your child, it would be weird if you didn’t have a place in your heart for her.”

Hermione pauses, her voice steady but her mind racing. She knows she’ll never replace Astoria, and she doesn’t want to. The love between Draco and Scorpius is sacred, a bond she wouldn’t dream of intruding on. But still, she hopes—quietly, desperately—that there’s space for her too. That she can belong here, with them, in her own way. “I have no intention of replacing her for you or Scorpius,” she says, her voice softening, “but I do hope that I can carve out my own role, in whatever way you’ll have me.”

His smile makes her stomach flip. “You really are something else.”

As Draco’s breath steadies, Hermione lets herself relax fully against him. The quiet hum of the simmering potion fills the space, its calm matching the warmth in her chest. They’re both still healing–still learning to let each other in–but tonight feels like a promise. Whatever the future holds, they will face it together.

Chapter Text

Hermione

November 12, 2009

New York City

“Minnie, can I have more sausage, please?”

Hermione smiles as Scorpius holds up his empty plate, his cheeks shiny from the sausages he’s just devoured.

She knows Draco still marvels at her ability to get his son to eat almost anything. For Draco, Scorpius will only eat pancakes on Saturdays. For Hermione, he’ll happily eat the sausages and eggs she cooked to go with them.

“Sure, you can have a little more,” she says, topping his plate with a couple more links. “Careful though—you’ll turn into a sausage if you eat too many.”

Scorpius giggles, shaking his head. “No, I’ll just get big and strong like Daddy!”

Draco snorts into his coffee. “You’ve figured out my secret, Scorp.”

Her heart swells at their easy banter. These moments sometimes feel fragile, almost fleeting. A part of her still worries that the happiness she’s found with them could be taken away. But as she watches Draco ruffle Scorpius’ hair while the little boy snuggles Pesto in his lap, Hermione pushes the thoughts away. She’s safe here, with them. She knows Draco will make sure of it.

Later that morning, Scorpius and Hermione sprawl on the living room floor, coloring together, while Draco flips idly through a Quidditch magazine. The boys had taken a trip to the park earlier but it had been aborted quickly due to the weather.

“What else are we going to do today, Daddy?” Scorpius asks, putting down his crayon. “I’m bored.”

It’s been a couple of days for their household of British expats. MACUSA kept the same holiday calendar as the No-Maj federal government, resulting in days they wouldn't normally have taken off. Due to Veteran’s Day, the offices and preschool had been closed so they’d all stayed home. Aside from Draco and Scorpius spending a bit of time at Candy’s the day before, they’d all been in the house for two days. They were all restless at this point.

“Almost lunchtime,” Hermione remarks, checking the time with a wandless Tempus. “We can figure out what to cook and then maybe Floo over to MACUSA to grab some files I need. It’s not the most exciting, but at least it’s a change of scenery. After that, we can come back and watch Finding Nemo.”

“‘Kay, Minnie!” Scorpius beams as she kisses the top of his head.

Draco stretches as he stands. “Well, there’s our afternoon sorted.”

He helps Hermione and Scorpius up from the floor and trails them to the kitchen, gripping both of their hands as they walk up the hallway.

Hermione gives him a curious look–she doesn’t mind the display of affection but Draco’s not normally one to cling onto her for something like a walk to the kitchen.

“Sorry, I’m just a little anxious for no reason.” Draco blushes slightly when he catches her look. “I should probably book one of the ‘routine maintenance’ appointments my Mind Healer is always on about.”

While Draco tidies the kitchen after lunch, Hermione retreats to the bathroom to fix her hair. She’s pulling it back into a high ponytail when Harry pops around the doorframe.

“To what do I owe the pleasure? I thought I’d never see you again.” she exclaims, pinning him with a shocked look. She hasn’t seen him since they got home from MACUSA two days ago. “I can’t believe you’ve managed to disentangle yourself from Theo!”

Harry flushes, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’d say I’m sorry, but… I’m not.”

He laughs brightly before continuing. “I’m going to ask Theo to marry me, Hermione.”

“Oh, Harry, I’m so happy for you!” Hermione squeals, jumping into his arms and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “When do you think you’ll ask him?”

“Christmas at the latest,” Harry says, his grin wide and contagious. “Will you help me find a ring and plan the proposal? It has to be perfect, I need to–”

“Harry,” Hermione interrupts his spiraling with a reassuring hug. “You could propose over breakfast with a plain gold band, and Theo would say yes—enthusiastically. But I’d be honored to help. I’ll Polyjuice myself if it means I can go with you to look at rings.”

“Where are you going?” Harry asks as Hermione moves past him toward her bedroom.

“Draco and I are heading over to MACUSA for a bit,” she replies, pausing to glance over her shoulder. “I need to grab a few things. I’m bored, so I thought I’d get a head start on those dossiers for the conference next week.”

Harry yawns and stretches, his t-shirt pulling taut across his shoulders. “Mind if I tag along? Theo left a while ago for a spa appointment, and I can use the quiet to start digging into my next case.”

Hermione scoffs, shoving his shoulder lightly. “I knew you didn’t come up here just to talk to me.”

A flicker of concern crosses Harry’s face as he exhales. “Theo’s been anxious all day, out of nowhere. Nothing I’ve tried seemed to help him settle down. He finally decided to book himself a massage and get his nails done to try and relax.”

Hermione raises a brow at the worried note in Harry’s voice. “I’m sure he’ll feel better after some pampering, but honestly? I really don’t need to know about your efforts to help him ‘settle down,’ thank you very much.” She dodges his attempt to nudge her back, laughing as she retreats to her room.

When Hermione and Harry meet Draco and Scorpius at the Floo, the little boy is bouncing on the balls of his feet, clutching Pesto.

“I’m going to work too, Minnie!”

“I reminded him the nursery is closed, but he insisted,” Draco says with a shrug. “Even Penny couldn’t tempt him to stay.”

“And I get to see you, Uncle Harry!” Scorpius exclaims, holding up his arms until Harry hoists him up. “I haven’t seen you in fis many days!” He holds his hands far apart, evidently measuring the last two days.

“Sorry, Mini Malfoy,” Harry says, settling Scorpius on his hip. “Auntie Theo and I will eat dinner with you tonight. How’s that?”

“Yeah!” Scorpius claps his hands enthusiastically.

The MACUSA atrium is deserted, save for a few outside security guards. They’re still resisting Tony’s push to make all building security Auror-led. The faint hum of the building’s wards is the only noise besides their echoing footsteps.

“Fis is weird,” Scorpius whispers as he clings tighter to Harry’s shoulder.

“It’s just quiet because of the holiday, love,” Hermione assures him, although the dark, empty building gives her an uneasy feeling too.

“Where to first?” Harry asks, trying to see around Pesto, whom Scorpius has dangled in front of his face.

“Hermione’s office first,” Draco replies. “Then we’ll grab what we need from the Auror Department on our way out.”

At the 25th floor, the emptiness is palpable. Hermione quickly releases the warding on her office and groans at the sight inside. Files are strewn across her desk and every available surface.

“Ugh, I forgot I left everything a mess on Wednesday.” She sighs, surveying the chaos.

Draco, Harry and Candy had all been at a mandatory DMLE meeting that day and having one of the backup Aurors in her office always threw Hermione off–this time resulting in the current state of her files.

“How can we help?” Harry asks, setting Scorpius down.

“If you’ll explain your filing system, we’ll sort it in no time,” Draco offers.

Hermione shakes her head. “Honestly, it’d take longer to explain than for me to just do it myself. Why don’t you two go get what you need? I’ll be ready by the time you’re back.”

“I don’t know,” Draco says, his brow furrowing with concern. “With your protection plan—”

“Draco,” Hermione interrupts gently, meeting his eyes. “You’ve seen this place. We’re the only ones here. The guards are downstairs, and the wards are intact. The faster we all get what we need, the faster we can go home.”

“She’s got a point,” Harry shrugs. “A few flicks of her wand, and she’ll have this place sorted in no time.”

“Can I stay wif Minnie, Daddy?” Scorpius asks, moving to stand beside Hermione, clearly making his preference known.

Draco hesitates, looking like he’s about to veto the entire idea. Hermione reaches for his hand, squeezing it gently. “We’ll be fine,” she assures him. “Just go get what you need. I’ve got him.”

After more convincing, Draco relents, leaving with Harry and promising to return from the Auror Department in ten minutes. Scorpius wastes no time making the most of their temporary solitude, zooming between Hermione’s desk, Septima’s reception area, and the corridor, pretending Pesto is flying. His giggles echo through the quiet space, bringing a smile to Hermione’s face as she tucks her wand into her ever-present beaded bag and starts sorting a new stack of dossiers.

The elevator chime rings unexpectedly, loud in the stillness. Hermione glances at the clock. Less than five minutes? That was quick, she thinks, her hands moving faster to gather the last of her files.

The hairs on the back of her neck stand up when Scorpius’ footsteps suddenly halt. His curious voice calls out, “Mrs. Weston? What are you doing here?”

Hermione freezes, her pulse thundering in her ears. Something’s wrong. She grabs her bag and disillusions it before storing her wand back inside. After looping the bag across her body, she steps into the hallway. Hermione’s first instinct to grab Scorpius and hide him behind her. But he’s too far away, standing near the wall opposite her. She doesn’t want to scare him by rushing over. Besides, it’s just his teacher. Forcing herself to remain calm, she addresses the woman. “Mrs. Weston, how are you? Draco said the nursery was closed today.”

The older woman doesn’t respond. She continues staring at Scorpius, her expression unreadable but unsettling. Hermione’s gut tightens as she takes in the woman’s disheveled appearance—so unlike the usually polished Mrs. Weston. She’s starting to believe that the older woman is having some sort of medical event.

“Mrs. Weston,” Scorpius asks in a quiet, unsure voice. “Where’s your necklace? You usually match like me.”

His words cause everything to snap into place for Hermione. Mrs. Weston does always match her glasses chain–which Scorpius calls a necklace–to her shirts, everyday without fail.

Today she isn’t wearing one at all.

Imperius or Polyjuice?

Her heart pounds as she steps closer, keeping her tone firm but polite. “Is there something I can help you with? You really shouldn’t be here.”

The woman’s voice finally comes, eerily calm but with an intonation that sets Hermione’s teeth on edge. “I was only supposed to take you,” she says, her eyes flicking to Hermione. “But this? This is an opportunity I can’t pass up.”

Hermione’s blood runs cold as the woman lunges with unnatural speed, grabbing Scorpius before Hermione can reach him. The boy lets out a sharp cry, his arms and legs flailing.

“Stop!” Hermione yells, rushing forward. “I’ll come with you, wherever you’re supposed to take me–just put him down. Please, leave him here. His father will be back soon and you don’t know–”

“I know exactly who his father is and what he’s capable of,” Mrs. Weston snarls as she steps further away from Hermione. “This is no less than he deserves.”

Hermione knows that Draco and Harry will be back any minute, if she can just stall long enough she’ll have help. Her heart is breaking at the way that Scorpius flails and squirms in his captor’s arms, tears starting to form in his eyes.

Desperation surges through Hermione. “Please, don’t hurt him,” she pleads, her voice breaking. “I’ll go with you. Just let him go.”

The other woman pulls a broken pocket watch from her sweater, its glow intensifying. A Portkey. Scorpius sees it too, his wide eyes filled with terror. He kicks and struggles to get away, his sobs tearing through Hermione.

“Mama!” he screams, his tiny arms reaching for her as tears stream down his face.

Hermione doesn’t think. She acts. Sprinting forward, she leaps, her fingers clawing for the woman’s sleeve just as the Portkey activates.

Draco

Draco doesn’t bother turning on the lights in his office. He knows exactly where the schedules are and is in too much of a hurry to get back upstairs to waste time. He’s still uneasy about leaving Scorpius and Hermione alone. The faster he and Harry can finish, the better.

He’s nearly at his desk when a surge of anxiety almost takes him to his knees. Cursing under his breath, he swipes the schedules off the desk, casts a quick shrinking charm, and shoves them into his pocket. Enough is enough. He stalks back into the hallway, determined to be near his son and Hermione.

“Potter!” Draco barks as he waits by the elevator. “Let’s go!”

“Coming,” Harry calls, jogging toward him. "I'm ready to get back up there, too."

Draco doesn’t respond, jabbing the elevator button impatiently. His pulse thrums wildly as they wait, the silence charged with unspoken worry. Harry fidgets beside him, clearly feeling the same tension. Before the elevator arrives, another wave of anxiety hits Draco—this one sharp and consuming, like a lightning strike.

“Fuck it,” he growls, turning and lunging for the stairwell door. It’s only five flights up. He’s done waiting. Harry can follow or not—it doesn’t matter. Draco’s boots strike the concrete stairs in a steady rhythm as he sprints upward, faster than he has in years.

He’s halfway to the 25th floor when he registers Harry’s footsteps echoing a flight below, quickly gaining ground. Draco’s heart pounds in his chest, his breath coming in ragged bursts as his mind screams at him to move faster. He curses the anti-Apparition wards on the building—logical though they are, they now feel like a cruel hindrance.

Just as he nears the final door, pain rips through him, sharp and blinding like a Cruciatus. He staggers, clutching the railing as he hears the unmistakable sucking sound of a Portkey activating. His blood runs cold.

“No, no, no!” he gasps, wrenching the door open and sprinting down the corridor. “Scorpius! Hermione!”

He rounds the corner into Septima’s reception area, his worst fears realized. The space is eerily empty, save for Pesto, Scorpius’ beloved stuffed dragon. It hits the ground, bouncing slightly, still moving from being dropped only seconds earlier. Draco falls to his knees, crawling forward to pick up the toy, a sob tearing from his throat. He slams his Occlumency walls into place, forcing himself to function through the rising panic.

“Harry!” Draco screams, his voice raw and frantic.

Harry crashes into the room, skidding to a halt near Hermione’s office.

“They’re gone.” Draco’s voice is cold, almost robotic, as he clutches Pesto tightly. “I heard the Portkey just as I got to the door. They were gone before I could reach them.”

Harry’s face hardens, though his eyes betray his fear. “We’ll get them back,” he says firmly, hauling Draco to his feet.

“I can get to Scorpius,” Draco rasps, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the enchanted tattoo of Scorpius’ constellation. “You find Tony and Candy—I’ll send a Patronus when—”

“No,” Harry cuts him off, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re not going without me. Hermione was there for me when no one else was—she was willing to walk to her death with me at seventeen. You’re mad if you think I’m not going to her now.”

Draco hesitates, the weight of Harry’s words pressing heavily on him. Finally, he nods sharply. “Fine.”

“You’re not the only one who loves them, you know.” Harry continues, his voice thick with emotion. He clears his throat before continuing. “We also need to alert Theo and Penny. If we don’t, they’ll string us up later.”

Harry and Draco exchange grim glances before summoning their Patronuses. The two stags and two dragons shimmer into existence, weaker than they’ve been in years, chasing each other briefly before disappearing through the wall. Their instructions are clear: Theo, Candy, and Tony are to get to Penny, who has a separate set of orders. Once Draco finds Hermione and Scorpius, Penny will Apparate the others to him.

“What’s the plan?” Harry asks quietly.

“Get to them first. Avoid confrontation if we can. Once they’re safe, we come back with backup.” Draco’s tone is clipped, leaving no room for debate as he tucks Pesto into the chest band of his wand holster. “They don’t need to be caught in the crossfire.”

“Agreed,” Harry nods, determination etched into his face.

“Grab my shirt,” Draco commands, his wand pressed over the tattoo on his forearm. It’s been mere minutes since Hermione and Scorpius vanished but it feels like an eternity.

“Reperio cor meum.”

The world twists and warps as the spell activates, dragging them through space and depositing them behind the wards of a decrepit warehouse somewhere along the port. The acrid scent of salt and oil fills the air. The building looms before them, an abandoned, hulking thing, its broken windows staring blankly like soulless eyes. The tattoo on Draco’s arm burns faintly, pulling him toward Scorpius like a lifeline.

That feeling should comfort him. It doesn’t.

Draco’s gut twists. He would have given everything in his vaults for the spell to take him directly to Hermione and Scorpius instead of dumping him along the outskirts of the property’s wards. Nothing can ever be easy, he thinks bitterly as he scans their surroundings. He holds his wand in a deathgrip, his pulse hammering in his ears.

“Focus,” Harry mutters under his breath.

It’s been years since Draco and Harry were in the field together–years since Draco has been in the field at all—but they move into old patterns with the ease born of muscle memory. They fall into step beside each other, each scanning a different part of the area surrounding the warehouse. As they get closer to the door, each of them casts a Disillusionment charm simultaneously.

They stop short on their path to the door and Draco casts a Homenum Revelio. The faint glow of several dots appear on the far side of the building but his heart constricts painfully at the sight of two dots isolated in a room on this side of the building–Hermione and Scorpius. They’re clustered together, unmoving. They’re alive.

“There they are,” Draco murmurs, voice sharp with determination.

Together, Draco and Harry creep closer to the door. They each lift their wands to check for wards on the building. “No wards?” Draco whispers, his voice quiet but furious. Though the perimeter has perfunctory anti-apparition and protection wards, the building has none. It’s insultingly amateurish.

“With this level of forethought and planning, we can’t be dealing with criminal masterminds,” Harry remarks in a dry voice.

Draco clenches his jaw, his rage simmering dangerously close to the surface. “If I find out that the kidnapper just waltzed into MACUSA today, I’m going to have someone’s head on a pike,” he growls.

Harry casts a spell at the door’s hinges, allowing them to push it open silently before stepping into the warehouse’s shadowed interior. The building is cavernous, dimly lit and filled with crates and scattered debris. The air inside is thick and stale. Draco can just barely make out the faintest sounds of movement across the floor–someone pacing, and a muffled voice. His tattoo tugs him forward relentlessly. He’s so close to Scorpius but galaxies might as well lie between them.

Draco casts another Homenum Revelio, his heart twisting painfully at the dots that represent the two most important people in his life. Hermione and Scorpius are still in the same place, huddled close together. He swallows hard, forcing himself to focus. They’re alive.

“Draco,” Harry whispers beside him, his voice low but steady. “We’re close. Keep it together.”

Draco grits his teeth, the strain in his body nearly unbearable. “I am together,” he snaps, though his voice wavers just enough to betray him.

Harry places a hand on his shoulder, a gesture that’s less comforting and more grounding. “We’ve got this,” he says. It’s not just reassurance—it’s a promise.

Draco and Harry are precise, moving in perfect coordination, but Draco feels like a loose thread—fraying, snapping—ready to unravel the moment he sees Hermione and Scorpius.

He and Harry fall into step as they move deeper into the building, following the ever-present tug of Draco’s tattoo. As they enter the corridor, Harry casts another revealing charm. One door along the desolate hallway glows with faint, rudimentary warding.

“That has to be where they’re hiding Hermione and Scorpius.” Harry murmurs, his grip tightening on his wand.

Draco wastes no time. He dismantles the wards with precise movements, the magic falling away like threads being cut. Harry casts another silencing spell on another set of hinges. Every second feels like an eon.

When the door swings open, they’re met with a wall of boxes, each marked with unfamiliar acronyms, and a wave of sound. Quiet sobbing. A familiar voice–Hermione’s–soft and fierce, soothing and full of determination.

“It’s okay, love,” she croons, her words a mix of comfort and urgency. “Mama’s here. Daddy will come soon, and we’ll go home. I promise.”

The words hit Draco like a bolt of lighting. Relief, colored with rage, floods through him. His son is crying. Hermione is distressed. And someone–someone–is going to pay for this.

Draco and Harry cancel their Disillusionment charms as they step further into the room, wands at the ready. The sight before him sends a maelstrom of emotions crashing through Draco.

Hermione sits on the ground, her back braced against the wall of crates. Scorpius is curled up in her lap–one little hand tangled in her curls, the other clutching the front of her shirt. His reddened, tear-streaked face is pressed against her chest. Hermione’s ankles and hands are bound and then tethered to the glowing magical restraints at her waist. She can’t move to hold his son but she does her best to cradle him in her lap and shield him with her body, sitting with her knees bent for him to rest against.

Draco’s knees give out at the sight, his Occlumency walls crumbling. He’s vaguely aware of Harry moving into position, covering them while keeping an eye on the door, but his focus is singular. Hermione looks up, her heartbroken eyes meeting his, and in that instant, the tension in his chest cracks wide open.

“I’m here,” he whispers, his voice breaking as his wand falls to his side. “I’ve got you both.”

Hermione’s expression wavers, relief flickering through the devastation in her eyes. “Oh, Draco,” she breathes. “I’m so sorry, I should have stayed with you. I should have moved faster–”

“Stop,” His voice is sharp, cutting through her guilt. “None of this is your fault. You kept him safe. You kept both of you safe.”

Draco picks up Scorpius as Harry gets to work on dismantling the magical binds surrounding her. Draco gathers his son close, as if to hide him from the world. He breathes in his son’s familiar scent as he presses kisses anywhere he can reach–the top of his head, all over his face, his precious little hands.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” Draco breathes, emotion clouding his voice as tears stream down his face. “I should have been there. I’m so sorry.”

Scorpis has settled now that they’re reunited, his sobs quieting to hiccups and sniffles. He reaches up to hold Draco’s face, wiping away tears with his little fingers. “It’s ‘kay, Daddy, not your fault. Mama was wif me and I knew you’d find us.”

Draco’s breath catches, his grip tightening on Scorpius. He looks at Hermione, his eyes meeting hers as Harry continues working on her restraints. “He called you ‘Mama’,” he says softly, his voice thick with emotion.

Hermione nods, her lips quivering. “He did. And he was so brave, Draco. So brave. He fought so hard.”

Scorpius stretches up to press a kiss to Draco’s cheek. “I love you, Daddy.”

Draco pulls Scorpius closer again, kissing his forehead as he tucks Pesto in his son’s arms. “I love you too, Scorp.”

Hermione launches herself at them the second Harry releases her bindings. Draco catches her, pulling her in with his free arm. He swallows hard, his heart full and aching all at once. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispers before brushing a kiss across her lips.

She shakes her head, still upset that this happened while Scorpius was under her care. “I should have moved faster but when I saw her, I thought she was having some sort of medical emergency. It never crossed my mind–”

“Saw who, love?” Draco asks, his tone turning brusque as his mind drifts back to the kidnapping. “Who brought you here?”

Scorpius answers instead. “Don’t be mad at Mrs. Weston, Daddy. I fink somefing is wrong wif her.”

Draco’s eyes snap to Hermione’s at the sound of the older woman’s name.

“She was either under an Imperius or someone Polyjuiced themselves to look like her.” Hermione murmurs.

Harry grabs his wand from where he’s stowed it in his holster. “I’m going to go check the rest of the warehouse. If they have her here too, she may need medical attention–especially at her age.”

Draco gives him a knowing look. “Just keep your guard up, we don’t know what you’re walking into.”

“Not the first time that’s happened in my life,” Harry says with a wry grin, “Doubt it’ll be the last.”

Harry leans down to press a kiss to Hermione’s cheek. “Don’t scare me like that again,” he whispers. With a flick of his wand, he casts another strong Disillusionment charm and disappears into the warehouse.

Draco, Hermione and Scorpius sit quietly for a minute after Harry leaves, finding solace in being together again. “As soon as Harry gets back, I’ll call for Penny and we’ll get you both home.”

His protective instincts are still on high alert as Draco moves Hermione and Scorpius further from the door. He stands with Scorpius, who has drifted off to sleep, in one arm as he holds Hermione close with the other. When he speaks again, his voice is a mixture of frustration and relief.

“I should have never left you. I should have been there beside you.”

Hermione shakes her head, her voice firm but kind. “Draco, you can’t beat yourself up over something none of us could control. You’re here now… and we’re safe because of you.”

“It nearly broke me when he called me Mama,” Hermione whispers in a tear-choked voice. “I’d started to dream of him calling me that but not that way, not with him being ripped away from me.”

Draco leans down to brush his lips across her forehead, his heart squeezing painfully at the tears in her eyes. “He’s right, though. That’s who you are. I think you’ve been his mama for a while now, even if we weren’t ready to acknowledge it. And you’re–” he hesitates, then lets out a breath. “You’re everything to me… to us.”

Hermione’s hand tightens on his arm, her eyes still glistening as she replies. “And you’re both everything to me. I love you, Draco.”

Draco leans down, kissing her softly, his voice steady and full of emotion, “I love you too, Hermione. More than you’ll ever know.”

Chapter Text

Draco

November 12, 2009

New York City

The stale air of the warehouse clings to Draco, thick with dust and damp, pressing on him like a vice. Outside, the faint sounds of the port hum in the distance, a cruel contrast to the silence inside. Scorpius stirs in his arms, his small body warm but trembling.

“I want to go home, Daddy,” his son whimpers, his voice cracked and raw as he buries his face into Draco’s chest.

Draco strokes his son’s hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I know, love. As soon as Uncle Harry gets back, we’ll call Penny and go straight home.”

Hermione casts a wandless Tempus, the faint shimmer of the spell painting her face in silver light. Worry creases her features as she glances at the time. “He’s been gone too long,” she murmurs, her voice tight with concern. “Surely we would have heard something if—”

The sound of soft footsteps cuts her off as Harry reenters the room. His expression is thunderous, his jaw tight, his eyes sparking with disbelief. For a moment, he says nothing, standing rigid in the doorway.

“What is it?” Draco demands, his voice sharp and low. “What did you find?”

Harry finally shakes his head, pointing toward the crates stacked against the wall. “This is a Weasley warehouse,” he says flatly, his voice laced with incredulity. “Those boxes? Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, Skiving Snackboxes, Extendable Ears. There’s more downstairs. Dozens of crates. It’s all theirs.”

“No,” Hermione gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. “That doesn’t make sense!”

“I wish I was wrong,” Harry says bitterly. “But it’s theirs, I know it.”

“What about Mrs. Weston?” Draco asks.

Harry shakes his head again. “I didn’t make it past the main part of the warehouse when I figured out whose stuff this was. I’ll have to go back and look again.”

Draco exhales sharply, his hand tightening protectively on Scorpius. “No,” he says decisively. “We’re moving to the next phase of the plan. Penny—”

Before he’s even finished speaking, Penny materializes with a crack, her large eyes brimming with emotion. Theo, Candy, and Tony appear behind her, looking ready for anything.

“Master Scorpius!” Penny croaks, rushing forward with her hands fluttering. “Penny is needing to see that Master Scorpius is well! Penny is being worried sick!”

Draco crouches so Penny can see Scorpius up close. She clucks over him, snapping her fingers to cast a diagnostic spell. Relief softens her face as she presses a kiss to Scorpius’ cheek.

“Hi, Penny,” Scorpius whispers, his voice small and hoarse. “I ‘kay. Promise.”

“You is being brave,” Penny murmurs, her voice thick with affection. “So brave.”

Theo, Candy, and Tony immediately close in, each fussing over the little boy in their own way. Theo lifts him up briefly to inspect him like a rare artifact, muttering something along the lines of “tiny fighter,” before passing him to Candy, who presses a hand to Scorpius’ forehead like a Muggle nurse.

Harry, however, fixes Theo with an incredulous look. “Theo, baby, you changed before coming here?”

Theo scoffs, clutching his chest as though deeply insulted. “Changed? I elevated.”

He strikes a pose, gesturing grandly to his outfit—a sleek black jumpsuit that hugs his frame like it was poured onto him. The shimmering fabric catches the light with every move, a subtle glimmer of dark silver threading through the material. The shoulders are exaggerated with structured velvet panels, adding just enough theatrical flair to turn heads, while a deep V-neck plunges daringly down his chest. Cinched at the waist with an oversized jeweled belt—the jumpsuit is as dramatic and flamboyant as anything else Theo wears.

“You didn’t expect me to show up to a rescue mission in linen trousers, did you?” Theo adds, flicking a perfectly manicured hand through his curls as if the very idea is offensive.

Draco growls, his patience fraying. “Theo, I don’t have time for you to be a problem right now.”

Theo rolls his eyes but obligingly crosses the room to stand beside Harry, his expression only slightly chastened.

“Penny,” Draco says, straightening. “I need you to take Scorpius and Hermione home. The rest of us—”

“No, Daddy!” Scorpius cries out suddenly, clutching tightly at Draco’s shirt, his little hands trembling. His voice breaks as he pleads and bursts into tears again, “Don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me.”

The raw panic in his son’s voice slices through Draco like a knife. He pulls his son closer, cupping Scorpius’ tear-streaked face. “Shh, love,” he soothes, his voice low but fierce. “I’m not leaving you. I would never leave you.”

“You promise?” Scorpius whispers, hiccupping through his tears.

Draco presses his forehead to Scorpius’, his voice steady. “I promise.”

Hermione stands beside them, her hand smoothing over Scorpius’ hair. “I’ll stay with you, darling,” she croons. “We’ll stay together. All of us.”

Scorpius nods shakily, his fingers still clutching Draco’s shirt as though his father will disappear if he doesn’t.

Theo breaks the heavy silence with a dramatic sigh. “Oh, thank Merlin. For a moment, I thought I was going to be the one babysitting. I’d rather stay here so I can get my hands on whoever did this.”

Candy mutters something about Theo being a terrible babysitter anyway, but closes his mouth with an audible click at Draco’s glare.

“Enough,” Tony snaps.

Draco establishes a Legilimency connection with Hermione. “We said we would deal with this side by side, I know. But I won’t be able to take it if something happens to either of you.”

“I know it’s not ideal,” Hermione agrees. “At this point, I think it would be worse for Scorpius if we separated. Between all of us, I have no doubt that we can keep him safe.”

“I don’t like it,” Draco says hesitantly. “But I know you’re right.”

He quickly dismisses the connection and turns to the rest of the group. “Slight change of plan, we’re all sticking together.”

“When Harry and I entered earlier,” Draco continues. “The Homenum Revelio showed a group of about ten people in the warehouse, most of them in the back office. That may include Mrs. Weston, Scorpius’ teacher.”

Tony and Candy exchange shocked looks. “Why do you think that?” Candy asks.

“She’s the one who brought us here,” Hermione interjects softly. “She was either under an Imperius or someone was Polyjuiced as her.”

Harry picks up the thread from there. “I went out right before you got here to look for her but I didn’t make it back that far. I did figure out that this is a Weasley warehouse, though.” There’s a flicker of sadness in his eyes as he says it.

“Your ex?” Tony asks sharply as he turns to Hermione. “Do you think he’s the one who’s been targeting you?”

Hermione chews her bottom lip before responding. “I wouldn’t have thought so since it’s been going on since before we broke up but I don’t know what to think now.”

“Alright, let’s figure out who’s doin’ what,” Candy says, his voice authoritative and crisp. “We’ve gotta get Scorpius out of here.”

Hermione disillusions her beaded bag and withdraws her wand.

“They didn’t even check you for a wand?” Draco asks incredulously. “We really are dealing with amateurs.”

“If she’d had a few more minutes, she would have gotten her hands free and taken them down before we got here,” Harry says in a fond voice.

Hermione sends him a wink in thanks. “I’m sure I have things in here we can use, if necessary.”

She reaches into her bag and withdraws a blanket, transfiguring it into a carrier to wear Scorpius on her back before turning to Draco. “Let me take him, if worse comes to worse we need you available to duel.”

Draco nods before pressing a kiss to Scorpius’ cheek. “Mama is going to carry you out but I’ll be with you too, okay?”

“‘Kay,” Scorpius nods, burrowing down against Hermione as Draco places him in the carrier. He casts the strongest Notice-Me-Not he can on the carrier, hiding Scorpius from view. Penny places spell after protection spell around the little boy, stronger than any the others could cast. Hermione casts her notoriously strong Muffliato around him so that the sounds of anything they run into will be drowned out to avoid scaring him any further.

With everything now settled, Tony gives an authoritative nod before leading the way out of the room. The group makes their way down the cramped hallway to the main floor of the warehouse. When they reach the end, Tony goes over the instructions one more time.

“Candy’s with me, Theo with Harry.” Tony takes the lead, pairing everyone up to sweep through the building. He indicates himself and Candy. “We’ll take the left side and head to the back to look for Mrs. Weston before rounding the others up, you and Theo do the same on the right.”

“Draco and Hermione,” he continues. “Sweep the rooms at the very back for her and then get Scorpius out of here. Penny, do what you do best.”

“Which is being everything,” Penny says haughtily.

Draco gives Harry a pointed look. “Just in case we have to duel anyone out there, do you think you could go into this situation with something besides an Expelliarmus and a dream?”

“Look me in my mother’s eyes,” Harry says in a dry tone as he points his thumbs at his chest. “Back to back Dark Lord defeating champ, baby. Don’t knock ‘til you’ve tried it!”

Before anyone can move into position, the sound of slow, sardonic clapping fills the warehouse, joined by the sound of footsteps.

Draco’s body fills with tension, his hand tightening on his wand. The steps grow louder, unhurried, deliberate.

A tall figure cloaked in shadow steps around a stack of crates. As the man steps into the light, his dark, angular features come into focus, his smirk cold and calculating.

“Zabini,” Draco growls, his voice low and dangerous.

Blaise Zabini leans against the crates, his wand loose in his hand and his confidence radiating like a dark aura. His gaze sweeps over the group before settling on Draco.

“Malfoy,” Blaise says smoothly, his tone oozing condescension. “Lovely to see you again. Potter and Nott, too. How fun, a little school reunion!” He continues glancing at each of them in turn. “Of course, I already knew Granger was here. All we’re missing is Weasley, but don’t worry—he’s not far.”

The tension in the room spikes like a crackling storm. Draco’s wand is already raised, his jaw clenched so tightly it feels like it might snap. “What do you want, Zabini?” he growls.

“The same thing I’ve always wanted,” Blaise says in a syrupy, sarcastic voice. “To make you pay.”

Other figures have started to emerge around the crates–Greg Goyle and Adrian Pucey among others that Draco doesn’t recognize.

“What are you talking about, Zabini?” Draco asks.

“You’ve always had everything I wanted: the friends, the popularity, the grades, the money,” Blaise ticks off his list on his fingers. “But you never appreciated any of it. Nevertheless, I digress,” he sighs. The sound of more footsteps rings out across the warehouse floor. “I’m not the only one with grievances to air today.”

Draco doesn’t need to ask who Blaise is referring to, even as the thud of boots on concrete grows louder than before. He shifts his grip on his wand as another figure steps into view, red hair gleaming in the weak sunlight slanting through the broken windows.

Hermione

Hermione’s wand trembles in her grip as she stares at him. This couldn’t be happening. The boy she once trusted with her life, the man she had been with for years—had it all come to this? “Ron?” she whispers, the word a crack in her composure. But then Scorpius stirs, and that is enough to steady her. “No,” she thinks fiercely. “Not today.”

Ron Weasley’s face is twisted with jealousy and resentment. His wand is raised, his jaw is clenched tight, his lips are tightened into a hateful sneer.

Draco is already standing in front of Hermione, nearly blocking her from view but Harry steps in beside him–the two former enemies turned friends, closing rank to protect their own.

“Imagine that,” Ron sneers. “You’re still protecting her. I suppose some habits never break.”

Hermione sees Draco’s wand twitch in his grasp but Harry steps forward, pinning Ron with a steely look. He’s far from the happy-go-lucky friend she knows, instead he radiates a steady calm as he cuts through the tension. “What the hell do you mean, Ron? What is this?”

Hermione can’t help but notice that Blaise, Ron and their cohort are shifting closer to their group. She can feel the warm weight of Scorpius against her back along with the spells protecting and hiding him. The reminder of her precious cargo straightens her spine as she grips her wand tighter.

“This? This is me fixing a mistake.” Ron lets out a mirthless laugh. “Always The Chosen One and The Golden Girl backing each other up against me. No one cares–”

“OH MY GODS,” Theo shouts in a shrill, indignant voice. “What is with you two? What are we–twelve?”

He steps around Harry, bridging the divide between the two groups. “Do you know what kind of day I’ve had?! First, have you seen my hair? Horrible way to wake up!”

As he steps forward again, Hermione starts to notice sparks of magic at his fingertips as he rants. “Then, I stop at Starbucks and they mess up my order! I mean, how hard is it to make a venti white mocha, quad shot, two shots on bottom, two on top with skim milk, extra hot, caramel drizzle INSIDE THE CUP and extra whipped cream?”

The magic collecting in Theo’s hands looks more like raw energy than anything else. “After that, I go to get my nails done and they’re out of the color I want. And then I find out that some cretin kidnapped my nephew?!”

“So, believe me when I tell you,” At this point, he’s crossed the space until he’s within arm’s length of Blaise and Ron. Hermione watches in shock as Theo hands crackle with wild energy, arcs of magic sparking like lightning between his fingers. “That I am sick and fucking tired of arrogant,” a burst of energy flies out of his hands and connects with Pucey and Goyle, knocking them off their feet.

“Incompetent,” a second burst hits Blaise in the chest and sends him back down the aisle he walked up earlier.

“Useless, men today,” a final burst throws Ron furthest of all as more magical energy crackles in the air around Theo.

The room is still for a moment, quiet enough to hear the humming of the wards as the air buzzes with residual magic. Theo runs a hand through his hair before brushing imaginary dust from his jumpsuit.

“Well,” he says airily, “I feel much better now.”

Hermione doesn’t waste the moment of shock. Her wand is already up, her instincts kicking in. “Harry, Draco—now!”

The room explodes into chaos.

Blaise, Ron and the rest are back on their feet quickly, separating to take on different members of Hermione and Draco’s group.

A group of three men try to sneak up on Harry’s left. “Expelliarmus!” he shouts, barely flicking his wand in their direction. He catches their wands easily, stowing them in his pocket.

He throws an exaggerated wink in Draco’s direction. “I told you–undefeated.”

Never one to disappoint, Draco shoots him an epic eye roll.

Penny snaps her fingers and the men are wrapped in magical bindings. She clicks her tongue as they struggle against their bonds. “Penny is making sure you is going nowhere.”

As Draco stalks towards Blaise, the temperature grows colder. Blaise fires off a hex that narrowly misses Draco’s shoulder, followed by another one that Draco deflects with a lazy flick of his wrist.

Harry and Ron meet in a furious clash of magic–shouting spells that they shoot off and deflect with lightning speed. Harry’s face is a determined mask as he pushes Ron back blow by blow.

Hermione doesn’t hesitate as she raises her wand and steps forward. Her only thoughts are to protect Scorpius and provide backup for Draco and Harry as curses and hexes swirl around her.

A movement from the right catches her eye and she throws out a shield charm in time to stop the hex aimed at Theo’s back.

“Thanks, Hermione!” He shouts when he realizes what she’s done. He narrows his eyes as he looks for the source of the hex.

“You little toad,” Theo shrieks when he realizes that Goyle was the one aiming for him. He pushes his hands out in front of his body, sending a wave of energy that knocks the other man flat on his back. With another twist of his hands, he conjures a ball of magic and pushes it towards Goyle, enveloping him within. “Have fun running around like a bloody hamster until we’re done!”

Penny, Candy and Tony are in the middle of the pandemonium, taking care of all of the others that came to back up Ron and Blaise. Hermione watches in astonishment as Candy swings his wand around his head, conjuring a glittering magical lasso that he uses to catch Adrian Pucey by the ankle as the man attempts to run away. Candy smiles when his lasso makes contact, jerking his wand towards his chest to tighten the loop and take the other man down. His laughter is clear and bright as he whoops, “Yippee ki yay, motherfucker!”

Tony levitates a tower of crates before bringing them down on the last group of lackeys. “You got this, Penny? I need to go look for Mrs. Weston!”

The house-elf gives him a nod before binding this group with another snap of her fingers. Once Candy has passed off Pucey to Penny, he joins Tony in sweeping the building for Mrs. Weston.

In the middle of the chaos, Blaise and Draco circle each other like sharks in the water, locked in a fierce battle. Blaise’s face is twisted with hatred and fury as he slings hexes and curses one after the other but Draco never hesitates, deflecting them easily even as cold fury radiates off of him.

Hermione’s focus shifts as another spell is cast in her direction. She immediately casts a shield charm, the incoming curse dispelling in a shower of sparks. Her protective instincts roar to life.

“This ends now,” she vows. She shifts her wand in her grip as she looks to see where she is most needed. Before she can move, she has to cast another shield charm against another, darker curse. This one rattles the protective barrier of her charm, which holds, even though she can feel the burning strain in her magic from holding it in place. Hermione doesn’t pay attention to the strain, doesn’t let herself back down for even a second. Her only priority is protecting her son.

The warehouse is a riot of sound at this point–shouting, spells ricocheting off of walls, exploding crates, the loud buzz of so much magic in one place–the noise is deafening.

She glances at Harry and Ron, who are still locked in their own vicious duel. Harry moves with fluid grace, still effectively blocking every spell that Ron sends his way. Ron, in contrast, is sloppy–jealousy and anger fueling his spells but causing them to misfire more often than not.

“We’re almost done, sweetheart,” Hermione whispers over her shoulder. She can feel the comforting weight of Scorpius on her back. He can’t hear her with the muffling spell she cast but it brings her a measure of peace to reassure him anyway. “I promise we’ll go home soon.”

Across the aisle of crates, Draco and Blaise are still locked in a brutal battle. Blaise’s spells grow darker and more frantic as time goes on. Ice is forming on the remaining crates, a physical manifestation of Draco’s barely-controlled magic.

The ferocity with which Draco fights back is astounding. Anyone who thinks that fatherhood and administrative work has weakened him is making a grave mistake. Hermione has always known that he is fiercely protective of his family. After all, that protectiveness drove him to extreme lengths as a mere teenager. But now, with his son in the crossfire? He is deadly.

Draco bats away curse after hex like they’re no more than gnats, returning spells with an accuracy and intensity that is mesmerizing to watch. This is a part of him that Hermione has never seen–the highly decorated Auror. As Candy once told her, Draco is easily the most formidable Auror of their generation and Merlin help anyone who doubts it.

“You never deserved any of this,” Blaise screams, his voice breaking with rage. “None of it! The second chance, the do-over in America–you should be rotting in Azkaban!”

Draco doesn’t hesitate. His wand moves faster than Blaise can react, a freezing hex shooting straight for his legs. Ice spreads rapidly, anchoring Blaise’s feet to the ground as he struggles against it. “You talk too much,” Draco hisses, his voice like steel. With a flick of his wrist, a second curse strikes Blaise’s wand arm, and the sharp crack of impact leaves him howling in pain.

“The worst thing is,” Blaise rages, his voice trembling with fury, “you took Astoria down with you! She should have been with me! You didn’t deserve her!” He forces his way forward, the ice cracking as he wrenches one leg free, then sends a curse flying at Draco—a dark green spell that makes Hermione’s blood run cold.

Draco deflects it with a sharp sweep of his wand, his expression unmoved. “And you don’t deserve any more of my time or attention,” he spits. A disarming spell shoots from Draco’s wand, striking true. Blaise’s wand jerks violently from his grip, spinning through the air into Draco’s waiting hand.

Even unarmed, Blaise isn’t finished. He breaks the last of the ice with a desperate lunge, fists curled like claws as he charges at Draco with a snarl.

“Honestly, Zabini,” Draco sighs. He sidesteps the attack effortlessly, his boot grinding over scattered debris as he pivots sharply. Blaise stumbles, and his own momentum sends him crashing into a nearby crate. The splintering wood explodes into the air, shards raining down around them.

Before Draco can move to engage Blaise further, Candy’s unmistakable voice rings out behind him, loud and clear.

“Heads up, y’all!”

A lasso—an actual rope lasso, not magic—whizzes up the aisle and lands cleanly around Blaise’s waist. With a sharp tug, Candy tightens the rope and charges forward. In one fluid, practiced motion, he sweeps Blaise’s legs out from under him. The man crashes to the floor with an indignant yell, his struggles useless as Candy works quickly, looping and knotting the rope until Blaise is completely immobilized. He flicks his wand in Blaise’s direction, silencing him for good measure.

Grinning wickedly, Candy rises to his feet, dusting his hands off as he steps back beside Draco. He bumps Draco’s shoulder, looking up at him with a satisfied smirk.

“Told ya I’d hogtie the son of a bitch when we found him.”

Draco glances at Blaise, who glares daggers at the pair of them from the floor, then back at Candy with a raised eyebrow. “You really weren’t bluffing.”

“Never do, partner,” Candy replies, tipping his hat with a cocky grin.

“I’m going to help Harry,” Hermione calls over her shoulder as she jogs towards her best friend. “Oh, and someone might want to do something about Theo.”

A quick glance across the warehouse shows that Theo still has Goyle in a bubble of magic, batting him around like a cat with a toy while giggling maniacally.

Candy rolls his eyes at the sight. “On it, ladybug!”

A loud crash from Harry’s direction spurs Hermione on “What is this about, Ron?” Harry demands, his voice thick with emotion. “You were my best friend—my first friend. You were my brother!”

“Oh, shut up! The Chosen One! The Golden Girl! I’m sick of it!” Ron bellows, his face twisted with fury, his chest heaving as though he’s been running for miles. “You two—always at the top, always together. Do you know what it’s like to be the afterthought? To lose everything and see you happy?”

Harry stares at him, wide-eyed and disbelieving, but Ron doesn’t stop. His voice rises to a near shriek as he fires another hex toward Harry. “Neither of you ever appreciated me! Neither of you deserve the attention—”

“Enough!” Hermione’s voice cuts through the chaos like a whip. She steps forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with Harry, her curls crackling with wild, arcing sparks of magic. Her wand is steady in her hand, her voice ringing with authority. “You did this to yourself, Ronald.”

Draco appears at her side, moving in seamlessly, his presence solid and unyielding. “You heard her,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. His wand is raised, his sharp gaze locked on Ron as though daring him to try anything. “You’re finished here.”

“The anger, the jealousy? That’s all you,” she continues, casting another shield charm over the three of them as Ron fires off another hex.

Ron’s face contorts further with rage as he casts yet another hex in their direction, but Hermione flicks her wand, her shield charm once again flaring to life with golden brilliance. The hex ricochets harmlessly away.

“You brought all of this on yourself, Ron,” Harry says, his voice calmer now but filled with disappointment. “Not me. Not Hermione. You.”

Ron screams in wordless fury as he fires another curse.

Hermione raises her wand to cast another shield, but Draco is already moving, his wand flicking almost lazily. “Protego!” he snaps, deflecting Ron’s poorly aimed spell. He doesn’t take his eyes off Ron as he mutters to Hermione, “I’m with you, love, whatever you need.”

Ron charges–the tip of his wand glowing with the spell that’s on the tip of his tongue. “Cru–”

Unfortunately for him, Harry has always been faster.

“Expelliarmus,” Harry shouts.

Ron’s wand flies from his hand before Hermione can blink, clattering uselessly to the ground. His eyes widen in shock, but he doesn’t give up—he pivots on his heel and bolts toward the back of the warehouse.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Hermione mutters, her voice dripping with disdain as she lifts her wand.

“Avis!” She flicks her wrist with precision, and a flock of birds explodes from the tip of her wand. These are not like the delicate canaries she once conjured—these creatures shimmer with heat, their feathers smoldering at the tips like miniature phoenixes. Hermione can’t help the wry grin that tugs at her lips as they circle Ron, diving at him with fiery purpose.

“Oppugno!” she commands.

The smoldering birds swarm Ron, pecking and clawing at him as he screams, flailing his arms to swat them away. He stumbles backwards in a desperate attempt to escape their onslaught.

Draco steps forward to stand just behind Hermione, his wand still at the ready as he watches Ron with an expression of icy satisfaction. “You shouldn’t have crossed her, Weasley,” he says coolly.

Hermione lifts her wand again, her voice ringing with conviction. “I’ve had enough of you.”

A golden pulse of magic bursts from her wand like a tidal wave, slamming into Ron with a resounding crack. He flies backward, crashing into the floor with a grunt of pain as ropes burst from the spell, twisting tightly around his limbs until he’s bound completely.

Hermione exhales slowly, her wand lowering as the air around her settles. Her voice is calm and final as she says, “You’re done, Ronald.”

Draco steps up beside her, his gaze sweeping over Ron’s defeated form before shifting to Hermione. His tone softens as he meets her eyes. “Impressive, darling.”

Hermione lifts her chin, her fire still smoldering. “Thank you.”

Draco

The warehouse is quiet in the aftermath of their battle, with their prisoners silenced and awaiting transfer. Candy and Harry work to dismantle the anti-apparition wards on the property so that they can begin moving the men to the holding cells at MACUSA

Draco crosses the room quickly, his wand still in hand as his eyes sweep over Hermione. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she nods, her eyes sympathetic at the worry in his voice. “Help me with these spells and the carrier and we’ll check on Scorpius.”

Draco releases the protection, disillusionment and muffling charms from around Scorpius before gently untying the carrier so he can pick up his son.

“Is he alright?” Hermione asks in a frantic voice. She attempts to look over her shoulder but she can’t quite see.

“He’s fine, love,” Draco soothes, a smile breaking across his face. Scorpius is asleep, perhaps lulled by the warmth of being bundled against Hermione with the white noise of the muffling charm in his ears.

Hermione takes the little boy from Draco’s arms as soon as she turns around, kissing his face as she holds him close. Draco steps to her side, wrapping his arms around both of them.

“I love you,” Draco breathes as he leans down to kiss Hermione.

She smiles before returning his gentle kiss. “I love you, too.”

They both look down as a sleepy giggle startles them. Scorpius looks up at them and yawns, stretching a little in Hermione’s arms.

Before Draco and Hermione can shower Scorpius with any more attention, he’s distracted by Penny and Tony coming out of a side room, levitating Mrs. Weston on a stretcher. She looks tired, pale and upset but otherwise no worse for the wear.

“Mrs. Weston!” Scorpius cries, reaching towards her until Draco and Hermione close the distance between the little boy and his favorite teacher. “Are you ‘kay?”

After a nod from the older woman, Hermione lowers the little boy to the stretcher, where Mrs. Weston grabs him up in a fierce hug. “I am now, Scorpius.”

She looks up at Draco with watery eyes. “I am so, so sorry. I am devastated that this happened!”

Draco crouches down beside the older woman so that he’s no longer towering over her. “It’s not your fault, Mrs. Weston.”

Hermione nods in agreement. “Scorpius and I knew that something wasn’t right from the beginning. We know you had nothing to do with this.”

“I don’t know which one of them was taking it,” Tony interjects. “But we did find empty Polyjuice vials in the backroom.”

“I’ve handed the scene over to Candy,” he continues. “Penny is going to take Mrs. Weston back to MACUSA so she can be transferred to the hospital. I’m going to start prepping for the prisoner transport.”

With that group gone, Hermione hands Scorpius back to Draco. “I’m going to go check on Harry and then we can follow them.”

Draco nods, stepping away to check on Theo.

As Theo and Candy appropriately fuss over Scorpius for the second time that afternoon, Draco watches Harry and Hermione.

Harry draws her into a hug, which she returns fiercely. They chat quietly for a minute, both seem more at peace than he would be if he had been in their situation–a best friend and former boyfriend turned vicious attacker? It’s enough to disturb anyone but, he reminds himself, they’ve seen worse.

An hour later, they’ve all returned to MACUSA. Prisoners have been put in holding cells, wands have been catalogued and put into evidence, the British Aurors have been notified and a crime scene team has been dispatched to the warehouse.

Draco, Hermione and Scorpius are in his office, gathering their things after the final “all clear” from the DMLE’s on-staff healer.

Scorpius is still nestled against Draco’s chest as they pack up but his eyes never leave Hermione. As Draco picks up his bag, Scorpius gives her a small smile.

“Let’s go home, Mama.”

Chapter Text

Hermione

November 13, 2009

New York City

Hermione stifles a groan as sunlight slants across her face. Despite the harrowing day they endured yesterday, sleep had taken hours to come. After being cleared by the DMLE’s Healer, she and Draco had returned home with Scorpius for an unsettled evening.

Neither of them had an appetite, but they cooked and ate for Scorpius’ sake. Her heart aches again at the memory of the terror he’d experienced. His emotions had swung wildly all evening—understandably so. One thing became clear: he needed to keep one hand on either her or Draco at all times, the other always within sight. They had gladly done whatever it took to comfort him.

After helping Draco give Scorpius a bath—a first she’d wished had come under better circumstances—they retreated to their bedroom. The three of them curled up together with Pesto and Crookshanks. Draco had cast a ridiculously strong Colloportus on the door. It wasn’t necessary, but it made them all feel a little safer. It had taken many bedtime stories, back rubs, reassurances that Draco and Hermione weren’t going anywhere, and a couple of drops of Calming Draught for Scorpius to finally drift off.

Even after he fell asleep, they’d lingered—watching him, as though keeping vigil would erase the day’s events. Eventually, they split the remaining Calming Draught—just enough to take the edge off, but not enough to dull their reactions—and tried to rest.

Now, sunlight warms her face, but something else draws her from sleep. Hermione gets the distinct feeling that she’s being watched. Slowly opening her eyes, she sees Scorpius lying quietly, watching her with clear, untroubled eyes and the faintest smile playing at his lips. Draco is asleep behind him, his identical features still troubled even in rest.

“G’morning, Mama,” Scorpius whispers.

Hermione’s breath catches, but she pulls him close, smiling as his little fingers tangle clumsily in her unruly curls. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

For a while, they lay together in the quiet stillness, listening to Crookshanks’ soft snores and the deep, even rhythm of Draco’s breathing. Scorpius eventually shifts, sitting up a little to meet Hermione’s gaze with a serious expression that’s almost comical on his small face.

“What is it, love?” she asks softly.

His smile could light up the room as he leans closer, whispering, “I love you, Mama.”

Hermione’s heart stops, then stutters back to life, thundering in her chest. Emotion clogs her throat, but she manages to clear it enough to reply. “I love you too, Scorpius.”

“And I love you both,” Draco murmurs, his voice rasping with exhaustion and quiet emotion. His silver eyes shine as he pulls them both against his chest, pressing kisses to each of their heads in turn. “More than you’ll ever know.”

Draco

“You know I can’t let you in on the interrogations,” Tony says as he opens the door to a dim observation room. “But I can let you watch through the two-way mirror.”

After breakfast, they’d all gotten ready and headed to MACUSA. Candy and Tony were wrapping up the investigation into Hermione’s previous attacks and yesterday’s incidents. Due to their closeness to the case, Draco and Harry had been officially sidelined.

Draco keeps a steady hand at the small of Hermione’s back as they step into the darkened room. Scorpius, bundled up in the transfigured carrier Hermione had made the day before, rests snugly against her chest—his preferred spot since they’ve left the house. Over the last day, he’s been passed back and forth between the two of them depending on his whims, but for now, it’s clearly Hermione’s turn.

“Okay, Scorp,” Hermione murmurs softly, adjusting the carrier straps. “What do you want to listen to this time?”

The last two days had been filled with conversations no child needed to hear, leaving Scorpius restless from the incessant buzzing of Muffliato charms. He’d quickly taken matters into his own hands, commandeering the iPod Draco had given Hermione for her birthday.

“Somefing sleepy,” Scorpius yawns, his head nestling against Hermione’s chest as his small hands fist into her jumper. They’d learned quickly that “something sleepy” meant Classical music, a genre that never failed to send him straight to sleep.

“You got it.” Hermione sets up the iPod, tucking it into a transfigured pocket on the carrier before brushing a kiss over his forehead.

Draco leans down to press a kiss of his own. “Have a good nap, Scorp,” he whispers, his voice impossibly gentle.

The door to the interrogation room opens, drawing their attention. Candy enters first, escorting Blaise, followed closely by Tony. With Harry and Theo opting out of watching the interrogations, it’s just Draco, Hermione, and Scorpius in the quiet observation room.

Draco steps behind Hermione, wrapping his arms securely around both of them. His chin rests lightly atop her head, her presence grounding in the tense stillness.

“Do you need anything before they start, darling?” Draco asks softly.

Hermione shakes her head, her movement stirring that calming scent Draco has come to associate with her. “No, I’m fine. I just want to get this over with so we can go home.”

Despite the seriousness of the moment, a faint smile tugs at Draco’s lips at her use of the word home. “Me too, love,” he murmurs. “Me too.”

They watch quietly as Candy and Tony interrogate Blaise. Draco notices Hermione’s eyebrows raise more than once, and he knows why. The Candy she’s used to—boisterous and easygoing—has been replaced by the commanding, sharp-edged Auror now at work. Tony, on the other hand, remains as brash and unfiltered as ever.

From Mrs. Weston’s earlier account, they already know the basics: Blaise had kidnapped her Thursday evening on her way home from work, taken her to the warehouse, and used prepared Polyjuice to impersonate her. Once Blaise and Ron realized the offices were closed for the holiday, they’d decided to check back each day for the right opportunity–hoping that Hermione would show up on the weekend when it was less crowded.

In a move that infuriates all of them—and will finally give Tony the leverage he needs to eliminate the outside security—the guards on duty had let a Polyjuiced Blaise inside without so much as a second glance. They had completely ignored the protocols for checking for Polyjuice use or other magical concealments. So accustomed were they to the sweet, familiar Mrs. Weston that it never occurred to them how unusual it was for her to show up on a Saturday.

What surprises Draco is Blaise’s motivation: jealousy. Blaise had been little more than a footnote in Draco’s Hogwarts experience, but apparently, Draco had loomed large in his.

Watching the interrogation, Draco learns that Blaise has harbored resentment for years—jealous of his pedigree, his estate, his grades, athleticism, and close friendships, particularly with Theo. He’d always lingered on the fringes of Draco’s social group, a shadow of ambition turned bitterness.

“I thought he’d finally fall—he deserved it.” Blaise sneers, his voice vibrating with righteous fury. “Instead, he gets house arrest and a fresh start in America, like nothing happened. It’s not fair!”

Candy doesn’t react, his calm demeanor as unshakable as ever. “So, jealousy? That’s it? All this over Draco’s good grades and his job?”

Blaise laughs bitterly. “You don’t understand. He had everything—his father’s fortune, his mother’s influence. And Astoria.”

Candy raises a brow. “Astoria?”

Blaise’s voice takes on a twisted, broken edge. “She should’ve been mine. Not his. She was too good for him. I would’ve given her everything.”

Candy snorts, unimpressed. “She never talked to you, did she?”

Tony groans audibly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You do realize it was an arranged marriage, right?”

“And then she died,” Blaise continues, his voice a twisted lament. “I’m sure that was his fault, too. I needed him to pay. Finding his son was unexpected, but I knew it would hurt him—and that’s less than he deserves.”

“Delusion and resentment,” Draco thinks bitterly. “That’s all he ever had—never a real connection, never a chance. He built this fantasy around me and Astoria, and when it crumbled, he turned it into a vendetta. It’s pathetic.”

Hermione squeezes Draco’s arm, grounding him. “Are you okay?” she murmurs, her voice low.

Draco hums softly, brushing a kiss against the top of her head. “I am. He’s delusional. He and I weren’t even close at school, and I doubt he ever exchanged two words with Astoria.”

They both watch as Tony hauls Blaise to his feet and escorts him out of the room. Moments later, Candy enters the viewing room, shaking his head as he flips through his notes.

“We got everything out of him that we could, Cupcake,” he sighs. “He’s crazier than an outhouse rat.”

“That much is obvious,” Draco mutters dryly. “When are you bringing Weasley up?”

“Later this afternoon,” Candy says, stuffing his notes into a file. “I need to finish up my notes and grab some lunch first.”

He pauses, tapping the folder in his hand. “Oh, and we solved the whole ‘no magical signature on file’ mystery before Zabini started completely losing his mind.”

“I’ve been wondering about that,” Draco says, narrowing his eyes. “He went to Hogwarts—he should have been registered in England.”

“Turns out his mother had his magical signature recorded in Italy because they were livin’ there when he first started showin’ signs of magic,” Candy explains. “When they moved to England, she never bothered to register either of them with the Ministry.”

Hermione lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Thank you, Candy,” she says sincerely, stepping forward to give him a quick hug.

“Just doin’ my job, Blossom,” he replies with a wink.

Scorpius stirs from his nap just in time to say goodbye to his godfather. He stretches sleepily, then reaches for Draco, signaling that he’s ready to switch to his father’s arms. Hermione instinctively tries to hand over the carrier, which has become something of a safe haven for him since yesterday, but Scorpius shakes his head.

“I ‘kay, Mama,” he murmurs, rubbing his eyes with a tiny fist. “Just hungry.”

Draco smiles fondly as he takes his son into his arms. “Perfect timing, Scorp. We’re just about to head down to the cafeteria.”

Scorpius pauses mid-yawn, his voice soft but determined. “After dat… can we go see Mrs. Weston? I want to see her.”

“Of course, love,” Hermione assures him gently, reaching up to smooth a hand over his tousled hair.

Hermione

As they leave the observation room, a chill runs down Hermione’s spine as she thinks about the day before. “If I’d moved faster… if I hadn’t frozen when I saw Mrs. Weston…”

Draco’s voice cuts through her thoughts, low and steady. “You kept him safe, darling. That’s what matters.”

She turns to him, her expression softening. “I know. Thank you.”

After a quick lunch, Draco, Hermione, and Scorpius apparated to the local magical hospital to check on Mrs. Weston. Hermione watches with a bemused smile as Scorpius directs Draco through the small hospital gift shop. Bits of his usual spark are slowly emerging, though he still prefers to be held by one of them as much as possible.

So far, he’s selected two stuffed animals, a handful of “Get Well Soon” balloons, and is now deeply engrossed in deciding between three different bouquets. After careful deliberation, he finally points to a large, colorful vase of daisies.

“Good choice,” Hermione murmurs, balancing Scorpius on her hip when Draco hands him over so that he can carry the gifts for Mrs. Weston.

A mediwitch checks to make sure Mrs. Weston is awake before ushering them into the room with a quick reminder about visiting hours. Scorpius startles when someone drops a tray, the loud clatter ringing through the hallway. Hermione feels him tense against her. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” she whispers softly, stroking his back. “It’s just noise, that’s all.”

Scorpius nods into her shoulder, but his small fingers grip her shoulder tightly for reassurance.

Mrs. Weston is sitting up in bed, a crossword puzzle in her lap, but she looks up with a startled gasp as they walk in. Her hands start to reach for Scorpius, then falter as uncertainty flickers across her face.

“Hello, Scorpius,” she says softly, her voice warm but hesitant. “How are you?”

Scorpius wiggles free from Hermione’s arms and hurries to her side. “I ‘kay.”

Seeing he isn’t scared of her, she pulls him into a tight hug, her voice thick with emotion. “I am so, so sorry, Scorpius.”

“It’s not you fault, Mrs. Weston,” he says seriously, his tiny face earnest. “I knew it wasn’t you ‘cause dey didn’t have a necklace!”

“Oh, you smart little boy,” Mrs. Weston laughs gently, dabbing at her eyes.

Draco and Hermione exchange a look, clearly relieved. They’d done their best to explain the situation to Scorpius in simple terms, including the concept of Polyjuice, and it seems he’s grasped the idea well enough.

“Are you ‘kay?” Scorpius asks, glancing around her room, his attention briefly snagged by the shimmering monitoring charms hovering above her bed.

Per the update they had received earlier, the older woman is being kept for forty-eight hours after the incident for observation to resolve her dehydration, exhaustion and high blood pressure from her ordeal.

“I am, sweetheart,” Mrs. Weston assures him with a small smile. “The Healers just want to make sure I’m feeling my very best before I go home.”

“‘Cause you old?” Scorpius asks innocently, tilting his head in curiosity.

Hermione bursts into laughter while Mrs. Weston chuckles softly. Draco, however, hisses, “Scorpius!” his face flushing bright red.

The teacher waves off Draco’s concern with a good-natured smile. “It’s all right, Auror Malfoy,” she says before turning back to Scorpius. “Something like that, Scorp.”

Draco

The timing of their visit works out perfectly. Just as Mrs. Weston begins to look tired, Candy texts Draco to let him know Ron’s interrogation is set to begin within the next half hour.

Back in the viewing room, Scorpius grows restless. Since the previous day’s events, he’s been prone to napping—a reaction Draco’s Mind Healer had told him was normal after trauma. They’d already had one emergency session and were scheduled to check in again in a couple of days.

“Mama,” Scorpius whines softly, reaching for Hermione.

She takes him without hesitation, murmuring soothing reassurances as he wraps his small arms and legs tightly around her. Draco rubs his son’s back, his heart constricting at the anxious look on Scorpius’ face. He knows his own anxiety, sharp and persistent, has been difficult to manage. But Scorpius? Draco worries about how long it will take his son to process everything that happened. All they can do is be there for him.

Scorpius mumbles something about stories, prompting Hermione to pull out her iPod. He settles on an audiobook of fairy tales, tucking his head against her chest as they adjust him into the carrier. He’s getting tall enough now that holding him for long periods can be challenging for her, so the transfigured wrap has been a welcome solution.

Once Scorpius is settled, the door to the interrogation room opens. Candy escorts Ron inside, Tony following closely behind. Ron’s face twists with anger and resentment, his scowl deepening when Candy attaches the magical restraints to the table.

Candy proceeds with his pre-interrogation routine, unfazed by Ron’s biting remarks. He verifies the prisoner’s information, recites his rights, and reads out the list of charges—all while Ron sneers and fidgets in his chair.

As Candy finishes, Ron lets out a mirthless laugh. “I find it funny you’re all so worried about me when you’ve got a Death Eater working right here.”

His gaze flicks toward the two-way mirror, his eyes narrowing as though he can see straight through it. Draco tenses behind Hermione, the muscles in his jaw working as he stares back at Ron’s smug expression.

Tony opens his mouth as if to respond but snaps it shut, thinking better of it. Candy glances at him, a question in his raised brow, before turning back to Ron.

“So, we know what you did. What we don’t know is why,” Candy asks, his tone steady but probing. “Why send Hermione the threatenin’ letters—especially when you were still together?”

“Because she needed to be reminded of her place!” Ron bellows, his face twisting with anger. “She’s thought she’s better than everyone else since the moment she got her Hogwarts letter!”

Draco’s spine stiffens at the outburst, his teeth grinding audibly. A quick glance at Hermione reveals her impassive expression, though he notices her fingers tracing soothing circles on Scorpius’ back—a subtle anchor for them both.

Candy maintains a controlled demeanor, carefully modulating his tone to keep Ron talking. “Why escalate things after she moved here? She wasn’t even in the same country. Why go to the trouble?”

“I used to want her back,” Ron sneers venomously, “even if she needed to get down off her high horse. But not now that she’s a Death Eater’s whore.”

Draco sees red as Hermione’s sharp gasp cuts through the room like a knife when Weasley hurls his insult. His magic pulses sharply, freezing the air, and he takes a step toward the door before Hermione catches hold of his arm.

“Don’t,” she says softly, her voice steady but firm. “He’s not worth it, Draco. He’s not worth your career, your reputation—any of it.”

Draco doesn’t take his eyes off the glass. “He’s not worth it,” he agrees coldly. “But you are.”

Hermione tugs gently on his arm, pulling his focus back to her. Stretching up on her tiptoes, she presses a soft kiss to his lips. “I’d rather not give him the satisfaction of seeing us break.”

With a flick of her wand, she casts a silencing charm. “I’ve heard enough. He doesn’t deserve another moment of my time.”

Draco watches her with pride, his magic finally settling as her strength grounds him. “Anything we need to know, Candy can tell us later,” he says quietly, threading his fingers through hers as they turn away from the glass.

Hermione

Hermione follows Draco and Scorpius out of the Floo and down the hall. Though the immediate threat has passed, none of them feel ready to release the Fidelius Charm or relax the Floo restrictions just yet. Safety, even excessive measures, feels necessary right now.

When they enter the kitchen, Harry and Theo are already there, bustling about and preparing dinner.

“We figured you’d be back soon,” Theo says breezily, flicking his wand to charm a knife into chopping vegetables. “So, we thought we’d get dinner sorted—it won’t be too much longer.”

“Thanks, Theo,” Draco replies, his voice tinged with exhaustion. Hermione doesn’t miss the familiar rasp creeping into his tone—always a sign that he’s nearing his limit.

“How’d it go?” Harry asks softly, pulling Hermione into a brief but steady hug.

Hermione shoots him a pointed look before glancing at Scorpius, still curled contentedly in Draco’s arms. “We’ll talk later.”

“Dinner is served!” Theo announces theatrically. With a dramatic wave of his wand, the plates glide effortlessly onto the table, settling in front of each chair.

Hermione’s shoulders relax a fraction when she sees Scorpius finally begin to unwind. He even ventures off Draco’s lap, settling next to Harry, who engages him in quiet conversation.

“You know, ScorpScorp,” Theo begins with mock solemnity, “Uncle Harry here has never seen Finding Nemo. Can you believe it?”

Scorpius freezes mid-bite, turning wide, incredulous eyes toward Harry before looking back at Theo. “We should show him, Auntie Feo!”

“That is a brilliant idea,” Theo declares, as though the little boy has just solved the greatest mystery of the age. “Here’s the plan: you and I are going to get you changed into your pyjamas, then we’ll set up the movie, pop some popcorn, and have it all ready by the time these three are done talking about boring adult stuff.”

Scorpius hesitates, his small face clouded with apprehension as he looks to Hermione and Draco.

Seeing his uncertainty, Hermione smiles warmly, and Draco ruffles his hair with a reassuring nod. “You’re safe with Auntie Theo, Scorp,” Draco promises gently. “And we’ll just be in my office.”

Finally reassured, Scorpius nods and slips out of his chair. “’Kay.”

Harry, Hermione, and Draco each take a turn hugging and reassuring him again before he heads off with Theo, who guides him upstairs with exaggerated chatter about pyjamas and popcorn.

The plates begin cleaning themselves with a flick of Harry’s wand, and the remaining trio quietly makes their way to Draco’s office. The tension settles over them the moment the door clicks shut behind them—there’s much to discuss, and they need to ensure Scorpius doesn’t overhear.

Draco and Hermione all but collapse onto the sofa, thoroughly drained by the events of the last two days. Harry pulls one of the chairs from in front of the desk, casting a silencing charm on the door with a flick of his wand before sinking into it.

“So, what did you find out during the interrogations?” he asks carefully, his tone edged with concern.

“Long story short with Zabini,” Draco says wearily, rubbing a hand over his face. “He’s fueled entirely by jealousy and delusion. He and Weasley crossed paths at the Leaky Cauldron—frequent flyers, it seems. Once Weasley figured out what made Zabini tick, he manipulated him into helping with his plan.”

Harry exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Ron always did know how to play people when he wanted to. What about his interrogation? What did you learn?”

“We didn’t stick around for much of it,” Hermione admits, tucking her legs beneath her. “He started ranting the second he sat down, called Draco a Death Eater, and then called me a Death Eater’s whore.” Her voice wavers slightly at the memory, but her expression remains composed. “At that point, I’d had enough. We went back to Draco’s office and waited for Candy’s update.”

Harry freezes mid-motion, disbelief clouding his features. “What on earth has happened to Ron?”

“Oh, we’re not even to the good part yet, Potter,” Draco drawls, sarcasm barely masking his simmering anger.

Hermione sighs, picking up the thread. “For starters, he admitted he was the one sending me the threatening letters every time I was promoted. According to him, he thought I needed to be ‘reminded of my place.’”

Harry’s face darkens, his fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t understand. If he felt that way, why go through all of this? Why not just… break up with you?”

Draco answers before Hermione can, his voice clipped. “Because he wanted power over her in some form—control, even if it was indirect. The letters gave him that. It was about maintaining dominance, not ending the relationship.”

Hermione nods in agreement, her gaze flicking toward Harry. “I think staying with me as long as he did had less to do with love and more to do with possession. He didn’t want me, but he didn’t want anyone else to have me either. He would’ve strung things along until I broke it off—but then the situation with Lavender forced his hand.”

A tense silence settles over the room as Harry processes her words. Finally, he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “Merlin, Hermione… I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t need to be, Harry,” she says firmly, though a softness creeps into her tone. “This isn’t on you.”

It takes the better part of an hour, but they tell Harry everything they’ve pieced together.

Shortly after Hermione broke up with Ron, he had tired of Lavender—abandoning her and their unborn child. He spent most of his time at the Leaky Cauldron, where he eventually connected with Blaise. Both men were drowning in resentment and jealousy over lives that had moved on without them.

“Ron came up with the idea to attack us when we were out shopping,” Hermione explains, her voice calm but edged with lingering frustration. “He sent Blaise to do his dirty work.”

“And Blaise was the one who caused the explosion at Hermione’s apartment too,” Draco adds, his tone hardening. “All at Weasley’s urging.”

Harry shakes his head in disbelief. “Why? What was the point of all that?”

“Apparently, Ron’s goal was to scare me into coming back to England,” Hermione explains with a humorless laugh. “In his mind, that would give him the chance to win me back.”

Harry removes his glasses, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Merlin’s sake. But what about Blaise? I still don’t get why he got involved. If anyone in England knew you two were together, we would’ve heard about it by now.”

“Weasley promised him they’d go after me next,” Draco says dryly, a sardonic twist to his mouth.

Harry groans. “Why escalate to kidnapping?”

“Money,” Draco answers succinctly. “And Weasley’s ego. He needed to play the hero.”

At Harry’s confused look, Hermione places a hand on his arm, her voice softer now. “Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes is bankrupt, Harry.”

“What?” Harry stares at her, stunned. “How the hell did that happen?”

“George focused solely on research and development, leaving Ron in charge of everything else,” Hermione explains, leaning back against the couch. She pulls her hair up into a messy bun, securing it with her wand. “Ron expanded too much, too quickly—too many locations, too many products. They’re hemorrhaging gold.”

Draco picks up where she leaves off. “He moved here, ostensibly to scout for a new location, but really to get away from Lavender. He couldn’t find anything he could afford, which is why all that product was sitting unused in the warehouse.”

“So… he kidnapped Hermione for ransom?” Harry’s voice is incredulous, tinged with sadness.

Draco nods, his expression grim. “He was planning to demand enough money to keep the business afloat a little longer. At the same time, he thought being the one to ‘rescue’ Hermione would change her mind about him.”

“And if she still didn’t take him back, at least he’d get the glory of saving the Golden Girl,” Harry mutters bitterly.

“Ron’s always been tempted by glory,” Hermione agrees, her voice laced with resignation.

Harry’s shoulders sag as he processes the information. “What about Pucey, Goyle, and the others? Why were they involved?”

“Pucey and Goyle were promised a cut of the ransom,” Draco replies, a note of derision in his tone. “As for the rest of them? They’re employees at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Ron promised them raises once the business was back in the black.”

Harry shakes his head slowly, disbelief written across his face. “You’d think nothing could surprise me anymore, but here we are.”

After checking on Scorpius and Theo, Harry joins them for the movie while Draco and Hermione retreat upstairs. Scorpius had assured them he was fine and wanted to spend time with his uncles.

When they enter their bedroom—the thought still sends a small thrill through Hermione—they pause, savoring the quiet and the brief, precious time alone.

“Come on,” Draco murmurs, tugging her hand gently. “Let’s take a shower.”

Hermione smiles softly. “That sounds heavenly.”

Since returning home the day before, so much of their focus has been on Scorpius—something she doesn’t begrudge at all—that their own needs had fallen by the wayside. Quick Scourgify spells had sufficed for the moment, with Scorpius too anxious to let them out of his sight long enough for anything more.

She follows Draco into the bathroom, where the glass shower stall is already steaming up. He’s already shed his clothes, and as Hermione looks at him now, there’s a renewed appreciation—his strength, his capability, his unwavering love. Seeing him hold Scorpius, shield her, and fight to bring them back has deepened her understanding of just how much he carries and how strong he is.

Words aren’t needed as she steps into his open arms, Draco brushing soft kisses along her hairline, her forehead, her cheeks. With tender care, he undresses her, his hands reverent and steady, as if taking care of her is a balm for his own frayed nerves. Once she’s bare, he leads her into the shower, enveloping her in his embrace as steam swirls around them.

They remain quiet, the warm water cascading over them as they take turns washing each other’s hair and body. Subtly, they trace each other’s skin, searching for injuries left unseen, their breaths slowing with relief when they find none.

“Stay with me,” Hermione whispers as they rinse away the last of the suds. Her voice trembles slightly, her fingertips tracing faint, delicate patterns across his back.

Draco closes his eyes, leaning into her touch as if savoring it. “Always,” he breathes, pulling her close. His hands slide down her arms, guiding her to wrap them around his waist. The physical contact is grounding, anchoring them to this moment—far away from the chaos that nearly consumed their family over the last thirty-six hours.

They’ve been through hell and back, the trauma still raw and unprocessed, leaving them vulnerable in ways they aren’t ready to speak aloud. But here, in the sanctuary of the shower, they let themselves simply be—a quiet refuge in the arms of the only person who truly understands.

Draco brushes a kiss along her forehead as steam rises around them, creating a cocoon of safety. The water cascades over her, rinsing away the shadows of the past two days.

Hermione leans into Draco’s touch, letting the warmth seep into her bones. “It feels like we’re washing it all away,” she murmurs softly.

Draco nods, brushing her wet curls back from her face. “We are, love. All of it. Gone.”

For a long moment, they stay pressed together, their breaths slow and steady as the water washes over them—like a renewal, a fresh start.

__________________________________________________________________________

Hermione tilts her head up, her lips seeking his. The kiss is soft, almost reverent, as if afraid to shatter the fragile peace they've found under the warm spray. But as their breaths mingle and their bodies press closer, the kiss deepens, becoming more fervent, more desperate. She moans softly into his mouth, her need for him evident in every movement.

Draco’s hand slides down to cup her arse, squeezing gently as he guides her against the tiled wall. She gasps at the sudden pressure, but it only heightens her arousal. He lifts her and her legs instinctively wrap around his hips, drawing him deeper into her embrace.

"You feel so good," Draco murmurs against her neck, his lips grazing over sensitive skin. Hermione nuzzles his collarbone, inhaling his scent deeply. It’s a mixture of soap and her Amortentia, and it sends a shiver down her spine.

Hermione arches into him, her hands roaming over his shoulders, down his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. "I need you," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "I need this... us."

He pulls back slightly, meeting her gaze with eyes full of understanding and unwavering love. "I”ve got you," he reassures her, his thumbs brushing away the stray droplets of water clinging to her cheeks.

Her eyes soften, filled with gratitude and relief. She nods, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before closing her eyes and surrendering to the sensations he evokes. His touch is slow, deliberate, each caress meant to reassure and comfort. He traces the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breast, making sure to leave no part of her untouched.

"Thank you," she mumbles, burying her face in his shoulder. "For being here."

He smiles faintly, his hand stroking her hair tenderly. "Where else would I be?"

She lifts her head, her eyes searching his. "Promise me we'll always find our way back to each other, like we did yesterday."

He meets her gaze, his expression serious. "I promise."

With that vow hanging in the air between them, he lowers his head once more, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. This time, there is no desperation, no urgency—just pure desire. His tongue delves into her mouth, exploring every inch with a possessive fervor that makes her toes curl.

Breaking the kiss, he pulls away just enough to murmur against her lips, "Let me show you how much I love you."

She smiles softly, her eyes fluttering shut as she leans into his touch. The water cascades over them, warm and soothing, washing away the remnants of their shared trauma. The steam rises around them, creating a shroud of intimacy that feels both safe and invigorating.

Draco's hands move slowly down her back, tracing the curve of her spine with gentle fingers. His touch is deliberate, each caress a promise of his unwavering devotion. She shivers slightly, not from cold but from the deep sense of connection he evokes with every movement.

"You feel so good," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "So real."

He nods, understanding the weight of her words. They have been through so much this weekend, and in this moment, they are laid bare—both physically and emotionally. The bond between them is palpable, a lifeline they hold onto with all their strength.

Draco's lips find the sensitive spot just below her ear, nibbling gently before whispering, "You're never alone, you know that, right?"

Her breath hitches at his words, the vulnerability in his tone resonating deeply within her. She turns her head slightly, capturing his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. It's a kiss filled with all the emotions they can't quite articulate, a silent affirmation of their love.

As the kiss deepens, Draco's hands slide down to cup her arse again, pulling her closer against his body. The sensation of their wet, slick skin pressing together sends a jolt of electricity through her. She can feel his hardness against her belly, a reminder of the need that lies beneath his calm exterior.

Breaking the kiss, she gazes up at him, her honey-brown eyes shimmering with desire. "Touch me," she whispers, her voice trembling with anticipation. "Please."

Draco's eyes darken with intent, his hand moving deftly between them to stroke her core. His fingers find her entrance, slipping inside with ease. She gasps, arching her back as pleasure floods her senses. His touch is masterful, each stroke calculated to send ripples of ecstasy coursing through her.

"You're so wet," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "So ready for me."

She nods, unable to form words as he continues to tease her, his fingers circling her clit with slow, deliberate strokes. The water beats down on them, mingling with their moans of pleasure. She feels weightless, floating in a sea of sensation, anchored only by his relentless touch.

"Beautiful," he whispers, his thumb brushing away a droplet of water that has mingled with her tears. "Absolutely beautiful."

"I love you," she whispers, her voice thin and fragile.

"I love you too," he replies, his tone resolute. "More than anything."

He still holds her up, secure in his arms, the world outside their steamy sanctuary fading into insignificance. In this moment, there is only them—two souls seeking comfort and connection in the most primal of ways.

Draco shifts slightly, his hand sliding down to guide himself to her entrance. She smiles softly, feeling utterly relaxed as he positions himself at her opening.

"Let me take care of you," he murmurs, his forehead resting against hers.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he pushes inside, inch by agonizing inch. She gasps, the sensation is overwhelming–a delicious pleasure that leaves her breathless.

"Draco," she groans, her voice strangled with emotion.

"Shh," he soothes, his lips brushing against her cheek. "I know, darling."

He pauses, giving her time to adjust, his hands roaming over her back and hips in a rhythmic pattern that helps ground her. "Okay?" he asks, his voice strained with restraint.

She nods, her eyes closing as she savors the fullness of him inside her. "Yes," she breathes, her voice steadier now. "Don't stop."

With a low growl, Draco begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate. Each stroke is a testament to his patience, his ability to hold back despite the urgency thrumming through his veins. He sets a steady pace, his strokes deep and purposeful, drawing out the pleasure with meticulous care.

She meets his rhythm, her hips tilting to meet each thrust. The sound of water splashing against the tile and their mingled breaths fill the small space, creating a symphony. Her hands roam over his chest, feeling the tension in his muscles, the evidence of his effort to keep control.

"Faster," she whimpers, her voice breaking with need. "Please, Draco, faster."

He obliges, increasing the tempo of his thrusts ever so slightly. The change in pace sends a fresh wave of sensation through her, making her gasp and clutch at him tighter. His hands grip her hips, guiding her movements, ensuring that every thrust hits her sweet spot with precision.

"Gods, you feel so good," he murmurs, his voice rough with exertion.

Her response is a strangled moan, her body bucking against his as another wave of pleasure builds. Draco's eyes lock onto hers, his expression one of pure concentration. He's focused entirely on her pleasure in a way that leaves her breathless.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he urges, his voice a husky command. "Let go."

With a final, desperate cry, she does just that. Her body arches off the wall as she finds release. The intensity of it leaves her trembling, her vision blurring with tears of joy and relief.

Draco follows her over the edge, his own orgasm slamming into him with the force of a freight train. He buries his face in her neck, biting down gently as he spills inside her. The sensation is overwhelming, a flood of endorphins and love that leaves her weak-kneed.

For a long moment, they remain joined, their bodies trembling with aftershocks of pleasure. The water continues to pour over them, leaving them clean and renewed.

Finally, Draco moves away, his hands immediately going to her hips to support her. She sags against him, her legs barely holding her up. He wraps an arm around her waist and picks her up again effortlessly, his other arm behind her knees–holding her close as he leads them both out of the shower.

"Let's get you dried off," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

Once she’s dry, Draco wraps her in one of his oversized shirts, the soft fabric warm against her skin. He leads her to bed, pulling her close as they settle under the covers. The house is quiet—safe, she thinks, a word that feels fragile yet precious.

Curled against his chest, she exhales slowly, as though letting go of everything still clinging to her shoulders. “Do you think it’s really over?” she whispers.

Draco’s arm tightens around her, his lips pressing a kiss to her temple. “I do,” he replies softly. “But we’ll be ready for whatever comes next.”

His honesty steadies her, grounding her in the warmth of him and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear. She nods, reaching for his hand, lacing their fingers together. The silence that follows isn’t empty or tense—it’s healing, a space where their breathing syncs and their hearts align.

“We’ll be okay, won’t we?” she murmurs, her voice quiet but certain. “All of us?”

Draco doesn’t answer immediately. She feels him shift slightly, his gaze flicking toward the door as though he can see Scorpius on the other side, tucked safely between Harry and Theo as he watches his favorite movie. When he looks back at her, there’s something soft and steady in his eyes that makes her breath catch.

“We already are,” he whispers, his lips curving into a faint smile.

Hermione lets the words settle deep, wrapping around her like another layer of comfort. They’ve faced hell, and they’ll face more in their lives, she’s sure. But they are together, safe, and whole.

And that is enough.

Chapter Text

Draco

November 26, 2009

New York City

Draco smiles as Scorpius’ giggles echo up the hall. It’s been just over two weeks since the kidnapping, and things have largely settled back into their normal rhythm. Scorpius had even moved back into his own bedroom last night—entirely of his own accord. Naturally, Draco and Hermione had been far less ready for the transition, spending most of the night camped out on the floor outside his door.

“Thank Merlin for cushioning charms,” Draco thinks as he folds the last shirt and tucks it neatly into his suitcase. He nearly jumps when Penny apparates into the room with a sharp pop.

“Master Draco is needing to hurry!” the house-elf exclaims urgently. “It is being time for you to leave soon!”

Draco laughs softly. “Everything’s ready, Penny. I’ll go hurry Hermione and Scorpius along.”

In just a few hours, they would be on their way to Los Angeles for the Quidditch World Cup. England versus France, to be held at the Los Angeles Ashwinders’ stadium. Hermione is attending in her capacity as Ministry Ambassador, and Draco and Scorpius are tagging along—along with the rest of their group. It's their first real trip together as a family, and they are all looking forward to it.

The timing couldn’t be better. Draco has been on leave, Scorpius home from preschool, and Hermione working remotely ever since the incident. This trip will be the perfect way to ease them all back into their routine before life resumes its usual pace next week.

As Draco passes through Scorpius’ room toward the bathroom, the sound of giggles grows louder. He stops in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame to take in the scene.

Hermione is attempting to wrangle the top half of her curls into space buns, her brow furrowed in concentration. Scorpius, already perched on the bathroom counter with his hair styled into perfect buns, laughs uncontrollably as one of Hermione’s knots springs loose like a coiled spring.

“I hate to cut this short, but we have to leave soon,” Draco drawls, smirking at the chaos.

“Almost… ready…” Hermione pants, her fingers working furiously. Finally, she steps back, triumphant. “There!”

“You can still join da Space Bun Club, Daddy,” Scorpius says with a cheeky grin.

Draco sweeps his son off the bathroom counter and into his arms, peppering kisses all over his giggling face before holding him up to meet his eyes. “I would willingly eat every horrible flavor of Bertie Bott’s Beans before I join the Space Bun Club,” he says with grave seriousness.

Scorpius’ eyes widen, fully aware of his father’s disdain for the sweets—even the better flavors. “Even da earwax one?!”

“Even the earwax one,” Draco confirms solemnly, setting his son back on the counter.

“Your loss, Malfoy,” Hermione quips, a smirk on her lips as she presses up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “At least you’re wearing the matching shirt.”

Hermione had managed to procure matching Team England shirts for all three of them—a bright blue with white piping and bold red lettering. It wasn’t Draco’s usual style by any stretch, but seeing the joy on Hermione and Scorpius’ faces made it worth the deviation from his usual wardrobe.

“I’m going to check that Theo and Harry are on schedule,” Draco says as he turns to leave, shooting Hermione a pointed look. “We’re leaving for the airport in thirty minutes!”

Their upcoming trip had been a much-needed bright spot over the last two weeks. The only hiccup had come when Scorpius overheard the word Portkey and burst into tears, clinging to the closest adult–Harry, in this case–like a lifeline. The memory of the Portkey that had nearly torn him away from Hermione was still too fresh in his little mind for him to tolerate that particular method of travel.

Everyone had sprung into action immediately, soothing Scorpius’ fears and coming up with an alternative plan. They’d gathered their Muggle identification—a necessity in the United States, where the magical and non-magical worlds existed in such close proximity—and booked flights to Los Angeles. Even Tony and Candy would be flying with them, while Penny would travel magically to meet them there. The solution had worked perfectly, and now Scorpius was buzzing with excitement at the prospect of being the first of his nursery friends to fly on an airplane.

As Draco heads downstairs, he smiles, the sound of Scorpius’ giggles still echoing in his ears. Anything for Scorpius.

A couple of hours later, Draco watches with a small smile as Scorpius chatters excitedly to Tony and Candy about their upcoming flight. For much of the last two weeks, his son has been understandably subdued, so seeing him back to his animated self—his face alight with joy and hands waving wildly as he talks—makes Draco’s heart skip a beat.

Across the departure lounge, movement catches Draco’s eye. Harry is pacing nervously near the windows, his brow furrowed and his face set in a worried expression. Hermione notices it too, her gaze following Harry before she meets Draco’s eyes with a knowing look.

“I’ll be right back,” she announces breezily, rising from her seat and grabbing her bag. “Just popping over to the restroom before takeoff.”

“Me too!” Harry blurts out, a little too loudly. His nerves are plain as day, though no one but Hermione and Draco seems to notice. Thankfully, Theo is still dozing in his chair, sleep mask firmly in place, or he’d be fussing over Harry like a mother hen.

When Hermione and Harry return a few minutes later, Draco catches her eye and connects with her via Legilimency. “Do you think he can keep it together?”

Hermione smirks before flicking a glance at Harry, who’s now fidgeting with his boarding pass. “Maybe… it’s only another day or so.”

Draco snorts softly, careful not to draw attention. Harry’s nerves are understandable; one of the first things Hermione had done after Blaise, Ron, and their crew were arrested was go ring shopping with Harry. Draco helped by keeping Theo distracted the day they’d combed through several jewelry stores, an act of subterfuge he hadn’t minded one bit.

Still, Draco thinks with amusement as he watches Harry wipe his clammy hands on his jeans, all our efforts will be wasted if Harry can’t pull himself together long enough to propose.

As Draco watches Harry, something unexpected tugs at him. Permanence. Family, love, Hermione being here like this—always. The thought has crossed his mind more than once over the past two weeks, but seeing Harry agonize over a simple question makes Draco wonder how he’ll ever find the words when the time comes.

He smirks as Harry fumbles with his boarding pass yet again, but beneath the humor, something shifts. The scene triggers an unshakable memory—his parents, elegant and cold, always more concerned with appearances than affection. He’d grown up believing that love was a vulnerability, a liability to be avoided.

Yet here he stands now, with a Muggle airplane ticket tucked into his bag, wearing a bright blue matching shirt for a Quidditch game he wouldn’t have spared a glance at years ago.

Love isn’t weakness, he realizes, the thought settling in his chest like a quiet truth. His gaze softens as Hermione catches his eye, her smile warm and easy, and the weight of that truth becomes undeniable.

Love is everything.

Hermione

Hours later, the excitement of travel has finally given way to quiet. Scorpius is tucked into bed—his small face pressed against Pesto, completely exhausted—and the rest of their group has retreated to their rooms to “rest up for the big game,” as Theo dramatically declared.

Hermione steps out of their bedroom to find Draco standing by the window across the suite, hands tucked into his pockets as he gazes out over the glittering sprawl of Los Angeles. He looks calm, but there’s something different—something more reflective—in the set of his shoulders that makes her pause.

“Ready for tomorrow?” she asks lightly.

Draco turns, his lips curving into that familiar half-smile she loves so much. “Tomorrow can wait. Dinner first.”

Hermione hums thoughtfully, turning her back to him and pulling her curls over one shoulder, leaving the open zipper of her dress conspicuously on display.

Draco chuckles under his breath, taking the hint as he steps forward. He tugs the zipper into place with gentle hands, brushing a soft kiss against the back of her neck as he finishes.

“You know,” he murmurs in a teasing tone, “you could’ve used magic for that.”

“I could have,” Hermione replies with a playful wink over her shoulder. “But I didn’t.”

Draco turns her to face him, sliding his hands around her waist and pulling her close to his chest. “It only took five months, but we’re finally going to dinner,” he says, his voice low and warm.

“Took you long enough, Malfoy,” Hermione scoffs, though the sparkle in her eyes belies her words.

Draco clicks his tongue in mock offense, his hands sliding slowly down her hips as he leans in. “You cheeky little—”

The rest of his sentence is abruptly cut off as Penny appears with a loud pop.

The house-elf plants her hands on her hips, one eyebrow raised, and surveys the scene with all the disapproval of a parent catching a couple of teenagers up to no good.

Draco gives Penny a cheeky grin and nods toward the closed door of the other bedroom in the suite. “Scorp’s already asleep, so at least you’ll get to relax, Penny.”

The tiny elf settles herself on the couch, turning on the TV and conjuring a bowl of popcorn with a snap of her fingers. “Penny plans on it, Master Draco.”

Hand in hand, Draco and Hermione make their way to the hotel’s apparition point, reappearing moments later across town.

The restaurant Draco chose is tucked into a quiet corner of West Hollywood—warm, intimate, and far removed from the chaos surrounding the stadium.

“I should’ve known when I said I wanted sushi that you’d pick Nobu,” Hermione teases as they step inside.

“It could’ve been worse,” Draco says with a nonchalant shrug. “I thought about getting a Portkey to Tokyo for the evening.”

Hermione giggles, rolling her eyes fondly. “Oh, my pretentious little prat.”

Draco smirks, tapping the end of her nose gently. “And don’t you forget it.”

As they settle at their table, Hermione finds herself cataloging the small, tender details: the way Draco’s thumb brushes absently over her knuckles, the soft focus in his gaze whenever he looks at her. It feels different tonight—something quiet but certain in the air between them.

They talk and laugh through dinner, the conversation as effortless as it’s always been. Hermione is amazed again at how natural this relationship feels—how they’ve managed to navigate merging their lives and friends, her growing role in Scorpius’ world, and even the turmoil of the kidnapping. Through it all, they’ve remained united.

After dinner, they play tourist for a while—exploring West Hollywood, pausing to admire street art, and stopping for ice cream. Eventually, though, the exhaustion of travel and the time difference catches up to Hermione, and she lets out a wide yawn, quickly covering her mouth with her hand.

Draco checks his watch, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “No wonder we’re tired—it’s almost midnight. That’s 3 A.M. New York time.”

Hermione hums sleepily, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm as he leads her toward the nearest public apparition point.

They find the small, hidden alcove in a nearby park, quiet and shielded from view. Draco pulls her close, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips before they disapparate with a soft pop.

Hermione’s stomach flips as they land, the sensation leaving her a little breathless. “Travelling through space mid-kiss,” she murmurs against his lips, smiling, “that’s a first.”

Draco chuckles, tucking a curl behind her ear. “I’m full of surprises, princess.”

Draco

November 27, 2009

Los Angeles

Morning light filters softly through the gauzy curtains, casting a golden glow across the room. Draco lies awake, stretched out on the bed, his head propped lazily on one hand as he watches Hermione sleep beside him. He’d been up well before dawn—courtesy of a child still on East Coast time—but had crawled back into bed a while ago to savor these rare, quiet moments.

Hermione shifts, instinctively moving closer to him, her face brushing against his arm. “You’re staring,” she murmurs, her voice husky with sleep.

“You caught me,” Draco replies with a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to her warm cheek.

She cracks one eye open, a lazy smile curling her lips as she glances at the clock. “10:30? How did we sleep this late?”

“Well, some of us woke up hours ago,” Draco deadpans, a teasing lilt to his tone. He pulls her closer, tucking her against his chest and pressing another soft kiss to the top of her head. “Scorp is with Tony and Candy. They’ll meet us for lunch.”

When Tony excitedly offered to take Scorpius on tours of the Dodgers and Angels stadiums while they were in Los Angeles, Draco had readily agreed. After all, he wasn't the one to introduce Scorpius to baseball—that was entirely Tony’s doing. Still, Draco had no complaints. Watching his son’s enthusiasm for the sport always made him smile. Candy, of course, had happily accompanied them, eager for any excuse to be part of the fun.

They spent the rest of the morning soaking up their time alone—lingering in a shared shower, enjoying brunch, and leisurely getting ready for the day. Their entire group was meeting for lunch before heading to the beach, though Penny and Tony opted out of that particular excursion. The house-elf was eager to explore L.A.’s Wizarding district, and Tony claimed he needed a nap.

Scorpius chatters excitedly at lunch, telling anyone who will listen all about his morning adventures. Theo holds a one-man debate about which beach umbrella would go best with his neon Hawaiian shirt and matching shorts.

After some good-natured teasing and firm instructions from Hermione regarding combining Muggle sunscreen with sun protection charms (“I can’t have my English roses turning into English lobsters!”), the group finally makes their way to the closest beach, where the sand stretches endlessly beneath a bright blue sky.

The salty breeze sweeps through Draco’s hair as he watches Scorpius sprint toward the water, a small bucket in one hand and Candy in hot pursuit. Harry is already setting up a pair of towels with military precision, while Theo produces a truly absurd oversized sun hat from his bag, plopping it atop his head with a dramatic flourish.

“Are we all pretending he’s normal today?” Draco asks dryly, nudging Hermione as they spread out their own towels.

Hermione laughs, threading her fingers through his. “It’s easier to let Theo be Theo.”

Draco shakes his head fondly, though his smirk softens as he catches sight of Scorpius, now digging in the wet sand with Candy, both of them laughing as the waves lap at their feet. He squeezes Hermione’s hand gently, pulling her close. “This isn’t so bad, is it?”

“No,” Hermione says, leaning into his side with a contented sigh. “It’s perfect.”

By the time they return to their suite, exhaustion has set in. Draco finds himself stretched out on the couch, with Scorpius and Hermione splayed comfortably across his chest. Both had been thoroughly worn out after hours of playing in the sand and splashing in the water. They didn’t even make it through the movie’s opening credits or the arrival of their room service pizza before drifting off to sleep.

Draco smiles to himself, content and comforted by the gentle weight of the two people he loves most in the world. Pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads, he summons a blanket with a flick of his wrist and drapes it over them. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

Hermione

November 28, 2009

Los Angeles

The Ashwinder’s stadium hums with life, a thrumming pulse of anticipation that reverberates through the massive structure. Excited fans wave banners and flags, shouting chants in English and French as the countdown to the match begins.

Draco, Hermione, and Scorpius weave their way through the bustling concourse, flanked by Harry, Theo, and Candy. Tony and Penny insisted on seats out in the stadium, where they could be in the thick of the action. As strange as it is, the two of them are fast friends.

The energy of the crowd is infectious, with the roar of excitement building as they near the Ambassador’s Box. Scorpius practically bounces in Draco’s arms, his face alight with joy, his Team England jersey just slightly oversized as he clutches a souvenir pennant Theo insisted he have.

“You fink England will win, Daddy?” Scorpius asks, craning his neck to look up at Draco.

Draco smirks, ruffling his son’s hair. “Of course. We don’t accept defeat in this family.”

“We’ll see,” Hermione teases, nudging Draco gently with her elbow. “The French team has been unstoppable this season.”

“Traitor,” Draco mutters playfully, earning a laugh from Theo and a dramatic groan from Scorpius.

But before Hermione can reply, a sharp, unmistakable voice cuts through the din of the crowd.

“Well, well, well. Isn’t this quite the sight?”

Draco freezes mid-step, his arms tightening protectively around Scorpius. Hermione’s smile falters as they turn toward the voice—a short woman with stiff blonde curls and talon-like red nails. Her acid-green robes, just a touch too tight, match the gleam in her predatory smile. A quill floats beside her, poised and ready.

“Rita Skeeter,” Theo mutters dryly to Candy.

Hermione straightens her spine, her diplomatic poise sliding into place like armor. “Good afternoon, Rita.”

“And what a good afternoon it is,” Skeeter says smoothly, her eyes darting between Hermione and Draco as if she’s struck journalistic gold. “I must say, I didn’t expect to see the Ministry’s Golden Girl walking alongside none other than Draco Malfoy. Quite the... unusual pair, wouldn’t you say?”

“Are you blind, or just stupid?” Theo quips, clearly unable to stop himself.

“Not helping, love,” Harry mutters, though the twitch of his lips betrays his amusement.

Skeeter’s gaze sharpens, but she recovers quickly. Though she doesn’t address the jab, there’s no mistaking the flicker of interest in her eyes as Harry pulls Theo back with a firm hand. Her smile returns, saccharine and sharp. “Such a cozy family picture. It’s not every day one finds the brightest witch of her age with an ex–”

Draco’s grip on Scorpius tightens. His voice drops, calm and deadly. “Watch your next words, Skeeter.”

Hermione steps forward, subtly shielding Draco and Scorpius. Her tone is even, but her brown eyes glint with warning. “Careful, Rita. That sounds suspiciously like slander.”

Skeeter sputters, momentarily caught off guard, but Hermione doesn’t wait for her to recover. Tilting her chin up, she steps back to Draco’s side, placing a steadying hand on Scorpius’ back. “We’re here to enjoy the World Cup, just like everyone else. Surely The Prophet would prefer to report on the match rather than peddle idle gossip.”

Scorpius tilts his head, his silver eyes wide with curiosity as he looks up at Skeeter. “Are you here to see England win, too?”

For a moment, Skeeter looks disarmed, her mouth opening as if to respond. But before she can, Theo slings an arm over Draco’s shoulder, his grin wide and infuriatingly charming. “Yes, Skeeter. Why don’t you toddle off and write something useful? Like which Seeker will catch the Snitch. I hear the French one’s been eating too many croissants to keep up.”

Hermione bites back a laugh as Harry tugs Theo toward the Ambassador’s Box. “Come on, babe,” Harry murmurs. “Before you challenge the press to a duel.”

Skeeter looks ready to retort, but Candy steps forward, his imposing presence cutting her off. “We’re done here,” he says, his tone edged with the authority of an Auror. “Enjoy the match, ma’am.”

With a frustrated grumble and one last lingering glance at Draco and Hermione, Skeeter slinks back into the crowd, her quill furiously scribbling in her wake.

Draco exhales sharply, casting Hermione an apologetic look. “I’ll break her quill if I see her again.”

“Don’t let her get to you,” Hermione says softly, looping her arm through his as they fall into step with the others. “She’ll write whatever she wants, but we know the truth.”

Draco glances down, his lips curving into a small, affectionate smile. “You’re too calm about this.”

“I’ve dealt with worse,” she replies with a light shrug, then smirks up at him. “Besides, we do make quite the family picture.”

The tension melts away as they step into the Ambassador’s Box, the breathtaking view of the stadium and pitch spreading out before them. Scorpius lets out an audible gasp, running straight to the railing to look out at the massive crowd.

“Look, Mama! We can see everyfing!”

Draco squeezes Hermione’s hand briefly before following Scorpius, a faint grin on his face as the excitement of the moment overtakes the lingering irritation.

“You’re right,” Draco says quietly, slipping his arm around her waist as they watch Scorpius bounce with joy. “We are a picture.”

Hermione laughs softly, leaning into him. The roar of the crowd and the shimmering colors of team banners make everything feel larger than life, but for this moment, Hermione allows herself to savor it—this joy, this love, this family they’ve built.

And if Rita Skeeter tries to make headlines out of it, she thinks with a smirk, let her.

Hours later, the match continues. For all of Theo’s jokes about the French Seeker, the English one isn’t doing any better. Their group shares the box with the French Ambassador and her guests–the atmosphere is raucous as the two groups trade jokes and trash talk.

Scorpius climbs onto Hermione’s lap, settling comfortably as he munches happily on the fruit and veggie tray in front of them. She flashes a smug grin at Draco, who shakes his head in disbelief, clearly astounded again at her ability to get Scorpius to try anything.

Hermione leans back, her attention half on the game and half on Scorpius, who chatters away with uncontainable enthusiasm. His animated play-by-play, complete with exaggerated gestures and sound effects, makes her smile—it’s as if he thinks she can’t see what’s happening right in front of her. But she doesn’t mind; there’s something magical about the way Scorpius sees the world, and she’s happy to soak it all in.

Motion to her left catches Hermione’s attention. At some point, Madame Laurent has dropped baby Celeste in Draco’s lap, where the tiny girl now sits contentedly.

Hermione is captivated as she watches Draco coo to the baby in soft, lilting French. Celeste, clearly enamored, giggles wildly, bouncing on her chubby legs and clutching Draco’s fingers with surprising determination. Her baby-blue dress swishes with each excited movement, and her face is alight with delight.

A soft laugh escapes Hermione, drawing Scorpius’ attention. He glances up at her with a knowing smile that’s far too perceptive for his age. “You fink she likes Daddy?” he whispers conspiratorially.

Hermione brushes a kiss to his hair, her heart swelling. “I think so, love.”

Curiosity gets the better of her, and she turns to Draco. “What does ‘mon petit chou’ mean?”

Draco chuckles, glancing up briefly as Celeste babbles in reply, seemingly trying to mimic his words. “It doesn’t really translate well,” he explains, the corners of his mouth lifting. “But it’s a term of endearment in France—‘my little cabbage.’”

Hermione hums thoughtfully, her cheeks warming as her gaze shifts back to the game. But her thoughts linger on the scene beside her, privately savoring the renewed daydreams of babies that are a perfect blend of her and Draco—blonde, rosy-cheeked, and full of laughter.

A little while later, Hermione catches Harry’s signal and leans toward Draco. “Here we go.”

Earlier that day, she’d returned the ring Harry had entrusted to her. He’d chosen to propose at the World Cup, knowing Theo would revel in the excitement and spectacle of the event. It felt especially fitting since they’d reconnected at a Quidditch match.

Hermione watches as Harry awkwardly drops his omnioculars at Theo’s side—his clumsy excuse to get down on one knee. Theo glances at her over his shoulder, shooting her a smug, almost mischievous look.

Realization dawns, and her stomach drops. She’d recently introduced Theo to Legally Blonde—a film she’d been shocked he hadn’t seen but knew he’d adore. Surely, he wouldn’t actually do that, would he?

To her growing horror, Theo takes the opportunity with flair. She feels like she’s witnessing a train wreck in slow motion as he theatrically runs one hand down his body while bending to pick up the omnioculars. Just as Harry begins to lower himself to one knee, Theo snaps back upright—elbowing Harry squarely in the nose with an audible crunch.

Harry claps a hand over his nose and mouth to stop the flow of blood as Hermione rushes over, wand already in hand.

“Oh, my gods,” Theo wails dramatically. “Darling, I am so sorry!”

Harry waves away Theo’s apologies, his voice muffled by his hand. Hermione quickly casts a quiet Episkey, followed by a cleaning charm to tidy up the mess before stepping back to let them have their moment. With a sheepish grin, Harry finally drops to one knee.

“Theodore Octavius Nott, you are ridiculous,” Harry begins, his voice steady despite the chaos. “But I love you, and I always will. Will you marry me?”

Tears glisten in Theo’s eyes as he freezes, staring at Harry and the ring like he can’t quite believe it. “Me?” he whispers. “Are you sure?”

Harry’s grin widens, his green eyes warm and full of love. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Without hesitation, Theo drops to his knees, flinging his arms around Harry’s neck with a joyful laugh. “Yes, you absolute oaf! Of course, yes!”

The Ambassador’s Box erupts into cheers, their little group loudest of all. Hermione wipes at a tear as she catches Draco’s eye, sharing a private smile.

Her heart swells as she looks around at the love and laughter surrounding them. After everything they’ve endured—war, loss, and the painstaking process of rebuilding—it’s moments like this that remind her of how far they’ve come. Even in the face of pain, there is still joy. Still love. And they’ve been lucky enough to find it.

Chapter Text

Hermione

20 December, 2009

London

“Yay, we made it!” Scorpius exclaims as they step out of the Floo into the bustling warmth of the Leaky Cauldron.

The three of them had flown in from New York the day before, arriving for a short trip due to the Ministry’s annual Christmas Ball. Hermione had initially planned to come on her own—uncertain whether Scorpius would be up for traveling again or if Draco would be ready to face any public scrutiny about their relationship.

She should have known better.

Both Malfoys had been openly offended when she explained her plans for a solo trip. Scorpius had immediately insisted, “Mama, you need me!” while Draco had simply rolled his eyes and drawled, “Do you really think I’d let you face that mob alone?” The plans had been amended accordingly.

Scorpius’ only stipulation had been that they fly. While he was no longer afraid of Portkeys, he had decided airplanes were “so cool” and therefore vastly superior. Traveling with a rambunctious four-year-old was no small feat, but Penny had thoughtfully taken care of their larger luggage, leaving them with only their carry-ons to battle. At Heathrow, they navigated through the hidden Magical Travel section and took a public Floo to Wiltshire.

Neither Draco nor Hermione had any desire to stay in the Manor itself, so Penny had prepared the guest cottage on the estate grounds—a much more appealing option for everyone involved.

Now, fully rested and wrapped in warm winter coats, they’re ready to introduce Scorpius to the wonders of Diagon Alley. Crowds of Christmas shoppers, snowy weather, and public scrutiny be damned.

Hermione exchanges a smile with Draco as Scorpius tugs eagerly on her hand. “Can we go now, Mama? Can we see all the shops?”

Draco chuckles, ruffling his son’s hair. “Patience, Scorp. Diagon Alley isn’t going anywhere.”

Outside, the snow is falling in light, glittering flurries, transforming the alley into something out of a fairy tale. The sidewalks are still largely deserted, though the glow of lights and bustling figures inside the shops hint at the day to come.

“It’s beautiful,” Scorpius gasps, his wide silver eyes shining as he takes in the idyllic scene.

Draco and Hermione share a quiet smile over the little boy’s head before Hermione crouches to his level. “Where to first, Scorp?”

Scorpius hums thoughtfully, his gaze darting between the shops until his face lights up with excitement. “Dat one!”

Draco and Hermione glance over their shoulders to follow his pointing finger…only to see Eeylops Owl Emporium.

Draco smirks as he shrugs. “Well, I guess we’re looking at owls.”

Inside, Scorpius is enraptured, bouncing from cage to cage as he admires the various owls—barn owls, snowy owls, even a regal-looking tawny owl perched imperiously near the window. Draco and Hermione trail behind, exchanging amused looks as they try to stifle their laughter.

“Is it because I don’t keep an owl?” Draco whispers in Hermione’s ear, his voice low with humor. “Otherwise, I can’t imagine what’s so enthralling about this place.”

“Probably,” Hermione giggles. “It must seem otherworldly to him.”

They’re interrupted by a soft gasp. Scorpius has skidded to a halt in front of a small cage containing what has to be the world’s tiniest owl—fast asleep. The tiny bird is no larger than Scorpius’ palm, its feathers a stark white.

“She’s beautiful,” Scorpius breathes in awe. “What kind of owl is she, Mama?”

Hermione leans closer to the placard beneath the cage. “This says she’s an Elf Owl, native to the Southwestern United States and Mexico, with breeding grounds in Texas—”

“That’s where Uncle Candy’s from!” Scorpius exclaims proudly, cutting her off. “What else does it say?”

“The Elf Owl is the world’s smallest owl. Even when fully grown, they don’t get much bigger than this.” She pauses, her brow furrowing thoughtfully as she reads further. “They eat insects and sometimes share their nests with something called…Threadsnakes?”

Scorpius gasps again, his eyes widening when the little owl opens its pale, reddish eyes to stare directly at him.

Hermione smiles fondly. “It also says this particular owl is an albino. That’s why her feathers and eyes look like that.”

Scorpius immediately turns to Draco, unleashing his most potent set of puppy eyes. It’s a tactic perfected over four years, and Draco never stood a chance.

Which is how they found themselves purchasing an albino Elf Owl, a cage, all the necessary supplies, and a week’s worth of insects. Scorpius had named the owl Marinara—“or Mari for short!”—on account of her eye color. They agree to return later in the day to pick her up before heading back to the cottage.

As they step back into Diagon Alley, the world has come to life. The sidewalks are now bustling with Christmas shoppers rushing to complete last-minute errands, their cheerful chatter blending with the soft crunch of boots on snow.

Hermione notices the curious glances they begin to attract as they walk, but to her surprise, no one seems particularly bothered by Draco’s presence or her being at his side.

It likely has something to do with an article published shortly after the Quidditch World Cup. Rita Skeeter, in typical fashion, had written a scathing piece in The Prophet, framing Hermione as the “Golden Girl gone dim, slumming it with a Death Eater.” The backlash had been swift, however, when The Quibbler–now a respected newspaper after Luna and Lee Jordan took over–published a rebuttal the following day.

The article, written by Lee, had chronicled Draco’s redemption in the States, detailing his decorated career as an Auror and the sacrifices he’d made to rebuild his life. It had made quite the splash in Wizarding England. While none of their friends would own up to pulling strings for it, Hermione strongly suspected Theo—with a little help from Candy—but couldn’t prove it.

Draco catches her eye as Scorpius skips happily ahead, pulling them toward their next destination. “What are you smiling about?”

Hermione shakes her head, threading her arm through his. “Nothing. Just… happy.”

“Me too,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her temple as they follow their son down the sidewalk.

They spend the rest of their morning popping in and out of shops along the Alley, the festive atmosphere making every stop feel like a small adventure. At Flourish and Blotts, Hermione’s enthusiasm proves contagious, and Scorpius quickly joins her in picking out books—so many, in fact, that Draco has to make a quick trip back to the cottage to drop off their purchases.

Once reunited, they enjoy a light lunch at a cozy new café tucked between two larger shops before heading to Quality Quidditch Supplies–Scorpius wants to pick out a gift for Harry.

When they finally leave the shop, Scorpius is perched in Draco’s arms, contentedly clutching his shopping bag. A group of cheerful shoppers bustles past them, their loud chatter and laughter filling the crisp air. Scorpius suddenly turns in Draco’s arms to peer up at him, his silver eyes sparkling with delight.

“Daddy, dey all sound like you and Mama!” he exclaims with a giggle, the joy in his voice making Hermione laugh aloud.

Before Hermione or Draco can respond, a loud scoff sounds from behind them. “‘Mama!’ Of all the utter tripe I’ve heard in my life, that may be the worst.”

Hermione instantly recognizes Molly Weasley’s shrill tone and quickly casts a Muffliato on Scorpius. She offers him a small, apologetic smile when he scowls at the buzzing in his ears, smoothing a hand over his soft blonde hair.

“Molly,” Hermione says evenly, straightening her spine as she turns around.

Molly Weasley stands a few paces away, wrapped in a thick scarlet cloak, her face flushed with indignation. She looks like she’s just marched across the snow for the sole purpose of delivering judgment. Arthur lingers uncomfortably a step behind her, his expression torn between exasperation and regret.

Draco shifts slightly closer to Hermione, subtly moving himself into a position at her side. He doesn’t speak yet—he doesn’t need to—but his presence is solid, unflinching.

“Mama?” Molly repeats with a sneer, her gaze flicking pointedly to Draco. “I suppose that explains everything, doesn’t it?”

Hermione doesn’t flinch under Molly’s pointed stare. She lifts her chin, her voice calm and deliberate. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Molly.”

“I know enough,” Molly snaps, her eyes narrowing. “Enough to know you’re the reason Ron’s in trouble–all because you’d rather be a Death Eater’s whore.” Her voice drips with disdain as she gestures sharply at Draco, who remains silent but whose jaw visibly tightens.

“First, that’s Ex-Death Eater’s whore to you,” Hermione says sharply, stepping forward with a sarcastic smirk on her face. Her cheeks are flushed with anger now, but her words are steady. “Second, Ronald is headed to prison because of his own actions.”

Molly opens her mouth again, her face an even deeper shade of red, but Hermione lifts her wand with a deliberate, steady motion.

“Don’t,” Hermione warns, her voice low and dangerous. “Not in front of my son, you bitch.”

The final word rings like a crack of thunder in the snowy alley, and even Arthur takes a step back. Molly freezes, her mouth snapping shut, eyes wide with shock.

Draco steps even closer to Hermione, his presence a steadying force. He doesn’t say a word, but his gaze locks onto Molly with a cold, silent warning that brooks no argument.

Hermione doesn’t stop there, though. Her voice softens but her anger simmers just beneath the surface. “Scorpius doesn’t need your bitterness poisoning this moment. He doesn’t need your opinions, your judgment, or your spite. He is innocent, Molly. He is happy. And I won’t let you take that away from him.”

The snowflakes drift lazily through the silence that follows, the only sound the faint hum of Diagon Alley in the distance.

Arthur finally finds his voice, though it comes out low and tentative. “Come on, Molly. Let’s go.”

Molly hesitates, her lips pressed into a thin line, but whatever fire she had sputters out beneath Hermione’s unyielding glare. With a huff, she turns sharply on her heel, stomping back the way she came. Arthur offers Hermione and Draco a small, apologetic nod before trailing after his wife.

Hermione exhales slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing as she lowers her wand. Draco watches her for a beat, admiration flickering in his silver gaze. “‘Ex-Death Eater’s whore’?” he murmurs, a teasing edge in his voice as he wraps an arm protectively around her waist.

Hermione huffs, allowing herself a wry smile as she leans into him. “What can I say? I wanted to clarify.”

Draco chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to her lips. “Well, remind me never to cross you. That was terrifyingly brilliant.”

She smiles as she lifts the Muffliato from Scorpius, who immediately perks up. “Mama, can we get da hot cocoa now?”

Hermione cups his face in her hands, kissing his forehead as though the last five minutes hadn’t happened. “Of course we can, love. Hot cocoa sounds perfect.”

Draco reaches for her hand as they walk, his fingers threading through hers. “Shall we?” he asks softly.

Hermione glances at him, her gaze warm and grateful, before smiling at their son. “Let’s go.”

Together, they head back into the festive throng, leaving the encounter—and Molly’s bitterness—far behind.

Draco

21 December 2009

Wiltshire/London

Draco watches with a smile as Scorpius hops around the cottage kitchen, his new owl, Mari, fluttering along in short bursts. The tiny bird flits from chair to chair, occasionally landing on Scorpius’ arm or even his head. Crookshanks flicks his tail lazily from his spot in the sunlight, seemingly unbothered by Mari’s presence—accepting her as part of the family, no doubt because of how much she means to his favorite little human.

“Okay, Scorp,” Draco says, rising and sending his coffee mug to the sink with a casual flick of his wand. “Let’s go get ready. We still have some Christmas shopping to do.”

Hermione is stuck at the Ministry all day in meetings with Kingsley and various department heads, so Draco and Scorpius are taking the opportunity to finish shopping for her—and squeeze in a bit of a boys’ day in Muggle London.

Draco tugs on a thick black jumper over his usual dark jeans and dragonhide boots before heading to check on Scorpius. When he reaches his son’s room, he stops dead in the doorway and bursts out laughing.

Scorpius is beaming at him, clearly pleased with himself. He’s wearing bright green joggers, a garish Christmas jumper Hermione had found—complete with flashing lights—and a Santa hat perched jauntily atop his messy bun. To top it off, his high-tops are patterned with Christmas bulbs. Even Pesto has a Santa hat.

“It’s s’posed to be ugly, Daddy,” Scorpius says with great seriousness, sticking out a foot to show off his shoes. “Dat’s the point. Mama told me so.”

Draco shakes his head, laughing as he crouches to Scorpius’ level. “Very festive, Scorp. Clearly, I’m underdressed.”

Scorpius grins wide as Draco snaps his fingers, tying the laces on his son’s shoes with a wave of magic. “Now,” Draco says, his tone turning gently serious, “before we go, what do we say about secrets and surprises?”

Draco had grown up in a house full of secrets, lies and deliberate miscommunication, something he was determined Scorpius would never endure.

Early on, he’d embraced the lesson of teaching his son the difference between secrets and surprises.

Scorpius’ silver eyes light up as he answers without hesitation. “We don’t keep secrets, but we can have surprises!”

Draco taps the tip of Scorpius’ nose playfully, pride swelling in his chest at how easily his son remembers. “Exactly. What we’re getting for Mama today is a surprise, and she’ll see it on Christmas. So, we’re not telling her yet—deal?”

“Deal!” Scorpius exclaims, his excitement bubbling over as he jumps up and down.

Draco and Scorpius apparate into the Leaky Cauldron and pass through Diagon Alley into Muggle London, Scorpius’ outfit and enthusiasm drawing curious looks and fond smiles as they go. They spend the morning visiting various tourist spots—most of which are new to Draco as well. He finds himself caught up in the same wonder as Scorpius, the energy and pace of Muggle London feeling like an entirely new world. Draco never thought he’d find joy here, but seeing his son’s awe makes it feel like magic all on its own.

Their next stop is Harrods, where Draco fully intends to spoil Hermione rotten for the holidays. They’ve been there no time at all before they’re carrying an impressive haul: elegant designer shoes, handbags, a gorgeous new coat with coordinating gloves and scarf, and a leather briefcase he knows will suit her perfectly at work.

“Do you think Mama will like dese?” Scorpius asks earnestly, peering up at Draco with his arms wrapped around a pair of shoes.

Draco smiles softly, smoothing a hand over his son’s hair. “She’ll love them, Scorp. And she’ll love that you helped pick them out.”

Just as Draco determines they’re ready to leave, Scorpius gasps, tugging him toward a display of handmade notebooks and stationery.

“Mama needs dese, Daddy!” he insists, his voice hushed with reverence as he touches the elegant papers. Between them, they select several beautiful notebooks filled with thick, creamy pages and a box of plain cards, which they have embossed with Hermione’s name in gold. Draco can already picture her sending out thank-you notes, just as she always does after events.

They’re about to leave when Scorpius spots something else—fountain pens. They must remind him of quills because his face lights up as he examines them. He takes a surreptitious look around them before turning to Draco with excitement brimming in his voice. “Dese are perfect, Daddy! Dey’re like a mix of da best part of magic and No-Maj…like Mama!”

Draco pauses, his heart squeezing at his son’s words. He crouches down beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re right, Scorp. Mama is magic.”

Scorpius beams, proud of himself as Draco selects the pens, already imagining Hermione’s delighted reaction.

Their final stop takes Draco’s breath away—not because of the shop itself, but because of what he’s about to do. The storefront is elegant but unassuming, a small jewelry store tucked along a quiet street. Draco pauses outside, taking a steadying breath before crouching down to meet Scorpius’ curious gaze.

“What’s in here, Daddy?” Scorpius asks, peering up at the shop’s gleaming window.

Draco hesitates for only a moment, fully aware he’s taking his proverbial life into his hands—but he trusts his son. “This is a jewelry store, Scorp, and we’re going in to get something very special for Mama.”

Scorpius tilts his head. “Like what?”

Draco’s voice softens. “Do you remember when Uncle Harry asked Auntie Theo to marry him at the World Cup?”

Scorpius’ eyes widen with excitement as he nods eagerly.

“Well,” Draco continues, unable to contain his smile, “I’m going to ask Mama to marry me on Christmas. But it’s a surprise—so you can’t tell her yet.”

Scorpius’ jaw drops, his little hands clutching at Draco’s coat. “You’re gonna marry Mama?!”

Draco chuckles, nodding as he squeezes Scorpius’ shoulder. “I am. But it’s a surprise, Scorp—just you and me know.”

Scorpius’ face splits into the widest grin Draco’s ever seen. He leans in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s a surprise for Mama.”

“Exactly.” Draco straightens, holding out his hand. “Ready to help me find the perfect ring?”

“Yeah!” Scorpius exclaims, practically bouncing in place as he grabs Draco’s hand. “Mama’s gonna be so happy!”

Draco smiles as they step into the shop, a mixture of nerves and anticipation settling in his chest. She’s going to say yes, he tells himself firmly, holding onto the thought as Scorpius skips beside him. She has to.

Hermione

22 December 2009

Wiltshire/London

Hermione leans into Draco’s side, waving goodbye to Scorpius as he prepares to Apparate away with Pansy and Daphne. They’re taking him home for a sleepover and to celebrate Christmas with him before their return to New York tomorrow.

She sighs loudly, placing her hands on her hips. “Well, now it’s time to start getting ready.”

“For tonight?” Draco asks incredulously. “We don’t have to be at the ball for hours, darling.”

“Yes, and it’ll take hours to have my hair done, much less everything else,” she retorts.

The annual Ministry of Magic Christmas Ball is tonight, and Hermione couldn’t be more excited. This will be the first major event she and Draco attend as a couple—not as Ambassador and Personal Protection Officer. She’s planned a full day of pampering to prepare for the evening.

“Don’t forget, Tony and Candy’s Portkey drops them here at three, and then we’ll all leave together later,” Draco reminds her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Tony, Candy, and Judith—the MACUSA receptionist and Tony’s girlfriend—are coming in just for the ball. The three Aurors were invited as a gesture of gratitude for their role in rescuing Hermione and stopping Blaise and Ron. Theo and Harry declined their invitations, opting instead to “celebrate their engagement somewhere warm.”

As Draco and Hermione walk hand in hand down the hallway toward their room, their cell phones chime simultaneously. It had taken quite a bit of work to get the wards to allow phones, but between the two of them, they’d managed it.

“Oh, it’s from Harry!” Hermione exclaims, just as Draco groans, “What does Theo want?”

They both open a picture of Harry and Theo grinning in front of the iconic Welcome to Las Vegas sign.

“What on earth is Theo wearing?” Draco asks incredulously. “And why are they holding their hands out like that?”

Hermione squints at the photo, reading the accompanying Surprise! text. Harry looks like his usual self—ripped jeans, too-tight t-shirt, worn leather jacket, messy hair, and crooked glasses. Theo, on the other hand, is resplendent in a white lace, rhinestone-studded jumpsuit with a sparkling headband nestled in his curls. Both men are holding out their left hands dramatically toward the camera.

“Oh, my gods! They got married!” Hermione gasps.

Draco barks out a laugh as realization dawns. “So they did.”

Hours later, Hermione steps in front of the mirror looking at the full effect of her day of pampering combined with her new ball gown. Draco insisted on buying a new gown for her and she had readily accepted. After all, she was the one who agreed not to fight his attempts to spoil her–her only condition had been that the dress stayed a surprise until tonight.

The dress is stunning in its simplicity and elegance. Dark burgundy fabric shimmers with a subtle metallic sheen, catching the light like starlight on velvet. The off-the-shoulder neckline sweeps across her collarbone, dipping into a bold yet refined plunge, while delicate puffed sleeves taper into long, fitted ones that balance the gown’s romantic silhouette. The full skirt cascades in graceful folds, pooling softly at her feet as if conjured from magic itself.

Hermione turns slightly, watching the fabric ripple in the light, and smiles at her reflection.

“Gods, princess,” Draco murmurs from the doorway, his voice low and rough. “You look…” He trails off, his gaze lingering like a physical touch.

“Not too much, then?” she teases, patting the loose updo her curls had been twisted into. Paired with her elegant makeup, the effect is exactly what she’d hoped for. The only thing left to decide on is her jewelry.

“Perfect,” Draco answers simply, stepping closer. With a smirk, he pulls a small box seemingly out of thin air and hands it to her. “Happy early Christmas, darling.”

The unmistakable light blue of a Tiffany’s box sends her heart racing. “Draco, what did you do?”

“Exactly what I wanted to.” He turns her gently to face the mirror, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of her neck before whispering against her ear, “Open it, princess.”

Hermione hesitates before raising the hinged lid, only to let out a squeak and snap the box shut again. “Draco! This is–”

He raises an eyebrow in silent challenge, his reflection smug in the mirror.

She exhales, opening the box again to reveal what must be tens of thousands of pounds in diamonds. Inside, nestled against velvet lining, is a tennis necklace and bracelet set, paired with matching earrings. Set in gold, the design is just untraditional enough to feel perfect: marquise diamonds form delicate x’s, with round diamonds nestled between each, while the earrings feature large studs with matching x drops.

Her eyes shimmer as Draco fastens the necklace and bracelet in place before handing her each earring in turn. Leaning close, he whispers conspiratorially, “If you thought my spoiling kink stopped at French bath products and rooftop dinners, you were mistaken.”

Hermione smiles, turning to kiss him fiercely. “I still love those things too,” she murmurs against his lips. “But thank you. This is gorgeous.”

When she steps back, a giggle escapes her as she takes in their outfits. “Of course, when I finally wear red, you’re in green. I wore this because I thought you’d go with what you wore to the gala.”

Draco chuckles, smoothing the lapel of his emerald green velvet tuxedo jacket before adjusting his bowtie. The jacket stands out as his only pop of color against an otherwise all-black ensemble. “And I thought you’d wear green again.”

They meet Candy, Tony, and Judith by the Floo, and Hermione has to stifle a giggle at the sight of the Head Auror and his girlfriend. They’re impeccably dressed in complementary shades of green, though Tony’s short, muscular frame and close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair are a sharp contrast to Judith’s tall, lean build and wild, bright red curls.

Candy, however, steals the show, and it’s Hermione’s turn to catcall, returning the favor for his antics with her and Harry.

“Look at you, stud!” she exclaims.

He’s clearly taken a page out of Draco’s book, opting for an all-black ensemble but with a Western twist—a silver bolo tie, sleek black snakeskin boots, and a perfectly tilted black Stetson.

Candy waves off her praise with a grin, spinning on the spot for effect. “Can’t let y’all have all the fun!”

They floo through to the Ministry and enter the ballroom, which is decorated like an ethereal winter scene.

Hermione spends the first half-hour introducing the American contingent to everyone—Kingsley, Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, Head Auror Robards, and many others. Meanwhile, Draco uses the time to reacquaint himself with old schoolmates.

Before long, Tony and Judith are deep in conversation with Head Auror Robards and his wife, while Candy charms his way through the room with characteristic flair. Professor McGonagall, in particular, looks delighted as he spins her expertly across the dance floor.

Standing in a quiet spot with glasses of champagne, Hermione and Draco watch in amusement as their friends breathe life into the typically stodgy Ministry gathering.

“Leave it to those three to lead some sort of second American Revolution,” Draco snorts, rolling his eyes as Candy dramatically kisses Professor McGonagall’s hand after finishing their dance.

Candy saunters over to them, his grin wide and unrepentant. “This is the most fun I’ve had in years!”

Hermione feels the air shift as Candy snaps to attention, his eyes fixed on something over her shoulder. She turns to see Luna Lovegood gliding toward them, her blonde hair—nearly as pale as Draco’s—falling in loose curls to her waist. She looks ethereal, otherworldly, in a flowing blue chiffon gown adorned with moons, stars, and constellations. A delicate crown of holly and mistletoe, softly glowing with magic, rests atop her head.

Luna comes to a stop, a dreamy smile on her face. “Hello, Hermione, Draco—I’m glad to see you’ve found your way to each other. It certainly took you long enough.”

“Hi, Luna,” Hermione says warmly, hugging her.

Draco tips his champagne glass politely. “Lovegood.”

Luna’s attention drifts to Candy, her head tilting curiously as she studies him. “Hello, you.”

Candy, seemingly back to life, doffs his hat and grins. “Hermione, you didn’t tell me you were friends with an earthbound goddess. Who is this gorgeous creature?”

Hermione looks up to see Draco shooting Candy an incredulous ‘Who are you??’ look, which Candy ignores completely.

“Candy, this is Luna Lovegood,” Hermione supplies. “A friend of mine from school.”

Candy doesn’t miss a beat, taking Luna’s hand and pressing a chaste kiss to the back of it. “August Wilson McCandless III, Ms. Lovegood. It’s a pleasure.”

Luna’s smile grows even brighter. “I’m enchanted to meet you, August. Your aura is positively radiant.”

“I think I saw some Nargles by the ice sculpture,” she continues, her tone as serene as ever. “Come, I’ll show you.”

Candy’s response is barely a sigh as Luna takes his hand and leads him away. “I’ll follow you anywhere, Sugar Plum.”

Draco and Hermione stare after them in stunned silence. Finally, Draco turns to her, both eyebrows raised. “What the fuck just happened?”

Hermione’s laughter bubbles up. “I’m not sure, but I think we just witnessed love at first sight.”

Over the course of the next hour, Hermione finds herself drawn into conversation with Neville and Hannah Abbott while Draco is swept away by Tony and Head Auror Robards. She watches with quiet delight as he mingles so naturally, his sharp wit and composed demeanor earning him easy acceptance. This is what they had fought for—what she, Harry, and so many others had sacrificed to achieve: peace, unity, and acceptance.

Later, Hermione’s gaze drifts to the dance floor. Candy and Luna twirl like a scene from a whimsical dream, Luna’s holly and mistletoe crown now replaced by Candy’s black Stetson. Across the room, Tony and Judith sway contentedly, the motion more a gentle rocking than any formal dance, likely hindered by their amusing height difference. The ballroom itself is a spectacle—elegant and grand, reminiscent of a fairy tale. Garlands of evergreen and mistletoe line the gilded walls, while floating candles hover like starlight above the crowd. Snow drifts softly from the enchanted ceiling, vanishing before it touches the floor, leaving a shimmering illusion of winter without the cold.

Draco returns to Hermione’s side, his arm slipping around her waist as they continue to admire the scene.

“You know,” she murmurs, sipping her champagne, “this looks rather like the Yule Ball from fourth year.”

At her words, she feels Draco straighten beside her. Without warning, he gently plucks the glass from her hand and sets it on a nearby table, his expression unreadable.

“What are you doing?” she asks, suspicion creeping into her voice.

Draco’s reply is quiet but carries that rich, seductive tone that makes her pulse quicken. “Something I should have done fourteen years ago.”

Her brow furrows in confusion as Draco takes a deliberate step back, his perfect Pureblood poise sliding into place. He bows, flawlessly formal, before extending his hand toward her. “You are a vision this evening, Ms. Granger,” he says, his lips curling into a smirk she’s powerless to resist. He kisses the back of her hand with practiced elegance, his eyes never leaving hers. “May I have this dance?”

Hermione breathes a quiet laugh, her smile spreading as she places her hand in his. “You may.”

Draco leads her onto the dance floor just as the orchestra strikes up a waltz—the same dance she remembers so vividly from her Yule Ball days. But this time, it’s different. His movements are effortless as he guides her into the rhythm, spinning her in smooth, fluid steps. The crowd blurs at the edges of her vision; the music seems to recede until all she can hear is the thunder of her pulse in her ears. They move as one, Draco’s firm, steady lead anchoring her as they twirl across the floor.

When the song ends, she’s breathless, but before she can speak, Draco dips her with dramatic flair, lifting her back to her feet with an amused smile. “How about one more?” she teases, her voice light and airy.

Draco brushes a lingering kiss across her lips before pulling her into the next dance. “We’ll stay out here all night if you want, princess.”

She loses count of how many dances follow, each one blending seamlessly into the next. The rest of the room fades to nothing; it’s just the two of them and the soft sweep of his hand against her waist as he leads.

Eventually, they drift into a quieter corner of the dance floor, where Tony and Judith continue their slow, affectionate sway. Draco seizes the moment to tease his boss, his smirk firmly in place. “Is that the best you’ve got, Tony? Swaying in one spot like a couple of second years?”

Judith raises a single brow, her green eyes glinting with mischief as candlelight catches on the rhinestones in her glasses. “The hell you say, Draco Malfoy!”

Before anyone can blink, Judith takes control, spinning Tony into the center of the floor with surprising skill and energy. Tony, to his credit, follows along with a grin, his sharp movements hinting that he might know more than a few dance steps after all.

Hermione stares, her mouth slightly open in disbelief. “Did… did Tony just let her lead?”

Draco shrugs, his tone as dry as ever. “Tony’s full of surprises.”

Laughter bubbles between them as Candy’s booming voice cuts through the music. “Hey, y’all!” Candy exclaims, arriving at their corner with Luna twirling barefoot at his side, her bright smile rivaling the sparkling chandelier above. He sways in place, Luna’s holly and mistletoe crown tipped jauntily back on his head, before adding, “Just so you know, I’m taking some vacation days effective immediately—see y’all in the New Year!”

Tony, mid-spin, shouts back with mock exasperation. “Your ass better be at your desk on January third, McCandless!”

“It will be,” Luna assures him serenely, before turning back to Candy with a grin. “I’ve always wanted to visit America. I hear there’s quite the population of Blithering Humdingers.”

Candy beams, as dazzled as anyone’s ever seen him. “We’ve got more Blithering Humdingers than you can shake a stick at, Treasure, and I’ll make sure you see every last one.”

With that, he sweeps Luna away once again, spinning her with such enthusiasm that her gown flares like starlight.

Tony groans dramatically, shaking his head as they twirl out of sight. He turns back to Draco and Hermione, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Leave it to you two idiots to fall in love at the same time.”

Draco lets out a soft laugh, pulling Hermione a little closer. “Idiots, maybe,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss to her temple. “But it worked out perfectly, didn’t it?”

Hermione smiles up at him, contentment settling in her chest like a warm glow. “Yes,” she agrees softly. “It really did.”

Chapter Text

Draco

December 24, 2009

New York City

“He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”

Hermione closes the book with a dramatic flourish, smiling softly. Draco glances down, hoping that—after this latest Christmas-related story—Scorpius might have finally drifted off. Instead, wide silver eyes, bright with excitement, blink up at him.

“Scorp,” he says quietly, his tone gentle but firm. “You’ve got to go to sleep.”

“Santa won’t come until you do,” Hermione reminds him with a teasing smile.

“I know, but I’m not sleepy,” Scorpius protests, squirming on the couch.

They had spent the entire day steeped in Christmas cheer—baking cookies, watching holiday movies, drinking hot cocoa, and leaving out a note, cookies, and milk for Santa, with carrots for the reindeer. They’d even read countless books to wind the night down. Draco knew Hermione had been surprised at how Muggle their Christmas traditions were, but he couldn’t help it. Yule at Malfoy Manor had always been a quiet, pretentious affair. When Candy had introduced him to a different kind of holiday years ago—one filled with warmth, chaos, and joy—he’d embraced it wholeheartedly.

Draco stands, stretching after being curled up on the couch for too long. “Say goodnight to Mama—I’ll lay with you for a while so you can fall asleep.”

Scorpius crawls into Hermione’s lap, burying his small hands in her hair as he kisses her cheek. “Night-night, Mama. I love you.”

Hermione beams, pressing a kiss to his soft hair. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you too.”

Draco scoops Scorpius up, tossing him gently over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Scorpius shrieks with laughter, his giggles echoing through the quiet room. “You so silly, Daddy!”

Hermione stands as well, extinguishing the tree lights, candles, and room lamps with a casual flick of her wrist. Draco watches her curiously as she stretches with an exaggerated yawn. “I’m off to bed,” she announces, her voice laced with the most unconvincing sleepiness he’s ever heard.

One eyebrow arches, but Draco holds his tongue, assuming she’s putting on a show for Scorpius.

The three of them head upstairs together, Scorpius still giggling as he bounces lightly on Draco’s back. At the landing, Hermione presses one last kiss to Scorpius’ forehead. “Happy Christmas, love. I’ll see you in the morning.”

With another fake yawn—earning her a narrowed look from Draco—she turns and disappears into their bedroom.

When they enter Scorpius’ room, Draco lifts the little boy off his shoulder and tosses him gently onto the bed, laughter bubbling between them. Scorpius crawls up to the top, flopping dramatically onto his pillow. Draco waits for him to settle before lying down beside him, propping his head on one hand.

“Okay, Scorp—spill,” he says, knowing his son won’t sleep until he gets out whatever words are swirling around his little head.

“I’m so excited for tomorrow, Daddy!” Scorpius exclaims, his silver eyes shining. “I can’t wait for Mama to open her presents and see her ring!”

Something about his son’s innocent words strikes Draco deeply. He doesn’t know how he’s managed to raise such a sweet, selfless little boy—Merlin knows he hadn’t been like this as a child. He never would have been so concerned with someone else’s gifts over his own.

Scorpius seems to misinterpret Draco’s silence as worry because he reaches up to pat his father’s cheek and presses a kiss there. “Don’t worry, Daddy. I know Mama will say yes! And we kept it a surprise dis whole time!”

“That we did, Scorp,” Draco agrees softly. “I’m proud of you, you know that? For helping me with such a big surprise and for being so sweet. I love you.”

“I love you too, Daddy,” Scorpius mumbles, a yawn finally breaking through.

Draco smiles, pulling his son closer and rubbing his back in slow circles. “Time for sleep now, love. I’ll stay here until you do.”

“‘Kay,” Scorpius whispers sleepily.

It doesn’t take long before Scorpius’ breathing deepens into an even rhythm. Draco waits a moment longer, savoring the quiet warmth of his son’s presence, before carefully sliding out of the bed and slipping out of the room.

Draco opens the door to his bedroom quietly, unsure if Hermione had actually gone to sleep. One glance answers the question.

Hermione sprawls elegantly across the bed, the deep green silk of her chemise glistening in the soft light. The lace-trimmed hem teases the tops of her thighs, and a matching ribbon ties her curls into a loose ponytail. Her eyes sparkle with mischief as her lips curve into a knowing smile.

“I was beginning to think I’d have to start without you,” she teases, her voice low and sultry.

Draco swallows hard, his silver eyes fixed on her as he closes the door behind him. “We can’t have that, can we, princess?” His voice is already rough, his composure unraveling as he takes in the sight of her.

“You look sinful,” he murmurs, stepping closer as he throws locking and silencing spells over his shoulder. His tone is soft but reverent, tinged with something darker.

Hermione props herself up on her elbows, the movement making the silk shift enticingly against her skin. “Sinful?” she echoes, her lips curving into a playful smirk. “You should see how I look under it.”

Draco’s breath hitches, and a low groan escapes him before he can stop it. “Merlin, Hermione,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair as he reaches the bed. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Not kill you,” she says, her voice dipping as her fingers toy idly with the hem of her chemise. “But I wouldn’t mind rendering you completely helpless.”

Draco leans down until their faces are inches apart, his breath warm against her cheek. “Careful, darling,” he murmurs, his voice thick with promise. “I’ve been known to return the favor.”

Draco catches her hand mid-motion, halting the snap of her fingers before she can vanish the delicate fabric teasing his senses. He presses a lingering kiss to her palm, his silver eyes locking onto hers. “You vanished the blue one that night in my office before I could really enjoy it,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of intent. “This one? You’re keeping it on.”

Her cheeks flush faintly, but the wicked glint in her eyes doesn’t waver. “Good,” she counters, her tone matching his.

A dark chuckle escapes him as he shifts onto the bed, his hand sliding to the small of her back. “I’ll just have to show you how much I’ve been waiting to appreciate it.”

Their lips meet in a heated kiss, and Hermione wastes no time pulling his t-shirt over his head. Her hands skim his chest, her nails grazing his skin as she presses her lips to the hollow of his throat. “Gods, Draco,” she breathes, her voice trembling slightly.

He hums thoughtfully, his hands sliding beneath the hem of her chemise to trace the curve of her hips. “This… I love this.”

Her laugh is soft, almost teasing, as she leans into his touch. “You keep saying that. Care to prove it?”

_____________________________________________________________________

Draco doesn’t hesitate. He flips her gently beneath him, the silk of her gown bunching around her hips. His lips blaze a trail down her neck, then lower down the deep V of the gown, worshipping every inch of her exposed skin. Hermione gasps, her fingers tangling in his hair as he settles between her legs, his breath hot against her inner thigh.

“Can I?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

“Yes, Draco,” she whispers, her fingers tightening in his hair. “Please.”

With a flick of his fingers, her tiny knickers vanish, leaving only the silk of her chemise. Draco presses an open-mouthed kiss to her pussy, savoring the soft cry that escapes her lips. His tongue moves with deliberate precision, tracing slow, lazy circles around her clit. Hermione arches beneath him, her hips rolling instinctively against his mouth.

“Gods,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “Don’t stop.”

Draco hums against her, the vibrations drawing another shudder from her. Her moans grow louder as he works her with practiced skill, her body trembling under his touch.

“Draco,” she cries, her voice breaking. “I’m—oh, I’m so close—”

But before she can reach her peak, she tugs at his hair, pulling him up. “Wait,” she breathes, her chest heaving. “Your turn.”

Draco raises an eyebrow, smirking as she guides him onto his back. “Your move, love.”

Hermione doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, she straddles him for a moment, leaning down to kiss him deeply before sliding down his body. Her fingers skim his waistband, tugging his joggers off in one swift motion. When she takes him into her mouth, Draco’s head falls back against the pillow, a groan rumbling in his chest.

“Hermione,” he mutters, his voice a mix of reverence and desperation. “You’re… incredible.”

She hums in response, the vibrations making him shudder. Her tongue swirls expertly around the head of his cock, her hand stroking his length in perfect rhythm. Draco’s hand grips her ponytail, his breath coming in ragged gasps as she pushes him closer to the edge.

Before he can spill over, Hermione shifts once more, her grin wicked as she turns and settles herself over him. The sight of her silk-clad hips hovering just inches above his face leaves him momentarily speechless.

“Your move,” she teases, her voice breathless.

Draco doesn’t waste a second. He grasps her hips tightly and drags his tongue from her entrance to her clit, savoring the taste of her as she gasps above him. Her lips tighten around him once more, her movements more insistent as her moans vibrate against his length.

“Princess,” he groans, his voice muffled against her. “You’re going to ruin me.”

“Good,” she gasps, her hips rolling against his mouth as her hand works him in tandem with her lips. “Then we’ll be even.”

Draco chuckles against her, the sound sending another shudder through her. He focuses on her completely, his tongue tracing every inch of her until she’s trembling above him, her cries growing louder with each passing second.

“Draco,” she breathes, her voice breaking. “I’m—oh fuck, I’m going to—”

She doesn’t finish her sentence. Her body convulses above him as her climax crashes over her, her moans muffled as she takes him deeper into her mouth. The combination of her pleasure and her relentless attention to him sends Draco spiraling over the edge. He groans her name as he spills into her mouth, his hips bucking involuntarily beneath her.

When the waves of pleasure finally subside, Hermione shifts off him, collapsing onto the bed beside him. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her cheeks flushed as she meets his gaze.

“Well,” she murmurs, her voice teasing. “I’d say that this is a Christmas Eve well spent.”

Draco chuckles softly, pulling her into his arms and pressing a kiss to her temple. “Happy Christmas, darling.”

_____________________________________________________________________

Hermione

December 25, 2009

New York City

Hermione makes a strangled sound as all the air is knocked out of her lungs when Scorpius lands squarely on her chest.

“It’s Christmas, Mama!” he practically yells in her ear. “Wake up, Daddy!”

She wheezes, still struggling to draw a proper breath, and glances over at Draco, who smirks smugly, his eyes still closed. “Welcome to the club.”

“Come on!” Scorpius pleads, bouncing with excitement. “Cookie’s ready for us to open presents!”

In the doorway, Crookshanks sits with his tail flicking imperiously, his expression utterly unbothered by the chaos.

“Oh, Cookie’s ready, is he?” Draco asks, his tone dripping with disbelief. “Are you sure it’s not you who’s worried about the presents?”

Scorpius ignores him entirely, his focus locked on the mission at hand as Draco and Hermione finally crawl out of bed. Now able to breathe again, Hermione scoops Scorpius up into a hug, covering his face in kisses as he giggles and squirms.

“Good morning, love…and Happy Christmas!” she beams.

Scorpius wiggles his way to the floor, his grin widening when he looks them over and realizes that Draco and Hermione really did wear the matching pyjamas he picked out. Even Pesto has a set—though no one dared wrestle Crookshanks into one.

“Yay! We match!” Scorpius cheers, clapping his hands.

“So we do,” Draco grumbles good-naturedly, running a hand through his hair before deciding to leave it down. “I still can’t believe I let you two talk me into this.”

“At least the background is black,” Hermione quips with a shrug.

Scorpius tugs on Hermione’s hand, already buzzing with excitement again. “Mama, can we do space buns? Please?”

Hermione laughs softly, ruffling his hair. “Of course we can, sweetheart. I’ll do mine while you go get your brush.”

Scorpius cheers before dashing out of the room. Draco shakes his head with an amused sigh as Hermione turns to him with a grin.

“You’re next, Malfoy,” she teases. She pulls the top half of her hair into space buns with practiced ease.

“Absolutely not.” Draco smirks before indicating his pyjamas. “You’ve already got me wearing this, I’ve got to draw the line somewhere.”

Their matching pyjama sets—black with brightly colored embroidered Christmas bulbs—are festive but not completely outrageous. The lettering across the shirts proclaims them all “Merry and Bright.”

“Merry and ridiculous, more like,” Draco mutters as Scorpius races back into the room, brush in hand, ready to tackle the morning’s most important task: festive hair to match their festive day.

Hermione

As they tumble into the living room, Hermione’s jaw drops at the mountain of presents that have appeared overnight. Penny had assured Draco yesterday that she would take care of setting everything out after they went to bed, and Hermione silently adds another thank-you to the long list she owes the house-elf.

Theo, Harry, and Penny have graciously left them the morning to enjoy their first Christmas as a family before descending for brunch and more presents later.

Settling down in front of the tree, Hermione notices that Penny has thoughtfully organized everything into neat piles—one for each of them. Off to the side, a separate stack holds gifts from Narcissa and Candy, carefully set apart. Hermione smiles at the care and detail. Those presents will wait for Candy’s return from England and Narcissa’s arrival at New Year’s, as has become her custom.

Hermione settles comfortably into Draco’s side, resting her head against his shoulder as Scorpius attacks his gifts with unrestrained enthusiasm. Wrapping paper and ribbons fly in every direction, littering the room like colorful confetti.

Crookshanks bats a crumpled ball of paper across the floor, while Marinara swoops into the room, landing momentarily on one of Scorpius’ space buns before hopping down to his arm. She snatches a bit of ribbon triumphantly and flies off again. Pesto, sitting loyally by Scorpius’ side, looks regal with a large red bow perched atop his head.

“The chaos never ends, does it?” Draco groans, though Hermione can hear the smile in his voice.

When the frenzy finally subsides, a mountain of toys, art supplies, and clothes lies in Scorpius’ wake. The new broom and Quidditch kit from Draco for his upcoming Little League debut and the massive collection of Muggle children’s books from Hermione are clear favorites—if his gleeful shouts are any indication.

“Okay, Daddy, you next!” Scorpius declares, practically bouncing in place. He had decided earlier that Hermione would go last, proudly proclaiming the need to “save da best for last!”

Before Draco can even respond, Scorpius shoves a slightly lopsided package wrapped in shimmering green paper into his father’s hands. “Open mine first!”

Scorpius wiggles eagerly, his grin wide. “Mama helped me, but it was my idea!”

Hermione nods, brushing a curl behind her ear. “That’s true. He had very specific instructions, and I just helped with the charm work.”

Draco raises an amused eyebrow, accepting the package with an exaggerated air of importance. “Well, with a build-up like that, how could I say no?” He smirks, glancing briefly at Hermione, who’s biting her lip to hide her grin.

He smiles, carefully peeling back the paper to reveal a small wooden box painted in cheerful swirls of green, silver, and gold. The edges are enchanted to sparkle faintly, and tiny stars twinkle and shift across the surface.

“What’s this, Scorp?” Draco asks warmly, running his fingers over the smooth, painted wood.

“It’s a treasure box!” Scorpius announces proudly, his silver eyes sparkling. “For all your ‘portant stuff, Daddy. Open it!”

Draco lifts the small latch and raises the lid, finding a soft green velvet lining inside. Nestled within are several tiny objects, each carefully chosen. He picks up a shiny pebble first, turning it over in his hand as it gleams faintly in the light.

“Dat’s a magic rock!” Scorpius exclaims earnestly. “It’s special. I found it in da park.”

Draco chuckles and sets the rock aside, his gaze shifting to the next item—a golden Chocolate Frog card featuring Viktor Krum. His eyebrow arches sharply, and he glances at Hermione, who’s doing an appalling job of keeping a straight face.

“Really?” Draco drawls, holding up the card between two fingers.

Hermione finally bursts into laughter, her shoulders shaking as she leans into the arm of the sofa. “It was Scorpius’ idea for me to include something for your ‘collection,’ but I couldn’t resist,” she admits, her eyes gleaming with mirth.

“Mama said it’s funny!” Scorpius adds helpfully, looking between them with a delighted grin.

Draco sighs with exaggerated weariness but slips the card back into the box. “Hilarious,” he mutters dryly, though the corner of his mouth twitches with amusement.

Next, he lifts a small, familiar fabric scale—shiny and slightly worn—from the box. He raises an eyebrow.

“Pesto wanted you to have it,” Scorpius says, his expression completely serious. “It’s his lucky scale.”

Draco bites back a laugh, glancing at the stuffed dragon sitting beside Scorpius. “Well, thank you, Pesto,” he replies with mock gravity before looking back at his son.

At the very bottom of the box, a folded piece of parchment catches his eye. When he picks it up, it unfolds on its own, Hermione’s charm work activating as Scorpius’ cheerful voice fills the room: “You’re the best daddy ever. I love you!”

Draco stares at the parchment for a long moment, his throat tightening as the recording ends. He glances back at the box and its contents, then at his son, who’s watching him with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Scorp… this is brilliant,” Draco says, his voice thick with emotion.

“You like it?” Scorpius asks, twisting his hands nervously.

“Like it? I love it,” Draco replies, pulling him into a tight hug. “Thank you, Scorp.”

Hermione watches the scene unfold, her heart swelling as Draco presses a kiss to his son’s hair.

“You’ll keep it on your desk, right?” Scorpius asks, pulling back slightly to look up at his father.

“Absolutely,” Draco says with a smirk, his silver eyes twinkling. “I can’t risk losing my lucky scale—or my… treasured Krum card.”

Scorpius giggles, and Hermione hides another laugh behind her hand, the sparkle of mischief in her eyes unmistakable.

After a beat, Hermione nudges Draco with her elbow, her own gift for him already in her lap. “Alright, my turn.”

She slips the neatly wrapped box onto his lap. “Happy Christmas, love.”

Draco raises an eyebrow at her as he picks up the box, one hand lingering over the ribbon. “You didn’t have to get me anything. I have everything I need.”

Hermione rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed by his attempt at stoicism. “Just open it, Malfoy.”

Smirking, Draco tugs at the ribbon and peels back the wrapping, his amusement faltering into genuine surprise as he lifts the lid. Inside, a pair of black dragonhide gloves rests on soft velvet, the quality unmistakable. Draco runs his fingers along the smooth material, noting the precise stitching and the faint shimmer of runes etched into the lining. They hum softly beneath his fingertips with protective magic—carefully crafted, yet subtle.

“They’re practical,” Hermione explains, watching him closely. “They’ll keep your hands warm and protected, and the runes will deflect minor spells and curses… just in case.” Her voice softens. “You’re always looking out for us, Draco. I thought it was time someone looked out for you.”

Draco swallows thickly as he glances from the gloves back to her. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice low but full of meaning. He lifts one to slip it onto his hand, marveling at how perfectly it fits. “They’re perfect.”

Hermione leans in to press a kiss to his cheek. “You deserve perfect.”

Before Draco can respond, Scorpius clambers between them, interrupting the moment. “Daddy, open dis one next!” he says, handing Draco a much smaller box. It’s wrapped in festive green paper that Scorpius has proudly declared “his favorite.” Hermione bites her lip to stifle a laugh as Draco raises an eyebrow.

He opens the small package, revealing a sleek, silver watch on a black dragonhide band tucked inside. It’s understated, timeless—classic Draco. He runs a thumb over the polished surface before picking it up and turning it over, revealing the engraved message on the other side. “For the moments we treasure most—Hermione & Scorpius.”

Draco stares at the inscription for a long moment. Hermione knows that time had always been a fickle thing for him—there was never enough of it, and what time he had was often tainted by regret. But this? She hoped this is a reminder of everything good that had come into his life, of everything worth cherishing.

“It’s enchanted,” Hermione adds softly, pulling him from his thoughts. “Tap the face, and the hands will shift to show you how long it’s been since you last saw us.” She smiles. “So you’ll always know how close you are to coming home.”

Draco slips the watch on his wrist, looking at Hermione with a warmth that sends a flutter through her chest. “You’re… unbelievable, you know that?”

Hermione shrugs playfully. “I just know you, Draco.”

He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, the warmth of his touch grounding her. “I love you,” he murmurs against her mouth.

“I love you too,” she whispers back.

“No more kisses!” Scorpius groans dramatically, flopping backward onto the floor. “It’s time for Mama to open presents!”

“You gotta sit on the couch, Mama,” Scorpius insists, tugging at her hand to get her off the floor. “So I can hand you stuff better!”

Hermione shoots Draco a confused look—after all, everyone else has managed just fine on the floor—but he seems suddenly fascinated by the far corner of the room, refusing to meet her eyes. “Okay, Scorp, whatever you want,” she relents, letting him push her gently toward the couch.

What follows feels like an endless parade of gifts. Hermione opens box after box, each filled with an array of designer clothes, shoes, and handbags she once thought she could only dream of. Everything is flawless, perfectly suited to her tastes, and she marvels at how well her boys have come to know her.

She gushes over the beautiful, handmade notebooks and embossed thank-you cards before her breath catches at the fountain pens. Her eyes brim with tears as Scorpius beams up at her, his explanation nearly undoing her.

“They’re the best parts of magic and No-Maj—just like you, Mama!”

Hermione sets the last box aside, pulling Scorpius into her arms and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Thank you so much, sweetheart, I love everything!”

She watches with amusement–and a touch of confusion–as Scorpius wriggles out of her embrace and moves to sit on the coffee table in front of her. Her amusement is quickly joined by confusion when Draco and Scorpius exchange a silent, purposeful look. Scorpius pats his father on the back, his small hands pressing with deliberate encouragement, before glancing meaningfully between his parents.

Hermione opens her mouth to ask what they’re up to, but the words die on her lips as Draco shifts from his spot on the floor to kneel on one knee in front of her. Realization hits her like a lightning bolt.

Her pulse pounds in her ears, her heart racing wildly as Draco takes her left hand gently in both of his.

Draco takes a deep breath, his eyes locked on hers as it feels like the whole world falls away.

“Hermione, darling,” he begins, his voice low but steady, “there are millions of ways I could start this, but none of them would ever feel like enough. How do I put into words everything that you mean to me, to Scorpius? Everything that you are, and how you’ve changed my whole world?”

His thumb brushes over her knuckles as he continues.

“When we first met, I was a prat. A spoiled, arrogant, scared child who thought the only way to survive the world was to live up to a name and expectations I didn’t even understand.” He pauses, his jaw tightening briefly as he collects himself. “But you… you’ve always been so much more than a name. More than the titles or expectations anyone could force onto you. You’re the strongest, kindest, most brilliant woman I’ve ever known. You saved me before I even knew I needed saving.”

Hermione’s breath catches, her lips parting slightly as he squeezes her hand, his gaze unwavering.

“When I walked into your office months ago, I couldn’t understand it at first. I couldn’t understand how you could stand being near me, let alone choose me. But you did. You saw me. The real me, not the boy I was or the indifferent front I put up for the world.”

He swallows hard, his voice softening as emotion colors it. “You came into a life that was already full and made it so much more. You took a home and added a warmth Scorp and I didn’t know we were missing. We can’t go back–not now that we dance in the kitchen, have pyjama days, and build blanket forts. You turned our lives into something I could never have dreamed of.”

Draco summons a small box from its hiding place in the tree, flicking it open to reveal the ring—a perfect reflection of Hermione, timeless and full of meaning.

“Marry me, Hermione. Be my wife, Scorpius’ Mama, my partner, our forever. I love you—so much it feels like my heart might burst—and I want to spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret choosing me.”

For a moment, Hermione is speechless. Her heart feels full to bursting, her breath caught in her lungs as she stares at the man kneeling before her—the man she loves, half of the duo who has become her everything.

Scorpius grins brightly from his spot on the coffee table, where he’s perched to watch them, and claps Draco on the back as though urging him on. Hermione slides off the couch, sinking to her knees in front of both Draco and Scorpius. Her hands tremble slightly as she cups Draco’s face, forcing him to look into her eyes. When he does, the love, pride, and joy in his gaze nearly takes her breath away.

“Draco Malfoy,” she begins softly, her voice thick with emotion, “you’ve spent all this time thinking I saved you—that I added so much to your life, to your home.”

Her thumbs brush across his high cheekbones, her voice full of conviction. “But the truth is—you and Scorp saved me, too.”

Draco shakes his head as if to argue, but she shushes him gently, silencing any protest. “I spent years hiding pieces of myself away—trying not to be too much, trying to live up to expectations and titles, trying to be the one who had all the answers, who held it all together.”

She pauses to collect herself, her eyes glimmering. “Somewhere along the way, I stopped asking myself what I wanted out of life—who I wanted to be.”

Hermione smiles up at both of them before continuing. “And then you walked into my office and inserted yourself into my life. You were brave enough to show me all of you—the broken pieces and flaws, the bravery and selflessness, and everything in between. And you gave me the time and space to show you mine.”

She takes a shaky breath, her voice trembling as tears fill her eyes. “I didn’t think there was anyone in the world who could love all of me. The stubborn, bossy parts, the reckless and cavalier parts, the parts of me that still doubt myself sometimes. But you do. You love me recklessly and completely. And I love you the same way—fiercely and with every fiber of my being.”

Her hands slide down to his free hand, her voice steady now as she continues. “I love you for who you are—the man who works so hard every day to be better. I love you for the father you are, who loves his son without reservation, who would move heaven and earth to make Scorpius smile. And I love you for the way you look at me, like I’m something worth fighting for. You make me feel seen, cherished, and more loved than I ever thought possible.”

She squeezes his hand tightly, not caring that her tears are falling freely now. “So yes, Draco. A thousand times, yes. I want to be your wife, I want to be Scorpius’ Mama. I want to spend the rest of my life with you—building a future that’s ours. I want lazy mornings with pancakes, I want Saturday Quidditch matches, rooftop dinners, and late-night reading parties where no one actually reads. I want to watch Scorpius grow up with you by my side, and I want a whole pack of blonde babies with curly hair. I want to keep building this beautiful, messy, perfect life together.”

Her voice drops to a breathless whisper as she leans closer, pressing her forehead to his. “You are my home, Draco. You and Scorpius. And I can’t wait to marry you.”

Draco’s smile is breathtaking as he slides the ring–with its large, beautiful marquise diamond nestled on a shining gold band–from its box and slips it onto her finger. “You truly are something else, Hermione Granger.”

Scorpius launches himself at them, nearly toppling both Hermione and Draco over. “I’m so 'cited!” he exclaims, giggling as he eagerly accepts kisses from them both.

Minutes later, they’re all curled together in a heap on the couch—admiring Hermione’s ring and basking in the festive, love-filled atmosphere.

Suddenly, Scorpius shoots upright, silver eyes wide. “Dere’s one more present for you, Mama!”

“Another one?!” Hermione squeaks, her voice watery. “I can’t imagine what I’ve done to deserve all of this!”

Grinning proudly, Scorpius slides off the couch and tugs another small gift from its hiding place behind the tree. He scrambles back into Hermione’s lap, the little box clutched in his hands, its ribbon slightly crooked as though he’d redone it himself. He looks up at her, his face a mix of excitement and nervousness.

“Mama,” he says seriously, his voice soft with vulnerability. “Dis is for you. Just from me!”

Draco watches quietly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Hermione catches the knowing gleam in his eyes—he’s clearly been Scorpius’ partner in this surprise.

Hermione carefully unties the ribbon, her hands trembling slightly as she lifts the lid. Inside rests a delicate gold ring, elegant in its simplicity—much like her engagement ring—set with a glowing white opal surrounded by vivid blue sapphires.

Her breath catches. “Oh, Scorpius…”

“Do you like it?” Scorpius asks shyly, his wide eyes searching hers.

Hermione blinks back tears, gazing between the ring and her son. “I absolutely love it, sweetheart. It’s perfect.” She presses a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you so much.”

Scorpius beams, his chest puffing with pride as he points at the stones. “Daddy helped me! Dis one is for my birfday”—he taps the opal—“and dese are for yours,” he adds, indicating the sapphires. “Dis way we’re always together—forever and ever, Mama.”

Hermione can no longer hold back her tears. She slides the ring onto her right hand, where the cool metal settles like it was always meant to be. Wrapping Scorpius tightly in her arms, her voice trembles as she says, “Thank you, Scorp. I love it so much.”

He hugs her fiercely, his little arms squeezing around her neck as his fingers tangle in her hair. “I wanted you to have somefing special from me too! You’re my Mama, and I love you.”

“I love you too, Scorp,” she whispers, pressing another kiss to his forehead.

Settling back against Draco’s side, Hermione rests her head on his shoulder, her heart full as she looks down at her hands. The two rings catch the light—the sparkling diamond engagement ring from Draco and the delicate opal ring from Scorpius—each symbolizing their bond.

“You both spoil me,” she says softly, tears still glimmering in her eyes.

Draco smiles, wrapping a curl of her hair around his finger. “You deserve it, darling.”

Scorpius beams up at them, his face full of pure joy. “We’re da best family ever!”

Hermione laughs softly, tears slipping down her face. “We really are.”

Outside the window, snow begins to fall, blanketing the world in a soft, quiet calm. Scorpius perches on the arm of the couch, his wide eyes watching the snowflakes flutter by. Mari snoozes contentedly on her perch, while Crookshanks naps in front of the Christmas tree, the warm glow of the lights illuminating him.

Hermione admires the scene, leaning into Draco’s side, everything feeling perfectly at peace.

Then, with a mischievous grin, she breaks the silence. “You know, I should’ve only accepted on one condition.”

Draco gives her a wary look as Scorpius whips around. “And what condition is that?”

“I should’ve said I’d only marry you if you joined the Space Bun Club,” Hermione sniffs dramatically.

Draco groans, letting his head fall back against the couch. “Salazar, I knew this day would come.”

“Are you really going to let Scorpius and me be the only cool ones in the family?” Hermione teases, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m perfectly cool without space buns, thank you very much,” Draco grumbles, though there’s no real fight in his voice. “I’m also dignified, sophisticated and terrifying.”

Scorpius is already bouncing off the couch, running for supplies. “Mama does da best space buns! I’ll get da hair ties!”

Draco levels Hermione with a flat stare as Scorpius returns triumphantly with a hairbrush and ties. “Traitor,” he mutters, though his lips twitch in amusement.

Hermione pats the floor in front of her, grinning. “Sit down, Mr. Dignified-Sophisticated-Terrifying. This is serious business.”

Draco groans again but obliges, sitting cross-legged in front of her like a sulking child. “Do your worst, Granger.”

As Hermione brushes through his hair and starts twisting it into buns, Scorpius claps his hands excitedly, perched beside her with a front-row seat. “Just like ours, Mama!”

“Exactly like ours,” Hermione confirms, a wicked gleam in her eyes as she works.

“I am being ganged up on in my own home—on Christmas morning, no less!” Draco complains, though his voice is softened by the laughter tugging at his lips.

“Because we love you,” Hermione says sweetly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as she finishes.

Scorpius squeals with delight as Hermione secures the second bun. “Yay! You’re in da Space Bun Club now, Daddy!”

Draco sits still for a moment, clearly reevaluating every life choice that led to this moment. “I look ridiculous,” he mutters.

“You look adorable,” Hermione corrects, wrapping her arms around him triumphantly.

Draco stands slowly, turning to face them both with exaggerated solemnity. “If anyone outside this room finds out about this, I’ll know who to blame.”

“Mama,” Scorpius stage-whispers, giggling.

“Obviously,” Hermione replies with a conspiratorial grin.

Draco rolls his eyes, though there’s no real annoyance there as he scoops Scorpius into his arms, peppering his little face with kisses. “You’re lucky I love you, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. Very lucky.”

Scorpius beams, wrapping his arms around his father’s neck. “I love you too, Daddy.”

Hermione watches them, her heart full to bursting as she hugs her knees to her chest. “You know, Draco,” she calls out teasingly, “you should be glad I don’t have a camera with me.”

“Thank goodness for small mercies,” Draco replies, shooting her a mock glare.

“She may not, but I do!” Theo crows from the doorway, grinning maniacally. “This day shall live in infamy.”

“Congratulations, by the way!” Harry calls, poking his head around Theo.

“Penny is being very excited,” the house-elf adds, appearing beside them with a bright smile. “But Penny is also ready to serve brunch.”

“Pancakes!” Scorpius yells, wriggling out of Draco’s arms and bolting toward the doorway, Theo and Harry laughing as they chase him. Penny shakes her head fondly and follows at a more sedate pace.

Draco watches them all leave before turning to Hermione with a shake of his head. “Are you sure about this? There’s still time to run.”

Hermione stretches up, brushing her lips against his. “There’s nowhere on earth I’d rather be.”

Chapter Text

Hermione

December 21, 2010

New York City

Hermione wakes slowly, stretching like a cat in the warm, luxurious bed. A smile tugs at her lips as the quiet sounds of her friends bustling around the suite drift through the door.

The door creaks open, and Daphne peers cautiously around the corner. Her face lights up when she sees Hermione stirring, and she immediately turns to call over her shoulder. “She’s awake! Let’s get this party started!”

Luna and Harry burst into the room with unrestrained enthusiasm, piling onto the bed beside her, while Pansy trails in more sedately.

Harry, predictably, breaks into song at a volume far too loud for the early hour—especially with his face near her ear. “Happy wedding day to youuuuuuu!”

Hermione laughs, leaning against his shoulder as Daphne hands her a mimosa, the glass bubbling cheerfully. Pansy finishes pouring her own drink, shooting a mildly disapproving look at Harry.

“You look lovely, Hermione,” Luna says with a dreamy sigh, one hand resting gently on her heavily pregnant belly. “Your aura is glowing, not a Wrackspurt in sight—just perfect for your wedding day.”

“She does look wonderful,” Pansy agrees crisply, smoothing the sleeve of her impeccable dressing gown. “But if you could refrain from going into labor at any point today, that would be wonderful.”

“Whatever will be, will be,” Luna shrugs with a serene smile. “As I keep telling August, Orchid and Hyacinth will arrive precisely when they mean to.”

“Right,” Harry says briskly, casting a Tempus charm. “Hair and makeup will be here in about an hour, so you’ve got plenty of time for breakfast. And, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, the room service here is top-notch.”

When Hermione insisted on following tradition—spending the night before the wedding apart and not seeing Draco until she walked down the aisle—Draco had booked the honeymoon suite at the Mandarin Oriental. Because of course he’d have to go with one of the most expensive hotels in New York, she thinks with a smile.

They’d also decided to spend their wedding night and the following night here, postponing their actual honeymoon by a few days to spend Christmas with Scorpius.

She never would have guessed that Harry Potter of all people would turn into a militant wedding planner—but he had. His attention to detail and near-obsessive timelines had been invaluable as she and Draco planned their wedding.

Their year-long engagement is a stark contrast to Theo and Harry’s whirlwind timeline, with just a month between the proposal and their Las Vegas elopement. Even more dramatic is Candy and Luna’s story—they skipped the engagement entirely, marrying under the stars just three days after they met.

No, she and Draco had been content to take their time. Once they’d admitted their feelings, things had moved quickly enough. A longer engagement allowed them to settle into their new relationship and, most importantly, gave Scorpius plenty of time to adjust to the changes in their little family.

Hermione takes a deep breath as she looks around the room at her friends.

Two years ago, Harry had been her only close confidant, with Luna on the periphery of her life. Now her eyes brim with happy tears as she takes in this eclectic, loving group.

She and Harry were closer than she ever thought possible—more like siblings than anything. Luna had become one of her best friends after marrying Candy and moving to New York. Her otherworldly manner, which had once unsettled Hermione, now felt like a breath of fresh air.

Her relationships with Daphne and Pansy had blossomed as well. Over the past year, the two couples had set up standing Portkey reservations, trading visits monthly. They’d grown close enough that Daphne would be standing as a bridesmaid, while Pansy—ever the contrarian—would split her time between the hotel and Draco and Hermione’s house before standing on Draco’s side at the wedding.

“Thank you,” Hermione whispers, her voice thick with emotion. She clears her throat and tries again, steadier this time. “Thank you all for being here. You mean so much to me, and I love you.”

Daphne and Harry offer her watery smiles, their eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Luna beams, tears streaming freely down her cheeks—undoubtedly aided by her pregnancy hormones. Even Pansy, ever the stoic, seems suspiciously emotional.

“I suppose you’re alright, Granger,” Pansy mutters gruffly, pointedly avoiding Hermione’s gaze. Hermione notices her swipe at her cheek but says nothing, unwilling to call attention to the rare display of vulnerability. A knowing smile spreads across her face, though. Coming from Pansy Parkinson, that’s as good as an I love you, too.

A knock at the door interrupts their leisurely breakfast, prompting Harry to huff in exasperation as he checks his meticulously planned schedule. “There’s nothing scheduled at this hour,” he grumbles, muttering under his breath as he strides to answer the door.

The moment the door swings open, his eyes widen. “Did he buy the entire florist?!” he exclaims, stepping back to allow two delivery boys inside.

One carries the largest vase of roses Hermione has ever seen—lush, velvety red blooms cascading elegantly in a display that practically exudes romance.

The other holds an equally enormous but delightfully contrasting arrangement, a riot of colorful daisies, roses, carnations, and asters arranged in cheerful, unrestrained chaos.

Hermione stares at the extravagant floral arrangements as they’re placed on a side table, the sheer abundance of blooms filling the room with a sweet, heady fragrance. The contrasting displays—one regal and composed, the other bright and wild—feel so perfectly them.

“Merlin,” Daphne breathes, leaning closer to inspect the roses. “We’ll have to put these under a strong Stasis charm so you can keep them forever.”

Pansy rolls her eyes, though even she seems begrudgingly impressed. “Draco’s showing off, obviously. You’d think he was trying to set a world record.”

Hermione laughs softly, shaking her head as she steps toward the table, her heart already thudding with anticipation. “There’s probably a note.”

Harry, now thoroughly over his initial confusion, pulls a card from the extravagant vase of red roses and hands it to her with a flourish. “Here you go, Madam Bride. I’ll spare you the dramatics of reading it aloud.”

Hermione unfolds the card, immediately recognizing Draco’s sharp, elegant handwriting. A soft smile spreads across her face as she reads silently.

Hermione, Darling,

Sometimes I still can’t believe this is real—that in just a few hours, I’ll watch you walk toward me so we can begin our forever. I promise to spend every day earning the privilege of having you by my side.

Yours, Draco

Her breath catches as she holds the card to her chest, warmth flooding her at his words. Draco had never been one for flowery speeches—he always preferred actions to elaborate declarations—but every word he wrote felt deliberate, genuine, and full of love.

Luna sighs happily, dabbing at her tears with a napkin. “I didn’t even read it, and I’m crying!”

“Probably the Nargles,” Pansy mutters, though her tone lacks its usual bite.

Before Hermione can respond, Harry plucks the second card from the cheerful bouquet of colorful blooms and waves it teasingly. “And this masterpiece of floral chaos must be from our favorite tiny human.”

Hermione laughs as she takes the card, immediately noting Scorpius’ wobbly, painstakingly careful handwriting, with Draco’s guiding hand evident in a few places. This one, she reads aloud:

Dear Mama,

I picked dese flowers because dey make me happy, just like you do! Daddy says today is one of da happiest days of our lives, and I fink so too!

I love you soooo much, and I’m so glad you’re my Mama.

Love, Scorpius (and Pesto, and Cookie, and Mari!)

Hermione presses a hand to her mouth, her eyes stinging as tears threaten to spill over. “Oh, my heart.”

“That boy is going to make me cry,” Daphne whispers, brushing at her eyes. Even Pansy turns suspiciously quiet, inspecting the chaotic bouquet with a soft huff that doesn’t quite mask her fondness.

Hermione clutches both cards tightly, already imagining them framed on her desk at home—Draco’s steady, unwavering love and Scorpius’ bright, boundless joy. It’s everything she could have ever wanted—everything she never dared to dream she’d have.

“Well,” Harry says, clearing his throat as he claps his hands together, visibly trying to recover from the emotional moment, “it’s official. You’re marrying two Malfoys today, and neither of them has an ounce of subtlety.”

Hermione laughs through her tears, swiping at her cheeks as Luna beams serenely, her own tears still streaming freely. “Best day ever,” Luna declares, patting her belly. “And the babies agree.”

Hermione shakes her head fondly, tucking the cards safely into the blooms. “It really is the best day ever.”

“And it hasn’t even started yet,” Harry adds with a smirk. “Now, finish your breakfast and let’s get you ready. You’ve got a big day ahead!”

Hermione takes a deep breath, her smile wide and genuine as she looks around at her friends and the flowers—a perfect reflection of the two people who love her most.

“Let’s do this,” she says, her voice steady and sure.

As Harry ushers the group into action, the room brims with excitement and love. Hermione thinks, I already feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

After hours of pampering and primping, Hermione steps in front of the full-length mirror, finally able to take in her entire wedding day look at once.

Her breath catches as her gaze trails down her reflection—from the soft curls swept elegantly atop her head, to the delicate lines of her makeup, to the exquisite silhouette of her gown. Her eyes linger on the ludicrously expensive, yet undeniably beautiful Christian Louboutin heels that Draco insisted on buying her after she glanced at them for more than two seconds.

The earrings and bracelet from the set Draco had given her last Christmas pair perfectly with the dress—though she’d forgone the necklace to avoid clashing with the neckline.

Scorpius’ ring still held its usual pride of place on her right hand, but her left felt oddly bare without her engagement ring. She’d given it back to Draco the day before so it could be magically joined to her wedding band, with a series of charms woven into the metal—spells to link it to Draco’s ring, ensuring they’d always be connected.

She hadn’t known exactly what she was looking for when dress shopping—only that she hoped to find something reminiscent of her mother’s wedding gown. And somehow, she had.

Days of searching had led them through what felt like every bridal shop in New York and London. Luna, Pansy, Daphne, and Theo had trudged alongside her as dress after dress failed to feel right—too flashy, too simple, too not her. On their way home from yet another fruitless outing, a quiet vintage bridal boutique tucked into a corner of the Upper East Side had caught her eye.

The moment they stepped inside, the dress had stopped them all in their tracks. A vision from the 1960s, the gown looked like it had been made for royalty—a perfect blend of timeless elegance and quiet charm. She’d known—they’d all known—it was the one before she even tried it on.

The fabric flows like liquid moonlight, a soft ivory satin that gleams with every subtle movement. The bodice is structured, sculpting her figure with elegant restraint, while intricate beadwork cascades down the front in shimmering patterns of lace, gemstones and pearls.

Wide, ribboned shoulder ties add a softness to the gown’s regal lines, the silken drapes falling gracefully down her arms. The beadwork continues into a bejeweled cape that flows behind her, transforming into a sweeping train that glimmers like starlight. With every step, the dress seems to dance with her—a vision of understated grandeur and vintage magic.

Her arms are bare—a deliberate choice on her part. It might be unconventional for a winter wedding, but it’s a magical venue, and warming charms exist for a reason.

“It looks like you belong in a fairy tale,” Harry murmurs from the doorway, his voice reverent.

Hermione smiles at him in the mirror before turning and pressing a kiss to his cheek as he comes to stand beside her. “Thank you, Harry—for everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you this year.”

Harry clears his throat awkwardly, his voice softening. “Yeah, well, I don’t know what I’d do without you–ever. So, consider this payback for all you’ve done for me.”

“Oh, Harry,” she whispers, thanking the gods once again for charmed makeup as her eyes threaten to tear up for what feels like the hundredth time that day. She pulls him into a fierce hug that he returns in kind.

“Two years ago,” she muses quietly, pulling back to look at him as she straightens his red bow tie, “would you have ever imagined we’d be here?”

Harry laughs, glancing down at the wedding band on his finger. “No. But I don’t think I could have conjured all of this in my wildest dreams, anyway.”

An hour later, Harry and Hermione wait in the bride’s room at the venue. A soft knock sounds at the door, and Harry straightens, glancing back toward the suite’s entrance. “There’s our cue.”

Hermione nods, smiling to herself. “It’s time.”

Harry grins, offering her his arm with an exaggerated flourish. “Your chariot awaits, madam.”

She laughs, slipping her arm through his. “I’ll take it.”

As they step into the corridor and begin the short walk toward the garden atrium where the ceremony will take place, the weight of the day begins to settle over her. The hall is hushed, her footsteps muffled by thick carpet. Hermione can already imagine it—candles glowing like starlight, ivy and roses twining through the enchanted glass ceiling, a crowd of their coworkers, friends and found family waiting.

And at the center of it all—Draco.

“You nervous?” Harry asks softly as they near the doors.

“A little,” Hermione admits. “But it’s a good nervous.”

Harry squeezes her hand. “You’ve got this.”

Hermione smiles up at him. “I’m not walking alone, am I?”

“Not a chance,” Harry replies firmly. “I’m right here with you–always.”

The doors ahead crack open slightly as the music begins to swell—soft, lilting notes drifting through. Harry pauses with her just at the threshold, looking down at her one final time. “This is it.”

Hermione takes one last steadying breath, her heart full, her resolve sure. “Yes. It is.”

And with Harry at her side, she steps forward, ready to begin forever.

Draco

“Daddy, you ‘wake?”

Draco smiles as he turns over, propping his head on his hand to look at his son. “I don’t think I ever went to sleep, Scorp.”

“Too ‘cited?” Scorpius grunts a little as he tries to climb onto the bed, having a harder time of it without his usual running jump. He giggles when Draco grasps the back of footie pjs and hauls him up.

“I am,” Draco concedes, fighting the urge to shake his head as Crookshanks curls up at his feet and Mari swoops in to settle on a bedpost. He still isn’t quite sure how he ended up with a bloody menagerie in the house.

His son’s face lights up with a beaming smile. “Me too! Mama’s going to look so pretty!”

Draco pulls Scorpius close, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “She definitely will.”

The scent of bacon and coffee drifts up the stairs, causing Draco’s brow to furrow in confusion.

Scorpius rolls his eyes dramatically when he notices. “It’s Saturday, Daddy. We still have pancakes—even if you and Mama are getting married!”

“I know that, Scorp.” Draco laughs. “But who’s cooking?”

“Uncle Candy’s already here,” Scorpius explains as he jumps to the floor. “Come on!”

Draco climbs out of bed and follows his son downstairs, tying his hair back into a messy bun as he goes. True to Scorpius’ word, Candy is in the kitchen, dressed in his usual starched Western wear—even at eight o’clock in the morning. If Draco didn’t know better, he’d swear the man slept in his boots and hat.

Candy moves fluidly between tasks, a phone balanced between his ear and shoulder. He ends the call just as Scorpius barrels into the room, Draco trailing behind at a more leisurely pace.

“Time to rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!” Candy exclaims, his signature grin firmly in place. “We gotta get you hitched today.”

“That we do,” Draco replies with a small smile as he pours himself a cup of coffee. He gestures toward the phone Candy slides into his pocket. “Everything alright?”

“Right as rain,” Candy assures him. “Just checkin’ on Lil’ Mama.”

Draco marvels once again at his best friend’s constant, unflappable nature. He knows for certain he’s never been that calm a day in his life. There’s no way he’d be as composed as Candy if Hermione were mere moments away from giving birth to twins.

“Thanks for being here today,” Draco says as Candy flips the bacon with a flick of his wand.

“I don’t know where else you think I’d be,” Candy laughs. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

They all jump slightly as Theo apparates directly into the kitchen—his long standing argument that family should be exempt from anti-apparition wards winning out yet again.

After their whirlwind Vegas wedding, Theo and Harry had officially moved into the house next door, having spent most of their relationship renovating the property Theo had bought years ago but never used. Not that it mattered much, Draco thinks dryly, since they’re still in his house all the time anyway.

“Oh, thank the gods, there’s coffee!” Theo exclaims, shoving his sleep mask up onto his head, clearly having apparated with it still on.

They linger over breakfast, talking and laughing as they always do. In many ways, it feels like any other Saturday morning. After all, the wedding isn’t until later this evening, and none of them will need long to get ready.

Once breakfast is cleared away and everyone is dressed, they head out to enjoy their day. Theo leaves for a spa appointment, dramatically proclaiming the necessity of “relaxation and proper prep” before the wedding. Draco and Scorpius, with Candy in tow, make their way to their usual park for Saturday flying practice.

After an intense best “two out of three” Seeker’s game with Candy acting as referee, Draco and Scorpius decide to make a quick stop at the florist.

Draco wastes no time selecting his flowers, opting for the largest bouquet of roses the florist can assemble. As he writes the card to accompany his selection, Candy takes Scorpius around the shop, the little boy eagerly pointing out blooms for his own bouquet. The florist seems completely charmed by Scorpius, following his every whim as he picks out the most colorful, chaotic arrangement Draco has ever seen.

“It’s perfect, and Hermione will love it,” Draco thinks with a smile, taking his son back into his arms when Candy hands him over to make another phone call.

Scorpius carefully fills out the card for his Mama, his little tongue poking out in concentration as he painstakingly uses his “best handwriting, Daddy!” Draco helps him spell most of the words and gently guides his hand to shape a few tricky letters, but Scorpius insists on writing it himself—knowing Hermione wouldn’t have it any other way. Though he’s only just started kindergarten at his magical primary school and is still mastering the basics of writing, the pride radiating from him is unmistakable.

With the flowers ordered and the cards written, Draco and Scorpius join Candy on the sidewalk just as he finishes his call. Correctly guessing that Luna was on the other end, Draco shoots his best friend an anxious look.

“I’m not sure what we’ll do if Hermione and I both lose a friend to labor on our wedding day,” Draco remarks dryly.

Candy chuckles at Draco’s apprehension. “Don’t get your panties in a wad, Lover Boy—I’m just checkin’ on my girls.”

As they leave the florist to go back home, Scorpius babbles animatedly about all the "super cool" things they’ve done that morning—his game-winning catch at the park, the funny shopkeeper at the florist, and how “Mama is going to love our flowers, Daddy!”

Draco hums in agreement, his gaze soft as he listens. Scorpius’ uncontainable excitement is contagious, but beneath it all, there’s a quiet certainty settling in Draco’s chest. This day is about more than the ceremony or the celebration—it’s about the life they’ve built together and the future they’ll continue to share.

By the time they reach the house, afternoon sunlight spills through the windows, golden and warm, casting a serene glow over the familiar surroundings. Draco glances down at Scorpius, who’s now practically vibrating with excitement, and feels a rush of affection so overwhelming it nearly steals his breath.

Candy claps him on the shoulder as they step inside. “Alright, Jellybean,” he drawls, his grin widening. “Time for lunch. Then we gotta get you all gussied up–can’t have you late to your own weddin’!”

Theo apparates in behind them, much more calm after his morning at the spa. “It’s almost showtime!” he trills.

Draco chuckles, shaking his head as he scoops Scorpius into his arms. “Come on, Scorp, let’s go!”

As the four of them walk down the hall, the air hums with anticipation. In just a few hours, Draco knows, everything will change—but only for the better.

A couple of hours later, Draco shrugs on his tuxedo jacket and adjusts his emerald green bow tie, ensuring it sits perfectly straight. He steps back from the mirror, giving himself a once-over. “Alright, Scorp, the only thing left is my hair—up or down?”

Scorpius hums thoughtfully, his little legs swinging as he perches on the edge of the bed. Still dressed in his t-shirt and joggers, he looks utterly relaxed. Draco has wisely decided to save the tiny tuxedo for the last minute, knowing full well that it would have no chance of surviving until the ceremony otherwise.

“What about up and down?” Scorpius suggests, tilting his head as he studies Draco’s reflection with thoughtful scrutiny. “And I’ll match you!”

“Good idea,” Draco agrees, pulling the top part of his hair back into a sleek knot while leaving the rest to fall neatly to his shoulders. A few shorter strands frame his face—pieces that used to bother him but have since grown on him, thanks to Hermione’s fondness for them. He styles Scorpius’ hair the same way, charming it into place with a flick of his wand.

When they make their way downstairs, Theo, Candy, and Pansy are already waiting, while his mother and Penny have left for the venue.

Candy lets out a sharp whistle, his grin wide and approving. “Lookin’ good, boys!”

“Although, I must say,” he adds with a flourish, gesturing to his own hair, “great minds think alike!”

His best friend has braided back the top half of his locs, leaving the rest loose around his shoulders, giving him a polished but effortlessly cool look. Theo, noticing the unintentional coordination, pouts dramatically. “I should do a quick hair-growing charm so I can match too!”

Pansy rolls her eyes, her tone dry but amused. “Theo, when have you ever wanted to match anyone?”

As Draco watches his friends, a deep sense of gratitude washes over him—not only for their presence beside him today but also for the decision he and Hermione made to prioritize comfort—especially important in Luna’s case–over rigid bridal party coordination. It’s a choice that now allows everyone’s unique personality to shine through. The women are dressed in styles and shoes of their own choosing, provided their outfits include touches of emerald green or deep Christmas red. Meanwhile, Draco and the other men wear standard tuxedos with black shirts, though each had been left to select their own shoes, as well as a red or green tie and pocket square, to add their personal flair.

Scorpius will match Draco almost perfectly, down to his tiny tuxedo, with one key difference—his shoes. While Draco opted for sleek new dragonhide oxfords, Hermione had found their son an adorable pair of black, brushed satin high-tops that complement his outfit beautifully. Theo, naturally, found a way to stand out with the world’s most outrageous pair of dress shoes—covered in black sequins and adorned with small spikes—paired with a bold red bow tie. Candy remains true to form, donning his signature cowboy boots—his formal black snakeskin pair—and a bolo tie with a deep green stone on the slide. His hat, however, has been set aside until the reception. Pansy, ever the picture of understated elegance, chose a sleek black satin dress paired with tasteful emerald jewelry.

They arrive at the venue with less than an hour until the ceremony begins. Tony—who is officiating—paces nervously, his notes clutched tightly in one hand as he mutters to himself. Draco and the others wisely give him a wide berth, settling into their room to wait.

Once Scorpius is dressed—utterly charming in his tiny tuxedo, looking like a miniature version of Draco—Penny and Narcissa step into the room. Penny’s sharp eye and Narcissa’s graceful approval both sweep over father and son, ensuring every detail is perfect before they head to their seats. Draco notices his friends quietly slipping out, giving him a private moment with his mother and Penny–who in many respects has held more of that role than Narcissa ever did.

Narcissa steps forward first, her emerald green gown shimmering faintly in the soft light. Her expression holds an uncharacteristic softness—one Draco hasn’t seen often but has come to treasure in recent years. She reaches out, brushing an invisible speck of lint from his lapel, her hands lingering a moment longer than necessary.

“You’ve grown into the man I always hoped you would be,” she says quietly, her voice steady but tinged with emotion. “Strong, devoted, and capable of building the life you deserve.” She hesitates briefly before lifting her chin. “For a long time, I didn’t truly understand what real strength was, but now I do. And it’s in you, Draco. It always has been.”

Draco swallows hard, placing his hand over hers before leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Thank you, Mum. That means more than you know.”

She pulls him close, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I love you, my dragon.”

He clears his throat, his voice quieter as he responds, “I love you too, Mum.”

Narcissa’s lips curve into a faint smile. Her gaze shifts to Scorpius, who beams up at her, his tiny bowtie slightly askew. “And you, Scorpius,” she says, bending slightly to press a kiss to his forehead, “you’re the heart of this family. Never forget how much you are loved.”

“I won’t, Nana Cissa,” Scorpius replies earnestly, clutching her hand for a brief moment. Narcissa straightens, her composure gracefully slipping back into place. With a regal nod, she steps back. “I’ll leave you to it,” she says, her voice regaining its usual poise. “Penny has a few words, I’m sure.”

As Narcissa glides from the room, Penny steps forward, her wide eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Draco crouches down slightly to meet her at eye level. She straightens the red silk skirt of her suit before reaching up to adjust his tie, her touch both gentle and firm.

“Penny has watched nearly every second of Master Draco’s life,” she begins, her voice trembling slightly. “And there is being so much Penny is wishing she could have stopped or taken away. But then Penny is remembering that all of those things are making Master Draco who he is now, so they were being important—even if they were being painful.”

Draco’s throat tightens as Penny’s words settle over him. She offers him a soft smile, her voice lowering even further. “You is going to be a wonderful husband for Miss Hermione, just like you is already a wonderful father and a wonderful man. Miss Hermione and Master Scorpius is lucky to have you, and Penny knows you is lucky to have them too.”

“I am,” Draco says, his voice rough with emotion. “More than I can ever say.”

Penny reaches out, patting his cheek with a tenderness that nearly undoes him. “Penny loves you, Master Draco. Always.”

Draco pulls her into a gentle hug, one hand resting lightly on her small shoulder. “I love you too, Penny. Always.”

When they part, Scorpius tugs on Penny’s sleeve, his silver eyes wide with affection. “I love you, Penny!” he declares, throwing his arms around her waist.

The house-elf beams, hugging him tightly before stepping back to brush at her eyes. “Penny loves you too, Master Scorpius.” She straightens her posture, her tone turning brisk and practical. “Alright,” she says, “you is ready, Master Draco. Penny is going to find her seat now.”

As Penny turns to leave, Draco watches her go, his chest filled with a profound sense of gratitude. He glances down at Scorpius, who grins up at him, his excitement as bright as ever.

“Ready, Scorp?” Draco asks, his voice steady once more.

“Ready!” Scorpius replies, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Draco takes a deep breath, his heart swelling with anticipation. “Let’s go, then.”

Hermione

Hermione peers through a gap in the door, watching as Luna and Daphne take their places at the front of the room, leaving space for Harry to stand behind her once he’s walked her down the aisle.

Her gaze roams the garden atrium, scarcely knowing where to settle. The space looks exactly as she’d envisioned: deep red roses and trailing ivy from Narcissa’s garden in France, intertwined with holly and mistletoe grown by Neville in Hogwarts’ greenhouses. The greenery is accented by floating candles, their soft glow bathing the room in warm light, while charmed snowflakes—Scorpius’ enthusiastic suggestion—drift lazily from the ceiling, disappearing before they reach the guests.

Though her heart aches with the absence of her parents, Hermione feels a profound sense of joy as she surveys the room, filled with so many people who matter to her and Draco. The Hogwarts contingent is well-represented: Professors McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick sit together, while Hagrid, already sobbing into a massive handkerchief, occupies an entire seat and half of another. Neville and Hannah Abbott sit nearby, joined by Lee Jordan and his boyfriend, Seamus Finnigan. Kingsley’s commanding presence is softened by Andromeda at his side—their relationship no longer a secret—while their shared smiles speak volumes. Teddy perches between them and Narcissa, with Penny flanking Narcissa’s other side.

From MACUSA, the entire Auror Department has turned out in force, joined by Draco’s colleagues from the DMLE. Mrs. Weston, Judith, and Septima mingle effortlessly, their faces glowing with happiness. Madame Laurent is in attendance with her husband and Celeste, as is her assistant Lorraine. The sight of them all makes her realize just how much her life has grown and changed since moving to New York.

As the doors prepare to open, Hermione shifts her focus to the front of the room. Her lips curve into a smile as she spots Pansy, Theo, and Candy—a beautifully eclectic group if there ever was one, their personalities shining in every detail of their attire and presence. But in the end, her eyes land on the two people who matter most: Draco and Scorpius.

As the music swells, Hermione steps forward, her hand tucked in Harry’s arm, and her eyes lock with Draco’s. The world narrows, every sound and sight fading into the background until there is only him. Standing at the end of the aisle, framed by the glow of the candles and the gentle swirl of enchanted snow, he looks as though he belongs in some timeless, ethereal painting. His silver eyes gleam with emotion, his steady gaze grounding her, and the smile that tugs at his lips feels like coming home.

Scorpius bounces excitedly beside Draco, a tuxedo-clad Pesto in one hand and his other hand gripping Draco’s. His grin could rival the sun, and his bright eyes dart between Hermione and Draco, as though he’s soaking in every detail of this moment.

Hermione’s heart feels impossibly full.

When she reaches Draco, Harry presses a kiss to her cheek and steps back to his place behind her. Draco extends his hand to her, and as she takes it, he squeezes her fingers gently, his expression softening into something so tender it steals her breath.

“You’re breathtaking,” he murmurs, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

“So are you,” she whispers back, a small smile curving her lips.

A soft throat-clearing interrupts their quiet moment, and they both turn toward Tony, who stands with a slight grin, his notes held loosely in one hand. His warm brown eyes twinkle with good humor as he gestures for them to face him fully. “Alright, lovebirds, save some of that for later. We’ve got a ceremony to get through.”

The room chuckles softly, the tension lightened by Tony’s easy charm. He shifts into a more serious tone as he begins, his voice steady and rich. “Today, we’ve come together today to witness a magical union between Hermione Jean Granger and Draco Lucius Malfoy—a bond not just of love but of trust, respect, and a shared future. What we’re about to witness is a soul-bonding, a ceremony as old as magic itself, that unites two magical cores into harmony, a reflection of the deep connection they already share.”

He raises his wand, a quiet hum filling the room as the air around them begins to shimmer faintly with iridescent light. The magic radiates gently, swirling like sunlight caught in water, wrapping around Draco and Hermione delicately. It’s warm and calming, yet tingling with power.

Tony gestures for them to exchange their rings before they take each other’s hands. As their fingers entwine, the magic brightens slightly, the shimmering golden and silver tendrils of light flowing between them, connecting them in a glowing arc.

“Hermione, Draco,” Tony continues, “this ceremony isn’t about binding you to one another—it’s about honoring the bond that already exists. It’s about strengthening the foundation you’ve built and the promises you’ll make today.”

Draco smiles softly at Hermione, his silver eyes gleaming with emotion. When Tony nods, he begins the ancient vows they’d found in a book about soul-bonding, his voice low and steady but filled with feeling.

“Hermione Jean Granger, you cannot possess me for I belong to myself. But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give. You cannot command me, for I am a free person. But I shall serve you in those ways you require and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand…"

Their magic wraps around them as he continues, and before she knows it, she’s made it to the second half of the vows in her own repetition.

“…I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night and the eyes into which I will smile in the morning. I pledge to you the first bite of my meat and the first drink of my cup. I pledge to you my living and my dying, each equally in your care. I shall be a shield for your back and you for mine.”

As their words echo through the room, the gold and silver magic intensifies, swirling faster around them. It winds gently up their arms and encircles them like a protective embrace, warm and radiant. Hermione feels it settle deep into her chest, the magic embedding her promises into her very soul.

Tony lowers his wand slightly, his smile widening. “Together, please repeat after me.”

Draco and Hermione speak as one, their voices steady and harmonious, as they finish out the vows. “This is my wedding vow to you. This is the marriage of equals.”

At their final words, the magic surges outward in a wave of warmth and light, shimmering across the garden atrium like sunlight through mist. It lingers in the air, a visible reminder of the promises made and the union formed.

Tony smiles warmly as he gestures for them to unclasp their hands. “And just like that, your bond is sealed. What you’ve created here today can never be broken.”

Scorpius, unable to contain himself any longer, lets out an excited cheer, and the guests chuckle in response. Hermione and Draco turn to him with matching smiles, overwhelmed by their love for him.

Tony chuckles, addressing the room as he closes the ceremony. “And now, by the power vested in me by…well, mostly by my big mouth and your faith in me…” The room laughs again, and Tony grins. “I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride, Draco—but let’s be honest, I doubt anyone could stop you.”

Draco doesn’t wait another second. His hands slide to her waist as he pulls her close, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that feels like home. The room erupts in cheers, but Hermione barely hears it. All she feels is Draco—his love, his warmth, his steady presence grounding her in this perfect moment.

As they part, Scorpius bounces on his heels, waving Pesto in the air. “Yay, you did it!”

“We’re not quite done yet, ladies and gentlemen,” Tony says as the cheers subside. “Today isn’t just about the bond between Draco and Hermione—it’s also about their bond with Scorpius, individually and as a family.”

Draco crouches down, holding his hand out to Scorpius. “Ready, Scorp?” he asks softly.

Scorpius nods, his silver eyes wide and gleaming with excitement. He turns to hand Pesto off to Theo, who takes the stuffed dragon with a smile.

“Ready, Daddy,” he says as he takes Draco’s hand.

Scorpius looks up at his father, then at Hermione, his silver eyes sparkling as brightly as the enchanted candles floating above them.

Tony steps forward, holding out his wand. “Now, Scorpius, are you ready to be part of this bond?”

“Yes!” Scorpius chirps, his voice clear and bright in the quiet atrium. “I love Daddy, and I love Mama, and we’re already da best family, but I wanna do magic too!”

Laughter ripples softly through the guests, but Hermione can’t take her eyes off Scorpius. Her heart feels like it might burst as he looks up at her with so much love and trust.

Tony smiles warmly, lowering his wand to Scorpius’ height. “Alright, then. All you have to do is hold on to your daddy and your mama, and make your promises.”

Scorpius carefully places his free hand in Hermione’s, his tiny fingers gripping hers tightly. She can feel the slight tremor in his touch—whether from nerves or excitement, she can’t tell. She smiles at Draco when he takes her other hand, uniting the three of them.

“Scorpius,” Tony says gently, “do you promise to share your happiest moments with your family and hold on to them when times are hard?”

Scorpius beams, his voice ringing with clarity as he replies, “I promise, Mr. Tony!”

“And do you promise to stand by them, no matter what?”

“Yes, I promise!” Scorpius exclaims, bouncing slightly on his toes.

Hermione feels Draco’s hand tighten around hers, and when she looks at him, she sees the glimmer of unshed tears in his eyes. Her throat tightens as Tony speaks again.

Tony smiles, his gaze warm as he straightens. “With these promises, the three of you are not just bound by magic, but by love. You are a family in every way that matters.”

The glow of magic intensifies, swirling around them like a warm embrace. This time, a shimmering blue tendril emerges, intertwining with Draco and Hermione’s silver and gold—a radiant manifestation of Scorpius’ magic. The little boy gasps softly, his wide eyes reflecting the brilliance as he watches the magic settle into place, weaving itself into the very fabric of their bond.

Hermione crouches down, cupping Scorpius’ face with both hands, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. “I love you, Scorp. So, so much.”

“I love you too,” Scorpius whispers, flinging his arms around her neck as she pulls him close. “I’m so glad you’re my Mama.”

Draco kneels beside them, wrapping his arms around them both. He presses a kiss to the top of Scorpius’ head and then to Hermione’s temple. “I love you both so much,” he murmurs, his voice just loud enough for the three of them.

They linger in that embrace, wrapped in each other and the lingering hum of magic from the soul-bonding ceremony. This moment is more than the joining of two lives—it’s the creation of a family, woven together by love and magic.

When they finally pull apart, Scorpius looks up at them, his face alight with pure joy. “Can we dance now?”

Hermione laughs, brushing a tear from her cheek as she nods. “Of course we can, love. But only if you save me your first dance.”

“And me,” Draco adds with a smirk. “We’re a package deal, after all.”

Scorpius giggles, clutching their hands in his tiny ones as he bounces on his heels. “‘Kay! All three of us!”

Hermione shares a tender glance with Draco as they rise to their feet, their little family standing hand in hand at the center of their world. It’s everything she’s ever dreamed of—and so much more.

Draco

As the magical glow of the soul-bonding ceremony fades, the lingering hum of magic feels like a gentle heartbeat, thrumming in the air. Guests rise from their seats, the soft rustle of movement blending with quiet laughter and murmured congratulations. Hermione takes one last glance around the garden atrium, her heart full as she squeezes Draco’s hand. Beside them, Scorpius clutches their free hands, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Can we go now?” Scorpius whispers, his silver eyes darting eagerly toward the enchanted pathway leading to the reception area. “I want to dance and eat cake!”

Draco chuckles, crouching slightly to meet his son’s eyes. “Patience, Scorp. Good things come to those who wait.”

“But Daddy,” Scorpius replies with exaggerated exasperation, “I already waited forever!”

Hermione laughs, crouching to Scorpius’ level. “We’re going, love. But first, we have to make an entrance—together.”

Scorpius perks up at that, his grin widening. “’Kay!”

Draco straightens with a smirk, adjusting his emerald green bow tie. He glances at Hermione, his voice softening. “Ready, Mrs. Malfoy?”

Hermione’s heart flutters at the sound of her new name. “Always.”

She’d originally planned to hyphenate her name, a choice Draco had fully expected and supported. But when Scorpius casually mentioned how excited he was “for their names to match,” her plans had shifted. The thought of him believing she wanted to keep part of herself separate from their family was unimaginable. Smiling at the memory, she’d joked with Draco that her mother, ever the traditionalist, would have been thrilled with her decision.

They step onto the glowing garden path together, Scorpius firmly in the middle, holding their hands. The sound of distant music grows louder as they near the reception space, and Hermione can feel the hum of anticipation building.

On cue, the doors swing open to reveal the little family framed by the golden light spilling into the reception hall. A cheer rises from the crowd as they step forward, Scorpius leading the way with an enormous grin. He waves enthusiastically with his free hand, Pesto tucked under his arm, while Hermione and Draco follow, their joined hands a quiet but powerful symbol of their bond.

The room erupts into applause, and Hermione can’t help the wide smile that spreads across her face as she takes in the sight of their friends and family, gathered together in celebration. Candles float above the tables, casting a warm, magical glow over the space. The band strikes up a lively tune, and the energy in the room feels electric.

Draco leans toward her as they step further inside, his voice low and full of warmth. “Well, Mrs. Malfoy, it seems our party is off to a good start.”

She tilts her head to look up at him, her smile softening. “It’s perfect.”

Scorpius tugs on their hands, drawing their attention. “Come on, Mama, Daddy! Let’s dance first!”

Laughter ripples between them as they let Scorpius lead the way to the center of the room, where the band transitions seamlessly into a slower song. The crowd begins to form a circle around them, and Hermione’s heart swells as she realizes this moment isn’t just about the two of them—it’s about the family they’ve created.

Draco sweeps her into his arms for their first dance as husband and wife, while Scorpius stands proudly beside them, swaying happily in place with Pesto. Around them, the world feels brighter, warmer, and infinitely more magical.

The music wraps around them like a soft embrace, the lilting melody blending with the glow of enchanted candles floating above. Hermione rests her head on Draco’s shoulder, her eyes closing for just a moment as she lets the rhythm guide them. His hand presses firmly yet gently against her back, grounding her, while their fingers interlace in a perfect, natural fit.

“You know,” Draco murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “I think they’re all staring at us.”

Hermione lifts her head to meet his gaze, her lips curving into a soft smile. “Let them stare. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Draco’s eyes soften, his thumb brushing gently over her hand as they continue to move in perfect harmony. Around them, their guests look on with smiles of their own, the joy in the room palpable.

Draco slows their movements, releasing Hermione’s hand to crouch in front of Scorpius. “Alright, love,” he says softly, holding out his arms. “Ready to join us?”

Scorpius beams, his grin so wide it crinkles the corners of his eyes as he nods enthusiastically. “Yes!”

Draco smiles, scooping him up effortlessly. Scorpius wraps his arms around Draco’s neck, Pesto now squished between them.

Draco rises to his full height, holding Scorpius securely with one arm as he reaches for Hermione with the other. “Room for one more?” he asks, his voice warm.

“Always,” Hermione says, stepping closer and resting a hand on Draco’s shoulder as her other hand comes to rest on Scorpius’ back.

The three of them sway together, a little less coordinated but infinitely more perfect. Scorpius giggles as Draco twirls them gently, his laughter ringing like music of its own. Hermione catches Draco’s eye over their son’s shoulder, and the look they share is one of pure, unfiltered happiness.

The room fades away entirely, leaving only the three of them in their own little world. It’s not the choreography of a perfect first dance, but it’s theirs—and that makes it perfect.

As the song draws to a close, the guests erupt into applause and cheers, the sound pulling them back into the moment. Scorpius looks around in awe, his tiny chest puffing with pride as if the applause is all for him.

Hermione presses a kiss to his temple, unable to resist. “You’re the best dance partner, Scorp.”

Scorpius giggles, his cheeks flushing pink. “You too, Mama! And Daddy is really good at spinning.”

Draco chuckles, setting Scorpius down gently but keeping him close. “Only because I had such excellent partners.”

“Mama,” Scorpius whispers conspiratorially, “can we have cake now?”

Hermione laughs softly, brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead. “Soon, love. But first, Daddy and I have to finish saying hello to everyone.”

Scorpius pouts for half a second before perking up again. “‘Kay! But don’t forget about da cake!”

“We wouldn’t dream of it,” Draco assures him, taking Hermione’s hand as they lead Scorpius back toward the edge of the dance floor. The band strikes up a more upbeat tune, inviting the rest of the guests to join in, and the party begins to shift into full swing.

After greeting their guests, Draco and Hermione found Scorpius dancing exuberantly with Pansy and Daphne before gathering him for the ceremonial cutting of the cake. Scorpius had devoured his slice with impressive speed before dashing back into the crowd, where he was now dancing with Tony and Judith, his laughter ringing out above the music.

Draco leans back in his chair, his arm draped around Hermione’s shoulders as she rests against him. He presses a kiss to her hair, and she sighs contentedly. “Was today everything you wanted it to be, darling?” he asks softly.

She smiles, the curve of her lips brushing against his neck as she presses a kiss there. “Better than my wildest dreams.”

After a few quiet moments, he takes her hand and leads her back to the dance floor. They move together in an easy rhythm, dancing with the same contented grace that he had once teased Tony and Judith for displaying.

Draco’s gaze drifts over the lively scene around them, a warm smile tugging at his lips as he watches their friends and family enjoying the celebration. Daphne twirls and dances with wild abandon, her extravagant red gown catching the light as she moves. Her spirited energy is in sharp contrast to Pansy, who stands nearby, her expression impassive. To an untrained observer, Pansy might seem utterly disinterested, but Draco recognizes the subtle quirk of her mouth as a sign of her amusement at her wife’s antics.

Nearby, Theo, Harry, and Scorpius are locked in an animated dance-off, their boisterous laughter echoing across the room. Scorpius mimics their exaggerated moves with gusto, his tiny tuxedo slightly rumpled but his face aglow with pure joy.

Candy–his Stetson returned to its rightful place–and Luna have finally left the dance floor, settling back at their table. Luna balances serenely on her husband’s lap, her head resting in the crook of his neck as he holds her securely. Her flowing green gown cascades to the floor, its ethereal design doing little to disguise the prominent curve of her belly. Draco is amazed again by Candy’s unshakeable calm and Luna’s quiet resilience. Carrying twins at nine months while being part of a wedding couldn’t be easy, yet she’s handled it all with remarkable grace.

Andromeda and Kingsley dominate a corner of the dance floor, their near-professional moves drawing appreciative glances from onlookers. Teddy spins nearby in Narcissa’s arms, her careful guidance helping him master the steps of the dance.

Draco and Hermione burst into laughter when Tony and Penny float past, an unlikely pair who nonetheless seem to be enjoying themselves immensely as they attempt a complicated dance routine. Penny’s tiny stature compared to Tony’s solid frame makes their efforts even more endearing.

Eventually, Hermione notices that Scorpius is starting to flag. For the first time all night—aside from his brief pauses for cake and dinner—he’s off the dance floor. He’s with Narcissa, curled against her shoulder, his little head nodding as sleep overtakes him.

“We’ll take him, Narcissa,” Hermione says softly, reaching out for the little boy.

Narcissa smiles as she carefully transfers him into Hermione’s arms. “I’ll take him home as soon as you’re ready,” she offers warmly.

Draco drops a kiss to his mother’s cheek in thanks before following Hermione to the suite where she had gotten ready earlier. By the time he enters, Hermione is already seated on the couch, cradling a drowsy Scorpius against her.

Together, they read him a bedtime story from the book Hermione had thoughtfully packed with her things. Scorpius listens with heavy-lidded eyes, his small hand clutching the edge of Hermioner’s dress as the familiar cadence of her voice soothes him.

“Just two sleeps, right?” Scorpius asks through a wide yawn, his silver eyes struggling to stay open.

“That’s right,” Hermione assures him gently, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. They had explained earlier about their mini honeymoon—a two-night getaway before returning to spend Christmas at home as a family.

“Nana Cissa, Auntie Pansy, and Auntie Daphne will all be at home with you,” Draco adds, meeting his son’s gaze. “And Penny too, of course.”

Scorpius nods, his voice barely a murmur. “‘Kay.”

Hermione leans down to press a kiss to his temple. “Two sleeps, then we’ll be home, love.”

Draco echoes the sentiment with a soft kiss to Scorpius’ cheek. “We love you, Scorp. Sweet dreams.”

After another round of goodnight kisses and whispered “I love yous,” Penny and Narcissa arrive to take him home. Hermione stands by the door, her hand resting on Draco’s arm as they watch their son leave, his small form tucked securely in Narcissa’s arms.

As the door closes softly behind them, Hermione turns to Draco with a contented smile, her heart full. The quiet room feels like a world apart, the distant hum of the reception fading into a gentle backdrop.

Draco watches her closely, the warmth in her honey-brown eyes sparking something deep within him. He steps closer, his hands finding her waist as if to anchor them both. “Mrs. Malfoy,” he murmurs, his voice rich with affection. “Finally, some peace and quiet.”

Hermione’s lips curve into a smile, her fingers curling into the lapels of his tuxedo jacket. “I think we’ve earned it.”

Draco’s smirk softens into something more tender, his silver eyes tracing her face as though committing it to memory. Gently, he brushes a loose curl from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. “You’re stunning,” he says, his voice low and full of reverence.

Heat rises to Hermione’s cheeks, but her heart swells at his words. “So are you,” she whispers, leaning into his touch.

Draco’s thumb brushes over her cheekbone as he leans in, capturing her lips in a kiss that is soft yet brimming with promise. It’s not a kiss of urgency, but one steeped in love—a quiet affirmation of everything they are to each other. When they part, Hermione rests her forehead against his, her eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze.

“I can’t believe we’re finally here,” she says softly.

Draco smiles, a look that lights up his entire face. “Here,” he murmurs, “and everywhere else we’re going. Together.”

Hermione cups his face, her thumb tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone. “I love you,” she says, her voice a gentle vow.

Draco presses another kiss to her lips, his response quiet but resolute. “I love you too.”

For a moment, they simply hold each other, letting the weight of the day settle over them. Then Draco steps back, his hand sliding down to hers, a gleam of mischief sparking in his eyes. “As much as I’d like to keep you all to myself,” he says, his voice teasing, “I have a plan, and it starts with us leaving.”

“Leaving?” Hermione arches a brow, her curiosity piqued. “Whisking me off already, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco grins, tightening his hold on her hand. “I am, Mrs. Malfoy. Let’s just say our first honeymoon suite is waiting, and I plan to make our first night as husband and wife unforgettable.”

Hermione’s laughter spills into the quiet room, bright and full of joy. “I suppose I’ll have to trust you, then.”

“Always,” he replies, guiding her toward the door.

As they step back into the hallway, the hum of the reception grows louder, blending with the faint strains of music. They retrieve Hermione’s cape and slip toward the exit, unnoticed by most. Harry and Theo, however, intercept them near the door.

“You two sneaking off already?” Harry asks, pulling Hermione into a quick hug while Theo clasps Draco’s shoulder with a grin.

“Time to call it a night,” Draco says smoothly, his eyes glinting with purpose.

Harry smirks. “We’ll handle everything here.”

Hermione places a hand over her heart, gratitude shining in her eyes. “Thank you, Harry. Truly.”

“Of course,” Harry replies with a smile. “Now go. Enjoy yourselves.”

Theo waves them off with a dramatic flourish. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Draco snorts, his smirk deepening. “That leaves us with plenty of options.”

As laughter ripples between them, Draco and Hermione step into the crisp night air. The city lights glitter like scattered diamonds, and the soft glow of enchanted lanterns along the walkway gives the moment an almost dreamlike quality. Hermione shivers slightly as the cool breeze brushes her skin, but before she can say a word, Draco shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders, casting a wandless warming charm over her for good measure.

“Wouldn’t want my wife catching a chill,” he murmurs, his hand lingering at her back as he guides her toward the waiting car. Muggle hotels call for Muggle modes of arrival, after all.

Hermione tilts her head up to meet his gaze, her smile soft and full of love. “You’re too good to me.”

Draco presses a kiss to her temple, his voice a low rumble. “Not nearly enough.”

The driver opens the door, and Draco gestures for Hermione to step in first, his hand brushing against hers as she settles into the seat. He follows close behind, and the door closes softly, sealing them into their own private world.

As the car pulls away, the reception fades into the distance, replaced by the quiet hum of the city. Hermione leans into Draco’s side, her head resting on his shoulder as his arm wraps securely around her.

“Are you going to tell me what you’ve planned now?” she asks, her tone light with playful curiosity.

Draco smirks, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You’ll see soon enough, princess. Patience.”

Hermione huffs softly but doesn’t press further, content to revel in the warmth of him—her husband.

When they arrive at the hotel, Draco doesn’t hesitate before he sweeps Hermione out of the car and into his arms, ignoring her half-hearted protest as she wraps her arms around his neck.

“Draco! People are staring!”

“Let them,” he says simply–his voice low and possessive–as he strides toward the elevator, his silver eyes gleaming with intent. “You’re my wife. If I want to carry you into forever, who’s going to stop me?”

Her heart skips at the words “my wife,” and when the elevator doors close, sealing them in, she forgets about the world outside.

When they reach the honeymoon suite, Draco unlocks and opens the door with wandless spells and carries her over the threshold. He moves into the softly lit room, and she takes in the champagne and glasses on one side table, the romantic glow of candles and the rose petals scattered across the bed.

“Did you apparate over and do this when you said you were going to the restroom?!” Hermione giggles.

Draco gives her a smug look as he gently sets her feet on the floor. “Maybe…”

Before she can say another word, she feels his arms slide around her waist, pulling her back against him.

“Wait here,” he murmurs against her neck, his lips brushing her skin.

Hermione turns, watching with a curious smile as Draco steps into the room’s walk-in closet. When he returns, his jacket and bow tie are gone, and the top few buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing a sliver of his chest. In his hands is a small, elegantly wrapped box.

“What’s this?” Hermione asks, tilting her head as he hands it to her.

“Something for you,” he says, his voice soft but brimming with anticipation. “Go on. Open it.”

Hermione unties the ribbon carefully, sliding off the lid. Inside, nestled on a bed of black velvet, is a delicate gold anklet. Tiny emeralds glint softly in the light, catching her breath as she lifts it out. Her fingers brush lightly over the delicate chain, her thumb lingering on one of the stones. A charm hums faintly under her touch, radiating a soft, protective warmth that feels almost alive.

Draco steps closer, his voice low but full of intent. “It’s enchanted. A protective charm. It’ll keep you safe, no matter where you are.”

Her throat tightens as her eyes meet his. “Draco…”

“I want to protect you—for the rest of our lives,” he murmurs, taking the anklet gently from her hands. Kneeling before her, he fastens it carefully around her ankle. His fingers linger against her skin, warm and steady.

The weight of his words settles over her, and she blinks back the sudden rush of tears. “It’s beautiful,” she whispers. “Draco… it’s perfect.”

“Not as beautiful as my wife,” he replies, his voice low and filled with warmth. “But close.”

Her heart swells as she reaches out to brush her hand against his cheek, her touch lingering. “You’re going to spoil me, you know.”

“Of course,” he says matter-of-factly, rising to his full height and sliding his hands around her waist. “Spoiling my gorgeous wife is my new full-time job.”

Hermione laughs, leaning up to kiss him, her fingers tangling in his hair as she takes it down. “Then I suppose I’ll have to let you,” she murmurs against his lips.

“Exactly,” Draco replies, his smirk softening into a smile as he sweeps her into his arms again.

He meets her gaze, his expression serious now. “I meant every word of my vows tonight, Hermione,” he says softly. “And I’m going to spend forever proving it.”

She smiles, wrapping her arms around his neck as she leans up to kiss him. “And I’ll spend forever loving you.”

His lips curve against hers. “Forever starts now.”

He steps back, his hands lingering on her hips as he takes her in.

The wedding dress is breathtaking, but it pales in comparison to the woman wearing it. “You’re a vision,” Draco says, his voice roughened with emotion.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Malfoy,” Hermione teases, her cheeks flushing under his intense gaze.

Draco smirks, his fingers working quickly to take down her hair. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I intend to go everywhere.”

_____________________________________________________________________

He takes his time untying the ribbons holding her dress up, savoring the way her breath hitches with each one. When the dress slips from her shoulders, pooling at her feet, he steps back, his gaze darkening as it rakes over her.

Hermione stands before him in her wedding lingerie: a white lace garter belt holding up sheer stockings, a matching bra, and barely-there knickers. The sight is enough to make Draco forget how to breathe.

“Gods,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “You’re unreal.”

He carries her to the bed, setting her down gently before stepping back to admire her. “The dress was stunning, but this…” His silver eyes roam over her with unabashed appreciation. “This is breathtaking.”

Hermione blushes, “Do you like it?” she asks softly, biting her lip.

“Like it?” Draco’s voice deepens as he steps closer, his fingers brushing her waist. “I love it, my gorgeous wife. But I’d like it even more if it were gone… except for the garter belt. That stays.”

Draco watches her, his pulse quickening as Hermione’s laugh echoes through the room, breathless and bright, like the chime of a bell. He can’t help but smirk as his lips trace along her neck, savoring the way her skin shivers under his touch. His hands slide over the delicate lace of her bra, his movements deliberate, removing it with tender care.

“You’re impossible,” she teases, her voice soft but playful.

“And yet, you married me,” he quips, a wicked grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

Her laugh breaks again, but it falters into a gasp as his mouth moves lower. He wraps his lips around one pert nipple, sucking gently as his fingers tease the other, drawing a quiet, breathy moan from her. The sound sends a jolt of heat through him, and he switches sides, determined to elicit more from her.

When he continues his descent, his lips trailing soft kisses over her belly, he feels her fingers curl into his hair, her touch grounding him. He growls low in his throat when he reaches her knickers and sees the delicate ribbons holding them in place. She knows exactly what this does to him—her smug, knowing expression tells him as much—and he’s helpless against the rush of desire it stirs in his chest.

“Two can play at this game, princess,” he murmurs, the promise in his voice thick with intent.

Her breath hitches as he leans forward, using his teeth to untie the first ribbon, then the second. He doesn’t look away, his gaze locked on hers as he tugs the lace away, letting it drop to the floor. Her cheeks flush, but her eyes hold his steadily, an unspoken challenge in their depths.

Draco’s smirk deepens as he shrugs out of his shirt in one fluid motion, baring his chest to her heated gaze. She doesn’t hide the way her eyes drink him in, the fire in her expression blazing as her hands find his belt. She fumbles slightly in her haste, and he chuckles, low and rough.

“Eager, are we?” he teases, though his voice is tinged with the strain of his own restraint.

“Don’t act like you’re not,” she counters, her hands skimming over his hips as she yanks his trousers down.

“Fair point,” he concedes with a crooked grin, stepping out of his trousers and pants before pressing her back onto the bed.

Hovering over her, he takes her in fully—the way her hair spills across the sheets, the flush staining her cheeks, the rise and fall of her chest as she gazes up at him with unbridled longing. His silver eyes blaze as he brushes his lips over hers in a kiss that starts slow, deepening quickly as his hands roam her body.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs against her lips, his voice a quiet claim. “All mine.”

“And you’re mine,” she replies, her hands gripping his shoulders as she pulls him closer.

Draco takes his time, worshipping her with his mouth, his tongue, his hands. He kisses his way down her body again, savoring the soft gasps that spill from her lips. When he reaches her thighs, he pauses, his breath warm against her skin as he takes a moment to admire her.

“Are you ready, my beautiful wife?” he murmurs, his voice roughened with desire.

Her answer is a whispered, trembling plea, her body arching toward him as if drawn by an invisible thread.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, the words reverent as he lowers his head, his tongue tracing her pussy with expert precision. Her soft cries fill the room, each one pushing him further into the haze of his own need. His hands grip her thighs, steadying her as she writhes beneath him, her body yielding to the pleasure he gives her.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his voice dark and low, almost lost against her skin. “Let go for me, Hermione. Let me hear you.”

Her hips buck against him, her fingers tangling in his hair as her release builds, and he doubles down, his tongue stroking her clit in just the way he knows will undo her. When she shatters, her cries echoing through the room, Draco holds her steady, his hands grounding her as waves of bliss roll through her trembling body.

He presses soft kisses to her thighs, then moves back up her body, his lips finding hers in a kiss that tastes of her own pleasure. “I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs against her mouth, his voice thick with intent.

“Good,” she whispers, her legs wrapping around his waist, drawing him closer.

Draco positions himself above her, guiding himself into her with a slowness that’s almost torturous—for both of them. He watches her face as he fills her, the way her mouth falls open, her eyes fluttering shut, the soft, broken moan that escapes her lips.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, his voice rough as he pauses, giving her time to adjust. “I need to see you, Hermione.”

She opens her eyes, her gaze locking with his, and the world around them fades. It’s just the two of them, their connection raw and electric.

“Gods,” he groans, his forehead falling to rest against hers as he begins to move. “You feel incredible, princess. So perfect. So mine.”

Her nails dig into his shoulders, and her hips rise to meet his, urging him deeper. “Don’t stop,” she pleads, her voice trembling. “Please, Draco.”

“Never,” he promises, his movements deliberate, a perfect blend of passion and tenderness. “Not when you feel like this—not when you’re mine, my beautiful wife.”

He keeps his gaze locked on hers, drinking in every gasp, every moan, every flicker of emotion that crosses her face. His hands cradle her face, his thumbs brushing against her flushed cheeks as he quickens his pace, his own control fraying.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “Do you know that? Do you know how much I love you?”

“Show me,” she whispers, her hands tangling in his hair.

He does.

Their rhythm builds, faster, deeper, until the tension coils impossibly tight, threatening to snap. “Draco,” Hermione gasps, her voice a broken plea as her nails scrape down his back.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers hoarsely, his lips brushing her temple as he thrusts deeper, harder, until—

They fall together, the world narrowing to nothing but the feel of her, the sound of her, the way she clings to him as her body trembles beneath his. Her release triggers his own, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as he buries his face in her neck, his body shuddering with the force of it.

For a long moment, they stay entwined, their ragged breaths mingling as their pounding hearts begin to slow. Draco presses a soft kiss to her forehead before rolling onto his back, pulling her with him so she’s draped across his chest.

As they lie tangled together, their breaths slowing, Hermione traces lazy patterns on his skin. “This is going to be hard to top,” she murmurs, her voice soft but playful.

Draco chuckles, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Challenge accepted.”

_____________________________________________________________________

Hermione

December 22, 2010

New York City

‘Challenge accepted,’ indeed, Hermione thinks as she wakes the next day. The late morning sun sneaks past the curtains in their honeymoon suite, casting golden light over the twisted sheets and warming her body.

She feels deliciously sore and thoroughly worshipped. They’d been awake more often than not through the night, celebrating their marriage in every way imaginable. A blush rises to her cheeks, and a giggle escapes her as she recalls the various positions and places around the room where their celebrations had taken them.

Hermione rolls over in Draco’s arms, shifting to take a better look at him. A giggle escapes her as she takes in his utterly wrecked state, his pale skin marked with love bites and faint scratches. She hasn’t seen a mirror yet, but she’s certain she doesn’t look much better. Her fingers trail lazily over the evidence of their night, her lips curving into a smug grin. Oops, she thinks, satisfaction glinting in her eyes.

Draco grunts softly, his hand closing over hers to still her wandering touch, though his eyes remain closed.

“Are you awake, my love?” she whispers, pressing a soft kiss to his chest.

“No, my lovely bride,” he rasps, his voice rough with sleep and the exertions of the night before. “I’m pretty sure I died of exhaustion sometime after round five.”

She smiles, casting a wandless cleansing charm on her mouth, the magic transferring to him when she leans over to capture his lips in a fierce kiss.

“Show off,” he grumbles, though the words lack any real bite.

Draco rolls them over, his lips claiming hers again until she’s utterly breathless, losing track of how long they stay entwined. The spell is broken by a soft knock at the door, and they pull apart reluctantly.

Draco smirks at the confusion flickering across her face. “I set up room service for all our meals when I made the reservation.”

Hermione rolls her eyes good-naturedly, a grin tugging at her lips. “Now who’s the show off?”

“Don’t you want to go get it?” Draco whines, rolling over and draping an arm across his eyes.

“Can’t, I’m afraid,” Hermione replies, adopting a haughty tone. “My new husband has declared that I shall stay right here, just like this”—she gestures pointedly to her state of undress—“until we leave tomorrow. And I wouldn’t dream of starting my marriage on the wrong foot.”

“Better listen to him,” Draco snorts, holding out his hand and wandlessly summoning his boxer briefs from wherever they’d landed. “I hear he’s a real bastard.”

Hermione tilts her head, a thoughtful hum escaping her lips. “No, he just knows what he wants.”

She sits up, draping the sheets around herself, and watches with unabashed appreciation as Draco strides out of the bedroom and across the suite. Her stomach growls loudly when he returns, pushing a cart laden with their breakfast. They’d barely eaten at the reception amid all the excitement, and she’s more than burned through whatever calories she managed to consume last night.

Hermione continues to admire her husband as he prepares her coffee just the way she likes it, carrying it over with a kiss to the top of her head.

“You really should’ve worn a robe to get that,” she teases after taking a sip. “One look at the state of you, and they were probably ready to call in a welfare check.”

Draco barks out a laugh, tapping his temple with a smirk. “I told them to knock and leave when I made the reservation.”

They linger over their breakfast—more like lunch at this hour—chatting and laughing about their favorite moments from the wedding. The meal takes far longer than it should, interrupted constantly by shared bites and kisses that leave them both breathless.

After a long shower—steamy in more ways than one—Hermione laughs as Draco carries her back to bed. “I am perfectly capable of walking, you know. Getting married didn’t change that.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should,” Draco retorts, setting her down gently before capturing her mouth in a fierce kiss.

Another knock echoes through the suite, signaling the arrival of their late lunch. While he steps out to retrieve it, Hermione finally decides to dig her phone out of her beaded bag.

“Oh, my gods,” she gasps as he returns, balancing the tray of food.

Draco’s brows knit in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Hermione assures him quickly. “It’s just a good thing we silenced these yesterday.”

She holds up her phone, scrolling through the flood of notifications. “All of our friends decided to start a group chat, and they’ve positively flooded it since the reception.”

Draco grabs his own phone, curiosity piqued. Together, they sift through the chaotic thread. There are pictures of the reception taken from the crowded dance floor, including hilarious close-ups of Scorpius’ fierce dance battle with Theo and Harry. The photos continue, capturing every moment, even documenting Harry carrying a sleeping Theo out of the venue while Pansy levitates an equally snoozing Daphne behind them.

Further down the thread, Hermione discovers updates from that morning: Tony, Judith, and Scorpius leading Narcissa, Andromeda, Kingsley, and Teddy on an impromptu tour of New York City’s iconic sights.

“I never thought I’d see my mother eating a hot dog from a street cart, but here we are,” Draco laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

Hermione gasps suddenly, her eyes widening as she stares at a separate text thread from Candy. “Oh, my gods! They had the babies!”

Draco perks up immediately, leaning closer to read the messages over her shoulder. Evidently, Luna had been having contractions all afternoon, telling no one—not even Candy—until they left the reception. Only then did she inform him, quite matter-of-factly, that they needed to head to the hospital instead of home. Orchid Estelle and Hyacinth Pandora—named after Luna’s favorite flowers and their grandmothers—arrived in the early hours of December 22nd, exactly one year to the day since their parents met.

Candy’s final messages joked that his “girls danced their way out,” asked Draco and Hermione to be the godparents, and assured them the twins would be eager to meet their new honorary aunt and uncle as soon as the family returned home.

Draco chuckles as he rereads the messages. “Only Luna could turn going into labor into just another casual event on her to-do list.”

“And only Candy could turn it into a full-blown celebration,” Hermione adds with a warm smile, her heart swelling at the thought of their friends. “They’re going to be such wonderful parents.”

“They really will be,” Draco agrees, slipping an arm around her waist as they scroll through more photos of the newborns, their tiny faces peeking out from pastel blankets. After a moment, he smirks. “But let’s be honest—no one’s ever going to top Scorpius’ dance battle.”

“Agreed,” Hermione laughs, leaning against him as her heart swells with happiness.

Draco smiles as he scrolls back through the photos from their reception—the joyous, chaotic, magical day they’d just shared. A small laugh escapes him when he pauses on a picture of Hermione dancing with Scorpius, his son beaming up at her like she’s his entire world.

“There was a time I thought I’d never have this,” he says quietly, his voice so soft she almost doesn’t catch it.

Hermione looks up at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “This?”

He gestures vaguely toward the screen, then pulls her closer, his gaze meeting hers with an openness that makes her heart ache. “A family. A home. You.”

Her chest tightens at the raw vulnerability in his words, and she threads her fingers through his, grounding them both. “You deserve it, Draco. Every bit of it. And this?” She smiles, her voice gentle but full of conviction. “We’ve only just begun.”

His expression softens, and he leans in to brush a tender kiss to her forehead. “Forever really is going to be something, isn’t it?”

Hermione’s grin widens, her eyes shimmering with love and joy. “Forever and then some.”

Draco leans in, capturing her lips in a kiss that speaks the words neither of them need to say. When they finally pull apart, he rests his forehead against hers, his smile lingering.

As they settle back against each other, continuing to scroll through photos of their loved ones, Hermione feels a warmth spread through her chest. This moment—their laughter, their love, their shared dreams—is exactly what happiness feels like.

Chapter Text

Draco

August 29, 2012

New York City

Draco pauses at the door of the tattoo shop in Manhattan’s Wizarding District, turning to give Hermione yet another look, his expression teetering between amusement and hesitation.

“Are you absolutely sure about this, darling?” he asks, likely for the tenth time that day. “I know tattoos are easy enough to fix with magic, but we don’t have to do it today.”

Hermione clicks her tongue, rolling her eyes with a mix of exasperation and affection. “We’ve been over this, Draco.”

She rests her hand on her growing belly, now beginning to show. “This is her name,” she declares, grabbing his hand and pressing it to the spot where their unborn daughter is kicking. “See? She agrees!”

Draco chuckles, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I just wanted to make sure!”

Inside, Draco settles into the chair, and the tattoo artist begins working on the newest addition to the design covering his left forearm. Scorpius’ constellation had been the first, followed two years ago by Virgo for Hermione. Now, delicate lines begin to form the newest constellation—one chosen for their daughter—seamlessly weaving into the intricate design. Like the others, it’s charmed to help him locate her via magic, though he hopes never to need that function again.

Draco had been willing to let go of the Black family naming tradition, but Hermione had insisted otherwise. She’d reasoned, with her usual clarity and conviction, that she loved both his and Scorpius’ names and didn’t want their son to feel left out if they chose a different naming path for any future children.

He glances down at the fresh ink taking shape, a warm smile tugging at his lips as Hermione guides his hand to feel their daughter’s kicks. Her enthusiasm for the process remains undimmed, even after being there for three other pieces: her constellation joining Scorpius’, the intricate flowers and plants filling his left arm to complement his right, and the ethereal blue otter and dragon chasing each other around his left calf—a private tribute that never fails to make her eyes light up.

As the steady hum of the magical needle fades into the background, his mind drifts back to the day Hermione shared the life-altering news, the memory breaking through like sunlight through clouds.

Three Months Earlier

Draco leans against the kitchen counter, sipping his morning coffee as sunlight streams through the windows, painting the room in warm golden hues. Hermione stands nearby, barefoot and radiant in one of his old button-down shirts, her curls still mussed from sleep. A small, secretive smile tugs at her lips as she twists a curl around her finger.

He notices the smile first—the kind that always makes him raise an eyebrow. “What are you up to, sweetheart?” he asks, setting his mug down as he watches her with mild suspicion.

Hermione’s smile widens as she turns toward him. “Nothing,” she replies innocently, though her sparkling eyes betray her.

Draco snorts. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

“Oh, am I?” she counters, arching an eyebrow. “Well, maybe I’ll just keep this early birthday present to myself.”

With a flick of her wrist, a small wrapped box appears in her hand. She holds it out, her expression teasing yet eager.

Draco tilts his head, his curiosity piqued as he steps closer, his hands settling lightly on her waist. “We don’t do early birthday presents,” he murmurs. “What’s going on?”

“Just open it, Malfoy,” she urges, her voice trembling slightly with excitement.

He doesn’t hesitate, pulling the ribbon free and peeling back the paper. Nestled inside, cushioned by soft tissue, is a tiny pair of dragonhide baby booties, dyed a soft silver-gray. His breath catches. For a moment, the world tilts as realization dawns.

“Hermione…” His voice is low, almost cautious, as his eyes flick from the booties to her face. “Are you saying—?”

Hermione takes his hand, guiding it to her stomach. Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m pregnant, Draco. We’re having a baby.”

He freezes, staring at her as if trying to absorb the words. Then, all at once, he pulls her into his arms, burying his face in her curls. “You’re serious?” he asks, his voice thick with emotion.

She nods, her hands sliding up to cup his face as she looks into his eyes. “You’re going to be a daddy again.”

Draco swallows hard, his throat tight as a smile spreads across his face. “A baby,” he murmurs, pressing his hand to her stomach as though anchoring himself to reality. “We’re having a baby.”

“Yes, we are,” Hermione whispers, her eyes shimmering with tears.

He kisses her—deep, fierce, and full of unspoken promises. Then, as if realizing the moment calls for more, he kneels in front of her, his hands cradling her hips as he presses his lips to her still-flat stomach.

“Hello, little one,” he murmurs softly against her skin. “It’s your daddy. I promise you’ll always know how loved you are. Your mummy and I can’t wait to meet you. And your big brother? Well, let’s just say he’s ready to spoil you rotten.”

He rises, his smile softer but no less awestruck. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this—to deserve you.”

“Draco Malfoy, you deserve everything,” she says, her tone firm despite the tears threatening to spill. “You’re an incredible father, and you’re going to be amazing at this—just like you always are.”

Draco shakes his head slightly, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “And you’re going to be amazing too. You already are.”

Hermione smiles, leaning in to kiss him again. When she pulls back, she rests her forehead against his. “We’re going to be amazing together.”

“Together,” he agrees, his voice steady and sure. His hand lingers on her stomach, his expression full of wonder. “Just more to love. More of us.”

Hermione’s laughter pulls him gently back to the present. As the tattoo artist continues working on his arm, Draco lets his gaze linger on his wife, her growing belly softly rounded beneath her shirt. She watches the process intently, her hands occasionally brushing against the subtle kicks of their daughter.

Unable to resist, he reaches over, placing his hand over hers and stilling her movements for just a moment. When she turns to him with a questioning look, he squeezes her fingers gently. You’re incredible, you know that? he conveys through their Legilimency connection, his voice low and brimming with sincerity.

Her expression softens, a small, knowing smile curving her lips. And you’re the best partner I could ever ask for, she replies, her tone carrying a quiet conviction that settles warmly in his chest.

Draco chuckles softly, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles. “I wasn’t just talking about today,” he murmurs aloud, his words a gentle echo of his thoughts.

Her laughter mingles with the steady hum of the magical needle, a sound as warm and comforting as her presence beside him. In the back of his mind, the memory of the day she shared her life-changing news pulses again, just as sweet and profound as the moment it first happened.

Hermione

Hermione piles her curls on top of her head, securing them with her wand before carefully stepping into the bath. She smiles as bubbles rise, and the soothing scent of lavender and lemon fills the air. Since her first bubble bath here over three years ago, Draco has never failed to keep her favorite products stocked.

She’s lost in relaxation when Draco’s soft laugh draws her attention to the doorway. “I’d ask if you need anything, but you look like you’re all set.”

“Quite,” Hermione replies with mock haughtiness, her tone playful. She’s transformed the bathroom into a tranquil spa—floating candles cast a warm glow over the room, her book hovers in front of her–ready to turn pages with a flick of her fingers. A bath caddy holds a small bar of chocolate and an ice-cold ginger ale. What started as one of the few things she could stomach during bouts of nausea has become a favorite treat, a stand-in for the wine she used to enjoy during her baths.

Draco steps closer, placing his hands on either side of the garden tub and leaning over her with a smirk playing on his lips. “I’m heading to the garage to do some brewing, but I can be back in a second if you need anything.”

Hermione tilts her head back, smiling as she accepts his kiss, then chuckles softly when he pulls away and wipes some of her clay face mask off his nose. “Have fun!”

They’d both taken the day off, enjoying a date day since Scorpius was spending one of the last Fridays of the summer with a friend from his Quidditch Little League for a birthday party and sleepover. Of course, he’d made sure to remind them—several times—that he’d Floo home bright and early the next morning for pancakes.

The day had been a perfect mix of practicality and indulgence. After her morning Healer appointment, they’d gone to Draco’s tattoo session and enjoyed a leisurely lunch. The afternoon, however, had been entirely dedicated to Draco spoiling her senseless. Her belly had seemingly popped overnight, leaving almost none of her regular clothes fitting properly. Naturally, Draco had been thrilled to accompany her to what felt like every maternity boutique in the city, spending a jaw-dropping amount of money on her new wardrobe without a second thought.

She smiles as she pictures Draco happily working in his garage lab. Shortly after their wedding, he had started contemplating a career change. He had already transitioned out of Auror fieldwork when Scorpius was born, but after the harrowing experience of her and Scorpius being kidnapped, he had felt an even stronger pull to move on.

Now, he is nearly at the end of earning his Potions Mastery—a path that brings him both challenge and fulfillment. Though he still works for MACUSA’s Auror Department, he plans to shift roles once his studies are complete. His future on the team that analyzes confiscated potions and brews the department’s essential supplies is almost within reach.

Hermione loses track of time—easy to do when the bathwater is charmed to stay warm—only realizing how long she’s been soaking when she hears Draco moving around in their bedroom and casts a Tempus charm.

She removes her wand from her curls, letting them tumble down her back before vanishing the water and casting a drying charm on herself and the tub. Can’t be too careful, she thinks.

Stepping out of the bath, her skin flushed and tingling from the heat, Hermione pauses in front of the mirror. For the first time in months, she feels… confident. Her first trimester had been textbook, but that meant enduring the textbook nausea and exhaustion, leaving her feeling like a stranger in her own body.

Her reflection shows a body transformed—softer curves, fuller breasts, the subtle swell of her belly. But tonight, those changes feel empowering rather than foreign. The red open-front babydoll she’d picked up on a whim today fits her perfectly, the bra accentuating her figure while the small panties rest comfortably beneath her bump. She runs her hand over the delicate fabric, reveling in how good it feels to embrace her evolving form.

Hermione takes one last look in the mirror, a small, satisfied smile curving her lips. This new body—rounder, heavier, fiercer—feels magnetic, like armor she’s ready to wear proudly. She’s so glad she was able to slip the lingerie into her pile of purchases when Draco stepped out for a phone call—it had been a while since she’d been able to surprise him like this.

Cracking open the bathroom door, she peers out. Her pulse quickens at the sight of Draco lounging against the headboard on his side of the bed, reading. He’s clad in nothing but low-slung grey joggers, his hair loose and glasses perched on his nose. One arm is propped behind his head, pulling subtly at the muscles in his chest.

“If my hormones weren’t already in overdrive… that would do it,” she says flirtatiously after opening the door fully.

Draco’s eyes snap to her, but he doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze is impassioned and lingering, tracing the contours of her body as if he is memorizing every detail. His jaw tightens, and she can see the pulse in his neck quicken. He slams his book closed before placing it, and his glasses, blindly on his nightstand.

“Gods,” he finally murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… unbelievable, darling. Breathtaking.”

Heat washes over her cheeks, but she stands her ground, savoring the weight of his words. She feels cherished in a way that makes her heart flutter with something wild and sweet.

“Breathtaking, huh?” she teases, a playful grin curling on her lips. “You sure you’re not a little biased?”

“Biased?” His tone drops an octave as she makes her way to his side, the air between them thickening with an electric charge. “Baby, you don’t understand what seeing you like this does to me.” His hand reaches out, fingertips grazing the soft fabric of her lingerie before finding the curve of her cheek. His touch is warm and tender, his thumb tracing along her skin. “Every time I look at you, I can’t breathe. You’re carrying our child, and you’re just... mesmerizing.”

The words send a jolt through her, a beautiful wave of realization. It’s overwhelming—the way he looks at her, as if she’s the center of his universe. As if nothing else matters.

“You’re staring again,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, feeling playful as his intensity wraps around her like a soft embrace.

His lips curve into a slow, mischievous smile. “Can you blame me? You’ve completely entranced me, Mrs. Malfoy.”

A soft laugh escapes her, her heart swelling under the weight of his adoration. “Maybe you should try to stop looking then,” she suggests, but perhaps as a challenge. She doesn’t want him to pull away; she wants him closer.

_____________________________________________________________________

His hand slides effortlessly from her face to her waist, gently pulling her closer to him. A warmth spreads through her as he tucks a curl behind her ear, his other hand brushing along the sensitive skin of her lower back. “Not a chance,” he murmurs, his breath a low caress against her ear. “Seeing you like this… it drives me mad.”

“Oh, really?” Her voice trembles slightly, betraying her desire to explore this softness between them.

“Yes, really,” he growls, his fingers toying with the hem of her lingerie. His movements are slow and deliberate as he removes it, the delicate fabric slipping away to reveal her bare skin. His hands settle on her hips, just below the curve of her bump, and he lets out a shaky breath.

Draco groans softly, his hands moving to her breasts, his touch reverent yet sure. His thumbs graze her nipples, pulling quiet gasps from her lips. “Gods, Hermione,” he whispers, his awe palpable. “Look at you.”

“They’re heavier,” she admits softly, her cheeks flushing. “More sensitive lately.”

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, his tone gentle, though his hands still.

“No,” she breathes, leaning into his touch. “Please don’t stop.”

His mouth replaces his hands, his tongue flicking over her sensitive skin. Each stroke pulls her closer to the edge, her body alive with sensation.

“Do you know how perfect you are?” he whispers, his thumbs brushing over her warm skin. “Every inch of you is a miracle, Hermione. I’m in awe of you.”

Her breath hitches at the intensity in his voice, and her heart pounds as he kisses her collarbone, then her neck, his lips warm and reverent against her skin. “Draco…” she murmurs, threading her fingers through his hair as he sinks to his knees in front of her. His hands trail down her thighs, then back up, his touch gentle but deliberate.

Hermione threads her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. “Draco,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I need you.”

“Let me,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over her belly before moving lower. His eyes flick up to hers, the heat in them making her legs tremble. “Let me take care of you, my beautiful wife.”

She nods, her voice stolen by the soft press of his lips to her inner thigh. His hands steady her as he hooks his fingers into her knickers, easing them down with exquisite care before guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed.

Her gasp breaks the quiet as he presses his mouth to her core, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles that have her back arching almost immediately. His hands grip her thighs firmly, holding her steady as he works her closer to the edge, his low groans sending vibrations through her core.

“Gods, I’ve missed this,” he murmurs against her, his voice thick with reverence. “I’ve missed the way you taste, the way you fall apart for me.”

She clutches the sheets, her breathing uneven as the tension coils tighter. “Draco,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “Please don’t stop.”

“Never,” he promises, his voice a deep, reassuring hum. “Let me hear you, princess. Let me know how good it feels.”

Her moans rise, soft at first, then louder as the pressure builds, his relentless attention pulling her higher and higher until she shatters, her body trembling with release.

He presses soothing kisses to her thighs as she catches her breath, then rises, his hands gentle as he guides her further onto the bed. With deliberate ease, he sheds his joggers, the intensity in his gaze never wavering.

“I want to see you,” he murmurs, his voice soft and reverent. “On top of me, where I can hold you.”

Hermione straddles him, her legs bracketing his hips as he steadies her with hands on her waist. He’s achingly hard against her, and she gasps when he pushes into her, the stretch of him filling her completely.

Her hands grip his shoulders as she adjusts, her breathing shallow as her body molds to his. “Gods,” she whispers, her head tipping back as pleasure blooms low in her belly. “You feel…”

“Perfect,” Draco finishes for her, his voice a deep rasp. His hands move from her waist to her thighs, his touch reverent as he strokes her skin. “You feel perfect, Hermione. All of you.”

She begins to move slowly, tentatively, her body rolling against his as he supports her with firm but careful hands. Draco matches her rhythm, his hips lifting to meet hers as his thumbs trace small, soothing circles along her sides.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and strained. His gaze burns into hers, and his words fall like molten fire against her skin. “Look at you… carrying our baby, riding me like you were made for this.”

His words spark something wild in her, a confidence that has her moving faster, her hands sliding from his shoulders to brace herself on his chest. She leans into him, her body arching as pleasure courses through her with each deep thrust.

“Draco,” she gasps, her voice trembling, her movements growing more urgent. The tension between them coils tighter with every rise and fall of her hips.

“That’s it,” he growls, his voice thick and almost unhinged. “Take what you need, my love. Let me feel all of you.”

Hermione’s body trembles under the weight of his words, and her rhythm falters as her thighs begin to shake. Sensing her struggle, Draco shifts beneath her, his hands sliding back to her waist. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice soft but commanding. “Let me help you.”

With a quick but careful movement, Draco rolls them, guiding her onto her back as he settles between her legs. He adjusts her carefully, mindful of her bump, before pressing into her again with a slow, deliberate thrust that pulls a moan from her lips.

Her legs wrap around him instinctively, pulling him closer as her hands reach for his back. His movements are slow and controlled at first, as though he’s savoring every second, every inch of her. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs against her neck, his lips brushing her skin with each word. “I never want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Hermione whispers, her nails grazing his shoulders as she urges him on. “I need this—I need you.”

Her plea seems to unravel him. His rhythm grows deeper, more deliberate, each thrust sending waves of pleasure rippling through her body. His hands cradle her hips, anchoring her to him as he murmurs her name over and over, like a prayer.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, his forehead pressing against hers. “I need to see you when you fall apart for me.”

Hermione’s eyes flutter open, locking with his. The connection between them is electric, a tether binding their bodies and hearts together as he pushes them closer to the edge.

“You’re everything to me,” Draco murmurs, his voice breaking as his pace quickens. “Every curve, every sound, every part of you… You’re mine, Hermione. All mine.”

The tension inside her snaps, and Hermione cries out, her body arching against his as she shatters beneath him. Her release ripples through her like a tide, pulling him under with her. Draco follows a heartbeat later, groaning her name as he buries himself deep, his body trembling with the force of his climax.

They cling to each other, their breaths ragged as the aftershocks roll through them. Draco presses soft kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, murmuring words of love and reverence against her skin.

As their heartbeats slow and the world settles, he collapses beside her, drawing her into his arms. Hermione rests her head against his chest, the familiar sound of his heartbeat grounding her as she smiles softly.

“I could stay like this forever,” he sighs, brushing a curl away from her forehead.

A smile breaks over her lips, warming her heart. “Me too,” she says softly, feeling blissfully content. The world outside feels irrelevant, time a distant whisper as they lay there, wrapped in each other’s embrace.

_____________________________________________________________________

Draco

August 30, 2012

New York City

Draco pours Hermione’s coffee the next morning, basking in her grateful smile.

“I only get so much caffeine per day, and I’m going to savor every drop,” Hermione declares as she accepts the cup.

“As you should, darling,” Draco assures her, brushing a kiss across her forehead.

They both smile when the Floo flares to life, and the sound of small, enthusiastic footsteps echoes down the hall.

“I’m home!” Scorpius exclaims, bursting into the kitchen with his usual energy. “It’s pancake time!”

His face lights up when he sees Hermione at the table. He dashes over, wrapping his arms around her for a hug before leaning down to press a kiss to her belly—a ritual he’s followed every time he’s seen her since learning about the baby.

“Hi, Mom!”

Hermione beams, holding him close and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Good morning, love. Did you have fun?”

“Yep!” Scorpius nods enthusiastically before sliding over to Draco. “Ready for pancakes, Dad?”

Draco arches a brow at his son. “Good morning to you too, Scorp,” he replies dryly.

In return, he gets an exaggerated eye roll and a slightly exasperated, “Good morning, Dad.”

Draco exchanges a bittersweet look with Hermione over their son’s head. The shift from “Mama and Daddy” to “Mom and Dad” is still new, and while it’s a natural transition, it feels surreal. He’s proud to see Scorpius growing and thriving, but there are moments when he misses the tiny, lisping toddler who used to follow him everywhere.

“Are Uncle Harry and Auntie Theo coming over too?” Scorpius asks as he grabs the pancake mix. “What about Uncle Candy, Auntie Luna, and the twins?”

“Just you and your boring parents this morning, I’m afraid,” Hermione laughs.

“Yes, however will you survive?” Draco deadpans, handing Scorpius the whisk.

Scorpius suddenly freezes, his eyes going wide. “Oh, I almost forgot!” he yells, grabbing Draco’s arm to inspect the tattoo he had done the day before. “Which one did you go with?!”

“You tell us,” Draco smirks, angling his arm so Scorpius can see better.

Scorpius leans closer, his eyes lighting up when he recognizes the design. He’s been studying constellations tirelessly, determined to guess what they might choose for his new sibling’s name.

Scorpius leans closer, his eyes lighting up when he recognizes the design. “Yes!” he gasps, his voice full of excitement. “That one’s my favorite!”

Draco smirks, watching his son practically vibrate with joy. “We thought you’d approve.”

Scorpius hugs Draco’s arm as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, his small fingers tracing the delicate lines of the constellation. “I can’t wait to tell her all about it,” he says earnestly, looking up at his parents with wide, innocent eyes.

Hermione joins them, pulling Scorpius into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to his temple. “She’s going to be so lucky to have a big brother like you, Scorp.”

“And parents like us,” Draco adds, his tone teasing but filled with quiet pride.

Scorpius beams, practically glowing under their affection. “She’ll love it. And I’ll make sure she knows everything about constellations. I promise!”

Draco exchanges a warm look with Hermione, his hand brushing hers as Scorpius chatters on. In that moment, with their family so full of love and promise, he feels utterly complete.

Hermione

October 31, 2012

New York City

The garden is nearly unrecognizable, transformed into a whimsical Halloween wonderland for Scorpius’ seventh birthday party. The space is expansive, for New York City, made possible by combining three adjoining backyards into one.

When Theo moved to New York after Scorpius was born, he bought the house next door to Draco’s, though it remained unoccupied for years until Theo and Harry married. At the same time, Draco purchased the house on Theo’s other side, hoping Narcissa would eventually relocate. She never did, preferring her Parisian townhome once her globe-trotting days with a string of younger boyfriends came to an end. That house also sat empty until Draco persuaded Candy and Luna to accept it as a wedding gift.

Thanks to the age of the neighborhood and the fact that their three houses take up most of the block, the combined gardens create a sprawling shared space perfect for the kids to play—though Theo and Harry are arguably the biggest kids of all. Extensive warding ensures that their Muggle neighbors never catch sight of a stray flying broom or any accidental magic from one of the children.

Floating jack-o’-lanterns hover in the air, their glowing faces flickering and laughing softly as enchanted bats swoop between them. Thick magical fog rolls along the grass, curling around the feet of costumed guests, while a gentle breeze carries the scents of pumpkin spice and caramel apples. Actual fairy lights twinkle in the trees, casting warm, golden hues over the festivities.

At the heart of it all stands the pièce de résistance: a massive dragon-shaped balloon charmed to puff harmless smoke every few minutes. Scorpius, dressed as a ferocious green dragon in a costume complete with shimmering wings and a swishing tail, darts between clusters of laughing adults and squealing children. Pesto—now usually reserved for bedtime—remains clutched tightly in Scorpius’ arms, the clear inspiration for his outfit. Marinara flits playfully behind him, occasionally perching on his shoulder, while Crookshanks observes the chaos from the back steps like a king surveying his court. Scorpius growls dramatically at Celeste, who giggles and runs off, her unicorn costume bouncing with every step.

“This is the BEST BIRTHDAY EVER!” Scorpius shouts, his voice carrying across the garden as he races past Draco and Hermione.

“You’ve outdone yourself, my love,” Hermione says warmly, standing beside her husband near one of the enchanted food tables. Her silver-blue fairy godmother gown shimmers in the glow of the floating lights, and her wand—charmed to emit tiny bursts of glitter when waved—rests lightly in her hand. Despite the ache in her back from her growing belly, she feels radiant and content.

Draco, dashing in his silver-edged knight costume complete with a flowing black cape, smirks as he surveys the bustling yard. “Naturally,” he replies with mock arrogance, brushing his gauntleted hand against hers. “When the birthday dragon issues his demands, who am I to refuse?”

He pretended it was a hardship to dress up for the party, but Hermione and Scorpius both knew the truth: Draco’s idle threats about group costumes and matching Christmas pyjamas were just for show.

Hermione chuckles, tilting her head to look up at him. “I can’t imagine where he gets his bossy streak.”

Draco turns to her, mock offense in his expression. “Bossy? From me?” His smirk widens. “Certainly not.”

She nudges him playfully, her grin widening as she catches sight of their family and friends arriving. The first to enter the backyard are Theo and Harry, their harmless bickering audible even before they’re visible.

Theo, dressed as a flamboyant pirate captain with an oversized hat and a shining cutlass, strikes a dramatic pose. “Behold! Captain Theo Potter, scourge of the seven seas!”

Harry, clearly dragged into this against his will, grumbles as he adjusts the enchanted feathers Theo charmed onto his shirt. “I’m just saying, there are cooler things to be than a parrot,” he mutters, flapping his arms half-heartedly. His parrot headpiece tilts awkwardly, matching his perpetually skewed glasses. Draco has already started telling anyone who will listen that Harry’s whole head must be crooked.

“You’re an excellent parrot,” Theo declares, kissing his husband soundly before steering him toward the drink table. Hermione covers her mouth to stifle her laughter as Draco mutters, “Remind me to never let Theo near a costume shop unsupervised.”

Next come Candy and Luna, strolling in with two-year-old Orchid and Hyacinth darting ahead of them, both dressed as the world’s cutest garden gnomes. Luna, five months pregnant to Hermione’s seven, glows with her usual ethereal serenity in a pumpkin costume, her rounded belly stretching the fabric of her dress perfectly. Candy, ever the doting husband, sports a farmer outfit, his straw hat slightly askew as he balances a tray of enchanted pumpkin cupcakes.

“Do you need to sit down, Luna?” Hermione asks as the blonde witch approaches with a serene smile.

“Oh, no, I’m fine!” Luna replies cheerfully, one hand resting on her belly. “Auggie”—the soon-to-be-born August Wilson McCandless IV—“loves it when I walk. He kicks to the rhythm of my steps—it’s rather soothing.”

Draco arches a brow, muttering to Hermione, “You and Luna should write a book on how to make pregnancy look effortless.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Hermione teases, leaning into Draco’s side with a smile.

Candy gives them a dramatic wink. “Effortless, indeed! My glowin’ goddess of a wife floats through pregnancy like she’s charmed by fairies, while I get winded just carryin’ cupcakes.”

More guests pour in: Daphne, dressed as the Muggle stereotype of a witch, while Pansy reprises her trusty black cat costume, a fixture since Theo forced it on her three years ago. Tony and Judith arrive as cartoon mobsters, looking delightfully over-the-top. Finally, Narcissa makes her entrance, regal in a shimmering golden queen’s gown—a suggestion from her grandson. Her delicate tiara catches the soft light, earning her a proud grin from Scorpius as she takes her seat by the enchanted fire pit.

The yard buzzes with laughter, children’s squeals, and the lively hum of conversation. Scorpius, taking his role as host very seriously, leads his friends through a series of enchanted games. Pumpkin bowling, bobbing for apples, scavenger hunts, and the ever-elusive enchanted jack-o’-lantern piñata keep the children entertained for hours. Orchid and Hyacinth trail Scorpius like devoted followers, their delighted squeals echoing as the piñata finally bursts open under his determined swings, scattering candy in every direction. Chaos erupts as the children scramble to gather as much as they can, their laughter carrying across the yard.

Meanwhile, Penny oversees the Not-Scary-At-All haunted house with her usual quiet efficiency. The simple addition of a party hat is her only concession to the festivities. “Penny is already being an elf,” she’d informed them all with a deadpan expression. “She is not wearing a costume too.”

As the sun sets, the floating jack-o’-lanterns glow brighter, their flickering light casting playful shadows across the yard. Hermione watches with amusement as Theo enthusiastically challenges anyone who passes by him to a duel, the feather in his flamboyant pirate hat bobbing with each dramatic gesture. Nearby, Harry has fully embraced his role, squawking and ruffling his enchanted feathers to the endless delight of Celeste, Orchid, and Hyacinth.

The crowning moment of the evening soon arrives: the dragon cake. Towering and intricately detailed, the confection boasts flapping fondant wings, sparkling eyes, and enough magic to elicit gasps from the crowd. Scorpius bounces on his toes, his little dragon tail wagging eagerly as everyone gathers around to sing.

“Make a wish, sweetheart!” Hermione says, her hands resting gently on her belly as she smiles down at him.

Scorpius closes his eyes tightly, pressing his palms together in dramatic concentration as he whispers his wish. With a deep breath, he blows out the candles, and his face lights up with a grin as he looks back and forth between his parents. He doesn’t say what he wished for, but when he leans over to press a kiss to Hermione’s belly, it gives them a good idea.

“Best birthday ever,” he declares again, his voice filled with conviction.

Hermione glances at Draco, her eyes shimmering with emotion. “He’s such a good big brother already,” she murmurs, slipping her hand into his.

Draco squeezes her fingers gently, his gaze softening as he watches their son. “He really is,” he replies, his voice low and full of pride.

The backyard is quieter now, the laughter of children and hum of conversation reduced to a soft murmur as guests begin to depart. Hermione sits at a garden table, sipping her ginger ale and absentmindedly rubbing her belly. Her gaze lingers on Draco, who stands across the yard chatting with Tony and Judith. Scorpius, growing sleepier by the minute, rests in his father’s arms. Though too tall now for Hermione to carry—especially with her belly in the way—Draco relishes holding his son, knowing that Scorpius will outgrow the desire to be carried long before he’s too tall for Draco’s strong frame.

Narcissa approaches, her elegant gown shimmering in the firelight as she gracefully settles into the chair beside Hermione. For a moment, neither of them speaks, the silence warm and companionable.

“You’ve done a wonderful job with everything,” Narcissa says, her voice light but sincere as she gestures toward the decorations and food. “The party was magical. Scorpius will never forget this.”

Hermione smiles, pride flickering in her expression. “Thank you. But Draco deserves the credit. As soon as Scorpius decided on the theme, he took charge. He even charmed most of the decorations himself.”

Narcissa’s lips curve into a knowing smile. “Perhaps, but you’ve brought something into Draco’s life that I never imagined possible. You’ve softened him in ways I didn’t think could be done.”

Hermione blinks, surprised by the openness in Narcissa’s tone. “I think he’s always been soft in his own way—he just hides it well.”

“You’ve taught him how to show it,” Narcissa replies gently, her gaze shifting to her grandson, now nestled against his father’s shoulder. “And Scorpius… he thrives because of you. Because of how fiercely you love him.”

Hermione’s breath catches at the unexpected compliment. “I love him like he’s my own. I always have.”

“I know,” Narcissa says softly, her blue-gray eyes meeting Hermione’s, the unspoken emotion reflected in both their gazes. “I don’t say it enough, but I’m grateful for you.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. Hermione furrows her brow slightly, processing the uncharacteristic vulnerability in Narcissa’s voice. “Grateful?” she repeats, almost hesitant.

“Yes,” Narcissa says, her hands tightening slightly in her lap as her gaze turns inward. “After the war, I wasn’t sure what kind of life Draco would have. I worried he’d never find someone who truly saw him for who he is—someone who would challenge him, push him to be better, and still love him through it all.”

Hermione swallows hard, her heart swelling at the sincerity in Narcissa’s words. “He’s very easy to love,” she says softly.

Narcissa’s smile deepens, her expression soft. “He is. But he didn’t believe that for a long time. Then you came into his life, darling girl, and gave him a second chance—one he never expected but desperately needed.”

Hermione feels emotion clog her throat. “He gave me a second chance too,” she admits, her voice trembling slightly. “After everything I went through, I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel… whole again. But Draco made me believe I could.”

Narcissa reaches across the table, covering Hermione’s hand with her own. The gesture is simple but full of meaning, the warmth grounding Hermione. “You are part of this family now, Hermione,” she says, her voice steady. “Not because you married my son or because you’re carrying my granddaughter. But because of who you are and what you mean to us. You’ve made our family stronger. For that, I will always be grateful.”

Hermione’s eyes shimmer with unshed tears. “Thank you,” she whispers. “That means more than you know.”

Narcissa gives her hand a gentle squeeze before pulling back, her usual poise returning. “Now,” she says lightly, a touch of humor creeping into her tone, “if you ever need someone to spoil the baby—or Scorpius—you know where to find me. I’ve gotten rather good at it.”

Hermione laughs softly, the tension in her chest easing. “Scorpius can certainly attest to that.”

“He’s impossible to resist,” Narcissa admits, her smile widening slightly. “Much like his father was at that age. Though I must say, Scorpius’ charm has magnified tenfold.”

Hermione chuckles, glancing toward Draco, who gently shifts Scorpius to his other shoulder. Even from across the yard, she can see the little boy is losing the battle against sleep. “He’s very much his father’s son.”

Narcissa follows her gaze, her expression softening. “Yes, he is. And you…” Her eyes return to Hermione. “You’re exactly what both of them needed.”

For a moment, Hermione feels completely at peace, the weight of Narcissa’s words settling warmly around her. “I’ll do my best to always be,” she promises.

“I have no doubt,” Narcissa says simply, her tone carrying a quiet certainty.

The two women sit together in comfortable silence, watching as Draco presses a kiss to Scorpius’ forehead. The soft glow of the firelight reflects in Narcissa’s eyes as she looks at Hermione one last time.

“You’re part of this family, Hermione,” she repeats softly, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken years. Narcissa leans over to press a kiss to Hermione’s cheek “Don’t ever doubt that.”

Hermione smiles, her heart full. “I won’t.”

She watches as her mother-in-law rises gracefully and moves to say goodbye to Scorpius and Draco before leaving for her hotel. Hermione remains seated, amazed once again at the Malfoys—their willingness to change and their determination to achieve it.

After all of the guests leave, Scorpius curls up on a blanket under the lanterns and fairy lights, the excitement of the day finally catching up to him. Draco sits beside him, long legs stretched out, propping himself up on his elbows as they recount their favorite moments from the party.

Scorpius gives Hermione a sleepy smile as she walks up. “Are you coming to sit with us, Mom?”

“I’ll need some help getting down–and back up,” she laughs as she indicates both her long skirts and her belly. “But, yes, I am!”

“Here, darling,” Draco offers her his hand as he moves into a kneeling position. “I’ve got you.”

He helps her down with practiced ease, fussing over her until he’s satisfied that she’s safe and comfortable. Once he sits back down, Scorpius moves to lay between them, his little hand reaching for Hermione’s. “Do you think the baby had fun today too?” he asks sleepily.

Hermione strokes his hair, smiling softly. “I think she had the best time.”

Draco leans over, pressing a kiss to the top of Scorpius’ head. “And I think she’s already lucky to have a big brother like you.”

Scorpius beams, his eyes fluttering shut. “Best birthday ever,” he mumbles one last time before drifting off with a smile on his face.

Draco and Hermione sit quietly, watching the enchanted lights sway in the breeze. The world feels warm and full, the kind of magic that lingers long after the candles have burned out and the costumes have been put away.

Hermione smiles up at him as he moves to her other side, careful not to disturb Scorpius. Her breath catches, as it always does, when he begins this precious ritual—lying beside her to talk to their unborn daughter.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s belly. He chuckles softly as the baby moves exuberantly, her usual reaction to hearing his voice. “Not too much longer until we get to meet you.”

“You’re going to be just as fierce as your big brother,” Hermione says softly, her hand resting over Draco’s on her belly. He meets her gaze with a gentle smile, lifting her hand to press a kiss to the back of it. “And just as loved.”

Hermione

December 23, 2012

New York City

Lyra Noelle Malfoy entered the world with all the fierce determination of her mother and the quiet stoicism of her father. Draco and Hermione had barely settled into her hospital room after the whirlwind onset of labor when the first Malfoy daughter in five centuries decided she was ready to make her grand entrance.

She didn’t stop there, nearly giving her parents heart attacks with her silent debut. Draco hadn’t even managed to get out a full sentence to ask if she was alright before Hermione’s Healer chuckled softly, her tone as calm as ever. “She’s perfect,” she’d said, cradling the tiny bundle as she brought her to Hermione. “She’s just decided that crying is beneath her.”

The tension dissolved the moment their daughter was placed on Hermione’s chest, letting out the tiniest, softest sigh. That single sound was all it took to send the first tears streaking down Draco’s face. Hermione knew she’d never forget the way his hands trembled as he cupped her face, kissing her fiercely, or the way he whispered, “I’ve never been more in love with you,” as though it were a confession.

Her heart feels full to bursting as she traces the delicate curve of Lyra’s cheek, marveling at her tiny, perfect features. The earlier fear over her silence fades as Hermione sees it for what it is—an early glimpse of the person her daughter might become. Quiet strength, unshakable determination, and just the right touch of drama—the very best parts of her father.

“Happy birthday, Lyra Noelle,” Hermione whispers, tears streaming down her face, her voice choked with emotion. “And happy birthday, Mum.”

When they were given their due date—which Lyra arrived on precisely, as punctual as her mother—Hermione had known right away what her middle name should be, even before deciding on her first. She and Draco had created their own naming tradition: a celestial-inspired first name, ideally a constellation to complement Draco and Scorpius, paired with a middle name that honored family. Though Jean Noelle Granger would never meet the granddaughter who now shared her birthday, her legacy would live on through Lyra.

Lyra gazes up at her mother with wide, honey-brown eyes—an inheritance from both Hermione and her grandfather. Hermione smiles through her tears, her hand smoothing over the newborn’s hair: white-blonde like her father’s and brother’s, yet as curly as her mother’s and grandmother’s.

“We’ll make sure she knows all about your parents, darling,” Draco murmurs, his voice rich with affection. He presses a gentle kiss to Hermione’s temple, his hand lingering in her hair, his fingers brushing through the curls she’s passed on to their daughter.

Hermione leans against him, grateful that her hospital bed has room for him to sit so close. Her heart swells as she watches the expression on his face—utterly captivated, his silver eyes fixed on the tiny bundle nestled against her chest. There’s something unguarded about him in this moment, a tenderness no one but her gets to see. She reaches up to touch his cheek, and he turns to press a kiss to her palm.

“Do you want to hold her?” she asks softly, her voice trembling with emotion.

Draco doesn’t hesitate, reaching out with steady, practiced hands to cradle their daughter. Hermione watches as awe replaces any hesitation in his expression. “She’s so tiny,” he murmurs, settling Lyra carefully against his chest. His eyes trace every detail of her delicate features—the little nose, the soft curl of her lashes, the way her tiny fist rests against him. “I forgot how small they are at this age.”

“You hold her like you’ve been doing it every day for years,” Hermione says, her voice full of admiration.

Draco’s lips twitch into a soft smile, though his gaze doesn’t leave Lyra. “Muscle memory,” he murmurs, his tone warm.

Lyra stirs slightly, her tiny fingers curling instinctively against his chest. Hermione lets out a soft laugh. “I think she likes you.”

“She’d better,” Draco replies, his smirk tinged with affection. “She’s stuck with me.”

Hermione smiles, brushing a finger over Lyra’s hand. “I still can’t believe she’s ours.”

Draco looks at her, his thumb tracing Lyra’s cheek. “She is,” he says quietly. “Hello, sweet girl,” he murmurs, his voice filled with reverence. “I’m your daddy. You took your time getting here, but you’re worth every second.”

Lyra stirs again, her mouth forming a tiny pout. Hermione adjusts the blanket around her daughter, her hand trembling slightly. “Do you think she’s alright? She hasn’t cried at all.”

“She’s perfect,” Draco reassures her, his voice calm and steady. “Scorpius was the same—he let out one indignant wail and decided that was quite enough, thanks ever so.”

Hermione chuckles softly, her fingers brushing Lyra’s hair. “I suppose it runs in the family.”

Draco’s smile deepens as he shifts to give Hermione a better view of their daughter. “She’ll surprise us. We’ll get to know her little quirks soon enough.”

“She’s beautiful,” Hermione whispers, tears brimming in her eyes.

“She is,” Draco agrees, his voice quieter now as he gazes down at Lyra. “And so are you.”

Hermione’s breath catches at the sincerity in his tone. “What if I mess up?” she whispers.

Draco’s head snaps up, his silver eyes locking onto hers with quiet intensity. “You won’t,” he says firmly. “You’re already an incredible mum. Look at how you are with Scorpius. He adores you.”

“That’s different,” Hermione says softly. “I didn’t meet him until he was three. I didn’t have to do the sleepless nights and the nappies and the—”

“And now you will,” Draco interrupts gently, his voice steady and reassuring.

Hermione swallows hard, her tears threatening to spill again. “But–”

Draco leans closer, his free hand reaching out to cradle her cheek. “You are going to be brilliant–you already are,” he promises, his voice low but full of conviction. “We’ll figure everything out together. You’re not in this alone, Hermione–you never have to be.”

His words settle over her like a warm blanket, soothing the anxious swirl of thoughts in her mind. She leans into his touch, her lips curving into a small smile. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Draco admits with a soft chuckle, “but it’s worth it.”

The quiet moment stretches, the weight of the day wrapping around them. Hermione yawns, exhaustion catching up with her, and Draco carefully places Lyra in the bassinet before helping Hermione settle back against her pillows. “Sleep, darling. I’ve got her.”

When she wakes a couple of hours later, the room is quiet except for the soft hum of monitoring charms. Hermione blinks, her eyes adjusting to the soft, golden light streaming in through the curtains. The stillness wraps around her, warm and comforting, and for a brief moment, she simply breathes it in—the scent of Draco’s cologne mingling with the sweetness associated with a new baby.

Blinking fully awake, she turns her head and sees him. Draco sits in the armchair by her bed, shirtless, his broad shoulders bare as Lyra lays on his chest. Her tiny body rests against his skin, her cheek pressed to his heart, with one of his hands supporting her gently, his thumb stroking light circles along her back. The other rests on the blanket tucked around her, holding it securely to keep her warm. His head tilts slightly as he looks down at her, his gaze utterly absorbed, as though the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

“Caught you,” Hermione murmurs softly, her voice teasing as she props herself up on her elbows.

Draco looks up, a small, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “You did,” he says, his voice low and warm. “You were sleeping so well, I didn’t want to wake you. I thought we’d let you go until Lyra said otherwise. She didn’t seem to mind.”

Hermione’s gaze softens as she takes in the sight of them, her husband and daughter bathed in the soft morning light. “She loves this,” she says knowingly, her voice full of quiet affection. “It’s good for her—feeling your warmth, hearing your heartbeat. It helps her know she’s safe.”

Draco raises a brow, his lips twitching with amusement. “Do I even need to tell you how unfair it is that you’re always two steps ahead of me?”

Hermione laughs softly. “You’re doing perfectly,” she replies, her voice filled with admiration. “She looks completely content.”

Draco glances down at Lyra, his expression softening further. “She’s not the only one,” he murmurs.

Her heart swells at his words, and she smiles, brushing a stray curl out of her face. For a moment, she simply watches him, memorizing the way his large hands look impossibly gentle against their daughter’s delicate frame, the way his silver eyes shine with a reverence that makes her chest ache.

“You’re amazing at this,” she says after a moment, her voice trembling slightly.

Draco shrugs lightly, though the warmth in his gaze never wavers. “It’s different this time,” he admits. “With Scorpius, I was just trying to survive. But with her… with you… it feels whole.”

Tears prick at Hermione’s eyes as she reaches out, brushing her fingers against his free hand. “We are whole,” she whispers.

Draco nods, his gaze locking onto hers with quiet intensity. The love in his eyes feels as tangible as the blanket wrapped around Lyra, and it steals her breath. Slowly, she watches as Lyra stirs against him, her tiny body stretching instinctively.

“She’s hungry,” Hermione notes gently, her gaze fixed on her daughter.

Draco stands, his movements deliberate and careful as he crosses to the bed. He hands Lyra to Hermione with practiced ease, his hands lingering just a moment longer to ensure she’s settled. “All yours,” he murmurs, his voice soft.

As Hermione feeds their daughter, Draco pulls his shirt on and sits beside her, his hand resting lightly on her back. The quiet fills the room again, but it’s no longer still. It feels alive, humming with love and possibility.

“We did good,” Hermione whispers, her voice trembling with emotion.

Draco leans closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. “We did,” he agrees softly, his silver eyes gleaming with quiet wonder.

Draco

Draco steps through the Floo at home, his smile widening when he spots his son. Scorpius is sprawled upside-down on the couch, his legs stretched up the backrest while his head dangles over the edge.

“Dad, you’re back!” Scorpius exclaims, flipping himself upright in a flurry of motion before bounding across the room.

Father and son meet in the middle, Draco catching Scorpius effortlessly as the little boy launches himself into his arms.

“The way we act, you’d think it’s been a month since we’ve seen each other—not less than twenty-four hours,” Draco jokes, pressing a kiss to Scorpius’ hair.

“How’s Mom? Is she okay? What about Lyra? What color are her eyes? Wait—what about her hair? When are you coming home?” Scorpius’ questions tumble out in rapidfire succession, his small hands holding Draco’s face as though to ensure his full attention.

Draco laughs, shifting Scorpius into a more comfortable hold, grateful his son hasn’t yet outgrown these moments. “Mom is more than okay—she’s amazing. Your sister is tiny, beautiful, and brilliant, just like her mother. As for her hair and eyes, I’ll let those be a surprise. And we’ll bring her home tomorrow morning.”

He takes a dramatic gasp for air, his lips twitching with humor. “Did I miss anything?”

“Nope!” Scorpius laughs as he wiggles out of Draco’s arms and lands on the floor. “Let’s get my stuff and tell Auntie Theo and Uncle Harry I’m leaving! I want to see Mom, and I really can’t wait to meet Lyra!”

As they walk up the hallway, they run into Theo and Harry, who are evidently on their way to the sitting room.

“Oh, good,” Harry laughs. “We were starting to worry he might have taken off on his own.”

Theo swishes his royal blue feathered robe with dramatic flair, turning to head back the way he came. “He’s been absolutely gasping for you to get here ever since you called to tell him Lyra was born.”

“Yeah,” Scorpius agrees, though he rolls his eyes. “But I know I can’t Floo without telling anyone—and even then, it’s only to Tyler’s house by myself.”

“Not everyone’s a rule breaker, Theo,” Draco quips in a dry, sarcastic tone, earning a silent but pointed middle finger from Theo behind Scorpius’ back.

“I’ll be right back!” Scorpius calls over his shoulder as he races to his room.

While he’s gone, Draco fills Harry and Theo in on their new niece—her hair and eye color, length and weight, and her serene, quiet demeanor. But he saves the photos he’s taken for later; he wants Scorpius to see her first, and in person.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Harry says with a soft sigh. “It’s still surreal, Hermione having a baby. Sometimes I forget we’re in our thirties.”

“Speak for yourself. I am timeless,” Theo declares with a flourish. “But I also can’t wait to cuddle her—and then promptly hand her back the moment she so much as sniffles.”

“You put up a good front, Theo, but we all know you secretly like kids,” Draco smirks, his tone teasing.

“I never said I didn’t!” Theo replies indignantly, throwing up his hands. “I just like being able to hand them back whenever I want and get on with my day!”

“I’ll drink to that,” Harry laughs, lifting his water glass in a mock toast.

At that moment, Scorpius barrels into the kitchen, now carrying a small bag and wearing his old dragon backpack, the straps lengthened to accommodate his taller frame. “Come on, Dad! Let’s go!” he exclaims, bouncing on his toes with excitement.

“Right behind you,” Draco assures him, watching as Scorpius dashes out of the room. Turning back to Theo and Harry, he adds, “I’ll bring him back after dinner. Then we’ll be home in the morning.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Harry chirps, while Theo offers a mock salute.

As Draco walks down the hall, he pulls out his phone to text Hermione, letting her know they’ll be back in a few minutes. When she’d first asked him to text her updates, he’d been confused, but her matter-of-fact explanation had stunned him. “I want to know when you’ll be here so I can be ready. I need my hands free to hold my first baby.”

Even after three years of watching Hermione’s love for Scorpius, her care and attention still amazes him. I will never deserve her, but I will always keep trying, Draco silently vows.

Reaching the sitting room, he finds Scorpius practically vibrating with excitement. It’s then Draco takes a closer look at his son’s appearance. While Scorpius wears his usual high-tops, today he’s paired them with the neatest jeans he owns, a blue button-down, a tan blazer, and a polka-dot bow tie—an outfit Draco recognizes from Theo and Harry’s long-delayed wedding reception last month. Instead of his usual space buns or messy bun, Scorpius has his hair pulled back into a sleek knot. He takes a closer look at the small bag in his son’s hand, realizing it’s unmistakably a gift bag.

“What’s all this, Scorp?” Draco asks, gesturing to his son’s outfit and the bag.

“What do you always say, Dad?” Scorpius laughs, his eyes twinkling. “First impressions are important! I had to dress up to meet my sister.”

Emotion catches in Draco’s throat, nearly overwhelming him for the tenth time that day. Before he can respond, Scorpius waves the small bag in the air, grinning. “And it’s Lyra’s birthday! I can’t show up without a gift!”

Draco pulls his son into his arms, peppering his face with kisses. “You are a wonderful person, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy—never change.”

“‘Kay!” Scorpius agrees cheerfully, grabbing Draco’s arm so they can apparate. “Now can we please go?!”

They pop into the hospital’s designated Apparition point just moments later, but Draco barely has time to get his bearings before Scorpius is tugging on his arm, pulling him toward the gift shop across the lobby. “I want to get Mom and Lyra some flowers!” he exclaims, his enthusiasm bubbling over.

Draco smiles, watching his son dart from display to display, carefully examining each bouquet. In the end, Scorpius selects a vase that looks like Christmas come to life for Hermione—red roses, holly, mistletoe, and sprigs of pine. For Lyra, he chooses a delicate arrangement of tiny pink roses and baby’s breath. Unbeknownst to him, in the language of flowers, he’s promised them love, protection, and hope in numerous ways.

When they reach Hermione’s room, Draco crouches down and takes the flowers from Scorpius, placing them on the floor before putting his hands on Scorpius’ shoulders, his silver eyes meeting his son’s matching gaze. “Scorp, I need you to talk to you,” he begins, his tone soft but filled with the kind of quiet intensity that always captures the little boy’s attention. “It was just you and me for a long time. From the moment you were born, you’ve been my whole world. And nothing—not today, not tomorrow, not ever—will change how much I love you. Did you know that?”

Scorpius tilts his head slightly, his brows furrowing in thought, but he nods. “I know, Dad,” he says quietly.

Draco squeezes his shoulders gently. “Good. Because having a sister doesn’t mean you’re being replaced or that there’s less love to go around. My heart didn’t split when we found out about Lyra—it grew. And it grew because of you, Scorp. You taught me how to be a dad. You taught me how to love and how to laugh. You taught me how to be open and how to be unapologetically myself. You taught me how to find joy in everything and look for the good in everyone. You made me brave enough to do this again.”

A small smile begins to tug at Scorpius’ lips, though his gaze stays locked on Draco. “So… you’re saying I’m the reason for all this?”

Draco chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to his son’s forehead. “I’m saying you’re the reason I know how to love like this. You’ll always be my first, my son, and nothing and no one will ever take that away.”

Scorpius straightens up a little more, his smile growing. “Thanks, Dad,” he says, his voice strong and clear as he holds the front of his father’s shirt. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Scorpius.” Draco smiles as he pulls his son in for a hug. “And you know what else?” he adds, his tone softening even further. “Your sister is the luckiest girl in the world because she has you for a big brother. You’re going to be her protector, her teacher, her partner-in-crime. And I have no doubt you’ll be amazing at it—just like you are at everything else.”

Scorpius beams at the praise, a mix of pride and determination lighting up his face. “I’ll make sure she knows she’s loved too,” he promises, clutching Draco’s shirt a little tighter.

Draco’s chest tightens with emotion, and he leans in to press a kiss to the top of Scorpius’ head. “I know you will,” he whispers. “You already do.”

Standing, he hands the bouquets back to Scorpius, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his blazer. “Your mom’s waiting for us,” he says, nodding toward the door. “Ready, big brother?”

Scorpius looks up at him, radiant with pride and excitement. “Ready.”

Draco opens the door, watching as his son strides into the room, flowers held carefully in his hands, his little chest puffed out like a knight meeting his newest adventure.

Inside, Hermione looks up from Lyra’s bassinet, her tired but glowing smile lighting the entire room. “There you two are,” she greets warmly, her voice full of love.

Scorpius stops in his tracks, his eyes widening as he takes in the sight of his tiny sister for the first time. Draco rests a hand on his shoulder, feeling the wonder radiating from him like sunlight.

As Scorpius steps closer, Draco knows this moment is the start of something extraordinary.