Work Text
AD ASTRA
“To The Stars”
“Non est ad astra mollis e terris via"
"There is no easy way from the earth to the stars”
― Seneca
August 4, 2013.
At nineteen, with a war behind her and an Order of Merlin, First Class pressed to her breastbone, Hermione Granger had only one genuine aspiration for her future: that she should thrive.Now, staring thirty-four in the face, Hermione dreaded the first rays of dawn as they illuminated her sparse bedroom. She wasn’t entirely sure when it had begun, her steady decline. She only knew that her one constant in life was the feeling of free falling, and she had fallen quite low. She lived within a nadir from which she could only glimpse the faint edges where the darkness of the pit bled into the dead of night.No stars in sight. The sun, a mere illusion.Blinding light void of what she craved. The embrace of warmth. The warmth of love.“You need to leave,” Hermione said, turning to shake the muggle man asleep beside her, “I have to leave for work.”
Lie.
He turned to blink sleepily at her. The sliver of light illuminating her room caught his emerald eyes at just the wrong moment.Adrian? Aidan? Owen? She knew she should remember the name she had been chanting mere hours ago, but in the light of day, she only wanted to forget. “I’m going to go take a shower,” Hermione said, turning away from him quickly. “Please leave by the time I get back.” Hermione didn’t wait for a response. She slipped out of her bed and escaped into the attached bathroom before her words even registered with the man whose hair was entirely the wrong shade of black.She was relieved to find the man had indeed left by the time she returned from her shower — every inch of her body raw from her rigorous scrubbing and the scalding water she had cleansed herself in. She tied her damp curls back into a pony, the stringent elastic digging into her scalp painfully as she propped on a hard hat. It was only precautionary, as she didn’t care to use muggle means to renovate the cottage. She only wanted the project finished now that she was coming close to living in it for two years.With a vat of coffee and a stack of toast, Hermione settled down in the small bedroom at the back of the cottage to begin the day’s work.Inhaling dust and ash and exhaling her life force.“Hermione, are you in here?” The voice was distant, likely coming from the sitting room at the front of the cottage.Hermione continued to strip the carpet, her wand tugging in an upward motion, slowly pulling back the brown pads to reveal beautiful mahogany hardwood floors buried below.“In the second bedroom!” Hermione called out, knowing it could only be Cho Chang trudging heavily through her home. Hermione’s friendship with Cho had blossomed quite naturally once they had both decided to let their preconceived perceptions of the other fade alongside schoolyard politics and, well, warmongering . As young interns in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts department, they had needed to work strategically and often synchronously to claw their way up the stunted ladder the wizarding world called their ministry. It hadn’t taken long for Hermione to understand and respect that behind the beauty often labelled Cho Chang was sharp wit and cunning resourcefulness, a Ravenclaw through and through. If their school days had been even minutely different, less a death or two, Hermione and Cho would have become friends far before they had in this life.Now, over a decade later, she was the only person with permanent access to Hermione’s floo and the only one who cared to have it.“You completed the kitchen,” Cho said from the doorway, a bubble-head charm wrapped securely around her head.“Beginning of July,” Hermione nodded, vanishing the strips of carpet she had piled before her. She rose from her kneeling position, tucking her wand into the pockets of her oversized shirt.“I know, I know,” Cho sighed, “But this one’s making it harder for me to get out of bed now,” Cho said, her spare hand drifting down to her belly to rub gentle circles into it — as if her child had heard his mother’s flippant tone and ensued a barrage of kicks in response.“It’s okay, Cho.” Hermione smiled, noting the calla lilies in Cho’s other hand, “You really should be spending your pregnancy preparing for her, not keeping tabs on me.” Cho flipped her hair to the side, beckoning Hermione to follow. “I don’t come here to keep tabs,” Cho said, leading Hermione towards the front door. She removed the charm around her face so she could speak more freely. “I come to be fed.”“Marry a healer, they say; you’ll never fall ill. They never talk about how you’ll never be fed good old greasy pub food again.”With a silent Alohomora, Hermione locked her front door and set off on the path Cho knew just as well as she did.“You’re exaggerating,” Hermione grinned, “Roger likes his fish and chips too much for that to be true.”“Not when it's for his pregnant wife,” Cho bit out, “He made me flaxseed pancakes for breakfast yesterday. I spent the rest of the day in the bathroom.”Hermione shuddered, not wanting to know any further.“What time does the pub open?” Cho said, casting her eyes towards the alley that housed most of the shops in the village.“Ah yes, the gravy and chips at The King’s Head,” Hermione said, her head dipping slightly as they walked past the obelisk memorial, “the one true reason to visit me here.”They walked silently through the small village, enjoying the press of early autumnal winds against their faces, a rosy hue spreading across Cho’s plump cheeks. Hermione reached out to unlatch the iron gates before them, leading Cho down the winding cemetery pathways she had become well versed in journeying through.Their destination: an elaborate marble headstone.
Harry Potter
The Boy Who Lived
The Man Who Vanquished Death
Beloved Son, Husband & Father
July 31 1980 - September 18 2011
Hermione vanished the tulips she had laid on Harry’s birthday so Cho could set the lilies in her hand before the marble headstone. Hermione waved her wand, discreetly replicating the bouquet so she could set identical copies before the headstones of Lily and James Potter, resting peacefully on either side of Harry.Two years ago, when the ministry had dictated Harry be laid to rest between his parents, Hermione had stood staunchly against the notion. Whilst family had always been the most important thing to Harry, he would never have wanted to be buried where there was no room for his children to be laid to rest in the future. But as Hermione had neither been his wife nor the mother of his children, her heartfelt pleas had gone unanswered. Ultimately, Ginny had agreed to the ministry’s wishes, allowing her husband to lie waiting in a village neither she nor her children ever visited. Hermione knew because she had spent the last two years, both birth and death anniversaries, sitting beside his grave waiting for them. No one had come, not even Ron.Cho’s hand wrapped around Hermione’s, stilling Hermione’s fingers where they tapped rhythmically against her thigh.“Come,” Cho said, gently pulling Hermione towards the bench Andromeda had commissioned in honour of Harry’s thirty-second birthday.Hermione sat on the bench, the marble cooling her backside right through her slacks.“He’d be proud to see you completed it,” Cho said, her arm wrapping around Hermione’s body.“It’s not finished yet,” Hermione said, looking down at her hands, knowing where Cho was driving the conversation.“All it needs is a deep clean and a lick of paint,” Cho stated, pulling Hermione closer, “It is livable now. It’s whole.”“Harry wanted to expand it, add a second floor.”“Harry wanted to restore his parent’s house. You’ve done it for him.” Cho stated firmly, “It’s done.”“He wanted to live in it. You know,” Hermione said, her eyes tracing the intricate calligraphy of his name.“And he should have gotten to,” Cho sighed. “But it doesn’t mean you have to live in the shadow of his wishes for the rest of your life, Hermione. He wouldn’t want you to live like this.”Hermione stiffened, “Like what?”Cho turned towards her, assessing her shrewdly, “Like you’re atoning.”Hermione turned away, “Penance is not atonement.”“Penance for what, Hermione?” Cho asked, her eyes narrowing, “Because the breakdown of his marriage was not your fault, and the accident certainly wasn't either.”“I am the reason he’s dead,” Hermione clipped.Cho scrutinised her, her hand shifting to rest precariously on her belly.“No, Hermione. That’s what you tell yourself because you know deep down if you let go of the idea any of it was about you, you’ll only realise you have to let go of him. That there’s nothing left to hold on to save the memory of him.”Hermione wasn’t sure which nothing Cho was referring to in particular. Nothing, as in, the married, dead friend she had realised she loved too late. Or the family she had lost subsequently.Perhaps the job she had wasted away.Or nothing, as in the life Hermione had forgotten to thrive at. A life she was barely surviving.“I’ve been patient, Hermione,” Cho said, her voice steadier than Hermione had ever heard before. “I’ve let you grieve. I’ve let you alienate yourself. I’ve let you restore that house by yourself, refusing whoever deigned to help. Maybe Cedric’s death wasn’t a tenth as hard as Harry’s has been on you, but I know some of the pain. I know you can’t continue to live like you died that night as well.”Hermione stood, trying to keep her legs from shaking, “I’ll think about it.” She wouldn’t be; she had put too much of herself into the cottage to think of letting it go, but she didn’t have the energy to discuss it further with Cho. Cho gave her a sharp nod, “Okay. I’ll let it drop for now.”“The King’s Head will be open by now,” Hermione said, holding an arm out for Cho so she could help her up the tricky incline of the path before them. “Let’s get you your gravy chips.”“I want shepherd’s pie now.”Hermione rolled her eyes, “Only if you let me brew you some pepper-up before you leave. I don’t want Davies to come hunting me down for your upset stomach later.” ❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅ Hermione watched Cho stab a chip roughly, “Of course, Robards refuses to budge, and now Clearwater’s heading a committee to write up additional bylaws so that the wizengamot can be called to step in and mandate better work hours for the DMLE.”“How many have there been?” Hermione frowned.“Since Harry’s accident. Four. One hit-wizard fell asleep on his broom and woke up in the Channel.” Cho clipped, “Most of them are working 90 hours on a good week, and even with all the potion abuses that are taking place within the department, it’s only a matter of time before it escalates.”“And Kingsley?” Hermione frowned.“Kingsley’s done with the job,” Cho rolled her eyes, “He only accepted the role of minister temporarily, and now it’s been fifteen years. He wants out now. Besides, managing Robards is too far below his jurisdiction for him to take any real interest.”“I thought Percy was working on establishing a voting process.” Hermione sighed.Kingsley had been complaining about the job since before Hermione had worked her way into his office seven years ago.The lack of democracy within the wizarding world made it so that the highest ministry position was only ever offered discreetly by the toads sitting on the wizengamot, and the only way out was to either die doing it or do such a terrible job of it that the wizengamot had no choice but to sack you in a very public setting.Such had been the case for Cornelius Fudge, who had promptly packed his bags and absconded to Eastern Europe to live out the rest of his days quietly, away from the media circus that had begun to hound him after the war ended. While the Wizengamot had done their own damage to Harry and Dumbledore's reputations in the years before the war, the highest court and it's benefactors couldn’t take the blame. And that had been the requirement after the war: Someone to blame all the deaths and destruction upon. Voldemort had died too quickly. And Fudge was abandoned to bear the brunt of it.Cho looked down at her half-eaten shepherd’s pie, “Percy is one man. He was asking me about you, you know.”Hermione picked up a chip and chewed on the edge of it, “Asking what?”“If you planned to return to the ministry.”Hermione rolled her eyes, “Percy’s owl knows where to find me if he has questions to ask of me.”Cho assessed her, her narrowed black eyes in stark contrast to her rosy round face, “Percy’s right, you know.”“About?”“The best hope the ministry has after Kingsley is you.”“There’s something extremely wrong with a society if its success solely relies on a single person’s interest.” Hermione pursed her lips. "And I don’t have it in me, Cho.”Cho grimaced but remained silent, and Hermione wondered if Cho was biting back a comment that would compare Hermione’s observation of the ministry to the state of her own life. The kettle calling the pot black.“I’m having a dinner party the weekend after next,” Cho said as the waitress cleared their table, “Before you make an excuse, it’s my last hurrah before I go into confinement for the next three months. You will come for me and the baby.”“I thought confinement was practised post-birth,” Hermione arched a brow. “In muggle culture,” Cho sighed. “Pureblood customs dictate it from the eighth month of the pregnancy, and Roger’s mum is adamant it helps the magical core strengthen.”“I see,” Hermione nodded, “Although I don’t believe Ginny ever practised.”Except for her last child, but that confinement had been for an entirely different reason.“The Weasleys have always done things differently.” Cho shrugged. “It’s one of the reasons the rest of the Sacred 28 are so wary of them. Not just because of the money thing.”“Will anyone from the ministry be there?” Hermione asked, following Cho out of the pub.Cho snorted, “It’s a friendly dinner party, so no. None of the politicians I work with will be there. Just some of Roger’s friends and some of mine, including you.”Hermione sighed, “I’ll await your owl.”
August 7, 2013.
Hermione looked up from the parchment she was proofreading just in time to see a squat man making his way up the small path that led to her cottage.
What now?
With a quick wave, she assembled the parchments before her into order and moved towards the front door before the man could knock.“Hello,” Hermione said, swinging her front door open.“Er, hello.” The wizard peered up at her, his brow slick with sweat as he gazed upon her. “Hermione Granger... I mean... Miss Granger!”“Hello,” Hermione nodded again, her fingers tense against the door handle. She was not accustomed to visitors at her cottage, let alone visitors who knew her by name. It could only mean this man, whoever he was, was from the ministry.“May I come in?” The man asked, dabbing a handkerchief over his brow.“May I know your name and business?” Hermione asked stiffly.“Belibus Carnsley, Department of Bequethments and Testimonies,” He replied, pushing his glasses up. “I am here to clear up matters regarding the last will of Mister Harry Potter.”Hermione’s stomach dropped, “The matters of Harry Potter’s will were clarified in October of 2011.”The man cast a wary glance behind him before turning back towards her, “Matters have... arisen once again.”He held out a scroll for her, and Hermione responded by shutting the door, unlatching the safety, and pulling it back open.“Come in,” She clipped, leading him to the sitting room with only one sofa and a lone armchair.“Thank you,” Belibus muttered, sitting on the sofa.“Would you like some water?” Hermione asked, flicking her wand so a water goblet appeared before the man.“Thank you,” He drank greedily, refilling it a second time with an application of his own Aguamenti charm.“Please,” Hermione said, gesturing for him to hurry on.“Ms. Ginevra Potter,” The man began cautiously, “Has filed an injunction with the Wizengamot citing that this property, Number 5 Haven Lane, Godric’s Hollow, was named to her son, a mister Albus Severus Potter, born on the 15th of February, 2002.She claims that the will Harry Potter wrote at the birth of her second son supersedes the will written six months before his demise, er, that would be the will that bequeathed you, Miss Granger, the property.”“On what grounds?” Hermione asked, her fingers clasped tightly in her lap.“Because the nature of Mister Potter’s mental faculties at the time cannot be ascertained.” Belibus cleared his throat loudly before continuing, “Ms. Potter acknowledges that you have spent your own galleons and personal time on the property during this interim period and has generously offered to pay an additional sum of 5,000 galleons for the time and effort that has been expended.”Hermione stared at the man before her, her stomach twisting in knots, “And what is the Wizengamot’s judgement on the injunction?”Belibus stared at his shoes as if they were composed of the most fascinating hide of dragon leather the wizarding world had manufactured, “They would prefer this matter to be solved discreetly.”“Because Merlin forbid the saviour of the wizarding world be imperfect and unhappy in his marriage,” Hermione said, standing up.“I only require your response on the injunction,” Belibus said squeakily.Hermione would have happily thrown the man and his injunction out of her home if Ginny had not known precisely which card to play. James and Albus. This cottage meant a lot to her; it always would. She had sewn her blood, sweat and tears into it. Raising it from the ground up. In the memory of Lily and James. In the memory of Harry.But Harry’s boys were her godsons. She had loved them like her own. She did love them like her own, even if they hated her.“When does she want the cottage?” Hermione asked, her heart thrumming wildly against her chest.“First week of October. But the ministry decrees that should the injunction be allowed to pass, it will occur on Albus Potter’s 12th birthday as the binding magic would require him to have a wand.”“I’ll owl in my response to the injunction,” Hermione stated flatly, gesturing the man out of her home.Once the ministry wizard had apparated from the threshold of her home, Hermione pulled open a bottle of wine.
June 2010 - Flashback
Hermione looked around the rubble that was the Potters’ cottage. In the three decades it had stood abandoned in Godric’s Hollow, a veritable shrine to James and Lily’s sacrifice, the house had fallen to ruins. Rain and snow had left mouldy ceilings, waste and debris littered the floor, and it seemed over the years, death eaters had frequented the cottage to desecrate the land upon which their master had sealed his fate.“I know,” Harry said from behind her, twisting open her favourite bottle of Bordeaux, “It’s a lot.”Hermione turned towards him, “Harry, you can’t live here.”“Not as it is now,” Harry scrunched his nose, handing her a goblet of wine.“Of course, I’ll help,” Hermione sighed, “But this cottage is a tenth the size of Grimmauld Place. How will you all squeeze in?”“There are two bedrooms already,” Harry shrugged, “I think I can add a second floor; add a library for the boys and a primary bedroom for Gin and me.”“You mean two bedrooms,” Hermione said, squatting down before the fireplace and trying to brush away the debris collecting inside. “I think there’s a dead animal stuck up the chimney.”“Why would I need to add two bedrooms?” Harry said, pushing her aside to inspect the chimney for himself.Hermione frowned, “Gin told Padma you’re trying for a third.”Harry blinked up at her from where he was lying on the floor, “We’re not.”“Oh,” Hermione said, handing Harry his wand, “Maybe Padma heard wrong.”Harry shot a controlled bombarda up the chimney, “Gin wants to try for a third. But James is starting Hogwarts next year, and Al will be following soon after.” He ducked out just as a rotting carcass fell where Harry’s head had been moments before. “It makes no sense having a child who’ll be so far apart in age from the boys. It will always be those two against the third and—”“I know,” Hermione sighed, setting the carcass on fire, “You don’t want your children to feel the way you did growing up.”Harry stood, assessing her quietly, “I’m not 17 anymore, Hermione. There was a time when I walked into the forbidden forest ready to die. Now, every time I go to work, I’m terrified I won’t return home. James and Al are old enough; they’ll be at Hogwarts soon, and if anything ever did happen to me, at least they would have known me. Having another child would mean another two decades of constantly living with anxiety.”“You’ve seen so much death, Harry; it’s only natural that even in its absence, it’s always lurking around the corner of your mind,” Hermione said quietly, “Maybe the problem is your job. Have you considered—”“You sound like Gin,” Harry muttered, “She wrote to McGonagall asking if the defence job was still open.”“Was it?” Hermione asked, reestablishing the old floo connection to the network.“I don’t want another kid, Hermione,” Harry sighed, “Even if I were to resign from the DMLE, I still wouldn’t want another.”“Have you told Gin?” Hermione asked, turning around to face him.Harry poured more wine into his goblet, “She’s aware.”“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t talk about it again,” Hermione smiled softly, “Harry, Gin will understand. Just speak to her.”Harry sighed, frustrated, “Lately, whenever we talk, it doesn’t seem as if the other is really listening.”“Is that why you’ve decided to fix up the cottage?” Hermione asked, sipping her wine, “Are you unhappy at home?”“No!” Harry blanched. “You know I wanted to restore the cottage right after I started at the DMLE, and then Gin got pregnant, and it fell to the wayside. But it’s been eating away at me. This is where love triumphed over evil. It shouldn’t look this way. My parents deserve better than a decrepit shack in honour of their memory.”Hermione nodded, rubbing circles into Harry’s back, “Weekends only, Harry. And you should talk to your wife. Tell her where you’ll be spending your time away from home.”They stood silently in the living room, goblets of wine pressed to their lips, assessing how best to begin sorting the carnage.“I think we should start—” Hermione began.“What about you?” Harry asked, and Hermione noticed he had been assessing her.“What about me?” Hermione frowned, tucking her wand into her bun.“You haven’t considered settling down?”Hermione rolled her eyes, “You know I haven’t.”“I thought maybe you and Oliver were getting serious?” Harry asked, pulling at his glasses so they sat precariously close to the tip of his nose. “At least you did invite him to Christmas dinner.”“Three years ago.” Hermione shook her head amusedly, “And no, it obviously didn’t work out.”Harry ran a hand through his hair, “Are you happy, Hermione?”Hermione took a sip of her wine, “Yes. Harry, I am. Ron was not the person for me; and neither were Ernie or Oliver. I won’t settle just to settle down. Loneliness is a terrible foundation to build a relationship on.”“But you’ve never tried to put yourself out there,” Harry stated.“I know what I like, Harry.” Hermione shrugged, “And if the day comes that I prefer someone else’s company over my own solitude, I’ll take it into account.”“And how are you going to meet this person if you spend all your time chained to your desk,” Harry said, raising a brow.“I am not chained to my desk,” Hermione huffed.“Between your job and my boys,” Harry shook his head, “You have about as much time to meet a suitable man as I do to start this project.”“And yet you are. Besides Harry, as I said, I like my own company, so I’ll be alright.” Hermione said, pushing him towards the primary bedroom, “Let’s start cleaning up from here.”
August 12, 2013.
Hermione wrapped her finished manuscript, Muggles, Medicine and Life in the Middle Ages, in brown paper and tied it with spare string from her desk. She would much prefer to owl the manuscript to her publisher, but it seemed they were under the impression that a meeting was needed.It wasn’t often she visited the wizarding world. She hadn’t returned once since she quit her position as head of Kingsley’s support staff, a position she had worked dedicatedly for half a decade to make her way up to. That had been almost two years ago. Since then, she wrote books on various subjects, from muggle relations to muggle and wizarding advances, most of which were Flourish and Blott’s poorest sellers. Even so, her first book had done well enough for it to become a required text at Hogwarts and had gotten her the book deal which ended with the manuscript in her handbag.If they were calling her in for a meeting, instead of rushing her to her desk to begin writing her next book, it was to tell her, her contract was not getting renewed.It appeared she was, once again, at a dead end in her career.Perhaps she would get herself another cat. At least when Crooks was alive, no one had tried to take him away from her. Hermione pulled the cloak down over her head as she exited the floo of the Leaky Cauldron, one of the mandated entrance and exit points for Diagon Alley after the war.The alley was bustling with families shopping for the incoming year at Hogwarts. Hermione skirted around the larger groups, hoping and simultaneously dreading she would run into a large group of redheads. Dominique and James would be starting their third year this September, and Albus and Rose would shortly be getting their Wands to begin their first. A sharp pang resonated against her breastbone at the thought that Harry would not be there to see him into Ollivanders. “Scorp,” Hermione heard as she shuffled by two cloaked figures, father and son, from the sound of it. “I know you’re angry, but can we please discuss it?”“No,” the young boy spat, moving away, “You can never just let it be, can you.”She moved past the figures, her strides growing longer as the publishing house appeared, nestled between the Owl Emporium and Florean Fortescue’s.“Hermione Granger,” Hermione said, slipping the hood of her cloak off in front of the receptionist, “I have a meeting with Artie for noon.”The receptionist led her through to the small conference room where Artie stood waiting for her with Calliope, a hawk-like woman with pin-straight blonde hair.“Hermione, darling.” Calliope cooed as Hermione entered, running her own hand through her messy curls.“Calliope, Artie.” Hermione nodded, standing at the door with the brown package clasped tightly in her hand.Two years ago, when Hermione first approached the publishing house with her idea to publish a book discussing the use of charms in lieu of defensive spells when combatting dark arts, Calliope had been a budding editor thrilled by the idea. She had handled her manuscript from start to finish, and then used the book’s success to have it mandated as a textbook at Hogwarts in both Charms classes and DADA classes.It had gotten Hermione her three book deal, and had moved Calliope up to manage the entire non-fiction division of the publishing house, leaving her assistant Artie to manage the mundane task of editing Hermione’s following drafts.Artie, of course, turned out to be a better editor, but he lacked the ambition with which Calliope had pursued Hermione’s work.“Please,” Calliope said, gesturing towards the table in the centre of the room.“Is that the final draft?” Artie asked, nodding towards the package.“Yes,” Hermione said tightly, sitting at the table, “I’m sorry for the delay.”Calliope waved her hand at her, “It’s perfect timing, really.”Artie took the package from Hermione’s hands and unwrapped it to flip through the manuscript, silently reading parts of the book she had rewritten since they had met a few months ago to discuss the changes.“Have I been called in to be told my contract will not be renewed,” Hermione asked, turning to Calliope. Calliope giggled, “No, of course not. ”“Alright,” Hermione said, sitting up to assess the woman before her shrewdly, “Was there something else then?”Artie glanced wearily at Calliope before turning to Hermione, a remorseful look flashing across his face before he cleared his throat.“Rita Skeeter is publishing her new book,” He said quietly, “A biography on the life and death of Harry Potter. It’s scheduled to come out on the anniversary of his death next month.”Hermione shrugged, “She won’t be the first to write a book about him.” The likes of Cormac Maclaggen, Delores Umbridge and even Professor Slughorn had done so in the past year. None of them had come close to articulating the true story of the life Harry had lived. Calliope slid a Daily Prophet towards her, a picture of Harry and Hermione dancing happily at his wedding splashed across the front page. The caption read: Harry Potter’s sordid affair with long-term friend and mistress Hermione Granger ended with a broken body and broken hearts around the world. “It will be the first book that revolves predominantly around the Potter-Weasley-Granger love affair,” Calliope said as Hermione glanced down the page.
Excerpt from Born from Love, Vanquished by Love, Chapter 13:
It was an ordinary day for Mrs Ginervra Potter. Her eldest son, James Sirius Potter, was settling well in his first year at Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and she was just about to give delightful news to the wizarding world at large with the birth announcement of her daughter Lily Luna Potter, which was sadly to occur three weeks post-humously to the death of her father, who was sadly never to meet his greatest love.
Harry Potter died on September 18, en route to visit his mistress and ‘best friend’ Hermione Granger for her thirty-second birthday the following day—
Hermione slid the prophet article back, “I’m sure it will be riddled with misinformation and skewed perspectives, as most of her work is.”Artie glanced at Calliope, who was watching Hermione with narrowed eyes, “We would like you to write your own version of the events. It doesn’t have to be a biography on Harry Potter; it can be an autobiography for yourself, but we’d be remiss not to utilise the publicity Rita Skeeter’s book would garner for you as an author.”Hermione looked from Calliope to Artie, “I write books about integrating muggle and wizarding worlds. I don’t write rubbish about my friends, especially those not around to speak for themselves.”“Hermione, you’ve sold 15 books over your last two releases.” Calliope said, her smile harpy-like, “If you’re passionate about your career as a writer, this is what you require to keep selling books on subjects nobody else cares for.”Hermione stood up slowly, her hair dancing with the charge of anger growing within her. “That’s quite alright, Calliope. I’m accustomed to changing professions if they no longer suit me.”“Hermione,” Artie said quietly.“It’s always a pleasure, Artie,” Hermione smiled at the man as he followed behind her, “Do let me know if you require anything else before the release.”“Calliope is just going to dump the books at Flourish now,” Artie said, holding open the door for her.“I know.” Hermione said, pulling the cloak over her head, “I’ll see you around Artie.”
August 15, 2013.
Hermione watched the paint as it dried on the kitchen walls. It was a beautiful shade of green, the closest she could find to Harry’s eyes at the hardware store she had stopped at after meeting with Calliope and Artie. She had hoped to paint it by hand, but her hands hadn’t stopped shaking since she had glanced at Rita’s excerpt splashed across the front of The Daily Prophet.Over the last two years, she had all but disappeared from the wizarding world, hoping her reclusiveness would keep her name out of the papers. She wasn’t ashamed that Harry and she had begun a relationship. It had come around so naturally, blossoming from a friendship they both cherished and admired, but she couldn’t deny the timing had been indelicate. Harry and Ginny’s relationship had only just wilted, and even though they hadn’t intended to explore what was blooming between them so close on the heels of his marriage, it had just happened. And Hermione had allowed the feeling of falling in love, a sensation she was experiencing so late in her own life, to carry her forward, her wits cast to the winds behind.And when it had all come crashing down around her, it was for the sake of James and Albus she had disappeared into the shadows. They hadn’t needed to read about their father and their godmother’s ‘ affair ’ in every paper, not whilst they grieved the loss of him. And it would have been labelled an affair, even if Harry and Ginny had been separated and there was no overlap between the two women. Hermione was always burnt at the stake when it came to tabloids. She’d faced it when she’d ended things with Ron. No one had cared that they were an unlikely match who would have only made each other miserable; had made each other miserable . To the daily prophet, it had been as simple as a woman who felt she deserved better.And this narrative Rita Skeeter was spinning would surely resurface those sentiments again.She grabbed the bottle of wine she had opened earlier and opened the backyard door. She’d put a catflap on the door once everything else was done. It would be her blessing to the boy who would assume the cottage from her in the next few months. A gift he would know was from her for him and his ferret.She lay down on the cool earth, the grass she had planted over the summer now a quarter-inch long and gently cushioning her head.Now that she was months away from being jobless and homeless, Hermione knew she should be spending her time introspecting on what she wanted for her life to look like going forward. But for one last night she would indulge in the life of the woman she had been these past few years. Before that, too, was stripped from her.She looked up at the night sky, noting Vega. The stars blinked down at her, and she wondered if he was there as well, looking down upon her, celebrating the night alongside her.“I did it, Harry,” she whispered, tracing the path of Hercules with her finger outstretched above her head, “I hope it’s what you imagined it would be.”She traced it down until she came across Draco and moved past it to trace Ursa Minor and then Ursa Major, wondering if he were indeed a star above, which constellation she’d find him in.“Leo,” Hermione smiled, coming across it and letting her hand drop so she could admire the constellation of the lion in all its glory, “As if it would be any other.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood.”
― George Orwell, 1984
August 15, 2013.
Draco swirled the contents of his glass, the ice clinking softly in a manner that would have earned him a rough scold from his mother if she were present. “I still feel more comfortable sending her to Beaxbatons, but Belle is insistent on continuing in the tradition of Slytherin Parkinsons.”“And Zabinis,” Blaise said, moving around his wife's armchair.“Of course, darling,” Pansy said in an off-hand manner.“She may end up being the first Gryffindor Parkinson-Zabini,” Theo said with a smirk that earned him a swift stinging hex from the feisty woman whose home they had all gathered in.Draco snorted, “Pansy and Blaise have a child—in what world would that child be a Gryffindor?”“In a just world, Draco.” Theo grinned before their eyes met, and they each looked away, their grins fading just as quickly as they had appeared.“What about Scorp?” Pansy cleared her throat, drawing attention back to herself as tension grew thick in the drawing room.“Ravenclaw,” Draco smiled, “I would bet the manor on it.”“I’ll take that action,” Blaise said, conjuring a fresh bottle of Ogden’s from the cellar.Draco raised a brow, “You hardly know him.”“Draco Malfoy’s son—my manor—the sorting hat barely touches his head before he’s thrown at the Slytherin table,” Blaise smirked.“No one is gambling away manors,” Pansy said, glaring at Blaise, who nodded insincerely.“We really should introduce the children before term begins,” Tracey said, moving towards the sideboard to fetch a fresh plate of crudités.“Scorp and Gordon have met,” Gregory Goyle said, pushing his reading glasses up his nose.“Once or twice in Diagon Alley hardly counts, honey,” his wife, Cheri, said in her sweet southern accent. Draco liked Goyle’s wife, a soft American witch with the patience of a saint. He couldn’t think of anyone more well-suited for the scared boy who had come out of the war a scarred young man, minus a best friend.Of course, after the war, none of the occupants of the room had been the same. They had all retreated to the shadows in their own way. Was it shame or trauma? Draco could only be certain of his own reasons.Pansy and Blaise had eloped to Italy and settled down permanently at Zabini’s Venetian Villa, only inviting close family and friends for their so-called intimate wedding a few years later.Theo had disappeared for close to half a decade, becoming a potions master, and then they had their falling out, so to Draco, it felt as if Theo, too, had moved across vast waters.Tracey and Marcus Flint had married during the war and had their first child a few months after the Battle, choosing to remain in the shadows for most of the war. Draco occasionally saw him at the DMLE office he consulted with, but their branches were entirely different, and meetings were superficial at best.Goyle had braved the muggle world for a little while and had only reappeared with his wife in tow and their child almost five years old.Daphne—well, Draco didn’t think of her often. He couldn’t without bringing his blood to a boil and feeling the need to drink through three-quarters of Ogden’s.Draco, of course, had his own issues to deal with during the last fifteen years, and he hadn’t even realised how long it had been since they had all gathered together until this invitation had come from Pansy. All their kids would be at Hogwarts in a few weeks, and it was only logical that the ostracized Slytherins of that time band together.It was perhaps their pureblood upbringing that had ensured they all had children so early in their lives, save Theo, who was still holding onto the vestiges of bachelorhood Draco himself couldn’t remember. He would tell Theo he envied him, but that would require them to speak, a feat that had not occurred in almost eight years. “Perhaps we can have a soiree,” Pansy said, jumping up. “I’ll host, of course. Belle would love to meet all her fellow Slytherins.”“And Ravenclaws,” Theo said, sneaking a glance at Draco.“Well, of course.” Pansy waved her hand at them. "It’ll be good to acquaint them, in case—” Her voice trailed off, and everyone knew in their hearts the fear she couldn’t say aloud. In case they too were ostracized.“And their professors,” Marcus said, eyeing Theo and Draco, releasing some of the tension Pansy’s comment had created.“Well, so long as they bribe me well in advance,” Theo said lazily. “I have large shoes to fill as Head of Slytherin house.”“Is that why your hair is looking particularly greasy.” Tracy deadpanned.
August 17, 2013.
Draco slid open the double doors of his cottage, his slippered steps slow and silent against the flat stone of the porch. He brushed his sleep-ruffled hair out of his eyes as he scanned the still-darkened gardens before him, searching. He knew he’d know what it was he was searching for once he found it, but for now, the darkness had yet to abate.He was not a natural early riser, always preferring the night sky too much to want to watch the sun slowly eviscerate it every morning. The moon, the planets, the constellations—he knew them by sight—the ones who littered his family trees and those yet to be named upon them.The fascination had begun at Hogwarts, where he had mapped the castle so precisely that he knew the route he would need to take to get from the dungeons to the astronomy tower without being caught. A route he had frequented more often as each year passed, especially his last. It would often lead him to skulk into breakfast five minutes before it vanished, his tie slightly askew and his shirt untucked from having spent all the time he did have in the morning getting his hair just right.Then, it had been a worthy trade-off. What could the light of day possibly have to offer the Prince of Night, the name he had been bestowed during his youth?But over the last few years, he had found another sight he much preferred. The dichotomy that was the sun breaking horizon amidst the darkness. The sun, the stars, and the moon united for a brief moment of solidarity.It was the backdrop to which he painted every night he couldn’t sleep. And every morning, he woke up too early.A thousand canvases littered with the inner turmoils he couldn’t expend.The sun and the moon.Light and darkness.Charcoal against paper. ❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅ “Draco.”Draco turned his head to see his mother approaching from behind. “You’re up early,” Draco said quietly, his fingers continuing to kiss the charcoal to the canvas. He felt uncomfortable in his state of undress. But perhaps societal niceties were to be cast to the wind when one invited themselves into their grown son’s home unannounced.“You’ve been avoiding all my requests to join me for tea,” Narcissa said, folding herself into her arms, her silver pashmina fluttering in the crisp morning air. “And Mipsy might have mentioned you prefer to paint at this hour.”
Of course, she had.
In Lucius’ absence, it was not Draco who ruled the home with an iron fist. It was their house-elf, who only ever wavered in front of Scorpius.Draco used a wandless scourgify to clean his hands, using the time to don the armour he required to have the conversation he knew would be coming.He gestured for his mother to lead the way inside, casting a muffliato over their small sitting room.“Scorpius?” Narcissa asked, taking a seat as Draco lit candles.“Asleep,” Draco said, “Mipsy doesn’t wake him until eight.”Narcissa pursed her lips, “A little late in the morning.”“It’s an hour later than what will be expected in a few weeks,” Draco shrugged. “It’s two hours later than you woke up at that age.”“I am aware.” Narcissa eyed him before nodding, flicking her own wand at Draco’s kitchen so a tea tray began to prepare itself.“Do you still prefer coffee?” She asked, preparing Earl Grey for two.“Tea is fine,” Draco said, wanting her to get on with it so it could be put behind him.“Your father wrote to me. You have not replied to his repeated requests for a visit,” Narcissa sniffed, levitating the tea tray towards them. “I can make the necessary arrangements so you can visit him before–”“If his intention for the visit is to have the same conversation for the sixth time,” Draco looked at her, allowing her to read his face as well as he could read hers, “I believe it can wait until his release next year. Right now, I have far more pressing concerns.”“This is a pressing concern, Draco,” Narcissa said matter-of-factly. “I don’t understand why you are shirking off all your duties to become a professor at Hogwarts.”Draco gave a hollow laugh, which only made Narcissa’s frown deepen, “Draco, you have to know what is expected with—”“I have done my duty to this house, Mother, many times over, in fact. I have bled for this house, and I have made many others bleed for it as well.” Draco snapped, his teacup shattering into fine powder within his grasp. He exhaled slowly, letting the powdered glass settle at his feet. “I have happily set aside the belief that I was put on this forsaken earth to have a life of my own for the family name, so no, I am not shirking my duties now either. My sole duty is to my son. He needs me more than this house needs more of me.”Narcissa glanced down at Draco’s feet, “You’re misunderstanding me, Draco. Scorpius is my flesh and blood; he is my grandchild, and I love him just as much as I love you, but he is—”“—Dealing with a great deal more than other eleven-year-olds.” Draco ground out. “And he is fine. All he needs is love and patience.”“He has love. You know I love him.”“Love is not the same as affection. You might love him, mother, but he needs to be shown that love is not fickle. It isn’t traded for depending on one’s abilities.”And perhaps it came from so deep within Draco that Narcissa understood the statement applied to both her son and grandson. “That’s not true, Draco.” Narcissa whispered, “He is my grandson. My first and only grandchild. His place in my heart is his alone.”“Perhaps. But not for father.”Narcissa pursed her lips, her tea, now abandoned, growing cold upon his stone coffee table.“I will not forsake him simply because he is yet to show signs of magic. If I, at sixteen, was willing to sell my soul to him for you and father.” Draco stood up. “Can you imagine how far I am willing to go for my son?”For all intents and purposes, the conversation was over, and Narcissa stood as well, reading his statement as such.But as she turned towards the door, she had one last passing remark for him.“Draco, if you are certain that Scorpius will be your one and only heir, you must treat him as such. It will do him no good to shelter him from the realities of life if he is to inherit the burdens you yourself found unbearable.”
August 18, 2013.
Heavy thickets of steam encompassed the sitting room where Draco brewed when he was avoiding the manor. He added a clove to each of the three pewter cauldrons before him, lowering the boiling temperature so it could cool to a simmer before he would be able to add the saffron and bergamot needed to finish the concoction.He resigned himself to wait by sitting at his kitchen counter, reading Charmed: A Guide to Natural and Holistic Defenses Against the Dark Arts, flipping through the analyses his once-schoolmate presented within the book.He was not necessarily against the method Hermione Granger presented within her thesis, but it was one thing to understand and entirely another to teach. Draco sighed, flipping further into the book. It would be his luck to begin teaching at Hogwarts the same year the mandated course curriculum was changed by the board. “I don’t want to go!” Draco looked up from the textbook to see Scorpius storm out of his bedroom, followed by an anxious Mipsy, bordering on tears.“Master Scorp,” Mipsy whimpered, her ears dipping low, “Master Scorp knows he must go. Master Scorp must be reasonable. Mipsy is only trying to help Master.”“I’m not going!” Scorpius turned to glare at his father before turning to the elf. “Mipsy, unpack my trunk right now!”“Mipsy will do no such thing,” Draco stated, standing up, “You were quite okay with going to Ollivaders to purchase your wand last week.”“I want a wand,” Scorpius said, crossing his arms, “I don’t want to go to Hogwarts.”“Mipsy, will you please excuse us?” Draco said quietly, allowing the elf to escape before tears spilt down her face. She was not an emotional elf, but as Scorpius was to Draco, so was he to her; the only exception. “And thank you.”Mipsy nodded before disapparating back to the manor with a quiet pop, leaving father and son alone to face each other.“I’m not going,” Scorpius repeated, his cheeks puffing. Draco turned away to bite back the grin that threatened to overcome his face. He added the last of the ingredients needed before bottling the three solutions into separate vials.“Here,” Draco said, handing him the first of the vials, “I brewed them so you could take them with you. It’s three months worth, but I’ll brew some more at Hogwarts in case you run out faster.”Scorpius took the vial, unstoppering it so he could smell it for himself. The essence of Astoria Greengrass… before she got ill.“I don’t want to leave her,” Scorpius said, staring his father down, frustrated tears threatening to escape the corners of his eyes. “What if she starts to get better and neither of us is here.”Draco looked down at his hands, his heart sinking because he knew she would not. It was the painful constant he lived with, knowing the blood curse had spread to Astoria’s magical core; the final stage before death was inevitable. But what could he say to his son, who knew the truth and chose to have hope in spite of it? It was after all, Draco’s favourite quality about Scorpius and one he didn’t know where his son got from. Draco had once had hopes too, but they had died the summer he turned sixteen, and had never again been given the chance to be resurrected.“Your mother would want you to go to Hogwarts,” Draco said, reaching out to grasp Scorpius’ hand within his own, “And she would want you to be sorted into Ravenclaw, as she was.”Scorpius looked down at the hand grasping his, his throat constraining with the weight of emotion balanced upon his fragile shoulders, “Why did you have me?”Draco looked into the face that so resembled his own. Looking past the fine silver-blonde hair and the piercing grey gaze, he could see the Astoria in him. The rounded chin that made Scorpius’ more cherubic than pointy, the large inquisitive eyes that reminded him so much of Astoria when they first married; when she would look at Draco with those same wide eyes, and he was so sure he could feel the beginning notes of the love that everyone else wrote sonnets about. But the sickness had come before the love had time to manifest truly, and Draco and Astoria’s relationship had changed to accommodate for the reality that had invaded the bliss of their delusions. Draco’s time and energy going towards giving her time so she could experience Scorpius’ childhood. Astoria’s energy going towards isolating herself so neither would feel unbearable grief when her day came.“You should have let your family name die if it meant she would get sick,” Scorpius sniffed, throwing his father’s hand off his. He strode out of the small cottage, heading up towards the manor where it sat forebodingly on the horizon.
July 2000 - Flashback
Draco was counting his steps.Three-hundred-fifty-eight since he had walked off the back porch of the manor. Seven-hundred-and-nine since he had last smiled. Twelve-hundred-and-sixty since he had been introduced to Astoria, his betrothed.She was a pretty girl, a year his younger, with beautiful chestnut hair and soft brown eyes, and he was quite aware that had the circumstances been different, he would have found her quite attractive. However, circumstances were not different, and his attraction was neither needed nor warranted.The arrangements were made. The date was set. And Draco and Astoria had been informed three months in advance.“Perhaps a stroll around the gardens,” Geraldine Greengrass said, lightly pushing Astoria to stand from the lunch spread the elves had politely provided for the two families.“Yes, Draco.” Narcissa nodded, patting his knee gently below the table, “Mipsy has informed me the Cherry trees are in bloom. Perhaps Astoria would like to view them.”Draco stood stiffly, pressing down imaginary crinkles in his starched Oxford, “Miss Greengrass.” It came out far more clipped than Draco had intended, but Astoria only politely smiled as she looped her arm around his, allowing him to lead the way.“Astoria is fine,” Astoria said once they were out of earshot.Draco nodded, wordlessly casting a warming charm over them.Silence stretched for long minutes, and just as Draco knew he had to say something so the young girl would not feel slighted, Astoria spoke.“Are you seeing someone?” Draco turned to assess her. She had turned rosy despite the warming charms, and her expression was frank and curious, as opposed to a girl trying to ascertain her role as the incoming lady of the manor.“No, I am not,” Draco said slowly. His relationship with Pansy had soured long before Draco had been thrown into Azkaban to await trial, which had merely been the final nail on a coffin smattered with them. Last Theo had visited, he had been under the impression she was currently engaged to Blaise Zabini, and living at their Venetian Villa as she planned the most elaborate wizarding wedding on either side of the war.“Are you?” Draco asked.“I am,” Astoria nodded, “But it seems they’re in for a rather rude and unforeseen owl when I return home.”“You were not aware of this,” he gestured behind him, “either then.”“Not until I was asked to dress appropriately this morning,” Astoria glowered, running a delicate hand through the fringe that shrouded her forehead. “As if dressing appropriately makes any of this appropriate.”“You don’t abide by traditions,” Draco narrowed his eyes.“What is tradition?” Astoria rolled her eyes. “I could start a tradition today to only eat apples in January of each year. In a few centuries, do you think it will come to mean anything?”Draco grinned at her. If he were thrust into a life of loveless marriage, he had a feeling the company of Astoria Greengrass would not necessarily be bad, perhaps even entertaining.She was definitely a far cry from the family he came from. “Are you searching for love in this marriage?” Draco asked cautiously. It wasn’t that he couldn’t love. He had loved. He had loved his parents, and he had loved his family name, and he had loved who he was. But to love was to lose, and he had lost enough in losing himself.“I am searching for many things,” Astoria turned in front of the cherry blossoms, tilting her head to assess him right back. “How does one know what they’re searching for if they don’t know what it is?”“I’m sure you know what love is,” Draco said, his brows furrowing.“No,” Astoria shook her head, “The love I have at home is not the love I know exists out there somewhere.”Draco frowned, “So then, yes.”“Love doesn’t have to be romantic, Draco. We have no choice but to find our own version of love in this marriage.”“So no fidelity bonds then,” Draco raised a brow.Astoria shrugged, “Let’s say the unimaginable happens, and we do get to a point where we love each other romantically. How would it matter? Fidelity comes from within, not because you physically can’t. Besides, fidelity bonds don’t eradicate all kinds of infidelity. In fact, I think they only take away the one kind that would matter least if it occurred.”Draco smiled, “I don’t think Mother realises just who is coming home to stay.”Astoria grinned, and Draco held out his arm for her so he could escort her around and back to the clearing they had come from.“Draco,” Astoria said as she took his arm, “You should know. I don’t need love in this marriage, but I do need respect.”
August 18, 2013.
Draco waited an hour before he made his own way across the grounds. He could apparate directly into the west wing, but there was still a sense of calm to the manor grounds he found the manor itself no longer held. Not to mention the walk-up would allow his mother to floo away for her evening engagement so the two would not cross paths again.The grounds had remained pure through all the turmoil, neither the Dark Lord nor his followers being keen on the beauty that could be found in nature. It was in every right still the domain of the family that had lived upon these grounds for a millennia before and from what Lucius hoped, would remain so for a millennia after. It was where he had married Astoria in a closed ceremony only attended by a handful of guests and the reason they had chosen to move into the keeper’s cottage in the eastern gardens instead of taking up residence in the manor as the rightful lord and lady— Lucius’ having been stripped of his rank and role after the war. The grounds cultivated a sense of freedom both Draco and Astoria had craved; a winding path through the unknown they both had been excited to explore for themselves.That had been thirteen years ago. Times had changed since then.He found Scorpius on the lowest floor of the West Wing, in Astoria’s bedroom. It had only been because the wards of the manor provided a millennia’s worth of protective enchantments that Draco had allowed for her to be relocated into the manor five years ago; when the blood curse had spread so far into her system, she had fallen into a coma from which there would be no turning back.“Master Draco,” Trilly bowed low when Draco entered, her crisp tea-cosy crinkling as she did.“Trilly,” Draco nodded, moving towards the bed where Astoria lay, her whispered breathing faint but noticeable to those who cared to check.“Mistress is as well as yesterday,” Trilly said, brushing Astoria’s prematurely greying tresses away from her forehead.“Mum is running a fever,” Scorpius bit out, turning to Draco, “Trilly said it’s been going on for two days.”“The healers said it is to be expected now,” Draco sighed, casting a diagnostic charm of his own and studying it carefully. Astoria was indeed feverish, but the healer’s charms had stabilised the spell causing it since the previous evening.“You don’t care if she dies,” Scorpius glared at Draco, “You’re not doing anything.”Draco inhaled, his hand gripping his wand tightly, “Scorp, you know that’s not true.”“You can see if muggle medicine helps,” Scorpius said, his tone accusatory, as if it were Draco’s past prejudices that were getting in the way of Astoria’s treatment.“I spoke to the healers about it,” Draco said, kneeling down beside Scorpius where he sat on the lone armchair in the room, “Believe me, if muggle medicine could make a difference, I’d get it for her.”Scorpius assessed him, his eyes torn between grief and pain, “I don’t want to leave her.”“I know,” Draco said, running a gentle hand through his hair.“What if she dies while I’m at Hogwarts,” Scorpius’ voice cracked on the last word, and Draco felt his heart sink down to his stomach.Draco searched for the right words, coming up blank. Astoria was going to die, whether it was the following school year or in Scorpius’ fifth. The day would come when Draco would finally do what he had been evading for the past six months. Pull the plug, as the healers had called it. But it was Scorpius’ evergreen hope that stopped him every time he considered letting her go.“If it makes you feel better,” Draco sighed, knowing it went against every one of Astoria’s wishes, “I can resign from my position as professor of Defense. I’ll stay here with her, and I’ll update you every morning and evening of her condition.”Scorpius’ round chin trembled. He looked up at his father after a long moment of contemplation. “Yes,” he whispered.Draco nodded, a thousand apologies ringing out to the woman to whom he had promised he’d never let Scorpius be without mother or father, not for a day.“Okay. I’ll visit Professor McGonagall in the morning.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"And sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself because I could find no language to describe them in.”
― Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility
August 18, 2013.
Hermione glanced up from the letter that had arrived an hour ago. August was turning out to be a horrendous month for her, an aberration that had already required more socialising than all of summer combined in less than three weeks. And now she was being asked to visit Gringott’s. No, she was not being asked— demanded, really. Why was everyone demanding she visit them, and why did it feel as if it foreshadowed other significant changes in her life? “What fresh cauldron concoction will September bring,” Hermione swore to herself, setting the letter aside. It would have to wait until after the party. She could only deal with the anxiety of one problem at a time. Hermione pressed down on the front of her black jumpsuit, hoping it was appropriate, and then threw down the floo powder before she felt the urge to change into something else. Well, if she were underdressed, perhaps that would be the topic of conversation rather than her reemergence into society after two years.Hermione arrived half an hour late to Cho’s dinner party, knowing full well that dinner would not begin until eight and guests would be expected to mingle until then. Suffice it to say, she had timed it perfectly so as to appear five minutes before dinner would be served. It was appropriately late, and only Cho would know it was on purpose. Perhaps Roger as well.In the five years Hermione had gotten to know Roger better, she was aware most of his friends were either through St. Mungo’s Hospital or through his weekend quidditch games. It was where he had reconnected with Cho after Hogwarts, and most of their courtship had occurred floating somewhere above the pitch in Tutshill. Thus, she had come prepared to discuss the upcoming World Cup at great length. She only hoped no one asked her who was most likely to qualify. Before Hermione could brush the ash from her hair, Cho grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the living room, where the rest of the party was gathered. “You’re late!” Cho was surprisingly strong for a woman whose current state should have tipped her right over. It seemed that quidditch skills seemed to work to benefit pregnant women. Ginny had been just as graceful during both pregnancies Hermione had been present for.Loud conversations and dim music overwhelmed the small space, and Hermione hesitated at the door. “Lovely to see you too, Cho.”Hermione frowned at the back of Oliver Wood’s head, noting that the group consisted of all men apart from her and Cho. “Where’s Marietta,” Hermione said cautiously, trying to pick up on Cho’s vibe. “She couldn’t make it,” Cho shrugged, “White or Red?”Hermione didn’t buy that. Marietta resented her and Cho’s friendship to the point that Hermione knew she always went out of her way to be present at all events to play buffer between them.“Cabernet is fine,” Hermione said, glancing around the room to see who else had been invited.“Alright,” Cho levitated a goblet towards her, “Go mingle now. I have to go to the loo.”“Mingle with who?” Hermione whispered, “Oliver?”“You haven’t seen him in years,” Cho waved her hand at her, “Go catch up. I’ll be back in a minute.”Hermione glared at Cho's retreating head.Pursing her lips, she wondered if anyone would notice if she quickly exited through the floo. Cho would be pissed, but by the time she came out of confinement, she’d have other things to worry about over Hermione.“Hermione,” Oliver said from behind her, “Cho said you’d be here tonight.”Hermione turned towards her ex-boyfriend, “Oli, how are you?”She let him come in for a quick peck on the cheek before straightening to take a rather large sip of her wine. Oliver smiled at her, raising his goblet to his lips, “Good. How long has it been?”“Six years.” “Hmm.” Oliver Wood was undeniably an attractive man, and Hermione could admit to thinking of the broomstick grip between his thighs on occasion. But looking back now, she couldn’t remember the girl who had dated this man for over a year. Even then, they had nothing in common. Where Hermione had been drafting legislation all day and holding down Kingsley’s office, Oliver had spent his days flying, whether it was during games, practice, or just to ‘relieve tension.’ It had been great sex, though, she supposed. After Ron and Ernie, she had wanted great sex, and Oliver had delivered on every occasion. But even then, there had been no intimacy.And wasn’t that the joke that had led to letting herself explore things with Harry? She had highs and lows with Ron until the lows became unbearably toxic. With Ernie MacMillan, she had repartee, but the physical chemistry had been incredibly poor. That had led to Oliver, with whom she found the chemistry but not the conversation.With Harry, she had thought she found the sum of it all—or at least she felt she had. We didn’t get far enough to find out, did we?“Are you still with Puddlemere?” Hermione asked, realising they had been quietly standing for long minutes. “Hey! You started drinking?”Oliver shook his head.“No, which is why I do drink now.” He took another sip of his wine and smiled brightly.Hermione furrowed her brows, “You don’t play quidditch anymore?” It was an odd feeling. Oliver playing Quidditch was such a constant. She couldn’t imagine how he spent his time now.Oliver looked almost offended but schooled his features quickly.“I still play, just not professionally. Bad knee. Couldn’t take another bludger to it. Davies threatened to cut it off if I tried to keep playing.”Hermione rolled her eyes, “He offered to cut off my wrist last year when I sprained it and kept working through it.”“He does like bullying people via cutting off appendages,” Oliver said with a dimpled grin. “Anyway, I took over for Hooch at Hogwarts. I teach flying to the first-years and referee matches. Gryffindors absolutely love it.”“I wonder why?” Hermione mused. “None of the Slytherins call you out for biases?”“Can’t. I’m close to their head of house,” Oliver winked. “You might remember him. I think he was in the same year as you.”He turned to peer behind him, “Theo!”Theodore Nott, who, now that Hermione paid attention to the rest of Roger’s friends, was indeed someone she remembered from her time at Hogwarts.He’d always been one of the more silent and reclusive students in their year, preferring to bleed into the background as opposed to the other Slytherins’ affinity for making everything their business. She didn’t recall much about him, save that he was often second in her year, usually fighting for the position with Malfoy, Padma, and Ernie.“Granger.” Theo nodded at her.He had filled out over the years. Gone was the scrawny child with the curly brown locks that could rival her own. Instead, standing before her was a tall, lean man with sparkling green eyes and a French crop crew cut that suited him well.“Nott,” Hermione gave him a small smile, “You’re a professor at Hogwarts as well?”Theo chuckled, “Potions Master, and please, Theo is fine.”Hermione sipped on her wine, “How is Hogwarts, er Theo?” Despite the yearly invitation McGonagall delivered in person, she hadn’t been to the last three annual Remembrance Balls. Well now that she thought of it, McGonagall hadn’t come this year, sending her an owl instead.“Students are getting smaller and smaller,” Theo shrugged, “Competence even more so.”“You sound like what I imagine Snape would have at dinner parties in his heyday,” Hermione mused.Theo gave her a seductive smile, “Better that than to be compared to Horace.”Hermione returned his smile with her own smirk. “And are you? The scary potions master presiding over the dungeons with an iron fist.”“And a serpentine tongue,” Theo winked.Oliver cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable, “Right. I think we should join the rest for dinner.” Hermione followed Theo and Oliver through to the dining room, where Cho seemed to have gone directly from the bathroom, if she had even gone to the bathroom. Hermione was now keenly aware this dinner was far more about getting Hermione into a room with single, eligible men than it was about Cho or the baby. She shot a searing glare at her friend, who gave a faux look of surprise in return.With Oliver seated beside her and Theo across, Hermione sipped wine throughout the night, sending covert looks at Cho and her husband, who faded to the background as Hermione indulged in every conversation. She had to give it to the Davies’— the six men they had short-listed were all attractive, well-respected in their fields and had a keen sense for stimulating conversation. Even Oliver surprised her by talking about Dragonology, a subject he was studying on the side. Theo was the quietest of the lot, and Hermione had the strange feeling he was examining her. Every time she turned to look at him, he only smirked and raised a brow before allowing her to break eye contact. Hermione wouldn’t call it flirty per se, but she didn’t know what else she could call it.By the time their plates materialised with the entree course and dinner conversation finally turned to the Quidditch World Cup the following year, Hermione was ready to call it a night. She appreciated Cho for the effort she had put in, but Hermione was content to read about love in bed. She didn’t need to experience it for herself. Passionate love burnt bright, but in the end, it only burned you. And Hermione couldn’t handle the aftermath—not again, especially not now that her entire world was already aflame. Roger began ushering everyone into the parlour for drinks when dinner wrapped up, and Hermione turned to Cho.“It was a great night,” Hermione smiled, “Thank you for calling me.”“You can’t be leaving already,” Cho’s face fell, “We have the cheese and wine course left.”“Cho,” Hermione heard a strange finality in her tone that she hadn’t meant to bring out, “I know what tonight was, and it was good for me. Thank you, and please express my gratitude to Roger as well.”“You did stay for all of dinner, so I won’t complain,” Cho grumbled.“I know how confinement works,” Hermione said, kissing her cheek, “But will you let me know when you go to St. Mungo’s? I’d like to be there when she comes.”Cho rolled her eyes, “As if I wouldn’t.”“You’re leaving?” Hermione turned to see Theo standing at the double doors.“I am,” Hermione nodded, “It was a pleasure meeting you again, Theo.”“The pleasure was mine,” Theo said, curtseying in a posh manner that made Hermione chuckle.“I’ll see you around,” Hermione smiled, for lack of a better goodbye.“You will,” Theo smirked, “Sooner than I believe you think.”Hermione arched an amused brow, “Is that so?”“You know what they say about first sons born every seven generations of only witches,” Theo shrugged.Hermione didn’t, but her curiosity lost the battle to her social exhaustion, “Alright, if you say so. Please, carry on, I’ll floo out on my own.”Back in her bed later that night, Hermione couldn’t focus on her battered copy of Persuasion. Her thoughts kept returning to dinner and her mixed feelings about the night.It hadn’t been so bad being out in society again. She had liked the conversation, and the wine had been decadent. It had been a reprieve from feeling alone and unmoored all the time, and she hadn’t realised how much she needed the respite from constantly feeling unworthy of love. Or not wanting it at all. Hermione wasn’t sure which one it was this particular night that had made her leave.It had been an enjoyable night, and Cho had gone to great lengths to make her comfortable and to ease her back into society amidst company that did not seem like the kind that would judge her. But it also felt wrong to sit there and smile, to laugh, and have it be genuine. Why?She had no answers for herself, and the thought brought out a small burst of laughter from her lips. The irony of Hermione Granger not knowing an answer she desperately wanted.
August 21, 2013.
“Miss Granger,” The goblin, Grundelwick, looked down at her from the podium he stood upon with a vindictive smirk, “Please, follow me.”Hermione pursed her lips. She waited for him to walk around the platform dividing them and then followed the short creature past the many other tellers. He led her through the Venetian interiors until they came across a small chamber with a heavy, ornate desk and three stiff, uncomfortable-looking wooden armchairs.“Please,” Grundelwik said, gesturing for her to sit as he slid onto his own chair, “It has been many years since you visited your vault, has it not?”“Three, I believe.” Hermione nodded. She primarily relied on the muggle money she had received in trust from her parents on her twenty-fifth birthday for her own expenses, and whenever she required a withdrawal from Gringotts, she preferred to do it via owl.Grundelwik’s lips thinned, “We received a notice from the ministry informing us of a lien on your residence as matters are settled regarding ownership.”Hermione narrowed her eyes, “And?” “Miss Granger,” the goblin sighed, and it felt to Hemione as if he wanted her to feel like the child he thought she was. “You have made withdrawals amounting to twenty-eight thousand galleons in the past two years. All these are accounted for as renovation costs for your home in our ledgers.”“Okay,” Hemione clipped.“Whilst real estate and property ownership is not as secure an investment as gold, silver and precious items,” Grundelwick said, pushing his glasses up his nose, “It was not of concern to us until it was brought to our attention that the home you have invested 80% of your wealth into may be taken from you.”“That can’t be right,” Hermione worried her lip, “Are you saying—?”“Within the last thirteen years,” Grundelwick looked down at the ledger before him, “Your vault has seen a deposit amounting to roughly 40,000 galleons, much of it came with the Order of Merlin, First Class bequeathed to you after the war. As of today, you have withdrawn 38,985 galleons. This is a cause of concern to us, especially if you are also to lose the home in which you have invested the entirety of your savings.”“And the deposits from my other sources of income—?” Hermione’s voice trailed off as the Goblin’s grimace grew wider.“Insignificant.” “I see,” Hermione said flatly.“This is the first and only warning we are required to provide when your vault is reaching its lowest allowed threshold, especially now that your home cannot be weighed into the tally.” Grundelwick scowled, “As mandated by Wizarding bylaw 7890, section C, paragraph II.”“What is the lowest allowed threshold before my vault rate changes?” Hermione frowned.“1000 galleons.” Hermione frowned, “So if I spend another 15 galleons.”“Instead of paying five galleons a year for the use of the vault,” Grundelwick smirked, “You’ll be asked to pay one galleon a month.”“That makes no sense,” Hermione said. “You’re taking more from those who have less.”“To you, Miss Granger.” Grundelwick shrugged before he snapped the ledger shut and stared pointedly at the door behind her.“Thank you for your courtesy,” Hermione said stiffly before storming out with her clutch.“Thank you for constantly being the reason other magical creatures are frowned upon. Thank you for being the reason all of my amendments for creature rights were rejected by department heads, predominantly due to precedents the lot of you set.” Hermione muttered to herself, storming down the steps of Gringotts.“Sorry,” Hermione mumbled as she unsuspectingly walked into someone climbing up the Gringott’s staircase and almost toppled them over.“‘S okay.” Hermione looked up into a startlingly blue set of eyes and froze, “Ron.”It took Ron five seconds to register who he was holding up, and his hands immediately dropped to his sides when he spied Hermione beneath her cloak. His eyes widened for a fraction of a moment before his lips curled upwards with disgust, and he stalked past her, his shoulder bumping harshly into her chest as he flew up the stairs.Hermione watched him barrel his way through the Gringott's doors before she finally turned and slowly walked down the remaining steps, her eyes scanning the alley before her.She found them just as James led Albus into Ollivander’s, Ginny running behind with a screaming toddler in her arms. Ginny stopped short in front of the shop and heaved Lily up so she could readjust her grip on the little girl with brilliant auburn curls and striking green eyes. Hermione inhaled sharply, realising this was her first time seeing her in person. Hermione knew it was a bad idea, but her feet still carried her across the alley. With a soft flick of Hermione’s wand, the stroller Ginny had been trying to open up corrected itself and stood waiting for Ginny to strap her daughter in.“Thanks,” Ginny mumbled, setting Lily down quickly. Hermione didn’t say anything, knowing Ginny would appreciate her presence as much as Ron had. She peered through the window for a brief moment. She caught sight of Albus just as he picked up a wand, and a glass vase exploded in retaliation. She grinned at him briefly before turning around to leave before Ginny was done settling Lily.“Hermione.”Hermione turned around slowly, allowing her hood to flutter in the wind. Ginny stood rigidly, looking at her with stony brown eyes, “Stay away from my family.”Hermione held her gaze for a long minute before giving an imperceptible nod and turned to disappear into the throngs of families shopping for the new school year.
July 2010 - Flashback
Ginny tapped her foot heavily on the oak floors of Grimmauld Place. Her eyes narrowed to slits and Hermione watched the boys straighten before her.James peaked at Hermione through his lowered lashes, a smirk playing on his lips that Ginny couldn’t see from her angle. Hermione gave an imperceptible shake of her head, and James schooled his features into an apologetic mask.“Who did it?” Ginny asked slowly.“It was Al.”“It was James.”The boys turned to glare at each other, and Hermione rolled her eyes, fairly sure it had been team effort that had resulted in an enduring moustache on Walburga Black’s portrait, who was now howling bloody murder. One of the boys couldn't have gotten hold of Ginny’s wand without the other around causing a distraction.Ginny bit back a scowl. She hated the portrait just as much as everyone else did, but with guests pouring in to celebrate Harry’s 30th birthday, now was not the time for a bad-mouthed portrait on a vitriolic rampage.“Go get dressed.” Ginny sighed, “And I will look the other way if the moustache were to disappear.”She dropped her wand on the kitchen counter and gestured for Hermione to follow her to the living room.“I need wine,” Ginny moaned, “or a cigarette if the boys are preoccupied.”Hermione peered behind her and saw that the boys and Ginny’s wand had disappeared.“They are.”“Let’s go,” Ginny said, grabbing Hermione’s hand and leading her through to the backyard. “How do you think they know a spell like that?”“George, most likely,” Hermione said, taking a lone stick from between Ginny’s fingers and lighting it up with her wand.“I have a feeling McGonagall’s going to be sending me many howlers over the following nine years.” Ginny sighed, taking the smoke from between Hermione’s fingers and taking a long drag.Hermione shook her head, “Just the few that they’re both at Hogwarts together. And all of James’ years.” Hermione added. “Al, on his own, is a different person.” Ginny snorted, “Al is just as much Harry’s kid as James is. He just hides it better.”Hermione took a drag of the cigarette, “It’s going to be strange when James leaves for Hogwarts next year.”“Don’t remind me,” Ginny sighed. “Harry can’t wait, of course. He wants to see the boys excel. He even told James he’ll give him the cloak and Al the map, but they’re my babies. I can’t see them going away for ten months a year.”Hermione wrapped an arm around Ginny, holding her close, “They’ll still be your babies, even when they are at Hogwarts.”Ginny shifted to look at Hermione, “Not in the same way.”Hermione nodded, “Everyone has to grow up, Ginny. It’s both the beauty and curse of being mere mortals.”“I want to have another.” Ginny said flatly, “I’m not ready to have this part of my life end yet.” She took a last drag of the cigarette and quashed it beneath her slippers.Hermione squinted so she could clearly see Ginny in the growing darkness of the evening, “I know.”“So Harry told you he doesn’t want another one,” Ginny said, assessing Hermione’s composed features.“He did,” Hermione said, tucking a curl behind her ear. “And I told him the same thing I’m telling you now. You two will have to talk it out and come to a resolution that works equally for you both.”“Like what?” Ginny scoffed, “Have half a child?”Hermione shrugged, “Are you really asking your unmarried, childless friend about the intricacies of compromise in a relationship.”Ginny chuckled, “Oh, don’t pretend that you’re unhappy. You never were the kind to do things by the book, and you love having things your own way.”Hermione’s heart smarted at the backhanded compliment but quashed the feeling, “I can be both happy to have things my way and unhappy that it means I’m alone.”Hermione led Ginny back through the doors, and Ginny followed silently behind, likely mulling over Hermione’s statement.“When was the last time you and Harry went on a date? Had some time alone?”“When was the last time you went on a date?” Ginny narrowed her eyes.Hermione rolled her eyes, “I’ve dated Ginny. It’s not for me.”“What about Ron?” “He's seeing Gabrielle,” Hermione said, narrowing her eyes. “He’s finally at a place where he can be in the same room as me without being cruel. Don’t bring that up again, please.”“A child.” Ginny spat.“She’s twenty-four.” Hermione rolled her eyes, “A consenting adult.”“Hero-worshipper.”“Seems to be Ronald’s kink,” Hermione mused.“Either that or fratricide. Fleur’s sworn on Victoire’s life that if Ron hurts her, she’ll deesembol him .” Ginny laughed.“Two pissed-off half-veelas and the whole Weasley family to boot.” Hermione laughed, “Ron’s playing with fire if he hurts her.”They stood at the kitchen counter now, listening to the faint shrieks of Walburga Black from the entryway.“Have you asked Bill to remove her?”But it seemed Ginny was still thinking of their earlier conversation.“Ernie wasn’t so bad, was he?”Hermione plopped down on the long wooden dining table, “Ginny. The answers to ending my singledom don’t lie in my past. Besides, it’ll happen, or it won’t. And right now, I have enough on my plate at work.”“Tell me you’re at least getting laid,” Ginny sighed, sitting down beside her.“Ah,” Hermione smirked, “That I am able to manage for myself.” But not for a while since I’m starting to think I want more. She left that unsaid.“Thank Merlin.” Ginny grinned, turning her head to where the floo turned green, and Teddy Lupin rushed in.“Hey ‘Mi, Gin,” Teddy yelled before rushing towards the staircase.“They’re near Walburga’s portrait,” Hermione called out, and Teddy whirled on the spot to run in the other direction.“3.” Ginny sighed.“2.” Hermione laughed.A crash resounded down the hallway, where Teddy had, as expected, crashed into the faux troll-leg umbrella stand, as his mother had done daily.“He’s Dora in miniature.” Andromeda sighed, dusting ash off her cloak as she exited the fireplace. “Only likes his steak like Remus.”“Dromeda,” Ginny said, standing to hug her.“Ginny, Hermione,” Andromeda said, kissing each of their cheeks before settling on the dining table next to them and dropping a bottle of elf-made wine between them. “Let’s open it up to get started; it’s been far too long since you girls owled me.” ❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅ “Surprise!!” Harry winced at the loud chorus the moment he flooed in from his office, followed by Ron, who wore a knowing smile. Harry looked worn down, with wildly dishevelled hair and large bags around his eyes that made him look older than thirty. He wasn’t surprised by the party or the various guests crammed into his home, smiling large at everyone gathered around the room. But it wasn’t enough to conceal the fatigue that crept up around the edges of his eyes. “Surprise, mate,” Ron muttered, moving past Harry with a light whack on his back. “Happy birthday, baby,” Ginny smiled, kissing him quickly as James and Al rushed past her to hug their dad. “Hey ‘Mione.” Hermione gave an awkward one-armed hug to Ron, who kissed her hair before turning to search the room.“She’s with Fleur and Bill outside,” Hermione said, gesturing towards the open doors where Gabrielle had disappeared ten minutes ago. “Teddy and Victoire got into a spat, so they’re both taking some time apart.”“About?”“Some girl called Delphi Burke in Teddy's year.” Hermione shrugged. “Teddy’s got a crush, it seems.”“Ta ‘Mione,” Ron said, moving towards the back door.Hermione turned back to Neville and Daphne, “Sorry, you were saying.”Daphne smiled, “Frankie’s already decided she’s becoming a magizoologist, and she’s distraught that Hagrid won’t be around to teach Care of Magical Creatures by the time she’s in her third year.”“But I talked him into giving her some private lessons before he retires to France,” Neville winked.“With supervision,” Daphne said quickly, noting Hermione’s look of bemused horror.“And your youngest?” Hermione said, noting the quiet eight-year-old blonde girl standing at the far edges of the crowd of children. She watched her peers curiously but had yet to speak to Albus or Percy’s daughter Rose, the two other children her age.“Alessia’s shy,” Daphne said quietly, “She’s a lot like my sister in that way.”Hermione nodded, trying to remember the chestnut-haired woman from Daphne’s muggle wedding. Astoria hadn’t stayed for the reception, and all Hermione could remember of her was feeling for the poor soul unfortunate enough to marry Draco Malfoy. An arranged marriage from what little Daphne had let on over the years, but Hermione knew their relationship was estranged and didn’t like to speak of it.“We’re hoping going to Hogwarts will alleviate some of the shyness,” Neville said, perhaps remembering his own journey at the school. Those seven years had turned him from a blubbering, forgetful boy to the man who single-handedly defeated Voldemort’s familiar and last Horcrux. “It will, Nev,” Hermione smiled, rubbing his back soothingly. “After all, look what—”“Enough, Ginny.” Harry stalked past them, his words clipped and harsh. “How many times do I have to tell you—”“I just said it was something we’re talking about,” Ginny said hushedly, following behind. She smiled at the guests around them, and had Hermione, Neville and Daphne not been standing right at the edge of the room, furthest away from the booming stereo Harry had bought for his last birthday, they too would have been unaware of the row taking place in the hallway behind them.“Are we Gin?” Harry sounded exasperated. “Because it feels a lot like you telling me it’s happening.”“I only stopped taking it!” There was sadness in Ginny’s voice, and Hermione chewed on her lip, hoping they would work it out before the rest of the party noticed.“You went off the potion months ago,” Harry bellowed, “Don’t lie to me, Gin. I saw receipts from the apothecary. The only thing you did recently was buy fertility potions. Tell me, did you take one tonight?”There was silence, and Neville looked at his wife uncomfortably, his cheeks flushing bright red. Daphne nodded at him and took Hermione’s hand. “It's best to let them figure it out on their own.” Daphne smiled with a small smile. "Meddling will only worsen it.”Hermione glanced one last time at the hallway before allowing the surprisingly gentle Slytherin female to pull her along to where Padma and Percy sat with Cho Chang and her fiancé. It didn’t take long for the rest of the party to catch onto the hosting couple’s argument, however, and the party ended shortly before ten with a rushed cake-cutting and a half-hearted chorus of happy birthday.“Stay,” Harry said, catching hold of Hermione’s hand before she could pick up floo powder to leave. “I need you to speak to her.”Hermione looked warily around the empty house, “Where is Ron?”“He left with Gabi,” Harry said, rubbing his hand over his face.“And the kids?” Harry shrugged, “James took Al to the library. I think they might have overheard some of it.”“How long were you two arguing?” “Don’t know,” Harry said, picking up a glass of whiskey and shooting it down in one swift kick. “Six, seven songs?”Hermione’s lips thinned, and Harry scowled back at her, “It’s been on for days, Hermione. I just lost it today. It must have been the drink.”“Then go, end it for once,” Hermione said, pointing towards the stairs. “I’ll take care of Al and James.”For a moment, she thought that Harry would disagree, and Hermione wondered what she could say to her best friends as they worked through their rough patch. Maybe a dog would help? That was silly. Ginny despised animals that required house training.“Yeah, alright,” Harry mumbled, trudging up the stairs.Hermione sighed in relief. She followed up the stairs behind him, turning left towards the library, and he turned right towards his bedroom.“James, Al,” Hermione called out, but they were seated right before her, watching the fireplace.“Hello.” She pulled on a bright smile and flung herself down on the couch between the eight and ten-year-olds. “Did you, by chance, sneak some cake up? I didn’t get any.”James didn’t respond, and Al only shook his head sadly.“Do you want to steal from the fridge, then?” Hermione asked, and again, they shook their heads.“They fight every day,” James said, worrying his lip between his teeth. “They’re going to get divorced, aren’t they?”Hermione inhaled sharply, “Where did you hear that?”James shrugged, “A lot of my friends have parents who’re divorced.”“Terence says his parents are happier now that they are divorced.” Albus said, “They’re muggle though.”“It won’t happen to your mum and dad,” Hermione shook her head, “They just need to talk it out.”“Then tell them to talk. It’s not bloody hard to talk.” James grumbled.“Language, James Sirius,” Hermione said. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t put on the voice Ginny did when speaking to the little troublemaker, so it only came out as a gentle chide.“Can we go to your place?” Albus asked, turning towards her. “We can watch movies, and they can talk.”Hermione blinked, “Yeah, you know what. That sounds like a good idea. Let me just shoot your parents a patronus so they know you’re both coming home with me.”“Let’s grab the chocolate cake from the fridge then.” James said, jumping up. “We’ll need snacks.”“Go get your toothbrushes,” Hermione rolled her eyes, “I’ll get the cake.”
August 23, 2013.
Hermione sat at Harry’s bench, wondering what she was doing here today. She often only allowed herself to visit on special days or Mondays— when the cemetery was quietest. Without her writing and renovations to distract her, time was going by infuriatingly slow, and not for the first time did Hermione consider repainting the entire house another shade of green just to have something else to do besides read.Maybe she’d end up doing it tomorrow, anyway.A little yelp pulled her out of her reverie, and Hermione instantly stood, her hand coming to rest on her hip where her wand was stashed in her pocket. “Hello?” Hermione called out, looking around, but no one was there. Hermione carefully walked through the gravestones around the Potters’, following the noise until it was loud enough to be right around the corner.A tiny snow-white puppy lay whimpering, its forked tail trapped and bloody between branches of a dead tree. A crup! It had to be. It had been years since she had taken her OWLs, but she was quite sure it was a crup before her. ‘Al would adore it.’ Hermione shook her head at the thought, moving closer cautiously. She took one last glance around the cemetery, but there was no one else to be seen, no one this puppy could belong to.“Well, hello.” Hermione knelt, reaching out with a tentative hand to rub soothing circles into its head. “I’m going to get you out of there.” As if the puppy understood, it lifted its head and turned its silver eyes towards her, and Hermione felt an overwhelming rush of trust collide with her magic. With shaky hands, Hermione flicked her wand at the branches so they split without causing more pain to the crup. With an episkey, the blood disappeared, and the crup’s tail healed, leaving behind patches where fur should have been.“Is that better,” Hermione asked as the crup sniffed around her.Another wave of emotion touched her, only gentler with the same hint of trust beneath it. Yes.It crawled into her lap, its paws extending up her chest as it looked at her curiously. His piercing eyes were so familiar, yet the look of adoration in such colour felt so strange that she couldn’t help but snort. “Alright, I’ll take you home tonight, but I can’t keep you.” Hermione sighed, glamouring his tail to appear normal to any muggles they encountered. “The ministry will have my head if I don’t report you.”Anger and a little sadness touched her, and she sighed. “You're just like Crooks, aren’t you?” He too had been a master manipulator when it came to getting his way.She removed her belt and transfigured it into a leash she could tie around her leather bracelet, which became a collar. “Alright, er—” Hermione paused, staring into the creature's eyes. “Do you have a name?”She felt his curiosity but nothing else.“Alright, how about…” Hermione paused. With those molten silver eyes, she could have just called him Malfoy and laughed about it all day, but that felt rather cruel for the crup. She wouldn’t wish that name on anyone. Bad Faith, indeed. “Skye. How does that sound?”A warm tingle thrummed through her, and she felt as if Skye approved.Shit. She shouldn’t have named him, it was going to be unbearable to give him up now.“Hermione?” “Andromeda,” Hermione said, turning. Ah fuck. August really was becoming a bitch of a month. Undoubtedly the fates were laughing somewhere, spinning their spindle of fuckery. Who would she run into next? Molly? Nope, not Molly. Narcissa stood demurely behind her elder sister, her brilliant blue eyes scrutinising Hermione in her capri pants and slightly transparent white tank top. Lovely. In contrast, Narcissa wore a beautiful satin blue gown that complimented her silvery blonde hair and curious azure gaze. Hermione could tell the dress had been transfigured from elegant witches' robes from the serpentine buttons on the collar of her neck, but the transfiguration was flawless in its finish. Andromeda, on the other hand, wore a simple black tunic and leggings, her curly black hair pulled into a sophisticated bun, which revealed the exhaustion of being a full-time caregiver to Teddy.Teddy, who had lost them all now. “Mrs Malfoy,” Hermione nodded after a moment, realising that as the younger of the two, she was expected to greet the lady first, per unwritten rules of wizarding society. Hermione would have scoffed in her youth, but somewhere along the way in her political career, she realized that it was just easier to use the rules to make changes. If she downright threw the rulebook out, she was considered a non-entity. “Miss Granger,” Narcissa said politely. It was a far cry from when she had turned her nose up at Hermione in Madam Malkins before sixth year or the time she had identified her as Potter’s mudblood for Bellatrix. In the fifteen years since Hermione had last been in the same room as her, Narcissa had softened somewhat or become a better actress.“Were you on your way to visit Harry?” Andromeda asked. Hermione tried to read the emotion behind her words, but Andromeda was very good at keeping her feelings to herself until she wanted to reveal them. “I just got done,” Hermione said, following her gaze down to Skye, who was watching the two witches curiously. There was no familiarity between them, so he clearly didn’t belong to either of them. “I found a crup puppy.”Andromeda smiled, “Or he found you.”Hermione shrugged, “One and the same.”“Not entirely,” Narcissa said quietly. “Well, please do wait for us to pay our regards, and then perhaps you can invite us for tea at your home” Andromeda said, kindly but firmly. “Of course,” Hermione nodded politely as the two witches made their way through the headstones. ❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅ The two sisters made for a fascinating sight, not only because of their differing features but also their adamant refusal to make amends after the war. And yet they were the first guests Hermione was hosting at her cottage post complete renovation. Harry would be laughing in his grave. Hermione set the tea tray down on her rather plain old coffee table (for she was now looking at everything in the cottage from the point of view of someone as entitled as Narcissa) and took the remaining seat on the armchair.Skye settled down at her feet, curling around her feet for a nap.Before Hermione could offer to prepare each of their teas, both witches flicked their wands, and two cups assembled themselves.Andromeda— Peppermint, two lemon slices, and half teaspoon of sugar.Narcissa— Earl Grey (extra leaves), a splash of milk, and two teaspoons of sugar.Hermione followed suit, Orange Pekoe with one slice of lemon.“You’ve done a lovely job of the cottage,” Andromeda said, looking around the sitting room. “Thank you.”“I came by here once, right after—” Narcissa said, “You’ve kept the original structure as is.”“Harry wanted to keep it this way. He intended for there to be a second floor, but it seems unimportant now,” her voice trailed off.They all nodded, and Hermione desperately searched her brain for another topic. She could speak to Andromeda about Harry, of course, but Narcissa’s presence was daunting and rather unwelcome for this conversation.“I hadn’t realised you had reacquainted.” “It’s new,” Andromeda said tightly. “Although, you have hardly made an effort to acquaint yourself with me lately.”Hermione nodded, unsure of what there was to say. It was true. “Teddy has missed you,” Andromeda said after a moment, “He is old enough to understand why you have not been around lately, and I think he would like to meet with you and make his stance on this situation clear.”Hermione cast a cautious glance at Narcissa, who clearly knew enough to meet her gaze in a neutral exchange. “And that is?” Hermione asked, looking down at the lemon slice.“He is upset you disregarded him in your need to protect the other children. You may not be his official godmother, but you may as well have been. And he lost both of you in mere months.”Hermione’s lip trembled, and she was no longer keen on having Narcissa Malfoy sitting in her living room to bear witness to her shame. “Dromeda, I am so sorry, I didn’t think—”“Clearly,” Andromeda said, her lips thinning to a fine line. “Otherwise, you would have taken some time apart and then returned to those who love you. From what you were protecting those children from, I still do not know. It was all a mess, yes, but I do not believe anyone was truly at fault—you, least of all.”Hermione opened her mouth but was silenced by the look on Andromeda’s face, “I hope the next time I reach out to you to extend an invite or offer my support, my owls won’t go unanswered.”Hermione nodded.“Good, then shall we tour this cottage you have raised from the ground up,” Andromeda said, standing up.Hermione glanced at Narcissa, who had not so much as raised a brow in the previous ten minutes. It seemed keeping one’s cards close to their chest was a family trait amongst the descendants of the House Black.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Whatever causes night in our souls may leave stars”
― Victor Hugo, Ninety-Three
August 23, 2013.
The distinctive smell of charred flesh was always the first to slip through the cracks. There was no easy way to describe it—it was simply— burnt human beings. Wizard, witch, pureblood, half-blood, mudblood , muggle—they all smelt the same when set ablaze. The aftertaste left clinging to your tongue—just burnt organs, meat, and muscle integrated with singed hair and coagulated blood— Draco could occlude just about every memory of the war, but how did one successfully compartmentalise a smell so haunting? So wretched that even fifteen years passed, it signalled a night of night terrors that left him nauseous for weeks at a time. The dreams changed on a rotation, but the scent engulfed him. Draco was resigned to believe it would always be there, haunting him until his last breath left his body, and perhaps then he would find the peace he knew he would never have in this life.There was no reason for it to happen tonight. He was certain he hadn’t been around any triggers. Yet the scent overwhelmed him, ripping fissures in his walls for other haunts to follow. To some extent, he was aware it was a dream. He only had to make it through until his body naturally woke up. But the thought was fleeting in the face of the horrors of his past brought forth.Tonight, it was a dream of January 1998. Bellatrix cackled. The sound reverberated off the walls from a distance, yet a taloned hand gripped his shoulder from behind. “Does it frighten you, baby Draco?” she whispered into his ear. Draco repressed the shudder that coursed through his body as his maternal aunt bit down on his earlobe. “Or are you frightened by how much you enjoy it?”Draco swallowed, looking away from the charred bodies in his parent’s wine cellar. “They’re mudbloods. Why should I feel anything at all?” Deflection. It was easier to hide the truth amidst shadows of lies.“Such a good boy, learning to play the game,” Bellatrix cooed, her bony fingers digging into his chin as she pulled his gaze back to her stony pits. “I have ensured the Dark Lord will bestow our family with the honour we rightfully deserve. He will be pleased, Draco, you’ll see.” Her grip tightened, and Draco felt her embed her bloodied nails into his cheek. “Do not make me regret naming you as one of my kin to him. Your father has disgraced us enough.”“Yes, Aunty Bella.” Her fingers trailed down his chest. His gaze followed their path down with repulsion and just as her hand risked journeying lower— he stepped back. Only the floor no longer felt like the supple hardwood of the cellar— it was solid beneath his feet. Draco looked down at the floor and found the familiar bricked pattern of the Hogwarts courtyard beneath his feet. Before he could register how he had gotten here from Wiltshire, firm hands were once again upon him. “Your papa’s done for, and I think I’d like a little blondie in my pack— if you survive it, that is.” Fenrir’s breath was rancid, and his gaze was vile regardless of who he set it on. Draco grabbed the wrists that were gripping him by his collar and pushed the loathsome face back from his own. “Take you filthy paws off me,” Draco ground out but screams swallowed his words. Draco’s head whipped around, desperate to locate that sound— “You’re the reason I didn’t get that pretty second year,” Fenrir growled, “You now owe me four.”Draco remembered this evening even if he didn’t remember the girl whose fate he had altered by rendering her unconscious. One of Neville’s lackeys had taken her from the hospital wing whilst she was still recovering from the cruciatus Draco had cast upon her. A few minutes of unbearable pain was nothing compared to what Fenrir had planned to do to her for the full moon. Wasn’t it? “Take it up with Severus,” Draco said, turning away. “Half-bloods aren’t meant to be touched.”“She was no half-blood!” Fenrir roared, but Draco was already running towards the screams coming from the forbidden forest—screams he could hardly ever forget. In the distance, wolves howled in rage.Draco sped through the forest, sweat trickling down the back of his neck as he followed the screams down a pathway. This particular route through the forest had always been his favourite but when he reached the hallowed grounds where generations of Slytherins gathered for their nightly rendezvous, he found a door instead. Draco hesitated briefly, his hand straining against the antique silver handle. Just when he felt he couldn’t go through— her bloodcurdling scream shattered his resolve, and he stepped through.He’d seen the cruciatus take place countless times— had been on the casting and receiving end himself— but the vitriol of her attack had been unmatched. It was not the amount or length of time that drove one mad; it was the caster’s intent and fury that drove one over the edge. Bellatrix had wanted to break Potter’s spirit, cut him off at his knees, and present the broken boy to her master. And driving her out of her mind would have done just that— and shown the world that mudbloods were no match in front of purebloods. Granger was lying at his feet as Draco entered the drawing room, his parents to one side, watching with only mild disgust as Bellatrix hunched over her, carving her up, ripping through her mind, torturing her endlessly— to the brink. ‘For surely, after such an ordeal, even the great Hermione Granger would be nothing but an invalid.’ He had that thought standing there that day in April, and it crept into his mind every time he relived it as a dream as well. So, when she appeared at the battle, her mind still intact, Draco almost collapsed with relief. For whilst he might find her insufferable and an entirely infuriating personality, to have been complicit in such a loss and tragedy was unbearable. For months, he had agonised over the loss the wizarding world had suffered—at the hands of his family—at the expense of his survival. He may not have liked her, but even he could admit that Granger belonged to this world just as much as he did, definitely, more so than some of the trolls who boasted of their unparalleled breeding— the Dark Lord’s ranks had been full of them. If Draco had once believed in the superiority of blood and lineage, it had died alongside him the day he took the mark. “Let me go, please, let me go!” the witch begged between screams, sobs, and convulsions. “Let go,” She begged on and on, but the pleading was no better, and eventually, she lost all coherence, for in his dreams, he swore he always heard her scream, ‘Dracooo !’ before she finally couldn’t speak anymore.But it mattered not, for even in his dreams, he only stood by— the same as he had done that day— never able to walk the three steps required to make a difference.“He’s here,” Lucius said, his head snapping up. “It can end now.” Just as Draco reached out to stop his father from pressing down on his mark, he was jerked back and he was falling, falling, falling.Draco’s eyes shot open, and he gripped the wand he had tucked under his pillow, using the shape and rigidity of it, the wand he had bought after the battle, to ground him in the present. Even after his hawthorn was returned to him at the end of his probationary period, he couldn’t have used it again—not after the atrocities he had asked of his beloved in the previous year. It was tucked into a small box he kept locked in his cupboard. Perhaps one day, he would be able to pick it up again, but the day had yet to arrive.The smell, taste, and sounds lingered— it was only when the whimpering persisted beyond the fourth perusal of his Black Walnut wand that Draco realised they were not what he had thought them to be. He found Scorpius on the edge of his bed, sweat-soaked and crying as he thrashed jerkily. It occurred often enough that Draco knew not to touch him— but to kneel beside him and speak.“Scorp,” Draco whispered softly, his hand itching to soothe the tendrils stuck to his boy’s forehead. He had done that a few times when they had first begun four years ago, but the panic it had driven Scorp to had been agonising to experience. It was just another moment in his life to reiterate he was alone and simply not good enough. “I’m here, darling boy, do you hear me? Dad’s right here. Just follow my voice, Scorp. I’m here beside you. You’re safe.”Draco continued to coax him until the visions finally unclasped him. Draco saw Scorp’s sterling grey eyes open timidly in the faint moonlight. He blinked a few times, reorienting himself, and only when he exhaled the sharp breath he had taken on awakening did Draco finally run his fingers through his son’s damp hair.“Was it the same one?” Draco asked.Scorp nodded.“Will you tell me what it is, please?” Draco implored. When they had first begun, Draco had hoped it wasn’t what he thought it was. Sharing a dorm with Theo for seven years had made him wary of it— but he had still hoped it was only night terrors brought on by Astoria’s declining health. But Scorpius’ lack of magic by age eight had driven him to check.The Greengrass ancestry was obscured due to the blood curse. Draco had pondered through both the Malfoy and Greengrass libraries until he had put together a rough lineage on his wife’s side. Scorpius was the first known son born after seven generations of only witches on the maternal side. A natural-born seer.Scorpius’s lack of response was expected. Draco could only guess what vision plagued him, for the boy adamantly refused to share his troubles. Out of dread or fear, Draco could never be sure. “Alright,” Draco said resignedly, “Do you want some warm milk, or would you rather try sleeping again?”Scorpius sat up, contemplating. “Can I watch you paint?” Draco looked at the night sky from the window. The moon was whole and luminescent against the inky sky. It couldn’t be past four am, but he would savour every pleasant moment with Scorpius whilst he could. “Alright.”Scorpius sat on the settee with a glass of warm milk as Draco dipped his paintbrush in water, “Did Professor McGonagall write back to you?”“She did,” Draco said, his shoulders tensing. “She’s on holiday and has asked me to visit her next Tuesday.”Scorpius frowned as Draco roughly outlined a fir on his canvas, “Will she be able to find another professor in time?”“I don’t want you to worry about that, Scorp,” Draco sighed, picking up some dark green and adding it to the navy paint on his palette. There are far greater things to worry about than Professor appointments. He’d been avoiding this conversation for a long time now, knowing it would be the day his son’s eyes for him changed, but with the start of term growing closer, it had to be now. “Do you remember the war I told you about last year?” Draco asked, his eyes focusing on the fir tree on the forest's edge. He wasn’t sure if Scorpius recognised the hesitance in his voice— ‘ how old had he been when he had learnt to read such things? Surely before he went to Hogwarts? He’d used such skills so effectively that first year.’ “The Second Wizarding War of Great Britain,” Scorp said automatically. “The one Harry Potter won for us against you-know-who.”Draco cleared his throat awkwardly as his son shifted closer to him on the settee. “Yes, the one Potter won,” Draco said, his eyes still fixedly staring at the fir as his hand began to outline the branches. “There’s a part of the war I haven’t yet told you about, but I think it’s time I did.”“The part I played,” Draco said, his voice growing thick with resignation. Draco’s hand shook against the canvas, and he quickly pulled it back, pretending to require more paint. He could still smell the faint scents of his night terrors, and it was cruelly poetic that they, too, be present for this conversation.Scorp turned to him, his eyes growing round, and Draco had to turn now. He had to look his son in the eye as he recounted his past— laid bare all the mistakes Scorpius would likely pay for when he left the shelter of their home and embarked on his journey through the wizarding world. A world to whom the Malfoy name was synonymous with the Dark Lord’s.Sure, Narcissa and Draco had been absolved of their crimes but the howlers he still received spoke more honestly than the polite society that welcomed them to galas and charity events. The Malfoy family wealth and prestige were welcome, but they, in fact, were not. It was why Draco withdrew after Scorpius’s birth and Astoria’s illness, knowing full well that time would not make a lick of difference. He was only delaying the inevitable. And now the reckoning was here.Draco pulled the sleeve of his nightshirt up and turned his forearm upright. With a silent finite , the twisted mark rematerialised on his arm. It had faded slightly over the years— no longer a stark mark on his alabaster skin— More a lingering shadow— like the smell of burnt skin.Scorpius was watching him with bated breath, no doubt to hear of his father’s heroism. His brows furrowed at the sight of the skull and snake, and he reached out to touch it. Draco almost flinched, but resolved to look him in the eye as he shattered all his son’s allusions.“Our family was on the wrong side of the war. I– I was on the wrong side of the war,” Draco said, and Scorpius scrunched his brows with confusion. “We sided with you-know-who, Scorp.”“But you said he was a bad man,” Scorpius said slowly. “You said he wanted all the muggle-borns dead.”“He did.” Draco nodded.“You wanted him to win?” Scorpius’s mouth fell open, and Draco watched as his son lost all reverence for him. “You wanted muggles and muggle-borns dead.”“No.” Draco shook his head. “But our family did, for a very long time, and your grandfather was sworn to ally with the Dark—with— you-know-who. So when the war started, I made a terrible choice. I chose what was important to me over what was honourable.”“Why?” “Because I was scared and didn’t know what else to do.”Scorpius turned away from him, his hands twisting in his lap as he contemplated the new knowledge. “I have a few books,” Draco said quietly, “They do mention me in some places. I have them tabbed so you can read all about it.”The silence lingered between them was a cruciatus of its own. Draco felt his heart sink to his stomach. “I–”“Do you regret it?” Scorpius finally asked, his face still turned away, and Draco could hear him choking back tears.“Yes. With all my heart, I do.” Scorpius nodded, still resolutely looking away.“I think I’ll go to sleep now.”Draco considered asking him to stay, to explain in better words that he had only been sixteen. But that was an argument he could no longer justify, even to himself. Potter had been the same age, yet he had been able to make the right choices. He stood, his mouth still open—frozen—as his mind raced to add something—anything—to earn Scorpius’s respect once again, but he knew there was nothing he could say to be bestowed with it again. “I’ll have Mipsy deliver you the books in the morning,” Draco said softly, unsure whether his son heard him as he stepped back into their home.Draco turned back towards the forest he had begun painting. He already knew he wouldn’t be completing this one— it would join all the others he couldn’t bring himself to complete.
August 24, 2013.
Draco didn’t often find himself at the DMLE offices. His work as a consultant was predominantly research-based. Whenever aurors required background information on any escaped death eaters— he found they preferred floo calls as he did himself. However, when French authorities claimed to have undeniable proof of Rabastan Lestrange’s entry onto the continent, he would have to make the ill-timed journey to meet with the Death Eater Task Force. There weren’t too many death eaters who had escaped after Voldemort’s fall. Most had perished, as his aunt had. The rest had been locked up in Azkaban—as he had until his acquittal. Only three had gone unaccounted for. Rabastian Lestrange, Ash Avery and Thorfinn Rowle. Their recapture had been priority one in the early 2000s but they had disappeared into the shadows of the aftermath so silently one couldn’t even be sure if they had survived the war or simply been obliterated beyond recognition. Except whispers in the pureblood community on the continent made one think they were, in fact, very much alive and simply biding time.“That looks like him,” Draco squinted at the muggle photo. It was very poor quality, and if it were indeed Rabastian, it seemed from his clothing that he was blending into the muggle world.“I’m going to require a statement from the Lestrange vaults,” Robards sighed, “And Weasley’s taking charge from here on out, so you two will have to find a way to work together.”Draco sneered down at the head auror, “Weasley’s thus far—”“Mister Malfoy, thank you for your time.”Draco snapped his mouth shut, his eyes narrowing to slits, “Auror Robards, my court-mandated consultancy ended five years ago— I choose to continue out of my own discretion. Weasley ought to remember that.” And so should you. The click of Robard’s jaw told Draco his message had been received as he intended.“I’ll owl you the Lestrange statements. I haven’t had need to touch the vault since I inherited it.” Draco clipped before stepping into the floo. “Good day.”“Lumos—” Draco held his breath. He hadn’t meant to spy on his son, but his abrupt departure from the DMLE offices had made it so. The past two days had been sufficiently tense between Scorpius and Draco. Although he had accepted the books from Mipsy, he had been reticent during their shared meals. It wouldn’t have worried Draco so much— Scorpius was a relatively quiet child, to begin with— except he usually liked to share some obscure fact or thought from his lessons with his tutor. Draco had known it would happen— had seen the luminescence of his son’s gaze falter with his very own eyes, but hope was a miserable bitch. She ensnared the celibate with her viles, and then left them bereft. “Lumos—” Draco couldn’t be sure how long his son had been waving his new Pine Wood and Unicorn Hair wand, but the frustrated volume with which Scorp repeated the spell spoke volumes. There was nothing on the end of his wand except whisps of sparks.He knew the right thing to do would be to tell Scorp he wasn’t allowed to practice magic outside school, but he didn’t have the heart to do it. Draco cast a wordless muffliato on his feet and retreated to the sitting room. “Mipsy,” He said loudly, knowing it would be enough to alert his son of his return.Mipsy apparated directly into the sitting room, looking curiously at him. “Would you please accompany Scorpius and myself to the Zabini estate tonight?” Draco asked.“Of course, sir,” Mipsy nodded.Whilst Pansy’s invitation was for a Soirée tonight , Draco knew better than to be unprepared. If there was one thing he knew, it was that even if they intended to introduce all their children, the party would certainly not simply be a children’s party.
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Belle Zabini was her mother in miniature, only instead of judgement, she had mischief in her eyes. “Hello, Mr Malfoy.” The young girl said with a brilliant smile, her eyes strictly resolved on Scorpius, who stood beside Draco in the Zabini Floo Parlour. “I’m Belle.”“You look like your mother,” Draco smiled kindly at the little girl. “This is my son, Scorpius.”“Hello,” she chirped. “We’re going to be at Hogwarts together. I just turned 11 this month, so my mother tells me I’ll probably be the youngest in our class. When’s your birthday? Oh, Felix and Amelia are already here. Have you met them—they’re in the library?” She chattered on.“Hi,” Scorpius said nervously, although his greeting was lost amidst Belle’s monologue. Not for the first time did Draco wish he had gone against his mother’s wishes and enrolled him in muggle school. Scorpius looked as if he had encountered an adder in the wild, and knowing this girl was Pansy’s daughter, he likely had.“Why don’t you two go off and join the Flint twins,” Pansy said, appearing at the door. “Hello, Scorpius, I’m Pansy, your dad’s ex-girlfriend.”“Parkinson,” Draco gritted his teeth while Scorpius scrutinised the woman curiously.“Before my mum?” Scorpius asked quietly.“Of course, love.” Pansy smiled at him, “Back when your dad and I were children— it doesn’t even count really.”“Then why did you say it?” Scorpius narrowed his eyes.“Alright,” Draco cleared his throat, “Off to the library, you two.”As Belle took Scorpius’s hand and tugged him towards the library, Draco turned to Mipsy, who was quietly standing behind him. “Please keep an eye on them.”“Oh, Draco, surely you know I have elves of my own.” Pansy rolled her eyes. “And should things become inappropriate tonight, please ensure Scorpius does not bear witness,” Draco said to Mipsy whilst eyeing Pansy.“Of course, sir.” Mipsy nodded before disapparating.Pansy smirked, “Old age has not dulled your keen senses, I see.”“No, Parks, they have not yet,” Draco said, kissing her cheek. “Come now,” Pansy said, taking his arm. “It’s not quite wild yet—we’ll wait for the children to sleep before that begins.”Dinner was an elaborate affair with all Italian dishes, an hommage to the Zabini’s home for the past decade or so. Draco was surprised to note that Pansy had departed from the custom of having a separate children’s table, allowing them to sit towards one end in their own group.Belle was easily the most animated child he had ever encountered. Tracey and Marcus’s twins seemed polar opposites in every way, shape and form. Where Felix was dark-haired, snarky, and seemed to be vying for group leader amongst the children, Amelia had a softer colour to her to match her quieter demeanour. She was engaged in hushed tones with Scorpius, who sat between her and Gordon Goyle. Where Felix had Belle enraptured— Gordon was alarmingly silent, as his father had been at school. But he did seem to have his mother’s attentiveness from what little Draco could perceive of his demeanour.Lorcan— an odd name Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes at, the Flint’s eldest, had been excused from attending tonight as he was already well established at Hogwarts, being in his fifth year.“He’ll be fine,” Cheri Goyle leaned across the table to whisper to Draco.“Hmmm?” Draco said, startled out of his reverie.“Gordon’s also the shy type,” Cheri smiled, “But they’ll find their feet, don’t you worry, darling.”Theo, seated beside Draco, momentarily looked as if he would join the conversation before he picked up his wine goblet and sipped it instead.Draco knew he ought to clear the air with him. Not only because they had been best friends for their entire childhood and Draco missed him, but also because Theo was the only person he could rely on to keep Scorpius safe if he would be giving up his DADA position. But it had been too long since they had fought, and the wound had festered for Draco. Perhaps for Theo as well.Instead, he allowed Blaise to lead the conversation on work and politics. Blaise had taken the Parkinson seat on the Wizengamot over the summer and seemed to be enjoying his foray into politics—a conversation they all briefly listened to before Tracey kindly changed the topic to the Daily Prophet.Draco didn’t have much to contribute to that conversation either; he had stopped reading the drivel years ago. His mother was no less a newspaper column of her own, and most of the goings-on in the wizarding world eventually did make their way to him over his tea with her. However, their weekly teas had grown monthly over the past few years. So perhaps some information did go under his radar.“Draco, I had meant to ask at the office today,” Marcus said, biting into his fillet mignon. “It seems awfully convenient that a man who has skirted capture for fifteen years is seen just as he’s leaving the country. It’s almost as if he wants people to believe he’s no longer in England.”Draco frowned at his roasted vegetables. “He’s one of the last free Death Eaters— I don’t see why he would want to be seen anywhere at all.”Marcus frowned, “I know the DMLE wants to believe that, but you should still check to ensure it’s not a ruse.”“I’ll bring it up with Weasley,” Draco sighed. “But I can’t say he’ll take me seriously.”“This is hardly dinner conversation,” Pansy said sourly. “Draco, have you spoken to Daphne? I invited her tonight, but she declined.”Draco stiffened.“She and Neville are on holiday in Greece with their daughters,” Theo interjected. “I think they get back the day before term begins.”“Oh,” Pansy pouted. “I’ll have to owl her once she’s back. Just because her family disowned her for marrying Longbottom doesn’t mean we have to.”She eyed Draco, who returned her gaze stonily.He didn’t particularly care who Daphne had married, and he had himself accompanied Astoria to their muggle wedding at some cathedral Draco had never seen the likes of before. No, it was not her ostracisation from the Greengrass family or her muggle wedding that repulsed him. It was the fact that Daphne had not once visited Astoria since she had gotten sick that made him never want to see her again. Astoria had doted on her elder sister, and to have watched her waste away with no one’s support save him had made him resent his once close friend.The rest of the night continued with stunted conversation. Draco was sure Greg had not said a word all night, letting Cheri dictate much of the conversation on his behalf. As the only person without baggage at the table, everyone else was happy to oblige in her ruminations over MACUSA and the differences between the two wizarding governments. Draco shuddered at the thought that muggles were called No-Maj in America— at least muggles here had the dignity of being classified as their own people— Not some lesser version of wizards as was dictated by such a classification as No-Maj.Pansy’s house elf apparated into the room shortly after the entree course had disappeared, whispering excitedly into her ear. Draco knew trouble was afoot when Pansy turned and grinned wickedly at them.Draco rolled his eyes at Blaise, who simply waggled a brow back at him. “Did we not speak about Pansy’s new business venture?”
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Pansy’s new business venture was essentially a kink club— a member-only initiative she had started in Italy and was now looking to establish into a club in Diagon Alley.The children were ushered out of the West Wing the moment the dessert course vanished. Draco only had a lone moment to order Mipsy to stay for half an hour before she was to apparate Scorpius back to their cottage. He had no intention of staying any longer himself, but he didn’t want to take any chances in case more surprises were in store.He had expected some debauchery from the night, of course. He had himself been an observant child in his youth and had seen many of his parent’s dinner parties turn raunchy— but a kink club was certainly more Pansy’s style.Draco heard the roar of the floo come to life as dozens of young witches and wizards descended upon the formal living room, each witch wearing less than the one before.It was not an easy sight to turn away from— how many months had it been since he had last engaged in any sort of carnal pleasure? Six? Eight? His cock twitched involuntarily, and he turned his back to the sight.His last had to be the muggle bartender he’d gone home with on New Year's Eve after ensuring she was on muggle contraception.He had turned to muggle women for various reasons— primarily selfish, some wholesome, and some simply because it was easier that way. Muggle women didn’t know who he was. They didn’t know of his wealth or his infamous reputation. They didn’t know the tattoo on his arm was really a brand to signify his complacency and ignorance. They didn’t know he was stepping out on his sick wife—and they certainly didn’t know it was part of a journey into the unknown for Draco. A solidifier that he no longer thought them beneath him.“Parks,” Draco said, grabbing her roughly by the elbow. “This is extremely irresponsible.”“Will you relax,” Pansy rolled her eyes, “I’ve warded the wing so no one under seventeen can enter.”“You can’t just force people into voyeurism,” Draco narrowed his eyes. “You’re free to participate, watch or leave,” Pansy said, running a hand over his collar. “Everyone here is.”“I have a wife.”“You forget, Draco, I know your wife,” Pansy said quietly.“I—” He faltered. Pansy, Theo and Blaise were the only people who knew of Astoria’s curse apart from Daphne and her parents; he had written to them when she had fallen into her coma, but he hadn’t realised just how informed they were of the more intimate aspects of their relationship.“She wrote me, you know.” Pansy said softly, “It must have been 2007 because I was in Mexico at the time. She told me to make sure you understood— she did not pull away from you and Scorpius for years only for you to mourn her for the rest of her life and yours.”“You don’t know anything.” Draco bit out.“I know more than you,” Pansy glared at him. “And if you were willing to talk to any of us about her, you’d realise how little you actually know at all.”Her gaze flickered momentarily to Theo, who was quietly watching them from a sofa where a young couple was nestling in close to him.“I’m out,” Draco said, fury coiling itself tight in his belly.“Yes, Draco.” Pansy said with a sad smile, “You’ve been out of it for some time now.”
August 27, 2013.
“ No , Mister Malfoy.” Minerva McGonagall peered at him through her glasses. “Four days until the semester begins. Surely you cannot be asking me to find a replacement on such short notice. Not after you had written year after year to be considered for this position when your son was to begin his first year.”Draco crossed his leg over his knee, his eyes looking past Minerva to the portraits above her head, Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore. They peered down at him as if he were an exhibit at a menagerie, and he had the overwhelming need to flip them the bird.“My situation has altered since I accepted,” Draco said tightly, wishing for once the headmistress would look past the surface to understand the depths of the pool below.“As far as I’m aware, your home situation has not altered in the last five years,” Minerva said, her beady black eyes narrowing.Draco clenched his jaw. “I make it a point to know what lives my students come from,” Minerva said, pouring him a cup of tea, “And what happens to them after they leave Hogwarts.”Draco accepted the cup she offered him, meeting her stare with his own. Minerva McGonagall could wither grown adults with hers, but Draco’s was no less challenging. He had honed it on these grounds and found he could convey much with a simple look. A look to let Pansy know she would be meeting him in the prefect’s bathroom late that night. A look to let Crabbe and Goyle know to fuck off. A look to reduce Weasley to Gryffindor-red rage. A look to get under Potter’s skin. A look to let Granger know she was beneath him. Of course, he had also loved the sound of his voice, so those looks were often accompanied by sly remarks or flirty repartee— whichever was the moment's need.“I offer my deepest remorse for the hand life has dealt you and Scorpius,” Minerva pursed her lips, “Astoria was a bright student from what I remember. She had the potential to drive real change in our world had she been allowed a real chance at it.”Draco sipped from his cup, “She has made a difference in what little time the fates allowed her.”Minerva nodded, reflecting over her cup of tea, “So the reason you come to me today is…”“Scorpius would feel more comfortable coming to Hogwarts if I remained behind with Astoria,” Draco said matter-of-factly now that whatever pretences he had hoped to have had been confringoed by the elderly headmistress.“I see,” She pursed her lips. “May I be frank, Mister Malfoy?”Draco had never known the woman to be anything else, so he simply shrugged.“Look out this window here. While you and I might see that it is raining and the walk across the grounds will be awfully wet, a child-like Scorpius will see that there is a rainbow amidst it all, puddles to jump through, and perhaps even that it is summer rain and meant to be danced within. But it doesn’t negate the fact that it is rain, and it is wet.”Draco glanced out the window, noting that it was indeed raining, but found no evidence of the frankness McGonagall spoke of.“Children are often under the impression that they see the world as a whole, and it is adults who view it in fragments. But that doesn’t mean that what we see is any less true. If you believed for months prior that your presence at Hogwarts would benefit your son, then you must hold to the conviction that you have your son’s best interests at heart, even if he feels he sees more than you do.”Draco continued to stare out the window. “Scorpius has yet to show signs of magic, professor.” It killed him to say it aloud, but she’d learn it soon anyway. Eventually, they’d all know, and loathe as he may be to admit it, he’d rather Scorpius have this formidable witch standing beside him when they did. “I wish for his life at Hogwarts to be a source of comfort for him even more than I wish to be a part of that comfort.”“I understand,” Minerva said solemnly. Draco felt as if this conversation was for her, what his conversations with Scorpius were for him. “It is always difficult for squibs at Hogwarts.”Draco cringed at the use of that word, but if McGonagall noticed, she brushed past it.“We tend to assign older students to help them on the side, and some professors do take them under their wing if the student is not opposed. I can speak with my staff to see if anyone volunteers; if not, I shall request it from my assistant professor. She’s a bright girl, a tad ditzy, but I have found the younger students are fond of her.”“You have an assistant professor?” Draco said, raising a brow.“I am over 80 years old. I know my limitations, unlike previous headmasters,” McGonagall sniffed. Draco looked up to find Dumbledore nodding jovially at her words. “I prefer to take all the help required to run Hogwarts as smoothly as possible.”“That being said, you will have to take on the position while I interview replacements again. ”“Could the current professor not stay on for another year?” Draco urged.McGonagall’s eyes grew softer. “Unfortunately, Professor Roberts was in a muggle automobile accident over the summer. He passed away in July. It makes you realise sometimes even one’s ability to use magic is not enough.”Draco gave her a moment to recompose. He wished peace upon this unknown man in his afterlife, but his death was somewhat inconvenient to him at this moment.“Have you considered reaching out to Granger… er… Hermione Granger,” Draco corrected himself, “She is the author of the text you’re bringing in for the subject.”“I would not count on her accepting, Mister Malfoy. She has not taken well to my intrusions as of late.” McGonagall said brusquely. “But I shall still try if you insist. However, you will be in the Great Hall on September 1st. That is a compromise I hope you teach young Mister Malfoy as well.”Draco nodded.“It’s a good thing Horace has retired. I dare say he would not be up to the task of heading another Malfoy at his age.”Draco smiled. “I’m not so sure that Scorpius ends up in Slytherin. I find him as intelligent as he is determined.”“A Ravenclaw then? Perhaps even Gryffindor house’s first-ever Malfoy.” McGonagall said, eyeing the sentient sorting hat where it slept on her bookcase.Draco shrugged, “It doesn’t matter to me.”
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When he returned, Draco was unsurprised to see Scorpius seated in the living room.He had conveyed the importance of his request once more before departing the headmistress’s office. Her responding tight lip had given her away— She would try, but should her efforts fail, Draco would have no choice but to continue teaching for the entire term, if not the whole year.“What did Professor McGonagall say?” Scorpius asked. They hadn’t spoken much over the last few days, and this was certainly not going to improve their relationship.“She has asked me to take on the position temporarily while she finds a replacement for me,” Draco said cautiously.Scorpius narrowed his eyes, “For how long?”Draco bit down on his tongue, letting the pain of it overflow his senses.“I don’t know Scorp. But I promise I’ll ensure it ends as soon as possible.”Scorpius stood still, his alabaster skin growing rosy as he blinked back tears to glare at his father.“I hate you,” Scorpius whispered before running into his room and slamming his door. Draco made to follow behind, but a sharp crack in Scorpius’s room informed him of Mipsy’s arrival, and he braced himself on the heavy oak door, unable to walk through.
August 30, 2013.
Scorpius had moved out of the cottage two days ago. Draco would have once found his son’s dramatics endearing if they had not been aimed directly at him. Mipsy informed him that Scorpius had taken to using the room next to Astoria’s, and his mother had taken his presence in stride— and for that, Draco was grateful. He didn’t want his mother to know how badly he was failing at parenthood, especially when he accused his father of doing the same. He didn’t want her to know Scorpius had told him he hated him— a phrase he had never even considered saying to his own father— what did that say about his failures in the same department? It certainly could be that the rot in their lineage was too stark for him to be able to make any significant changes. Rot bred rot, and his machinations to be better were simply ideal fantasies one could aspire to but never truly inspire.A knock at his door pulled him from his reverie, and Draco was momentarily thrown. Those who were welcome to his home had floo access, and those who weren’t would be met at the manor’s entrance.“Mother,” Draco said, bending to kiss her cheek. “Are we observing polite niceties today?”Narcissa rolled her eyes, “I do not always barge into your home.”“No, but you do usually floo,” Draco said, leading her towards the kitchen table where his coffee sat steaming.“Tea?” Narcissa shook her head. “I’ve just finished lunch with Scorpius.”“Ah,” Draco said, gulping down a scalding sip.“Did you know when you were six, you also ran away from home?” Narcissa mused, moving around his living room. “I don’t remember,” Draco furrowed his brows, “Where did I go?”“To this cottage,” Narcissa smiled. “Only back then, it wasn’t so well done, and you came back to the manor after two hours when the elves refused to bring you chocolate frogs out here.”“Why did I run away?” Draco asked, raising a brow.“Because Blaise received a new broom for his birthday, and Lucius said you had to wait until yours to get the same one.” Narcissa smirked as she continued perusing his photo frames.“Did I tell him I hate him,” Draco muttered.“I believe you stomped your foot, told Lucius that he ‘ should know Malfoys have the best of everything’ and then ignored him for the next two weeks.”Draco blinked at her, “And what did father say?”“He got you the broomstick you wanted after two weeks of living with your silence.” That sounded about right.“I have to make it right,” Draco sighed. “Andromeda wouldn’t happen to know where Hermione Granger lives, would she?” He had been considering reaching out to her the past two days. But as it turned out, if Draco was reclusive, Hermione Granger was a recluse. He knew abstract information about her falling out with the Weasleys from what his mother had mentioned over the past year— but truth be told, he hadn’t much cared to pay real attention. Potter was sleeping with Granger, and then he died, and everyone found out about the affair. Sure, it was salacious, but he didn’t see why it was heralded as a scandal. Seeing as he had once fuelled the lies Skeeter reported as facts, he wasn’t even entirely sure he did believe it. The eternal everlasting swot-slash- golden girl willfully breaking up marriages seemed altogether alien to him as a thought. Her stealing all the house elves of wizarding Britain and freeing them seemed more likely— and a genuinely noteworthy scandal in his books. He would depart with Mipsy over his dead body.“She does, and so do I, if you believe it,” Narcissa said curiously. “She had us over for tea last week.”Draco gaped at her, “Hermione Granger invited you to her home for tea.”“Andromeda didn’t give her much choice— we ran into her at Harry’s grave.”Draco furrowed his brows, “Was she—”“She was perfectly cordial,” Narcissa said, “But I did write her a letter after the war, you know— and we have met a few times during our charity events.”Ah yes. The letters he had sent to almost everyone else except her. He had apologised during his trial for the events of Malfoy Manor– a stunted apology he had known was inadequate even then. But he had said it to her, looking her in the face. She had not necessarily responded, but she had dipped her head in acknowledgement that it was only for her and not simply for leniency in his trial. It was the only thing he apologised for— he hadn’t even apologised for the botched assassination attempt or the cruciatus curse he had been made to cast repeatedly during his last year. It had all happened under duress, and back then, he had not been sorry for the choices he had made. That remorse festered slowly over the years.He had managed some courage and apologised to Potter once they started working together. Potter had never been all that fond of Draco but he’d reluctantly received them. As for Weasley— well, Weasley would have to stay quiet in Draco’s presence for him to manage the two syllables it required to say sorry. That day had not yet come.“Could I please get the address?” Draco asked.It was a shot in the dark and his pride would be battered for it, but he’d do it for Scorpius.
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Despite being a half-magical, half-muggle community, Draco had only once been to Godric’s Hollow. The week after he and his mother were released from Azkaban, they had made the journey to pay their respects before James and Lily’s graves. They had stood underneath the obelisk memorial and read the memorial plaque. Then, finally, they had made their way to the cottage. He had stood outside as his mother had gone in alone.He didn’t know why she did— it was nothing but ruins— but she had insisted that she needed to see the carnage inside for herself. Draco couldn’t be sure, but he suspected it might be her way of assuring herself that she had made the right decision during the battle. To relieve the guilt she felt in knowing her actions had sent her husband to prison for sixteen years.Draco knocked on the door of the renovated cottage and waited. He hadn’t seen the witch since Daphne’s wedding and had only politely nodded at each other. The wedding had taken place one year after the war ended, and neither side had been willing to get too close to the other. He knocked again, wondering if she knew who was standing outside and was deliberately ignoring him. He’d knock once more before he made his way to the pub in the village. He didn’t want to go home to his empty cottage just yet.Finally, realising she was either not home or unwilling to see him. Draco moved towards the village he knew was around the corner from the obelisk memorial and found a half-muggle-half-magical pub. The King’s Head.It was a curious sight. It looked much like The Three Broomsticks—only it had two entrances. One door had a portrait of some muggle king Draco couldn’t recognise, and the other had a portrait of Godric Gryffindor.Draco sighed— well, he was in Godric’s Hollow. Trust the golden fucking Gryffindor girl to make her home here, of all places. That too in Potter’s parent’s home. He’d always assumed they’d get together— had been surprised when Potter had married Weaselette— but Gryffindor’s were prone to theatrics. Even more so than him in his adolescence.He stepped inside and sat down at the bar, ordering himself a firewhiskey— only to turn and find Hermione Granger seated beside him drinking her own.“Malfoy?” “Granger.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
What you see in yourself is what you see in the world.
― Afghan Proverb
August 30, 2013
“Malfoy?”
“Granger.”
Hermione observed his steely gaze widen for a fleeting moment, a hint of surprise flickering across his face before he regained his composure, a mask of nonchalance settling over his features. But she couldn’t ignore the slight deviation of his eyes as they studied the tumbler of double firewhiskey between her fingers or the subtle curl of his lip that lasted only a second. Hermione turned away from him.“I suppose only men should be found in pubs at three in the afternoon,” she scowled, her voice tinged with indignation. Her fingers trembled slightly as she flipped to the next page of The Count of Monte Cristo despite having just turned the page a few moments before."It's six in the evening, Granger," Malfoy drawled, taking a sip from the tumbler the barkeep had placed before him. “And just so you know, witches can visit pubs whichever time they please, as far as I’m concerned.”Hermione blinked at her wristwatch before clearing her throat, “Huh.” Granger looked down at the tattered book in her hand— muggle from what Draco perceived of it. Draco used her brief distraction to rove his eyes over her. She was wearing those blasted muggle trousers that had grown abominably popular over the last decade, with some sort of undergarment that rightfully belonged under a blouse—not as a blouse. Her hair was as wild and ferocious as their days at Hogwarts, but it no longer snapped and cackled with her every expression or movement— as it had done back then. It reminded him of a wounded viper, laying low and biding time— but the threat of it rearing up to strike was not entirely out of the question. Draco would perhaps even welcome it, if it did.In their brief ‘hello’ – if one could call it that— he had noticed shadows around her eyes—not the kind from a stormy night’s sleep—the kind that came with hundreds of sleepless nights and exhaustion that settled wearily on one’s bones. She looked like a wraith shrouded in gold hues— strange, unsettling and utterly perplexing. She resembled how he had felt at sixteen, consumed and constrained.It made him wonder what demons she was currently playing house with. Hermione could feel his eyes boring into her from the periphery of her vision, but she only hunched more protectively over her book, allowing her hair to fall like a curtain between them.She heard a soft chuckle and then the clinking of ice as Malfoy drained his single and ordered a double for his next. It made her want to shift her hair back to take another peak at him. She had expected him to discard his drink and stalk out of the pub the moment he saw her, but that wasn’t the case. It seemed he had— settled in? Hermione bit back a huff. Contrary to popular opinion, she did not love puzzles. She liked answers and facts— and only truly relished her ability to deduce riddles when they were worth analysing.She knew enough about Draco Malfoy to know he did not fit those parameters. And yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was, indeed, a puzzle she couldn't decipher—even if that were exactly what he was doing to her.It made her nervous for an inexplicable reason. She knew he was not the boy who had first called her mudblood and believed her existence an abomination— Harry had said as much when they started working together— but she couldn’t help but raise her defences anyway. She didn’t know who this man was or why he continued to sit beside her, pretending this was a natural progression of their hostile relationship. No, she didn’t hold his past against him, but she wasn’t interested in any future in which he was more than a passing acquaintance— if even that.“One more for you as well, ‘Mione, love?” Tawna, the barkeep, broke through her reverie.“Ta Tawna,” Hermione said, draining her tumbler and sliding it across the bar. Malfoy watched as Tawna poured her a hefty drink, and she could tell he was wondering what number it could be if she had lost track of time. She asked the same herself.“My mother usually prefers tea or wine when she reads.” He twiddled with the signet ring on his right hand. “I quite li—”Hermione turned to glare at him. His mocking tilt was rather unwelcome, even if the warmth of having a drinking buddy for a change was not entirely. “Unless it wasn’t already obvious, Malfoy, I am, in fact, not your mother.”He’d grown broader in the last thirteen years, his fitted black knit sweater hugging his chest and biceps in a manner that would have made anyone else look pretentious. She expected it to be tailor-crafted to his measurements by some French shop guilty of mass crimes against elves— she clenched her jaw— it was as if he knew what she was thinking because his eyes sparkled with amusement. His hair was shorter than she remembered from Neville’s wedding, and even without the disgusting hair gel of his youth, not a hair was out of place. How different he always had been from Harry, who couldn’t tame a lock for the life of him. She wondered if it was a charm— possibly passed down from one aristocratic pureblood to the next. He had a son, didn’t he? She wondered if he too had neatly groomed opalescent locks at all times.“Hmm, now that you mention it—” Malfoy quirked a brow, and she quickly looked away from him.“What are you doing in Godric’s Hollow?” Hermione grimaced. At her feet, Skye yawned and rolled over, tugging at the leash fastened to her wrist. Malfoy followed her gaze and frowned at the puppy—she had glamoured his tail for the journey from her home to the pub. “Don’t tell me you too, have come to pay your respects to Harry’s grave.” “I thought you were a woman for cats,” Draco frowned at the puppy splayed across the grimy cherrywood floors. He’d never owned any pets save his owl and his father’s peacocks, but he’d learned from Pansy that pet owners often didn’t stray from their choice of familiar. “Excuse me?” she snapped, her book shutting with equal fervour. “Who the hell—”“Oh, please, Granger. Everyone at school knew about the two gingers you were obsessed with. You were constantly running after one or the other, weren’t you?” Draco rolled his eyes. He knew he was incensing her— the exact opposite of what he had set out to do— but there was something incredibly compelling about bringing forth the Granger he knew from school from within this husk of a carcass. “Better than being obsessed with the dark arts,” she shot back at him. “Don’t pretend they didn’t fascinate you either,” Draco countered with a cocking head tilt. “The only difference between me and you is that no one ever questioned your motives— which, knowing you, were likely far more devious than even mine.”“I didn’t plan assassinations when I was sixteen.”“Didn’t you?” Draco raised a brow, “I find that hard to believe.”“And you don’t know me.” They spoke simultaneously, the tension between them palpable as they paused to digest what the other had said.“What?” “You said, ‘ Knowing me, my motives were devious.’ You don’t know me, Malfoy."Draco pursed his lips, noticing the whiskey hues within her eyes, “I know enough.”Granger laughed dryly, “Oh? Do tell me, Malfoy. What exactly do you think you know about me?” She was now turned directly towards him, her head snapping to the motion of the stool. The viper’s nest was well and alive now. Hermione could see his lip ripple from the motion of his tongue darted across the top row of his teeth in contemplation. She wondered if the words smart, swot, or saviour would be the first to come up and which of them would take the top spot.“I know enough not to answer that question,” he said lazily, sipping from his drink. A hint of amusement was at the corner of his lips, and Hermione wanted to reach across the small distance and slap it straight across the room. He really had found her on the worst possible day. Her palms itched, and she felt the sweat gathering at the nape of her neck bead and slide down her back.“You always were a coward,” Hermione spat, standing up.She threw down a handful of galleons as Skye stood to attention, his inquisitive silver eyes narrowing at the unwelcome intrusion to their afternoon — er— evening. “Granger, wait.” Draco clenched his jaw, taking only a moment to throw down a couple of galleons before he strode after her.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Granger,” It took all his resolve not to snake his hand around her wrist and hold her still. To demand what in the name of Salazar’s sweet snakehole her problem was? But as it turned out, he didn’t have to. She whirled on her feet, swaying considerably— whether due to the intensity with which she moved or the alcohol she had been imbibing, he couldn’t be sure— only that her wand was digging painfully into his chest.“Tell me, Malfoy,” she breathed, her hands shaking around her vinewood wand—the one he had once considered holding on to for himself. “Tell me what you think you know about me.”“Granger, I was just—” “What do you know about me except that I’m a Mudblood?”“I don’t—”“Tell me I should go back to my world.” Her breath was hot and sweet, like firewhiskey, fanning across his face. He wanted to take a step back, to clear his head of the aroma, but she only pressed the vinewood harder into his sternum.“The fuck is your problem—” It came out like a growl.She shook her head, a vindictive smile taking over her face. “Oh no. Malfoy, say it. Please, just say it.”Malfoy frowned at her, his eyes drifting to the wand.“I’ll make it easier for you—” Hermione said. “You’re an entitled little snit who hides behind witty remarks and his ancestor’s entitlement— Not even your parents’ because Merlin knows they didn’t earn it themselves— You made terrible decisions, and yes, I felt bad for you. I pitied you for all that you had to bear, but really, I pitied you for all the good you could have done— the Malfoy heir with all his prestige and riches and instead, you wound up branded with a death sentence. You are everything a person would want to be, and yet you’re nothing at all. A coward who’ll go down in history as no one worth remembering.”"Fine." Draco's voice dripped with disdain as he locked eyes with her. His grip on his own wand tightened— a silent testament to the restraint he forced upon himself at that moment— keeping it by his side. It was as if she was goading him, deliberately pushing his buttons, tempting him to unleash the words he hadn’t known existed within him. He couldn't decipher her intentions, but there was a fragility about her, a vulnerability that bordered on the unknown. She wasn't the Hermione Granger he had come seeking today."You know what you are, Granger?" Draco's voice was alarmingly low, laced with bitterness she had not heard in over a decade. “You're arrogant and, if I may say, narrow-minded and far too judgmental for someone hailed as The Golden Girl of our society. You cling to this naive belief that goodness begets goodness, that it will be reciprocated—it’s not Granger. It never will be.You belonged to the Golden Trio until you didn't. How many cared to hear your side of that story? You were a part of the Weasleys, but look at you now—drunk and alone at the bar, with no one but a snit like me to grace you with company. You're out of place in this world because you give and give, and all it does is take. Despite everything you've endured, you still fail to grasp that truth. It’s the reason you will never fit— and that’s the most honest truth I have to offer you." He had spun around on his heels and marched half a distance before Hermione found her tongue again— heavy and parched, bitter despite the sweet and sticky residue of firewhiskey.“You’re a fucking arse.” He turned his face over the shoulder, “Unlike you, I don’t pretend I am not.”“I hate you.” “Yeah, well, the feelings fucking mutual.”He apparated silently, the way in which she knew Death Eaters knew how to, leaving her standing beside Skye— who looked at her questioningly. It may have been the alcohol now rearing its ugly head as it tried to crawl up her throat, but she almost felt as if Skye looked disappointed.“He’s not worth it,” Hermione grimaced, “We’ll be glad never to see him again.”Later, as she lay in bed, she considered how the morning had started and where it had led and how, somehow, along the way, she had lost herself entirely. ❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅
Earlier That Day
With a pot of coffee on, Hermione twirled around the kitchen, Skye happily nipping at her heels. Music blared from her phone—she had bought one once she had moved to the cottage. The magic around her old flat in Diagon Alley had rendered her old Nokia a useless piece of junk in a matter of days, and she had refrained from buying another until recently. It was ironic, really. To finally have a phone when she had no one to call. There were only two numbers saved in it— and one was the Chinese takeaway two towns over. But that was a flyaway thought this morning as Hermione danced around Skye’s small steps— For the first time in many years, she’d woken up with an undeterred resolve to put the past behind her— and to do that, she needed to face that which she had been putting off for many years. She’d take Skye for a walk around the village and drop him at Hattie’s for the day before setting out for the day. She’d owl in her response to the injunction at some point, and as she was already going into London, she’d stop by some publishing houses.That was her resolve. A path forward.A muggle fantasy author. It was slightly close to cheating— to be a witch and write about magic for muggles— but Hermione couldn’t find a fuck to give. Caring and being reliable and being Hermione Granger had not amassed to much for her in the end, and she found books were constant in every form. As Skye busied himself in his bowl, she headed over to her desk and wrote a brief but succinct response to Belibus Carnsley.
I, Hermione Granger of 5 Haven Lane, Godric’s Hollow, do hereby accept the injunction that has been placed on my property and place of residence. I acquiesce that the property should rightfully be passed onto Albus Severus Potter of 12 Grimmauld Place, London, and agree to the sum noted in exchange for my renovations upon the property. Please do let me know the process going forward.
Best,
Hermione J. Granger
She rolled the parchment into a tight scroll and slipped it into her handbag as Skye wandered over to her. Hermione tssked at the puppy as he yowled at the front door, “Ten more minutes, Skye.” This part of having a pet akin to a dog was taking some getting used to. Crooks had been fiercely independent in his life, and Skye required some form of attention every hour, but she found he had grounded her in a way she had not been in years. Mornings were no longer a dawning duel with existential crises— and she had no intention of losing him now that she had grown attached. She wouldn’t be letting the ministry know of his appearance in her life either. Now that he had wound up in her life, she was keeping him. She stretched and moved back to the kitchen to fill her thermos with half of the coffee pot.“Today’s going to be a good day, Skye— Come on.” ❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅ Hermione stared up at the Georgian townhouses before her. They really were lovely, with pristine white exteriors and juxtaposed black hardware. It was not the home she had grown up in— that had burnt early on in the war— no doubt at the hands of a blood supremacist Death Eater— but it still was some kind of home. Hermione's eyes were drawn to the cream curtains, dancing in the wind. A figure appeared behind them, and her stomach churned with nerves. She released her grip on the handrail and began to ascend the steps, each breath a step closer to what she had resolved for her day. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. Thrice— until she stood before the brass knocker, her heart pounding with anticipation.Coming here had been a risk, but truthfully, she had long awaited a reason to make the journey and the courage to follow through with it. With an innocuous sigh, she lifted the knocker and let it thud dully— Step one to bridging a distance that had grown precariously taught until it had finally snapped in two.“Mum,” Hermione said cautiously as the elaborate wood door swung inward, revealing a lithe sixty-year-old woman with a classy, pearlescent white French bob. “Hermione,” Jean said, opening the townhome door wider. “I was not expecting you.” She said it as if they had a relationship at all these days, but Hermione ignored the jibe that rose to her tongue. Words from their last meeting hung heavy within the chasm between them, but neither woman acknowledged their parting words from two years ago as they stood awkwardly before each other.“I was in the area,” Hermione lied, her eyes noting the firm hand Jean kept on the door, barring access. Jean studied Hermione’s overgrown curls, wan complexion, and sleep-deprived face with a critical eye. Her lips grew thin, and Hermione knew she was refraining from critique. Just as it seemed to Hermione that she would not be invited in, Jean gestured for her to follow behind. “I’m expecting company for tea, so I’m afraid this visit can’t go too long,” Jean said, leading her through to the front room. She took a dignified seat on an armchair and ran her eyes over the rest of Hermione. Hermione shifted uncomfortably. She had dressed in her best summer dress for this visit, but she knew her mother’s imperceptible gaze would pick out any flaws she had missed. She, herself, wore expensive beige trousers and a cashmere sweater— ever the upper-middle-class retiree.Hermione followed her mother’s cue, sitting on the opposite seat. She was unsurprised to see that her Mother didn’t have many family photos adorning the room, but it seemed that since her last visit, her mother had stashed away the few in which it had only been Jean and her. All were replaced by pictures of her with another person. A man.“Are you seeing someone?” Hermione asked.“I am,” Jean said in a tone that implied she was proving an unnamed point, “It was about time, don’t you agree?”Hermione nodded, thinking of her father— living his new life as well.“That’s great, Mum,” Hermione said, awkwardly rubbing at her knees. “I wasn’t aware.”“There’s a lot we don’t know about each other any longer,” Jean clipped.“Mum,” Hermione sighed, “Last we spoke—”“I remember what I said.”
‘I regret’
Hermione clasped her fingers together, “Is that how you still feel?”Jean opened her mouth, but whichever words she was searching for were replaced.“Are you still practising?”“I am a witch, mum,” Hermione said quietly, “Even if I were to snap my wand in half, it would still be part of me.”“Oh, I am well aware,” Jean said pointedly. “You get it from your father, you know. It’s always your way or not at all.”Hermione flinched at the accusation, knowing there was no longer any pleasantness between her parents. It was a remark excised to cut, delivered with a precision only someone skilled could do— like a surgeon— a dentist— or a mother.“Is this because you’ve been asked to leave that cottage,” Jean asked, raising a fine eyebrow at her daughter.Hermione narrowed her eyes, tension snapping her back straight, “How do you know about that?”“I have my ways,” Jean stated, her tone reminding Hermione of the days she was not allowed to ask for more cake on her birthday.“I haven’t been asked to leave,” Hermione said through gritted teeth, “I’m choosing to allow the cottage to pass onto Harry’s son.”Jean scrutinised her, “And does that mean you’re finally open to meeting unmarried men?”Hermione felt rage boil deep within her chest. It was unjustified— her mother had every reason to be upset with her, but she had hoped that a time apart would allow her mother to forgive her. Her actions during the war had wronged her mother many times over, and her relationship with Harry had been salt to an unhealed burn— she knew that— but right now, she needed her mum. But Jean had always been a professional first, a wife second and a mother last. Hermione had taken advantage of that through her teenage years, coming home less and less as her life diverged from that of her parents— now she regretted the distance she had crafted herself.“I don’t need a man to have a fulfilling life.” Hermione snapped before inhaling sharply. Fuck . What was it about mothers and daughters bringing out the worst in each other? She had journeyed all this way to make amends— amends that should have been made when she first recovered her memories.“Is that what your life is? Fulfilled,” Jean stated shrewdly, looking down at her as if she were a petulant child refusing dinner before dessert. “Because from what I see, your life has taken a dive off the cliffs since you got entangled with a married man. Thirty-three, unmarried, childless.” At that, Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Homeless— tell me, Hermione— Do you have a job, at least?”“I am aware of all the life choices you disapprove of,” Hermione clipped, ignoring the question. “And the married man was Harry— and he was separated.”‘ I regret you—’ The words from their last meeting threatened to rear in vehemence. She couldn’t hear them a second time. Or would it be a millionth since there was not a day she didn’t think of them?Her mother narrowed her eyes, allowing her judgment to weigh heavy on Hermione.“Oh, well, that makes you better than the tart your father abandoned me for in Australia,” Jean said sarcastically. “At least Harry was separated! The same man who also allowed you to risk your life as young as twelve. Of course, I’m in the wrong to believe that man had no moral compass when it came to getting what he needed and fucking off when it suited him best.” she said stiffly.“Mum! Harry died— he didn’t abandon me!” Hermione’s eyes grew large in horror, “And considering the circumstances, it’s in the past now. Don’t you think?”“Not for me!” Jean snapped, “I lost my husband, my daughter. Everything I spent decades on— gone! For a man who didn’t have the decency not to ruin your life alongside his.”Hermione glared down at her hands. She hadn’t known her mother had never wanted children; hadn’t known her having Hermione had been the one thing keeping her parents together. When she had removed memories of herself from their minds, her father had grown to resent his wife for their lack of children— had fallen in love with a woman in Australia and promptly left. By the time Hermione had helped end the war and decided to track her parents down, she had found a distraught and divorced Monica Wilkins. Her father had entirely disappeared. She’d found him eventually, of course— in a remote town in New Zealand with his younger wife and newborn son.It was a burden she would carry forever more. “If it is truly all in the past, I will allow you back,” Jean said, brushing her hair aside as she eyed her daughter, “Hermione. I mean it. That chapter of your life ends now if you wish to have a relationship with me. Magic, Harry, the Weasleys— I will allow no more of it.”“I have loved Harry as a friend for more than twenty years,” Hermione said coolly, “My grief stems more from that than anything else. Harry will never not be my family.”Jean sat still for long moments before she finally said, “Friends are not family, Hermione. You tend to confuse the two.”“If you want to work on us, you’ll surrender your wand and give up your life in the wizarding community. I just cannot trust you in my life with a wand in your hand.”
August 31, 2013
H: I’ll give it up.
J: Okay.
J: You can come stay with me while you look for a job.
‘I regret you for all that I had to give up for you— I regret my life because of you.’
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“The lesson of history is that no one learns.”
― Steven Erikson, Deadhouse Gates
September 1, 2013.
Standing on the other side of the platform, close to the apparition point, Draco glanced curiously at the wall through which students were stepping onto platform 9 ¾. He knew most who came by this entrance were either muggle-born or had muggle-born parents — save the Weasleys, who were renowned for living precariously on the edge of wizarding standards and society.When it had been him who was being escorted to the train for his journey to Hogwarts, he had never wondered what was on the other side—barely allowing a sneer in that direction before turning his back to it. Now, as he stood by his son and his mother, he wondered if perhaps he’d take a leaf out of the Weasleys’ book and come by way of King’s Cross next year.He, himself, had forayed into the muggle world too late to truly integrate, but even he could admit there was freedom to be found beyond the constraints of starched wizards’ robes and familial affiliations—and perhaps it would mean all the more to his son, who very well may never truly tap into his magical core. Draco would never disinherit him for it—but that in itself meant little to the eleven-year-old. Lately, the thought that there was more he could do for Scorpius, to show him that his abilities or lack thereof would never matter to Draco, had been keeping him up.“I promise, Scorpius,” Narcissa said, holding Scorpius to her in what Draco recognised as an awkward hug. “Mipsy, Trilly, and I will be sure to inform you daily of your mother’s condition, and should anything change, your father will escort you back immediately.”Scorpius glanced at Draco, who nodded, hoping his sincerity was accepted even if the boy was unwilling to speak to him. After a long consideration, his miniature self nodded once.“Now, do be sure to write to your grandmother often,” Narcissa said kindly, brushing Scorpius’s fringe out of his face, “I’ll be rather lonely with you both gone, so any letters will be a kindness to me in my old age.”Scorpius gave Narcissa a small smile, his dimples flashing momentarily, “Even if all I do is complain?”“Even then, my love.” Narcissa said, kissing his cheek, “And look after your father. I know we’re mad at him right now, but he doesn’t laugh at all anymore, and regardless of how we feel, we want him to be happy, don’t we, Scorp.”Draco watched Scorpius ponder over his shoes, his heart thrumming wildly as the silence stretched. “Yes.” It was little more than a whisper, but Draco could have knelt on the grimy floor in his expensive trousers at the sound of it.“Scorp,” Draco said, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “May I get a hug as well?”Scorpius looked at him then, properly—and Draco saw the tears he was holding back, his eyes rimmed pink—a stark contrast against the silver of his eyes. He moved towards Draco awkwardly, his arms coming around him hesitantly. They stood in the embrace for longer than Draco expected, but the whispered, “Please don’t come,” followed by tears made Draco’s heart clench. “I don’t want you at Hogwarts.”Draco looked up from his son, his eyes settling helplessly on his mother, who looked back at him reassuringly—as if to say: he’s young; he’ll get over it. But Draco knew better—Scorpius had too much of Draco deep within him for it to be so.He was also not one to easily change his opinions once they were established, and this rift was going to last a while.
September 1991 — Flashback
Draco stood tall on Platform 9 ¾, wearing his most cherished and regal Wizards Robes—Emerald green with silver trim running from the collar down to his flared sleeves. He’d seen them at Madame Malkins over the summer and hadn’t relented until receiving them for his going away present. The small serpentine buttons had drawn him in—twirling in tight circles down his front where they latched tail to mouth around his body—he didn’t even mind the loud hissing they were prone to when he slouched even slightly.At eleven, Draco Malfoy was proud of his heritage—and every choice made everyone in his vicinity aware—he was the reigning Malfoy heir, and his sorting into Slytherin house would be his rite of passage. In every wary glance his way, he knew those around him had taken stock of him. Standing between his mother, one of the last descendants of the House Black, and his father, Lord Malfoy, they knew to expect greatness from him. It was a high unlike any other, and he couldn’t help the smug smirk that settled on his face.“Mother, I’ll be off now. Theo’s likely already looking for me.” Draco kissed the back of her hand quickly before turning towards his father. “Father,” he said, nodding in imitation of what he had seen his father do to his own when he had been alive.“Write often, Draco,” Lucius said, a look of pride etching deeply into his face as he looked into his son’s face. “Sev will keep me abreast regardless, but if anyone gives you trouble, know I am only ever a crack away.”Draco nodded as Dobby appeared, having already taken his luggage to the storage compartment, “Dobby, I gave Mipsy my entire remaining stash of Chocolate Frogs to share with you.” Dobby looked nervously at Lucius, a look Draco missed as he turned away in a rush to board the Hogwarts Express.“Give my love to Theo,” Narcissa called behind him, “And Draco, don’t pester him—he’s mourning.”“Yes, Mother,” Draco drawled, disappearing amongst the other students as the train chuffed louder in anticipation of its imminent departure.Draco found Theo sitting in an empty compartment near the end of the train. “Nott,” Draco said. It was a joke amongst them— an imitation of what their parents, who were dear friends and met almost every weekend for dinner or drinks, called each other. “Parks hasn’t boarded yet?”Theo turned slightly in his corner seat to scrutinise Draco as he practised his first-ever spell with his new wand, a Scourgify. “Crabbe and Goyle are likely around somewhere. I saw Father meet Crabbe and Goyle Senior on the platform.” Draco said, pocketing his wand to sit down. “They’re probably looking for the infamous food trolley— do you think we can really get butterbeers off it? Pucey mentioned it when he visited over Christmas.” Draco frowned as Theo continued to study him. “I haven’t seen you since the funeral. You didn’t respond to any of my letters. Was my condolence letter not good? Mother said I couldn’t come to the funeral. I wanted to Theo. I really did.”“No,” Theo said, looking out the window. “Trust me, you didn’t.”“Did your aunt make it in from Berlin?”“Father wanted to keep it small. He said mother would have preferred it that way.”Draco looked down at his hands. He knew as well as Theo that there were hushed whispers about the veracity of her death— that Theo’s father had staged it to look like a suicide when it hadn’t been. His mother had talked about bringing Theo over to spend the rest of the summer with them, but Nott Senior had refused, citing Theo’s grief was insurmountable.Draco, even at eleven, had known it to be a lie.“Has he hurt you since—”“Malfoy,” It felt odd to hear Theo call him that. He’d never been one to join in on that joke. “I just need some time alone. You should go find Crabbe and Goyle. I’ll come find you later.” Draco studied the hard look Theo was putting on— it was discomforting. Theo had always had a softness about him that Draco had sought. The mass of wild curls that flopped down over his green eyes was no longer lustrous, and Theo’s ever-present smile was now a tight line that conveyed the end of childhood better than the journey to Hogwarts ever could. “Have either of you seen a toad?” A girl appeared at the compartment door just as Draco stood to take his leave. “A boy named Neville has lost his.” She spoke with an authority Draco immediately identified akin to himself. He tried to remember her from one of his parents' parties—Surely she would have attended one or another. Draco shook his head slowly, taking in her wild and frizzy hair and the smatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks. “Who are you?” She was pretty in a ferocious sort of way, her face cocked and unafraid—unhindered—her stance more reminiscent of his boys than Pansy or Daphne. There was still an air of authenticity about her that Pansy, even at eleven, no longer had—thanks to her harpy of a mother.She blushed a rosy pink, her eyes closing midway through an eye-roll. “Oh, right,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, “That was rather rude of me. I’m Hermione. Hermione Granger.”“Hermione,” He said, tasting the odd name on his tongue. “I’m Draco Malfoy,” he smiled at her. He wondered if her mother knew of the state of her hair— it truly was out of control, and he could imagine her mother having a turn of terror at the state her daughter had allowed it to amass to so early in the school year. “This is—”“Theo,” Theo said from behind him, his voice perking up for the first time since Draco had entered the compartment. Draco glanced back at him curiously, wondering if he’d been wrong about his friend’s preferences.“Pleasure,” Hermione blushed prettily. Suddenly, Draco wanted Theo gone from the compartment—except he was standing to leave. “May I escort you? I can help look for the—toad, you said?”“Trevor.”“Who?” Draco asked, wondering if she’d already forgotten his name— it came out rather squeakily. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “The toad’s name is Trevor,” Hermione explained. She turned to Theo, “If you see him, saying his name as you go to catch him will help him stay still, or at least, that’s what I’ve been told.”Theo nodded, “Trevor.” Draco couldn’t imagine Theo willingly touching a toad, but he kept that to himself.“I like your robes. Green is my dad’s favourite colour.” Hermione said as she led him out of the compartment, her eyes flickering back over his robes. “Are you from a Sacred 28 family?” She was, herself, already dressed in the Hogwarts uniform, so Draco, despite his pureblood etiquette, couldn’t return the same compliment or any other, seeing as the uniform was ghastly— a thought that had plagued him for weeks now. “Yes,” Draco said, focusing on her words and how they made his chest expand with pride. “My family was the first family added to the list alongside the Notts.”Hermione’s eyes shone bright, “I’ve read the familial magic of the Sacred 28 is unlike any other—your grimoires are—” she failed to finish whatever thought she had begun, “I mean, of course, I’ve only read the one book on it, and I have no idea what it really means, but I hope to correct that. I just finished re-reading the syllabus yesterday. I got too caught up with Hogwarts: A History—Do you know there is an enchanted room in Hogwarts no one can find a second time? It’s supposed to act as a companion in our journeys, whatever that means if you can’t find it a second time. Let’s try here—Have you seen a toad? His name is Trevor—I’m Hermione Granger.” She tacked on at the end rather awkwardly. Draco wondered if she was encountering people for the first time. It was common for some wizarding families to go entirely off the grid. It was also perhaps the reason he’d never heard of any Grangers nor encountered any at any of his family events.“The come-and-go room,” Draco said as she pulled her head out of the compartment, his father having mentioned it to him a few times, “appears when a witch or wizard is most in need.” Hermione looked at him in awe. “Do you know anything about Rowena’s study? I’ve heard it appears to Ravenclaws when they’re in dire need.”Draco grimaced, “Do you expect to be sorted into Ravenclaw, then?” He would much rather she end up in Slytherin so they could have more of these discussions throughout the year.Hermione shrugged. “I identify with all houses. I think I’m ambitious, clever, courageous, and I’d like to believe I’m loyal—it only makes me wary of where I’ll end up. Of course, Slytherin is out of the question, but the rest are a bit of a toss-up, really. I have no idea which one it will be.”She poked her head into another compartment, asking the same question a third time in Draco’s presence.“Why not Slytherin?” Draco asked, his heart sinking low. Surely—Hermione rolled her eyes. “Why do you think?” “Hey, Malfoy, Crabbe found the squib he was talking about last week.” Goyle appeared at the glass door ahead, “Crabbe’s got him, come quick.”Draco grinned smugly at Hermione. “Come,” he said, grabbing her by the arm and tugging her along behind him.“What’s a squib?” Hermione asked, her eyes unfocusing slightly as she tried to remember the word from any of her textbooks— it hadn’t come up once if she remembered correctly.“Is that him, Crabbe?” Draco said, letting go of Hermione’s arm to face the boy cowering under Crabbe’s looming presence. “Crabbe’s heard from his grandmother that your wand won’t even spark Longbottom—did your uncle really pitch you off a cliff to get rid of you? I mean, I’m not surprised; it’s what I’d do to a muggle like you.”Crabbe guffawed, “Why even bother coming when you won’t be able to do anything, Longbottom?”“Neville! Did you find Trevor?” Hermione said, rushing past Draco to stand beside the plump, rosy-cheeked boy trapped in a corner.“We could always use him to practice on,” Goyle grinned beside Draco, “Draco, do the bat-bogey Pucey taught you!”Draco’s brows furrowed, too busy watching the way Hermione interacted with the squib. “Neville? That’s who you’re helping?”Hermione turned to glare at Draco, “These are your friends?” Her lip curled up in distaste, and even Draco couldn’t miss the flash of hurt in her eyes. “You should probably go.”“Or what?” Crabbe said, starting towards her.“Crabbe,” Draco said quietly. “We don’t harm witches.”“She isn’t a witch,” Crabbe said. “Heard her talking to her filthy muggle parents on the platform. Oh, mum, it’s all real! I thought it was a never-ending dream!”Hermione shivered, her eyes shifting from Crabbe and Goyle to Draco, “Magic can be taught, but an ugly personality is permanent. Come on, Neville.” She grabbed Neville’s hand and turned her chin over her shoulder to glare accusingly at Draco before she marched the boy past them.“Draco, you learnt the bat-bogey hex to use on the squib. Why didn’t you use it?” Crabbe asked, his voice tinged with accusation.Draco stood rooted to the spot. His jaw was slack from the confirmation he had just received—there was no explaining why he’d felt drawn to her or why he hadn’t immediately realised she was an imposter—or why he suddenly wished he’d never met her at all. “Another time,” Draco said quietly, “Come, let’s go find Parks.”
September 1, 2013.
Draco floo’d to the Headmistress’s office after one last visit with Astoria in her suite. Trilly had disapparated a few minutes after he’d arrived, leaving them alone for the first time in years. He’d sat beside her for almost an hour, holding her hand as he quietly reflected on how she would want him to approach his life at Hogwarts, especially around Scorpius. “Give him the space to become his own person,” He thought she’d say, “But don’t disappear entirely—he should know that you are around to be called on when he needs you. And talk to Theo because you know you miss him, and he’ll understand Scorpius better than you ever will be able to. It’s been eight years, Draco—you know he had his reasons for never giving it to you. He’s always had his reasons.”He was aware he was only projecting his thoughts in her soft voice—Astoria had only ever known Theo through Draco, and she only roughly knew of their estranged relationship through their Hogwarts years—but it felt right to believe she’d say these things to him if she could. When they had first married, he’d come to rely on her judgement—it had been easier than relying on himself and his broken worldview. She’d been a serene voice of reason in those years following the war, and even when she’d pulled away from him, she’d never stopped being a source of comfort for him. Sometimes Draco wondered if a millennia’s worth of justice was being exacted on him—the sins of all his forefathers culminating atop a drowning man.“Professor Malfoy,” Minerva said, raising an eyebrow as Draco stood in her hearth longer than necessary. “Right.” Draco cleared his throat, dusting ash off his white button-down. “Headmistress, I hope you’re having a good day.”Minerva nodded, standing from her desk. “I’ve just received this year’s donations for the Memorial Ball—I believe they were supposed to stop at the ten-year mark, but our anonymous benefactor seems to keep giving generously,” she said softly.“Maybe they enjoy attending,” Draco said with a shrug.“I don’t believe that’s it, but I won’t deny my appreciation for it,” Minerva said conspiratorially, gesturing for him to sit before her. “Your elf has already settled your belongings into your suite in the Teacher’s Tower—there will be quite a few of you sharing the space this year. I don’t believe I’ve had more single professors before.”Draco raised a brow. “I thought all professors lived at the school permanently during the term.”Minerva shook her head. “Only those who are single and widowed, such as Filius and myself, stay permanently throughout the semester. Many married professors choose to let a flat in the village if they don’t already own a home there. Professor Longbottom and his wife, your sister-in-law, I believe, choose to do that.”“Right.” If she already knew about Astoria’s illness, she undoubtedly knew about the rift between Daphne and Draco as well.“The tower entrance is on the fifth floor, in an alcove behind a tapestry of Morgan Le Fay. The password is ‘Carpe Vinum.’” McGonagall smirked—a first to Draco’s knowledge.“Seize the wine?” “We may be the adults at Hogwarts, Mister Malfoy,” she said, her sharp features contrasting with her jovial tone. “But we are all children at heart. Is that not why we all ended up at school when it was no longer required of us?” ❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅ The Hogwarts Express arrived at 7 p.m., as usual, and in Hagrid’s absence—he had moved to France shortly after the war—Professor Finch-Fletchley was to ferry the first years across the Black Lake. Draco had hoped to speak to Theo, but he had been noticeably absent all afternoon, and Draco had taken the quiet atmosphere to visit his old Slytherin dorms. He wondered if it would be the same room his son would sleep in tonight and if he would pick the four-poster in the centre as he had, or if he would end up in the corner bed, facing the large glass window that looked into the lake, as Theo had done.“Hello, I’m Professor Sinclair.” A short black-haired woman smiled as Draco sat down at his assigned seat at the teacher’s table in the great-hall. “I’m Minerva’s teaching aide for transfiguration.”“Hello,” Draco said politely, “I’m Professor Malfoy, the new Defence teacher.”The woman drew in a sharp breath, her hazel eyes growing wide momentarily before she swallowed imperceptibly, “Pleasure.” Draco nodded: it wasn’t, clearly. “I assume you’ve heard my name before.” He said quietly, picking up the wine goblet that had appeared before him.“Apologises,” she said quietly. “Minerva had mentioned you’d be starting this year, but I suppose it slipped my mind in all the preparations.”Draco nodded, “Not a problem.” They lapsed into silence as Flitwick hobbled to his seat with a quick head nod in Draco’s direction.Sinclair tinkered with her cutlery nervously. “I’m sorry. Can we start over, please?”Draco glanced at her. Her smile still wasn’t entirely truthful, but she was trying, and for that, Draco was grateful, “Draco Malfoy.”“Carrie Sinclair. I’ve been at Hogwarts for a year and a half—since Minerva began having trouble with her heart. I’m still getting used to the castle, but if you need help, you can come by my office any time. It’s Minerva’s old office.”“You didn’t go to Hogwarts yourself?”She shook her head, “I went to Beauxbatons—and I was too young to visit during the Triwizard tournament.”“Draco,” Theo said, taking a seat on his other side, “Carrie darling, looking beautiful as always.”“Theo,” Carrie blushed, and Draco raised a brow at Theo, who shrugged into his goblet as Carrie turned towards the entrance where the older students were filtering in.“I was looking for you—er, earlier,” Draco said, stiltedly extending an olive branch.Theo turned towards him, his eyes flickering with surprise. “There was an accident in one of the Potion’s labs yesterday. My batch of the Draught of Living Death for my sixth years exploded—it’s a bitch to clean up without contaminating the rest of my cauldrons.”Draco nodded as McGonagall strode to her seat in the centre of the table, a stool and the Hogwarts Sorting Hat levitating behind her.“Perhaps we can meet for a drink this week?” Draco offered.Theo’s green eyes met Draco’s questioningly, but whatever he found in Draco’s eyes seemed good enough to him, “One of the Gryffindorks bought the Hogs Head. I haven’t been yet, but Neville says it’s good—better than it was when old Abe used to run it. How about this Tuesday?”“Alright,” Draco said as his eyes roved over the students, now seated at their house tables. Most of the younger students were busy talking amongst themselves, but some of the older students had already locked onto him—and he realised he hadn’t even considered how they would take to an ex-Death Eater, the youngest member to receive a Dark Mark and the almost murderer of Albus Dumbledore, teaching them Defence Against the Dark Arts.He sipped on his wine uncomfortably.“It’s fine,” Theo said, following Draco’s gaze, “Just threaten a month’s detention with Filch—most of them would rather scrub bedpans in the hospital wing than spend an hour with him.”Draco grinned, “I could go Umbridge on them too.”“That would be a sight.” Theo smiled, “Please let me know if you don’t have pink robes; I’d be happy to loan some of mine to you.”They settled into a familiar silence, both knowing there was a conversation to be had before familiarity could lead to comfort. However, for the first time in eight years, neither felt the bridge was entirely burnt. A solid frame left untouched from their last argument—charred and shaky but sturdy enough to rebuild upon once more.The doors to the great hall opened with a lazy swoosh, and Neville strode in, followed by the first years. If Draco hadn’t already been aware of his growth spurt since their days at Hogwarts—when he had bullied the man and often reduced him to tears—he would have wondered if a younger, less rugged Hagrid had returned from France. At six feet, four inches, Longbottom towered over the children, making them look all of five as they ran to keep up with him—it was only his soft smile and the playful wink for his older students that made the man who had killed Nagini look soft and approachable. The years had been kind to him, and Draco knew Daphne had played her part in it, especially during their seventh year—tipping Neville off to the Carrows’ plans so the DA could always remain a step ahead. Her efforts in the war had gone unnoticed in the grand scheme of things. Still, Draco knew all of seventh year had been a strategic manoeuvre only a Slytherin could envision and had Daphne not played her part, there would have been no army for Potter to return to at Hogwarts the following May.Following close behind him were Belle, Scorpius, and a black-haired boy Draco didn’t need confirmation to know could only be Potter’s youngest spawn—his hair sending Draco back in time to his own first steps in this hall. He said something to Scorpius, who laughed—truly laughed—and Belle reached out to flick Potter on the back of his head playfully.Neville waited patiently as the students caught up with his long strides, and once they had amassed at the front of The Great Hall, he said in a clear, confident voice, “Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. To begin, we will sort you into your houses— they are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin— named after truly brilliant and extraordinary witches and wizards in their own right and the founders of Hogwarts. Whilst you live at Hogwarts, you will find your house is something akin to your family—you will have classes with them, live within your house dormitories and share a common room where much of your time will be spent throughout the day. You will also earn house points for your triumphs and lose them for any rule-breaking, which will be tallied at the end of the end of the year in order to win the favour of the House Cup— that being said, you will also find that whilst your house is akin to your family, you may find your true family to be amongst the rest of your peers, regardless of where they are sorted today.” Draco frowned. He’d once heard a similar speech, but it seemed customs had changed since then. When McGonagall had said those familiar words, it hadn’t taken place in front of the entire school, and he certainly had not been told to play nice with the rest of the houses—although, even if he had been, he likely wouldn’t have.“When I, myself, was a student, I found friends and family amongst all the houses—and when times truly got tough, I found there to be unity amongst all the houses.” Draco wanted to snort—there certainly had been some in Slytherin who had likely helped him and his rogue band of vigilantes, but what he was making it out to be was an exaggeration if there ever was one. “I am myself, the head of House Gryffindor.” Cheers erupted from the centre table. “My wife, in her time, was a Slytherin. And my eldest daughter is in Hufflepuff,” he said, waving towards Hufflepuff. “Whilst the houses you belong to represent ideals you carry and treasure, you will find that growth and change are inevitable, and those who best understand such circumstance are those experiencing it firsthand themselves.”“Now I will call out your name, and when I do, please step forward and put on the sorting hat.”“Cecelia Crawley!”Draco turned to Theo, an eyebrow raised in question.“McGonagall’s idea. It serves as an introduction to the firsties but a reminder to the older students. You’ll find unity amongst the houses, and the peerage in general is her one life mission now that Voldy is rotting in his grave.”“Ah!” Draco said, sipping from his wine as the young girl ran off to Hufflepuff. “And how well does it work?”Theo shrugged, “Perhaps by the time these students have children at Hogwarts, it might take—right now, the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs are at each other’s throats.”Draco choked as a young boy stepped onto the platform. “You’ve got to be joking. Slytherin-Gryffindor drama is second to Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw?”“Violet Dursley,” Neville said, reading the next name off his parchment.“It’s a mix, really. The second years this year all hate each other. The third years are cleanly divided—Hufflepuff and Gryffindor against Ravenclaws and Slytherins.”“GRYFFINDOR!”“Amelia Flint!”“Fourth-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had a huge falling out last year in their divination class. Apparently, Trelawney predicted a great betrayal.”Draco smirked, “How many relationships?”“Seven or so—might be less this year.”Amelia joined Ravenclaw whilst her twin brother, Felix, stalked off to Slytherin.“Fifth and Sixth years are odd, in general. They seem to get along well most of the time, and then, like thestrals scenting meat, they become rabid.”“Gordon Goyle.”Draco watched as the little Goyle stumbled onto the podium, his hefty cheeks raw red, “Slytherin.” Theo whispered.“Huff,” Draco wagered, sliding a galleon onto the table.“GRYFFINDOR!”“Must get it from Cheri,” Draco said into his goblet. Theo grinned, adding another galleon to the table. “I bet I get Potter Junior.”Draco narrowed his eyes, “You’ve got to be pissing—”“Language,” Sinclair said from beside him, turning away to clap for the student who had just been shuffled off to Hufflepuff.Theo smirked, “I am rarely wrong when I willingly wager.”“Alessia Longbottom,” Neville said, and Draco could hear the tears he was holding back.“You were wrong about Goyle.”“RAVENCLAW.”Draco watched as the little girl bounced off to Ravenclaw. Theo rolled his eyes. “I’m a seer. Not omniscient.”Draco swallowed, “I think—”“Scorpius Malfoy.”It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room—Draco hadn’t heard such silence in the Great Hall since Harry Potter’s name had been called as the fourth champion. Theo reached out, his hand extending and widening to wrap around Draco’s. “I’ve already asked McGonagall if I can take him under my wing.”“She told you he might not—” Draco said, his voice going hoarse as the silence within the room gave way to animated whispers.“He’ll be okay—” Theo said after a long moment, “He’ll have her.” Before Draco could begin to ask who her was precisely, the hat opened his mouth—“SLYTHERIN!”Scorpius quietly removed the hat, tilting his head slightly to catch Draco’s eye. Draco smiled in encouragement at Scorpius, who, in return, exhaled slowly and walked stiffly to the table where Felix Flint was sitting in wait.“I don’t like that kid.”“Albus Potter,” Neville said.“Potter’s kid?” Theo asked, raising a brown eyebrow. “His brother’s a menace.”“What?” Draco asked, noticing the kid on the stool. “No, Flint’s second son.”Theo snorted, looking at the fair-headed boy, “I wonder why.”“SLYTHERIN!”“What do you mean?” Draco asked, but if he had thought the hall silent when Scorpius’ name was called, it was nothing compared to the silence that had fallen on it now. He could almost hear Filius’s short breathing six seats down.“The fuck?” Draco couldn’t see who had said it, but it seemed the voice alone was distinguishable.“Don’t make me owl your mother, James,” Neville said, pushing Albus to the corner table.The boy all but scampered towards Scorpius, who seemed to be the only person happy about the hat’s bizarre judgment. Draco looked down at the empty plate before him, his mind racing to conjure a pros and cons list. Scorpius would at least have one friend in Slytherin, even if that one person’s name was Potter—his own rejected hand in friendship swimming before his eyes. He wondered what Potter would say of this unlikely friendship if he were still alive.Likely, much of what Granger had said the day before.“Rose Weasley” They’d worked together long enough to have a cordial relationship, but neither man had offered nor accepted friendship—their relationship had been as stiff as their school days, less a dark curse or two.“HUFFLEPUFF.”“Belle Zabini.”“SLYTHERIN!” Theo said quietly, a moment before the sorting hat reiterated the judgement.“Fucking finally.” Theo said quietly, “Been starving since breakfast.”
September 2, 2013.
Draco’s first day of teaching was abysmal. He’d like to believe that his own days at Hogwarts had been more pleasant, but his damned occlumency made it so that his memories were crystal clear if he opened up his library to inspect it, and he knew these kids didn’t hold a candle to him in his youth or early adolescence.His first class as a professor, fifth-year defence, had been mostly introductory—only a “Death Eater” or two, and incidentally, his first meeting with his first cousin, once removed. He knew his mother and his once banished aunt were reacquainting themselves, but Andromeda had not felt comfortable introducing Teddy Lupin to either Narcissa or Draco—and it hadn’t occurred to Draco to write to her, informing her of his position at Hogwarts. He’d have to owl his mother and ask if she had mentioned it, and if she hadn’t, he’d owl Andromeda next.Teddy Lupin, a metamorphmagus like his mother, walked into class with bright green hair that curled behind his hair, an arm slung over a Slytherin girl with long, black, curly hair that rather reminded Draco of his other aunt— although he banished that thought immediately. He didn’t need the ghost of Bellatrix Lestrange in his first teaching lesson.“Del,” Teddy rolled his eyes, “You can’t expect to accomplish nine NEWTS. No one’s done it since Dumbledore, and he went to school two centuries ago.”“You’re wrong—” “Hermione Granger completed nine in 1999,” Draco added, “And Headmaster Dumbledore completed his NEWTS only a century and a half ago.” “Draco,” Teddy said flatly.Draco didn’t correct him— “Edward.”“I go by Teddy after my grandfather Ted Tonks.”“Alright ,Teddy. You may call me Professor Malfoy during school hours.”“Hmm.”“Hm, indeed,” Draco said, moving towards the front of the class.“Open your books to page 394 of Charmed. We’ll review the basics of the hex-deflection jinx and the charms listed below that can be used as substitutes if appropriate. I’d also like you to begin practising nonverbal spells before we implement them next week.”“Will you teach us how to apparate silently as well, our Death Eater High Lord?” A young man with thick black eyebrows and a chiseled chin asked mockingly from his seat next to Teddy, whose hair had turned bright red.“Not this class, perhaps in detention?” Draco said over his shoulder. “It’ll take about a month if you’re still interested, Mister?”“Krum,” Mikhail yawned exaggeratedly.
September 3, 2013.
“It’s a library!” Draco grumbled. “Why is everyone snogging against the stacks?”“Should I remind you of fifth year?” Theo smirked, “You and Pansy didn’t care which teacher found you then.”Draco threw him the bird as Dean Thomas, one of the resident Gryffindorks who owned the Hogs Head, slid him his next drink, “We were only caught twice–over the entire year and both times by Snape. I’ve caught six couples in three days—one of them semi—” He shivered at the memory and occluded it into the recesses of his memory.“Why do you think Snape had frown lines by the time he was our age?” Theo shrugged, “Oh hey, Oliver, Nev! Here!”Draco froze. “You didn’t tell me you invited Longbottom.”“I told you he frequented the pub,” Theo shrugged. He moved towards Oliver and kissed him voraciously as Neville moved past them.“I didn’t know they were together,” Draco said, making light conversation with his estranged brother-in-law.“They’re not,” Neville said, as Seamus slid a gin and tonic towards him, “Theo doesn’t do relationships. He’s slept with half the faculty at this point.”“I have not,” Theo said, turning away from Oliver, “might have snogged half but definitely haven’t slept with over three.”“Four,” Oliver said, “Justin, Lisa, Draco and myself.”Draco raised an eyebrow at Oliver.“I have not slept with Theo.”Oliver raised an eyebrow at Theo. “Huh, I thought you were lying about that.”Theo shrugged. “I rarely call people I’ve shagged my brother.”Draco’s heart constricted uncomfortably. He certainly hadn’t called Theo his brother in many years, and it seemed Theo still did— overwhelming shame crept down him and he occluded it away as well— they would have the conversation, just not now.“Not Carrie, then?” Draco asked uncomfortably, not caring for the answer.“She’s taken,” Theo shrugged, “Some tosser in France. Treats her like shit, from what I’ve heard.”Oliver turned to speak to Dean, and Draco leant into Theo, “Didn’t know you and Oliver—”“It’s casual,” Theo shrugged. “He fucks whoever he wants. We just mess around sometimes.”Neville snorted, and Draco looked at him curiously, “What?”Neville shook his head in a way as if to say, later. Draco caught Dean’s eye and rotated his index finger once—Dean nodded back, conjuring different bottles to refill everyone’s orders. Neville and Draco sat at the bar quietly, Theo and Oliver having moved away somewhere between their breathless kisses.“How is she?” Neville asked tentatively.Draco’s initial response was to say, “Eleven years too late,” but he sipped on his tumbler of firewhiskey instead, “They want me to call it.” “Why don’t you?” Neville asked.Draco turned to glare at Neville. “Excuse me?”“You knew the day would come,” Neville said with a shrug as he leaned against the bar counter.“Is that supposed to make it easier?” Draco asked. Neville was taller, but not by so much that Draco felt intimidated. “Astoria already had one family member abandon her. Excuse me if I don’t follow in the footsteps of your wife.”“What did you say?” Neville growled, turning towards Draco. “My wife would take her place in a heartbeat—but you and your pureblood marriage contracts.”“What about them?” Draco sneered, “I don’t believe there was anything about keeping sisters apart.”“And what of siring an heir, even at the expense of the mother?”“What rubbish,” Draco spat. “If you had truly married Daphne, you’d know that cannot be enforced.”“I did marry Daphne,” Neville said, his chest pinning Draco down onto the bar ledge, “Muggle or not, our marriage stands.”“I don’t give a shit about your marriage, Longbottom,” Draco said, shoving Neville back from himself. “I care that my wife has been dying for years, and your wife had not visited her once— her own sister—not once has she come to visit my wife or my son—never once introduced her daughters to their only cousin.”“Neville, we can throw him out—” Draco laughed sardonically, fucking Gryffindors. “I’m leaving,” Draco said, throwing Neville off him as he stalked out of the pub.“Draco!” He heard Theo running up to him as he walked past Honeydukes.“Theo, we’ll talk later, okay?”“Fine, I’ll walk back with you.”Draco shrugged as his long strides carried him past the last of the shops and towards the path winding up to Hogwarts. “Theo, it’s fine. I just need to walk it off—you should go back to Oliver.”“Oliver will find someone else,” Theo said, pulling out a cigarette.“When did you start smoking?” Draco asked, taking the one Theo held out to him. “When I realised death is inevitable and no one can ever truly stop it,” Theo said, lighting up with his wand.“That’s rather deep thinking for a simple smoke,” Draco said, taking a long puff.“Oh, but there is nothing simple about a good smoke,” Theo said.They lapsed into silence as the darkened castle loomed larger ahead, the winding path growing treacherous in the low moonlight.“I had Scorp first thing this morning,” Theo finally said, dropping the butt down and stomping on it, “He’s got a knack for potions.”“The spell work?” Even brewing potions required wand work.“I paired him with Albus,” Theo said. “They’re getting along well—a Potter and a Malfoy. I’m sure there’s a joke in there somewhere.”“Oh yeah, he only needs to collect a Weasley and a Granger, and it’ll be the next A troll, A hag, and a Leprechaun walk into a bar—” “Who’s who?” Theo chuckled.They stood in the courtyard, chuckling as the smoke dissipated from around them, cleared away in the cooling Scottish air of the highlands.“Draco,” Theo said, “You know I wouldn’t have said no if I didn’t feel there was a larger purpose for it.”“Have you used it then?” Draco asked, noting the delicate gold chain curving around the nape of his neck and disappearing beneath his navy sweater.“No, not yet.”“And you’re sure it can only be used once more.”“No,” Theo said quietly, “But it’s not a chance I am willing to take.”“So you know you’ll use it in the future,” Draco said, gesturing for Theo to lead the way into the castle. “You’ve seen it then— when you’ll use it.”Theo ran a hand through his short curls, his tongue flickering out to wet his lips— a mannerism Draco had seen a few hundred times over their decades-long friendship and subsequent acquaintance—a reluctant yes. Or a partial one.“Scorp’s one, too,” Draco said quietly. “I don’t know what he sees or if he sees anything at all yet. You always said you saw flashes until you could piece enough together to make a coherent vision.”“It’s not exactly like that,” Theo said, coming to a halt as they waited for the staircase they needed to move to the landing they stood upon. “Seers have a way of their own. I met a seer in Ukraine who only required a look– scary bint—tried to tell me things I didn’t need her to. For me? I’ve always required a familiarity of sorts—to know someone better, their name, their personality, their interests; or that of someone they are intrinsically linked to. The more I know, the better I can fit the puzzle together. It’ll also be different for Scorpius, but I’ll help him, Draco. I meant it.”“You’re not surprised about him—did you—see something?”Theo licked his lips, “I didn’t need to Draco. Astoria said he would be.”Draco didn’t hear the staircase thud as it landed before him, nor did he notice when Theo began climbing up towards their quarters. “When?”Theo slowed down his ascent, turning to find Draco still standing at the foot of the staircase, “It was just after you found out about the time-turner. She and I used to write to each other—never anything inappropriate.” He said quickly, noting cold fury creep into Draco’s eyes. “I used to ask her about you, and she just needed to talk to someone who wasn’t you.”“How long?” Draco asked, his throat scratching against his words.“A few years—until she was too weak to correspond regularly.”Draco nodded slowly, “three years, give or take.”Theo nodded slowly, climbing back down the staircase, “I promise, it was only ever—”“No,” Draco said, rubbing a hand over his face, “I don’t care even if it was Theo. I’m glad she had you when she needed someone the most. I care that despite all we said to each other, she didn’t think me worthy in the end.”“That’s not it, Draco,” Theo began, but Draco was already striding across the hall, his shoes clacking angrily against the stone floors as he moved toward the staff room. Theo followed behind him, his pace quickening to keep up. “Draco, Astoria loved you—I have a hundred letters saying nothing but how much she loved you. She didn’t want you to love her, not when she was dying—not when you had a son to raise by yourself and a legacy you were desperately trying to reestablish for him.”Draco halted, his body growing rigid as he turned to face Theo. “That’s pity, not love. I, at least, can say I was never given the chance to love her. She pushed me away the moment it became too much for her— for her, not for me. We might not have chosen each other, but we went into that marriage believing we were capable of respecting each other— it was the one thing we both knew was the foundation. Love was only ever an added benefit, and I’ll be the first to admit— I craved it, but never over the knowledge that she found me worth trying. Tell me, Theo, what about turning to you ,when I was begging her to talk to me, sounds like respect or love?”“It sounds like self-preservation, Draco.”Draco barked out a laugh, “Mighty Slytherin of the Ravenclaw.”“Maybe her heart was all that was left of her that wasn’t set up to fail.”Draco nodded, “No, I guess it wasn’t.” He turned again, but his steps were less harsh in the silent hallway as he continued moving in the wrong direction.“Where are you going, Draco? It’s almost one in the morning.”“There’s a passage through here. It leads to the astronomy tower,” Draco clipped. “I just want to get it over with.”Theo followed behind him, and neither man questioned the other as they made their way into the small alcove that held a narrow spiralling staircase that wound its way up to the third-floor corridor near the Trophy Room.“Have you met the older Potter yet?” Theo asked as they walked past Potter’s sleeping portrait, “James.”“Unfortunately,” Draco muttered, “The child is as arrogant as his father.”“Woah,” Theo said, halting, “I just felt as if I had accidentally time-travelled to first-year Potions. Only Snape was freakishly blonde, and his hair was surprisingly clean.”“Theo, you really are not required to come with me to visit the place I have avoided for sixteen years.” Draco huffed, disappearing behind a tapestry that would ultimately lead him to the sixth floor.“Well, it does seem like the kind of night one does things they are not necessarily required to do.”Draco sighed, “This way.”“You do realise Filch cannot give us detention if we take the normal path up— We are professors.”“Do you want to babysit me or not?” Draco asked, rounding a corner.“Hardly—”Theo’s chest collided with Draco’s back, and he let out a loud “Oomph.” “Student?” Theo asked, stepping past him to peer ahead at the flickering lights—only instead of a Lumos Solem at the end of a wand of an out-of-bed student, it was candlelight— A multitide of luminescent ivory candles were scattered haphazardly, some nearing the end of their lives while others had barely begun. Their flickering flames cast a warm glow, spreading out hazily to reveal the near surroundings.“Must be a prank.” Theo said nervously as he walked across the viaduct that split the castle into two wings. He felt, more than heard Draco following behind him, his breathing growing shallow as they both noticed the limp body splayed in the centre of the altar.“Is that—?” Draco asked, stepping forward to examine the blood pooling out from beneath the slumped form, “a student?” The pristine white nightgown that she wore was tainted by a deep, ominous maroon hue from the hidden gash on her back, her long black tresses a mess of matted tangles covering her face. “Wait a minute, Draco,” Theo said, his wand flourishing to reveal an opalescent Pelican which swooped around him and glided down into the darkness below them.“There’s no time,” Draco swiftly tore open his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves as he sprang forward, his eyes scanning the scene with an intense focus, taking in every detail with precision in case he was required to provide memories. Moving quickly, he reached for the witch who lay there, her body slumped partially on her front. With care, he straightened her torso and checked for a pulse.Weak, but present—she seemed to be in a state of unconsciousness, her breathing shallow and low.“Fuck,” Theo swore, moving forward. “Who would do this?”Draco scanned her front but saw nothing troublesome save blooming bruises on her arms. He gently flipped her onto her stomach and jerked his hand back. Theo gasped, kneeling beside Draco, his eyes roving over her marred back— littered with gashes that made Draco’s chest look like untouched marble.“Vulnera Sanentur,” Draco whispered, his wand tracing over the largest of gashes, splitting her from shoulder plate to her hip bone.“Vulnera Sanentur,” Theo gasped, his hands trembling as he focused on the dozens of small, deep slices littered across her porcelain skin.“Vulnera Sanentur.”“Vulnera Sanentur.”“Vulnera Sanentur.”“What’s happened? Nott? Malfoy?” Minerva asked breathlessly, coming to a standstill on the viaduct behind them in her tartan nightgown. “Is that Delphi Burke?”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Until the lion learns to write, every story will always glorify the hunter.”― African Proverb
September 4, 2013.
Draco could feel the young witch’s blood as it seeped through his trousers, spreading hot and sticky over his shin.Theo’s eyes darted to him, his murmurs faltering as his hands stained red with the onslaught between them. Draco exhaled the memories the sickeningly sweet smell of blood brought forth—Fenrir’s victims, Bellatrix’s insanity, Rabastian’s cruelty—the bodies that were still buried in the forest. He exhaled slowly, his Occlumency traps interlocking with great effort to keep him from succumbing to his nightmares.He slowed down his incantation, enunciating every syllable and yet the girl’s blood continued to flow. He lowered his head, careful to keep the sweat accumulating on his brow from dripping upon her marred back as he tried to drown out the whispers behind him.Minerva had recovered from her shock and was now conjuring up several patronuses. From what Draco could see from his periphery, there were now a half dozen cats shimmering around them before they began to stalk away—through walls and down bannisters until they were once again plunged into faint candlelight.“Vulnera Sanentur.” Theo incanted, his hands shaking as he peeked below the torn shreds that covered the top half of her legs.Draco continued to murmur the same to no avail.Blood that should have been rewinding its way into her was stagnant, pooling around them as more trickled down to join the depths below. A strong draft from the direction of Ravenclaw tower made candlelight dance once more around him, and his eyes snapped up as his mouth continued to perform the ritualistic healing spell. He wasn’t sure what count he was on—only that there was a threshold to how many times it could be incanted before the words became as useless as a Remembrall.Draco closed his eyes, drawing back into the recesses of his Occlumency so he could consider the situation at hand.The girl, Delphi—who had been in his first class on Monday and had given a smarting lecture to Teddy on N.E.W.Ts and the benefits of taking as many as possible to advance their prospects after Hogwarts—would bleed out in another few minutes. He could try another healing spell, but if the one he was employing was not making a dent, he was confident all else would be just as useless.His grip on her form tightened as he looked up helplessly at Minerva, whose eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the scene before her. It seemed she, too, knew what was mere moments from happening.Theo shivered as another draft billowed through the space around the viaduct, and the candles around them danced once more, flickering intricate designs across the stone floor.“Break it,” Draco gritted as he continued to hold the young girl steady in his non-dominant hand—the wound across her back was so deep, he couldn’t be certain if the slicing hex had not torn right through her spine. “The altar—”Theo looked up from where he was pressing both his hands to the gash he had found on her thigh. His wand had been discarded in his haste to clog the wound.“Minerva!”On shaking legs, she walked forward to analyse the altar they were assembled upon. Gracelessly waving her wand, she snuffed the candles, shrouding them in unsettling darkness.“Lumos Maxima,” she whimpered before using wandless magic to send slicing hexes at the four carved runes around them.“I don’t recognise them.” She said, her voice quivering. “They look foreign.”Draco couldn't care less about the runes, as finally, the girl’s body yielded to his efforts.“Pomfrey?” Draco said before returning to his spell work.“She’s not here,” Minerva shivered, “I’ve sent for Creevey.”“I’m here,” Dennis Creevey said, stalking forward through the darkness. “I came as soon as I got your Patronus, Professor.”“Malfoy,” Minerva said, “Would it be alright to move her now?”Draco shook his head, his eyes continuing to monitor the manner in which Delphi’s blood slithered and retracted—carving a sinuous, serpentine path as it rewound into her.“Potions.” He muttered, breaking his trance for a moment before reconsidering and diving back in with a less potent healing spell for the top layers of her skin.“Accio Blood Replenishing Potion. Accio Pain Potion. Accio Stabilising Solution,” Dennis murmured into his valise, withdrawing them quickly and feeding them into Theo’s outstretched hand as Draco moved onto the gash that ran down her inner thigh.Draco didn’t know enough about the internal workings of the human form, but he could assume there was a significant artery where the gash had been delivered from the sheer volume of blood that rebounded as he continued to chant, his wand curving over her thigh.Theo had moved aside to gently tilt her head back so he could tip the contents of the three vials down her throat.“Minerva?” Filius said, hobbling forward from the West direction, where Draco knew the entrance to Ravenclaw tower was situated. “What is going on? You said there had been a—”He inhaled sharply at the scene before him, his hand clutching at his chest as he looked from Draco to Theo and Dennis and finally to Minerva.“Filius—Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley should be arriving soon,” Minerva said, her lips barely moving as she continued to look at Delphi. “Lock up the dormitories. Until further notice, classes are suspended, and no one is allowed to leave their houses. I need to—” she shuddered as her gaze met Draco’s. “I need to get in touch with the Ministry.”“We’ll move her to the hospital wing,” Creevey said calmly. “I’ll stay with her until Poppy returns from her visit to the Groves.”“No.” Minerva shook her head. “I’ll be staying with her, however long it takes Poppy to return. I only require you to stay whilst I get someone over from the DMLE. Malfoy, Nott, Creevey—you are to escort Ms Burke to the hospital wing, and all three of you will remain there until I return.”She didn’t have to spell it out for Draco to understand her subtext—they were all to care for the girl and babysit each other. Someone within the castle had attacked the girl, and she was not above suspecting anyone, student or teacher until she could rule them out. It was why she made for a far more successful headmistress, even over the likes of Dippet and Dumbledore.With one last nod in their direction, she hurried downstairs, leaving the four men staring at her retreating form, their heartbeats racing as their minds spiralled.❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅It couldn’t have been longer than half an hour before Minerva was striding through the hospital wing, dressed once more in her official Headmistress regalia. “Poppy will be here shortly. They were just on the outskirts of the Groves when they received my message. As are Robards and his team of Aurors, although they gave no estimate on time.”She ran her eyes over Delphi, where she lay on the last hospital bed in one corner of the infirmary, a diagnostic charm buzzing mutedly over her limp and bandaged body.“We thought it would be best to ensure her privacy,” Creevey said from his desk, continuing to jot down notes on her condition for Pomfrey. Being a trainee healer, Creevey had abstained from casting any more healing spells, instead opting for more pain potions and a sleeping draught to keep her comfortable until Pomfrey could properly assess any internal damage. “It won’t be long until students grow curious about the curfew and begin dropping by, hoping to see something to talk about.”Minerva sighed wearily before turning to Theo. “The rest of the houses have been secured, and all heads of houses are staying within their dorms tonight. Please ensure all Slytherins are in their beds, Nott, and change the entrance password to the next one on your list.”“Of course,” Theo said, standing tiredly from the seat beside Draco. The weariness of their labours had settled profoundly on both men once Delphi had stabilised and Draco too longed to return to his quarters.With one final glance at Delphi and then Draco, Theo strode out of the infirmary, his boots clacking hauntingly on the tiled floor.“Draco,” Minerva sighed, casting a silencing charm around them. “I believe you have a working relationship with Robards.”Draco stood slowly, as was proper etiquette when addressing a superior, his trousers crunching under his movement. He had Scourgified himself with the most potent version of the charm he could, but he was all too aware that once stained with blood, there was no way to remove it truly. He’d have to scrub it off his hands and knees, and even then, he knew he would not be rid of the feel of it on his body. The clothes would have to burn as well.“For over a decade now,” Draco said slowly. “I cannot say we have a friendly equation, but one could call it working, yes.”“I see,” Minerva nodded, the fine lines of her face contorting with anguish. “Then perhaps I’ll ask you to stay with me for a little longer. I cannot say such a night has ever occurred under my watch before.”“Of course,” Draco said, taking her trembling fingers into his own still hands—the way Astoria had done for him once— “I’m here, Minerva.”She looked up at him, and perhaps if he hadn’t been watching her as closely as he was, he would have missed the tears she blinked away.
❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅
It was a testament to Draco’s weariness that he did not immediately return Weasley’s scrutiny and inherent distrust with a sneer capable of shrivelling his bat-like ears—if not more.“That’s her then?” Weasley asked, moving towards Delphi, his Auror cloaks swishing haphazardly against the muted grey herringbone tile.Draco bit back a scoff—As if there was any other patient to confuse the still bloodied and scarred girl with. How this man had ever landed, even if only momentarily, the Brightest Fucking Bitch Of Her Age, Draco would never know. Perhaps she was as crazy as she had seemed that night in Godric’s Hollow.“Mr. Weasley,” Pomfrey shrieked, the restorative draught clasped in her fingers threatening to spill as she ran forward. “Please holster your wand. You idiot boy. The last thing that poor girl needs is an accidental misfire within her vicinity.”To his credit, Weasley blushed bright red before moving away from Delphi, his wand angled upwards at the ceiling—it wasn’t as if hexes ever ricocheted. “You found her, did you, Malfoy?” Robards asked, a quick-quotes quill hovering near his head, drawing Draco’s attention back to him.“Yes.”Robards narrowed his eyes as the quill scratched a word that sounded like ‘Malfoy’ onto the parchment levitating beneath.“How… fortunate.”“Professor Malfoy and Professor Nott worked expediently to save the girl’s life,” Minerva said stiffly. “Gawain—”“Head Auror Robards,” Gawain corrected her, his eyes never leaving Draco’s.Minerva narrowed her eyes, undoubtedly displeased by a man she had likely taught first-year transfiguration to. “Head Auror Robards,” She said, gritting her teeth. “I do believe I made my understanding of the events rather clear. Professor Malfoy—”“As you said, Minerva, those are your understandings.” Robards cut across her. “I will require memories from early yesterday evening until now to corroborate their alibis. Why were you and Nott awake so late?”Draco arched a brow at Gawain. He knew the man standing across from him was not amongst the handful of people who genuinely cared for him. To be fair, he believed there were less than a handful in total—Three if he were to be painfully, brutally honest to himself—his Mother, Theo, and he desperately hoped, his son. Wallowing—over, his instincts kicked into overdrive, and he caught Minerva’s eye, who also seemed to have caught the direction Gawain’s mind was treading.Draco really ought to have known better—Regardless of everything, they would connect an attempted murder to the Death Eater who had just moved into residence. As if he would ever be so sloppy as to start committing murders two days after he moved into a new home—not that he ever would, but that was unlikely to be a sound defence. Not when two years of being a reluctant Death Eater far outweighed the three decades of his life before and after.“I was at The Hogs Head from a little before 11 pm until midnight. Close to a dozen people can corroborate my presence there, including war heroes. Soon after midnight, Theodore Nott and I journey back to the castle to call it a night—”“What were you doing at the mouth of the Astronomy Tower?” Weasley asked, folding his arms across his chest.Draco turned squarely toward him, internally smirking at their size discrepancy. Weasley was slightly larger in build, but Draco was taller at a few inches over six feet, and it seemed that Weasley, too, took stock of him in that moment.“Do you have beetroot for brains as well as ears? The castle is off-limits to students after curfew, not professors,” Draco drawled.“The fuck did you say?”Draco turned away from him, Weasley’s questions meeting the back of him.“I will supply my memories, and I have no doubts you will collect those of every person within this castle, as well as anyone who so happened to be within the vicinity of The Hog’s Head tonight,” Draco said flatly. “What I would like to know, and I’m sure Minerva would as well, is your plans going forward.”Gawain narrowed his eyes, “We will obviously launch an investigation. Weasley, being our most senior investigator, will head it personally—”“And what of securities within the castle in the meanwhile?”“What of them?” Gawain bit out.“Professor Malfoy speaks on behalf of Hogwarts and myself,” Minerva said, drawing Gawain’s attention back to her. “There has been a grievous incident tonight. Surely, measures are required. From myself and the school—as well as from the Ministry and the DMLE.”Gawain shrugged, “As I have said, we will look into the attack.”“Oh, you will be doing more than that, Gawain.” Minerva huffed. “I did not call you here to simply pester my professors.”“I—”“I believe the security and protection of every individual within Wizarding Britain is within the DMLE’s jurisdiction,” Draco said, his eyes boring into Gawain’s. “A student has been attacked, and most viciously—something you will no doubt become certain of when witnessing the memories you have requested. In the meanwhile, Hogwarts is vulnerable. Until we know who orchestrated this attack, the school will require proper protection from the ministry. The future of our society lives within these walls, after all.”Gawain’s nostrils flared, “I do not employ common patrols within my department. If you are so worried about the safety of your students, you can send the children home, Minerva. ”Minerva gaped at Gawain.Draco could feel the tension rolling off her shoulders as she considered what that would mean. The last time Hogwarts had to discount a whole academic year had been when Death Eaters had controlled it, and students had suffered for it for many years to come.“We’d be more than happy to accommodate your suggestion,” Draco drawled, his fingers pressing firmly into Minerva’s back where neither Gawain nor Weasley could see. “Will you be responsible for collecting signatures from the School Board, the Wizengamot, the Minister’s office and the Department of Education for this immediate evacuation, or should I write to my mother? As acting president of the School Board, she can certainly make her voice on the matter heard.”Gawain glared at Draco, “Where are the girl’s parents? Surely they should have arrived by now?”“Miss Burke is an orphan,” Minerva said. “She has no next of kin to be called forth, and thus is my ward.”Gawain raised an eyebrow, “So you’re saying this is an attack on a muggle-born.”Minerva shrugged, “The girl is fifteen years old, Gawain; whether she is muggle-born or the unfortunate victim of war, there is no ascertaining until she is of age.”“That should not matter, anyhow,” Draco said.“Minerva, with due respect, I wish to help you, but I can only provide so much protection. As it is, my Aurors work overtime daily.” Gawain said, his nostrils flaring. “The best I can do is request to allow for the use of protective enchantments at Hogwarts.”“You have Aurors in training, do you not?” Draco said, pocketing his hands lazily. “I’m sure patrolling Hogwarts can be added to their roster. At best, they learn to get accustomed to staying up late into the night; at worst, they learn some hands-on training.”“Draco Malfoy,” Gawain said, his nostrils flaring. “Always full of brilliant ideas. Such as sending Harry Potter off on a wild Niffler chase to the middle of nowhere, where he subsequently perished.”Draco stepped forward, his glower meeting Robards’ sneer. “My job at the DMLE is to inform you of the chitterings of those who still hold dear the old ways. If you sent Potter off to inspect them, knowing he was not in a condition to fly, let alone investigate, then that is your burden to bear, not mine.”“It was you?” Weasley said, abandoning his torment of Pomfrey to stalk forward. “You’re the reason he’s dead?” His hands wound around the collar of Draco’s Oxford—another reason to burn it later— “You sent him to the fucking Moors?”Draco’s wand was at Weasley’s throat before the word Moors left him, “I didn’t send fucking Potter anywhere. I told Robards about a resistance meeting in the Saddleworth Moors. If Robards sent Potter, then that’s on him.”“He fell off his fucking broom!” Weasley spat into Draco’s face. “He died—and all for a tip that was worthless.”“Potter died because he had been drinking and had no fucking business going on a reconnaissance mission that night,” Draco growled, his wand piercing Weasley’s jugular. “That’s not on me, as much as you wish it were Weasley.”Weasley used his grip to draw Draco’s face closer, “You should be dead, not him. Your son deserves to be free of you, not his.”“Oh?” Draco said, arching a brow as he held restrain over his wand. “You forgave him then, but not Granger? I believe it takes two to tango.”Weasley’s wand went off at the exact moment Draco’s did.He’d known it was coming. Weasley had always been transparent—His jealousy, his anger, his ineptitude—It was always written across his face, brighter than even his hair.“Sectum—”“Silencio,” Draco said boredly.“Mister Malfoy!”“I believe he intended to cast the Sectumsempra curse,” Draco said flatly. “Perhaps you should ask him where he learnt of such a curse—not a curse known to the ministry, that one and quite the story; however, I’m in no mood to relive it tonight. ”Silence hung heavy within the room for long moments before Robards nodded for Weasley to return to his assessment of Delphi.“Professor Malfoy,” Minerva sighed. “I think you’ve had a long enough night. If more questions are raised, I shall make it my duty to ensure they are worth being asked.”Draco knew it was a dismissal. But he also knew it was backing. Something he delighted in even as his instincts raged to battle their own.“Goodnight,” he clipped, nodding at those who stood before him and then once more as he turned towards the exit, at those who had witnessed his persecution. “She will require another course of the healing spell in twenty-four hours to minimise scarring, Madame Pomfrey.”Squaring his shoulders, he stalked out of the double doors, exiting into the silent hallway.
September 2011 – Flashback.
Draco scrubbed at the residual charcoal on his fingers as he wound his way through the labyrinth that were the hallways of St. Mungo’s Hospital.Dawn was a haze of pastel pink and blue on the horizon, and he had just been considering calling it a night for himself when Robards’ familiar Patronus had galloped through his home and onto the back porch, where Draco had been completing a rough sketch of the Manor, oppressed below a sky of thunder-clouds.The message had been short—clipped, “St. Mungo’s, Room 0138. Now!”“Mister—”Draco flashed the attendant his DMLE association badge as he moved past her and the two dozen other witches and wizards he was sure had no business standing around the double doors that sectioned off the waiting room from the healer’s quadrant.He had known the information he had sourced about an insurgent group of Death Eaters meeting in the Moors would prove to have significant implications in capturing those who had escaped the trials, as well as those who had risen when the other heads of the hydra had been decapitated. However, he never anticipated that Potter would be foolish enough to go on the reconnaissance by himself. In the years they had worked together at the DMLE, Draco could reluctantly admit that Potter had seemed to mature—no longer a victim of his overactive fight response. So this bizarre turn of events made absolutely no sense to Draco, who, despite their distant and somewhat strained relationship, had grown to admire the man he had once called his nemesis.“Robards,” Draco said, spotting his superior standing outside a room. “What’s happened?”“Potter,” Robards said as if the one word was context enough for Draco.Draco blinked at the man, as his lips thinned. What could Potter possibly have done? From his information, the meeting had been estimated at roughly a dozen young Pureblood witches and wizards—surely, he could not have been idiotic enough to think he could take them all on, by himself. He considered the implications of such an event. His source would be suspicious of him now, and would likely retreat back into the shadows as he cased out Draco’s alias. He desperately wished he had stopped by the coffee cart on his way up now.Whilst sleep did not come naturally to him—had not for longer than he cared to admit, even to himself, weariness still settled on his bones in a manner even Albus Dumbledore would have been unaware of at the time of his death.Draco was just about to ask Robards to explain further when soft voices from within drew his attention.“Gin, let me do that,” Granger said. Draco had heard her speak much in their youth. She had been bossy at times, and condescending whenever she wasn’t already salivating over some piece of homework or professor. He’d heard her scold Potter and Weasley in the library countless times and had even unfortunately borne witness to her tears after the Yule ball—a night on which he had witnessed her laugh, dance, and sing—a sight his fourteen-year-old mind had been unable to digest.How normal she had looked, despite his father’s insistence that she was an abomination.The many faces she had worn over their brief proximity at Hogwarts, and yet, he had never heard her speak in this manner. She sounded—shattered.“No, No,” Weasley said, from within the room, and Draco held Robards’ hand back from where he had been reaching forward to barge in on the two women. “I’ve been doing it all on my own for a long time, Hermione. I can fold his clothes—it’s not like he’s going to do it now.”“Gin—”“He was with her, that’s where he was coming back from.” Anguish weighed heavy in her words, and Draco heard the sob that wrenched out of her chest. “Did you take a look at what the whore left on his neck—”“Ginny, you’re grieving. Don’t think about that right now, I’ll ex—”Draco heard a hollow laugh from within, and even Robards stilled, his eyes still trained on the hand Draco held around his wrist.“I’ve been grieving him for a very long time, Hermione,” Weasley said and Draco saw her move across the room through the gap between the door and the doorframe. “I—”“Ginny!” He heard Granger say again, only this time the words were neither placating nor broken. They were—stricken.“Don’t.”“What—”“Ginny, don’t read—”“It was you?”“Ginny—”“Her—” Ginny breathed, and Draco felt as if a current of cold air had blasted through the room. “What the fuck is this?”“Harry,” Ginny said, her voice rising in pitch to drown out Granger’s. “I know you don’t want to hear this, and no matter how many times I try to say it, the truth is I don’t want to say it either—”“Ginny, please! Don’t read that. Please just let me explain.” There was the sound of a scuffle from within the room, and then someone was barging past Draco to join the women within the room. Draco stepped back at the same moment Robards did, their eyes meeting in a shared moment of panic.Whatever was going on in that room, both were sure neither were meant to witness.“It was you, all this time. I trusted you. Begged you to speak to him—to convince him to come home, and it was you all along!”“Perhaps we should give them space—” Draco said, noticing the young boy with dark hair and emerald green eyes. He was far too old to be one of Potter’s boys, which could only mean he was— “Teddy.”“Andy, just don’t—” Ginevra Potter said, her voice echoing down the hall. “This has nothing to do with you.”“Ginny, James and Sirius are—”“Oh no, they should know!” Ginevra shrieked. “They should know what a whore their godmother turned out to be. What do you say, Hermione, should I tell James and Albus how, while they were sitting at home, wishing their daddy would come home, he was fucking their favourite aunt.”“Ginny,” Draco heard the soft whisper of Granger’s whisper. “It—It wasn’t like that. We didn’t—I promise, Ginny. I—”“Then what the fuck is this?” The screech was heart-shattering, and even if Draco wasn’t in view of the scene, he knew whatever Ginevra Potter held within her hands was concrete proof, for silence permeated the air for the first time since he had entered the ward.“I— I—” It was no more than a whisper reverberating through harsh silence, but he heard the guilt the two syllables held. “I should go.”“Good. No one wants to see your face around here again.”“Ginevra.”“Just get her out of here, Andy. I never wish to see her face again.”The door flew open, and then his aunt was walking past him, her eyes searching for someone ahead as she half-carried, half-dragged Granger down the hall, all the while whispering softly to Granger—her head downcast, her hair billowing around her in a curtain, as she slowly crumbled into her own.“We recovered his body an hour ago,” Robards said quietly. “Fell off his broom on the way to the Moors. Death on impact.”Draco was hardly listening as his eyes followed Andromeda and Granger to the end of the hallway—where he knew a dozen reporters stood. He had enough context clues to decipher much of what had remained unsaid between the two women, and yet, as his eyes scanned the hallway, he realised Robards and he had not been the only spectators to the revelations.“Wait—” Draco's voice was sharp as he abruptly turned on his heels, his strides quickening as he pursued Andromeda and Granger.“Andromeda,” Draco called out, but his voice was drowned beneath a flurry of flashes greeted his voice, and he knew the afternoon’s edition of the Daily Prophet would reveal to all what had been said at the foot of Harry Potter’s deathbed, with a picture of his aunt carrying Hermione Granger out of the hall as the front feature. Draco watched the giant squid breach the surface of the Black Lake through the intricately engraved windows that spanned the southern wall of his bedchamber. The room was adorned in his house colours, with decadent emerald curtains that matched his bedspread and a large canopy bed made of black walnut that blended in seamlessly with the panelled onyx walls and ceiling of his room. It was a dark and ambient room, reminiscent of the dungeons he had slept in for over seven years, yet he found the gothic architecture quite suffocating—despite Theo’s insistence that the sentient room was simply projecting Draco’s subconscious.The truth was, when he had settled into his room almost a week prior, he hadn’t considered he’d be spending so much time pacing within.Despite Minerva’s reluctance to send the students home, she had put Hogwarts on lockdown while Weasley and his team swept through the castle looking for any evidence as to who had attacked Delphi—who unfortunately had to be moved to St. Mungo’s the day after her attack.Draco had known his cousin was friendly with the girl, but it hadn’t been until Andromeda came to facilitate the move to the hospital that Draco realised just how close the two children really were. That, and the supposed screaming match Teddy had gotten into with Finch-Fletchley, the head of Hufflepuff house when he’d been informed he couldn’t visit the infirmary.It made Draco want to march down the five sets of staircases that spanned the distance between him and his son and hug him to his chest—but orders were clear. No one in or out of the Dorms—and he knew Nimue, whose portrait guarded the Slytherins dorms, would not allow anyone to pass except Minerva.Sighing wearily, he threw open the windows and sat down on the hard chair he had transfigured in front of his canvas to once again attempt at drowning the past week within the lake he sketched out roughly using muggle colour pencils. He knew he could take his canvas down to the lush lawns below and paint something, anything else, but he despised the idea of being perceived. His paintings were more than just a hobby for him—it was his sanctuary, his method of processing his grief and trauma, and very few people were invited within.Twilight was cresting over Hogsmeade Valley, and Draco’s fingers were once again inked in vibrant blues and greens when a soft knock on his door withdrew him from the haze he had descended into.“I know Minerva said, ‘lockdown,’ but I don’t think we’re actually supposed to barricade ourselves into our chambers,” Theo said, leaning against Draco’s door frame in a white linen shirt with fitted beige trousers, his curls delicately arranged now that they had grown slightly longer.Draco rose from his chair, “Theo. What would you like me to do? Haunt the empty hallways like I’m Mrs Norris?”“Come on,” Theo said, gesturing for him to follow. “Saturday nights are when us teachers blow off steam around here—it’s a mandatory event for all single professors within the tower.”“Theo—” Draco sighed, Scourgifying his hands and wrists before standing to pack his instruments away.“Draco,” Theo intoned, his eyes twinkling. “What do you want most in your life?”“Sleep.”“Cute,” Theo said, rolling up his sleeves. “Look, you and I both know the answer is to see Scorpius be all that he can be. Happy, healthy, the works.”“And?”“I’m just saying if he’s anything like you, he’s watching you just as much as you watch him. If you want him to live a full life, then you’ll have to show him what that means, Draco.”“I do live a full life,” Draco rolled his eyes.“Oh, do you, now?” Theo asked, stepping into the room. “Tell me, Draco. When was the last time you went on a date or kissed a girl?”“I’m mar—”“Yes, yes. Look, come and have a drink with your colleagues. Get to know them, and see if you can make friends. Minerva says the board is pushing for the lockdown to end by Monday. So, just for tonight, can you pretend you’re fifteen and back at Hogwarts because I miss you, man.”Draco scrutinised Theo, but if his intent had been to see the man before him squirm, as he once would have under the penetrating gaze of Draco Malfoy, he found he was both disappointed and proud of who Theo had become despite the harsh childhood he had grown up with.“Alright,” Draco said, his shoulders depressing slightly. “But in return, I want to know—”“He’s alright. The first years don’t know enough to know Hogwarts doesn’t often have lockdowns, and you know how Slytherins are in general; the upper years haven’t informed them of the reason—a protective lot, ours. Nimue said they’re mostly just sitting around playing chess and exploding snap. No books have been touched, shocker.” Theo said, leading Draco out into the narrow hallway that would ultimately lead them to the spiral staircase that led up to the teacher’s common room.Draco nodded, “But the rest of them know?”“Of course. Everyone knows by now,” Theo said, rolling his eyes. “You know better than anyone how fast the rumour mill at Hogwarts spins. And Delphi is Slytherin’s fifth-year prefect. Her absence could hardly go unnoticed.”Unlike the individual chambers, the teacher’s common room was a circular expanse of warm brown and rich cream colouring, with a twenty-foot-high ceiling that was charmed to reflect the sky above, much the same as the Great Hall. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined one half of the curved wall, while the other half was large windows that overlooked the Northeastern stretch of the Black Lake, where it diverted into a stream that flowed through the valleys beyond. It was a breathtaking sight, and Draco wondered why he had never ventured to climb the spiral staircase from the hallway below to this exquisite room. Perhaps one night, after everyone else was safely ensconced within their chambers, he’d venture up here with his canvas.“The top shelves are a selection of texts charmed to reflect the newest releases within the wizarding world. Complicated magic, that, but rumour has it, it was Rowena who compelled the bookshelf’s sentience. They’re available for perusal for a week before the book disappears and is replaced by another, and you have to go out and buy the original copy to add to the shelf. If you read through the entire book and don’t buy it for the shelf, I believe you lose sight for some period of indeterminable time.”“So there must be multiples on the shelves?” Draco said, turning just as Creevey climbed up through the spiral staircase in the centre of the room.“Copies are donated to research institutes or given to students who plan to specialise in that particular field,” Theo said, flopping down on a sofa just as Oliver and Carrie appeared. “Carrie, my darling. Minerva finally let you come out to play.”Oliver nodded at Draco before manoeuvring himself into the seat beside Theo. However casually Theo saw his relationship with the ex-Gryffindor quidditch captain, it was definitely and painfully one-sided. The man was smitten, and Theo seemed to have no idea.“I need a drink,” Carrie sighed, sitting down beside Creevey.“Carrie, am I hearing this right? Did you really tell war hero Ronald fucking Weasley he looked like an overambitious traffic cone pretending to be a pyramid?” Justin Finch Fletchley laughed, joining their circle.“He’s rather annoying,” Carrie huffed. “Not to mention condescending. I only asked him for clearance to visit the owlery, and he all but showed me the way there. I’ve been teaching at Hogwarts for two years. I know where the owlery is, thank you very much.”Draco snorted, “Did you tell him that?”Carrie grimaced at Draco, “No. But that’s only because I’d already called him a traffic cone.”“Winnie,” Theo called out, and a young house elf wearing a bright red dress shirt apparated amidst them. “You know what day it is.”“Mister Theo,” Winnie blushed, the tips of her floppy ears blushing profusely. “You remembers to call for Winnie. Winnie will get wine and whisky and vodka, and oh!— Plinky has prepared mini shepherd’s pies, and bangers and mash, Mister Theo’s favourites, and prawns linguini and grilled toasties and tiramisu for teacher’s feature.”“Teacher’s feature?” Draco asked Carrie with a raised brow.“It’s what we call Saturday nights around here,” Carrie grinned as a glass of wine appeared before her. “Supposedly first coined by Phineas Nigellus Black.”Draco raised an eyebrow as a snifter of firewhisky appeared before him, “You must be mistaken. Phineas Nigellus was many things, but capable of fun is debatable, I assure you.”Theo snorted loudly into his tumbler of vodka and pumpkin juice, “Oh, Drakey. Wait until you hear Cuthbert’s stories about your great-great-grandfather.”“Who?” Draco asked, arching a brow at the room at large.“Speak of the wretch!” Dennis grinned as Filius Flitwick appeared through the trapdoor, followed by Professor Binns, who simply opted to float up through the floorboards instead of using the spiral staircase.“Oh, maggot-infested-livers and brain.” Binns sighed happily as a plate appeared on the sideboard at one end of the room. “The elves have really outdone themselves tonight.”“Binns?” Draco mouthed at Theo, who simply smirked in return.“Bertie. Draco has yet to be initiated.”Binns turned from where he was hovering directly atop the sideboard, “Ah, another of my students, joining ranks.”Draco frowned. He didn’t remember much of History of Magic—only that Binns had repeatedly called him Hugo for some inexplicable reason and hadn’t noticed that half of his class slept through his class for six years out of seven. “Hello, Professor Binns.”“I cannot be expected to repeat my reasons every year,” Binns said, floating squarely within his plate of liver and brains.“Alright, Bertie, but only because I cannot stand to hear it a fourth time,” Theo said, turning to Draco. “So, Binns, not as mindless as he pretends and very much aware he is, in fact, not alive.”“After over a decade of neither needing to sleep nor needing to expend myself, it was rather hard not to notice,” Binns grumbled, leaving his dinner behind to gaze enviously at the decanter of wine sitting atop the centre table.“Then why—”“He just hates being stuck in his neverending existence,” Justin drawled. “Hates the students, too, matter of fact.”“Students ask fewer questions if they believe I am unaware of life as it is,” Binns said morosely. “If I had known my existence would remain within these walls, I would have made a different choice at the end.”“Oh, at last Ursa’s here,” Theo said, rubbing the palms of his hands together in delight. “That’s all the singles this year, I think. ”“Except Adrian,” Carrie said, “But I heard Minerva mention she’s meeting him to discuss the trip to London that has to be postponed for the end of the month.”“Pucey hardly participates,” Theo said with a wave of his hand. “Drinks and debts.”“What does a teacher's feature entail, exactly?” Draco arched a fine blond brow as everyone tossed down a silver sickle.“Wagers,” Filius squealed, his lips smacking as he swallowed down a mouthful of wine. “It’s a time-honoured tradition that we professors must wager on our students. The professor with the most correct predictions at the end of the year gets to pick our professor's prank for the end of the year.”Draco chuckled.He had yet to get to know the small professor he would be teaching mixed defence and charms lessons with personally, but he remembered enough of the man from his own time at Hogwarts to know he was a kind and gentle fellow to all those except whom he met to duel.“Filius always wins,” Oliver grumbled, tucking into a mini pie that had appeared on the centre table.“I have a keen sense,” Filius smiled conspiratorially. “Only a handful of my predictions have ever proved no good.”“Like the one about Draco?” Theo smirked at Draco.“What about me?” Draco stiffened.“Do you really want to know?” Theo waggled a brow, clearly delighting in information that Filius was looking reluctant to dole out.“Filius, Minerva and Snape had a going wage about when you and a certain bushy-haired swot would go from enemies to lovers,” Theo smiled, the curvature of his lips extending high into the apples of his cheeks.“Albus, too,” Filius sighed. “And, technically, he did win that one. Never happened, did it.”“Me and Granger?” Draco’s mouth fell wide open.“I voted for fourth year, Minerva voted fifth, and Severus seemed to think if it were going to happen, it would happen during your seventh. Alas, it was never meant to be.”“I mean, Granger didn’t even make it back for seventh, so who knows? Maybe Severus would have gotten that one right,” Theo said casually.“I doubt it,” Oliver snorted into his tumbler. “As someone who knew Hermione intimately for a time—”Draco choked on his sip of firewhisky—when had Oliver and Granger gotten together? He had once lied to Rita Skeeter about Granger’s affinity for quidditch players as a mean joke, but it seemed the lie had hit quite close to home.“Alright, enough about the love lives of people we hardly know,” Theo said, glaring at Oliver, who seemed to have said something offensive Draco had missed during his ponderings.“I will once again wager that Teddy and Victoire will break up this year.”“It’s hardly fair to wager tonight, Theo. Professor Malfoy has yet to meet all his students, and I haven’t even met the Slytherin and Ravenclaw first years.” Ursa admonished Theo lightly. “Perhaps we will keep the wagers for next week— Merlin, I hope classes resume by then. ”“Ugh, fine–next week, Drakey, come prepared. My lovely Ursa, dance with me.” Theo grinned, pulling the Ancient Runes professor up into his arms just as a soft melody began to play from the gramophone nestled upon a desk in one corner of the common room.“Would you like to dance, Draco?” Carrie asked, turning to him.Draco felt heat creep up his neck. Salazar, how long had it been since he had last danced with a woman? He couldn’t think of an instance beyond his and Astoria’s first wedding anniversary, a mere month before they had found out about the blood curse. He shivered as his mind spun back to that night, but Carrie’s warm hand at his shoulder seemed to ground him in the present, and he found himself drowning in her kind hazel gaze.“Of course, Professor Sinclair.”“Carrie,” Carrie blushed, the apples of cheeks blooming rosy.“Carrie,” Draco nodded, taking her waist into his grasp lightly as he began to lead her.They swayed gently as the rest of the room slowly grew busy in conversation. It felt nice, dancing with Carrie, who seemed to be enjoying herself, even though her constant glances in Theo’s direction relayed who she would have rather partnered. It was this he missed without Astoria, intimacy. Not sexual intimacy, but the soft and comforting touch of someone who was not repulsed by him, despite what they knew of his life, of his once beliefs—of the acts he had committed. It was why he could not forgive Astoria, even despite Theo’s reassurances.“I’d ask how your first week has been, but—” Carrie said quietly as they swayed past Ursa and Theo.“Have you heard how she’s doing?” Draco asked, knowing Carrie yo-yoed between teaching Transfiguration in Professor McGonagall’s absence and taking care of her administration work.“Minerva received a letter from the head healer in charge of her,” Carrie whispered, allowing Draco to spin her out and reel her back in. “She’s got some permanent scarring, but for the most part, she will recover nicely. They’re keeping her at St. Mungo’s just to ensure there is nothing more permanent than her appendix being removed.”Draco inhaled sharply. “Her appendix was removed?”Carrie frowned, “Supposedly, yes. But that’s the only thing that seems to be permanent. Thank Circe, that poor girl—you were there that night, weren’t you?”Draco nodded slowly, uncomfortable about having to speak of all that he had witnessed.“Do you want a drink?” Carrie said, sensing his discomfort around the subject. She was already moving towards the cosy enclosure everyone else was seated within, their conversation drifting from one topic to another as the second bottle of Ogden’s was pulled open.Draco sat down beside Oliver, who was still watching Theo and Ursa from the corner of his eye, his mind spinning with the information Carrie had unwittingly divulged.
A missing appendix.
His mind wandered to the nights he had stalked the hallways of his home, scared to be caught by those who were guests within his home.He hadn’t thought of the altar since the night he had asked Minerva to break it, the runes a distant memory he could no longer picture, but the missing appendix was a cause for worry.That night, he fell asleep to dreams of hushed talks of sacrificial magic—the kind found in texts wrapped in human skin often bound by dragon heartstring for little else punctured skin and held well over time—long lost, for magic of the kind was forbidden, even to families as old and grotesque as his own.