Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A brisk breeze welcomed in the autumn months, cooling off the small cottage up the large brick driveway. A muggle motor vehicle sat atop it, resting comfortably where it had been sitting for at least five days. It only moved on Saturday, when the food shop was the most convenient. 

The small cottage was a lush pink, soft as a baby’s skin. Flowers sat beautifully in front of the white railing of the wrap-around porch, potted so carefully in their beds. A white wooden door adorned the one-story cottage, a floral mat at its feet, welcoming them in. 

The young pair interlocked their fingers, anxiety palpable between the two. Barely old enough to be considered grown, their secrets were overflowing in their closets like skeletons. Dead and buried but slowly being eaten away at and remaining for such a short time in the earth’s history. 

His pale hand grasped the silver door knocker, rapting against the door, shaking against the young girl. He never was one for confrontation or stressful situations. 

A woman in her mid-thirties with sporadic curls and small wrinkles on her forehead opened the door, revealing the teens at her door. Her brows furrowed, deepening the small lines of age on her forehead. “Scorpius?”

“Hello, Hermione,” He said shyly, clutching the girl’s hand. He chews his lip, bright gray eyes full of anxiety and worry.

Hermione’s eyes soften as she opens the door wider, letting the teens in. Her entryway was a small hall littered with pictures of her and her friends of various ages. Starting with Ron and Harry to the most recent pictures of Draco, Pansy, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Theo, Blaise, Luna, and their families, Hermione was always alone in them, honing in on her Aunt title to most of her value. Various knickknacks littered a small table, random yet highly regarded achievements, artwork that all of her nieces and nephews had made for her, and a sonogram. 

Scorpius never read much into the sonogram, knowing it had been a taboo of sorts. All he had learned from Lily was that Hermione was pregnant, with a baby girl to later be named Rose, when she was younger and miscarried the baby at the 20th-week mark after she was under a large amount of stress from her divorce from Ronald. She didn’t get to take her baby home in one of the Molly Weasley knitted blankets. Rather, her baby didn’t come home and was buried near her grandmother. Too much like his father, his heart ached for Hermione Granger and her homey hovel. Although, resounding Draco Malfoy would never admit it and sulk at home with a glass of fire whiskey. 

“Excuse the mess. I’m doing a bit of spring cleaning.” Hermione doesn’t bother to look sheepish, but she smiles apologetically at the girl next to him. “I wasn’t expecting guests. What do I owe the pleasure, my darlings?” 

She nodded at him and squeezed his hand. Go on . It was unspoken, but he could sense it. They had a telepathy like that. 

“Hermione, can we get some tea? I think we need to have a rather grown-up talk, and I think tea would be a much more appropriate decision rather than imbibing an entire bottle of firewhiskey.” Scorp uses the polite tone his father ingrained into his memory since he was a little chap. 

Hermione’s soft eyes scanned him, one brow arched at him. Her expression did not portray indifference or disappointment, and she was just simply calculating his intent. “I’ll ignore that you’ve admitted to imbibing anything before 18. I’ll put the kettle on, love, but make sure your guest is settled and comfortable. Be a good houseguest, Scorpius.” 

“Thank you.” He smiled at Hermione, eyes softening at the woman who was wrapped in a beige cardigan, covering her black cami and pink pajama bottoms, slippers on her feet. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun at the base of her skull. 

She nodded then disappeared around the corner of her small cottage into what Scorpius knew as the kitchen. It had its fair share of colour changes, settling on the light blue it had been painted a few short months ago with white curtains on the small windows above her sink. The counters were a crème with a tiled backsplash and a silver stove and dishwasher. Although she preferred to hand wash them, Scorp found it quite relaxing to clear his head and not worry about drying the dishes. 

He tugged along the witch next to him, seating them on the gray sofa Hermione had ever since he had been a tot. He had spent most of his early life here between his mother’s treatments, his father’s work, and their divorce. Sometimes he wished Hermione was his mum, even though his mum was very much still alive and kicking. His father always thought of her as a mother to Scorpius, but Draco wouldn’t dare mention it to Astoria. Every birthday, Christmas, holiday, every trip to St. Mungo’s, and every bloody appointment, she was there. 

“Who is that?” The girl asked in a low whisper, eyeing the small house and telly warily. The sitting room was simple, with a telly, more photos, magic and muggle alike, and a coffee brown table. 

Scorpius clicks on the telly and selects Netflix , shrugging to her. “Just Hermione. She’s like my Mum, but she never lets me call her Mum because of Astoria. She’s quite jealous of Hermione, which is bollocks because she’s been more of a mother than her. And she’s the only adult I trust to protect you, Marie.” 

“My mum always says you refuse to visit Aunt Astoria.” His cousin’s brows furrow as she mulls over the facts placed at her feet. She looks so much like his Aunt Daphne at this point that it makes him want to scream. She was barely nineteen, and he had to do the respectable, more mature thing one could do. They were the only biological grandchildren to Astoria’s and Daphne’s parents, so they had become as thick as thieves. 

Scorpius toed off his shoes and placed them next to the couch on the hardwood floor. His socked feet rubbed against the hand-threaded rug she bought from a traveling salesman. “I have tried to visit, but it’s hard to go to a place you’re unwelcomed Mar.”

Her eyes softened, and she grasped his upper arm. “Scorp, I had no id-”

“Watch out, it’s hot!” Hermione exclaimed, placing a pot holder down then the green kettle Scorpius bought and decorated for her many years ago. Most of the squiggles and characters were gone except for Happy Mother’s Day written in bold, black Sharpie. 

Scorpius was quick to help her lower the kettle then take the teacups and set them down gently on the coasters kept in the middle of the table. “Do you need help getting the milk and stuff, ‘Mione?” 

“No, love. I’ve got it.” Hermione placed three types of tea down; ginger, Earl Gray, and a breakfast tea. Three of each kind. She was in rather good shape, always running and hiking and eating the most bloody outlandishly healthy thing.  

Scorpius selected ginger for Marie and poured in the hot water from the kettle. He mimics the same ministrations, selecting breakfast tea for himself. 

Hermione reappears a few minutes later with a bowl of sugar cubes and a small pitcher of milk. She placed it delicately between the two, taking the armchair for herself. She fixes herself a nice Earl gray cuppa, sipping on it to check its quality and adding another cube of sugar when it’s not quite right. “So, what is this grown talk that we need to be having?” Her brow is arched as she sips her tea.

Scorpius swirled some sugar into his cup, cringing when his spoon collided with the side of the cup rather than in the center like his posh tudors had always explained. He gulped nervously, straightening in his seat. “Hermione, this is my cousin Marie Greengrass.” 

Hermione waves a hand at him dismissing him. “I’ve known her since she was in nappies, Scorpius. Be straight with me, and tell me what you need.” 

He sighs, taking his cousin’s hand once again. “She’s pregnant, Hermione, and we need your help.”

Her eyes softened and instinctively reached for the teens. “Oh, darling. Does your father or her mother know?”

He shook his head, taking Hermione’s hand into his own and squeezing Marie’s. “No, Dad doesn’t know I’m here or that I am helping her. Aunt Daph is off somewhere with her rich boyfriend of the month, no offense.”

Marie shrugs, green eyes shining with a glittering worry that turned Hermione’s stomach. “Nothing to be offended by if it’s the truth.” 

She was so gorgeous like her mother yet so filled with innocence. The kind of radiance you only have in your early adulthood and newfound hunger for life. 

Bile rose in Hermione’s throat, and she rubbed the girl's arm as if to comfort the poor witch. Here she was, at a stranger’s house to get advice whilst in peril because her mum was off being a slut in a random yacht in a random country with a random man. She smiled at her, hopefully comfortingly. “It’s alright. We’ve got this. Has anyone discussed your options with you?”

Shyly, she nodded as if it were something to be embarrassed about. “I went to a muggle clinic, and I got some pamphlets. I’ve chosen adoption.” Visible tears pricked in her eyes, and she looked up, trying to clear them. “I want to be a doctor, and I can’t do that with a babe on my hip.”

Hermione reassuringly squeezed her arm once more, smiling at her with as much warmth as she could muster. “That’s completely fine, love.  As long as you’ve thought about it thoroughly, you can change your mind at any time. No one will judge you. Have you told the father?”

This made the girl cry harder,  green eyes quivering with such sorrow that a girl that young had no business bearing. “He doesn’t want a fucking thing to do with the bloody kid I’m growing inside of me because he was fucking reckless. He told me he was too old to have kids, and I listened like the bloody fool I am!” 

Hermione caught the girl in her arms when she threw herself at her. She patted her back, running her fingers along the divots of her spine. “It’s alright, darling. How old is this man and when did this start?”

“Six months after I turned eighteen,” She answered honestly through loads of sobs, sniffling into her shoulder. “And I don’t know. Sixty? Seventy?” 

“Seventy!?” Hermione exclaimed the words before she could find it in her to steady herself. Seventy? She replays the number over and over in her head like it’s a scientific phenomenon. “How is he seventy? Where did you meet him? How did you meet him? Had he tried to come on to you before you were 18? Has he bought you things in exchange for sex?” 

Scorpius also rubs her back soothingly, shaking his head at Hermione as Marie cries harder into her shoulder. “He’s not seventy. He’s sixty-one, and I think that’s enough questions for now, Hermione. She’s had a long day.” 

Hermione nods in agreement, letting her cardigan soak up the tears of the witch. “Okay, how about you stay for supper, and I will make us an amazing roast whilst you two indulge in some Netflix and hot cocoa.” She winks at him like she did when she would give him a sweet after his bedtime. 

Scorpius mouths over her shoulder, “Thank you.” 

Hermione smiled at him with that same warm, motherly smile that she could only adorn for him. He was her soft spot, and he bloody knew it. Bugger . 

The girl unembraced Hermione, drying her tears with some tissues on her end table. Some sniffles escaped her, but she grounded herself with a sip of her tea and a shaky breath. 

“Marie, let’s explain to Hermione why we are here, yeah?” Scorpius asked, rubbing her back as he sipped his cuppa. 

Marie took a deep breath, letting oxygen fill her lungs deeply like she had been drowning for a while. Her hand grips his free hand, looking for a way to hold on to reality. “Hermione, I would like for you to adopt my baby.”

All the air left Hermione when it set in fully. A baby. She could raise a baby all by herself. Finally, a baby . “I-pft, I would be honored to. Only if you are sure, though. This decision is yours to make, and I will support you if you want me to be a babysitter for the babe whilst you get an education.” 

“No, no, I don’t want this bloody thing! I’m sure of it. But you don’t understand.” She takes a sip of her tea and then places it back on its coaster. “I need you to pretend to be pregnant.” 

Hermione chokes on her tea, coughing hard when it hits her trachea rather than her esophagus. “Pardon?”

Marie takes another breath, grounding herself with every rub of his thumbs over her knuckles. He had picked that up in childhood and did it when he felt the need. “I want you to pretend to be pregnant with Uncle Draco’s baby, so no one will question when it comes out looking like a fucking Malfoy.”

“Are you saying Draco is the father of that baby!?” Hermione almost began to shake instantly with rage. She would fucking kill him, even if she never took him to be like that. 

“No, that’s weird. Draco is my Uncle and married my cunt of an aunt. No offense, Scorp.” She sighs before continuing as if it were draining her magical core. “It was Lucius, his father.” 

Huh. Her mind blanked, red fiery rage only clouding it, muttering, “Fucking gonna murder him… fucking creep… won’t leave a little girl alone.”

Fucking murder him when I get my hands on him. Fuck, she needed a fucking cigarette, and badly at that. Merlin, help her and this fucking venture she was set to go on.

She hadn’t realized she was standing until Scorpius pushed her into her armchair. “You’re not gonna fucking murder anyone, Hermione. We need you here and not in bloody jail. So, can you help us or not?” 

Hermione sighed, eyeing the two of them as her forehead wrinkles deepened. “I’ll do what I can-”

“Thank you, Hermione,” Scorpius grinned at Marie as if to say all their prayers had been answered. 

“But!” Her voice cut through their celebration. “I am going to talk to Draco first then we will go from there, okay?”

Both of them nodded, and Marie finally breathed a sigh of much-needed relief. 

Her eyes cut over to Marie, and she smiled brightly. “You are welcome to stay as long as you’d like. I get quite lonely here if you would like to stop in and give me an update, darling.”

The girl nodded, smiling at Hermione like she’d been a god to be worshiped. She bit back a smile and hugged Scorpius suddenly. “Thank you.”

Shocked at first, he returns the hug, mumbling, “You’re welcome.” 

Chapter Text

20 August 2004

Her knee bounced anxiously, white bleak monitors beeping into the pale white room. So sterile, the kind of room you receive the worst news in. In a room like this, she bid her grandmother goodbye for the last time or when her mother had been diagnosed with stage 3 ovarian cancer. Luckily, she was able to make a full recovery and still be active at her age, not that she was considerably old. 

Her ultrasound tech had been sweet, her smile never faltering when looking at the screen. Yet, something about it rotted her tooth like a sickening sweet sugary syrup made in a factory. Her smile never quite reached her eyes when she turned to her, wand in hand, glistening with the lubrication gel. “I have to consult with the doctor, love.”

Hermione bit her lip and nodded anxiously, suddenly wishing she hadn’t gone alone. Not that Ronald would even be much help besides from the every so often uh and that looks like a bloody alien, eh?  

Now, she’s sat on the table, a crinkly white creasing under her with every move. Fucking muggle hospitals , she cursed mentally. She loved all of their diagnostic advances and test, but it fucking killed her to wait this long for a doctor when a healer was a lot quicker. 

Hermione snatched her purse from the table next to her, flipping open and unzipping every pocket it had. Her nimble finger shook as she grasped her mobile, eyes blurred with worry as she managed to scroll down her contacts list. 

Ring… Hermione waited on bated breath, hoping he would pick up. He wasn’t the most reliable man with a mobile, but he certainly did try. That’s all she could ask him to do was try. She certainly had tried for them.

The dual tone went flat, and the robotic voice explained her options, and she elected a message. “Hello, Ron. I’m in hospital, and I-” The air in her lungs waivered, suddenly unable to be found. “I’m really scared. There’s something wrong with the baby, and I just wish you were here with me.”

A stray tear rolled down her cheek when she pressed the red end button on her cellular device. Her breaths became labored as she choked back tears, hoping to not stress out the baby. This was finally her chance at a baby, a gorgeous life made by her and the man she loved since childhood. 

Her heartbeat climbed on the monitor, and all that haunted her was the beating erratically inside her rib cage like a captive bird. Her hands fell numbly on her purse as she refocused on not crying. 

The light wooden door opened, revealing a doctor in a sterile white coat, horn-rimmed glasses on his nose, and a faux smile on his face, the kind that hid the pain and sorrows. 

When he took his seat on the swivel chair next to her hospital bed, she knew. In those devoid eyes, the kind that occlumens had when they’d occluded, she saw the truth laid at her feet. She swallowed harshly, awaiting his words, his statement. She waited for him to tell her that her baby was no longer with them.

He looked at the clipboard then smiled at her, wiping off the doppler that sat at the ultrasound station, next to the ultrasound wand, “You are twenty weeks as of today, correct?” 

Hermione nodded, biting her lip with pure anxiety as she flipped her shirt up, awaiting the cool gel. “I am. A bit of a shock when we found out, really. I struggled getting pregnant then had an ectopic pregnancy last year.”

“That is very unfortunate.” The doctor looked up at her through his glasses, eyes sorrowful like she had been a kicked puppy. Eyes are the windows to the soul after all. “I’m going to just put some gel on your belly then we’ll see your beautiful babe.” 

Hermione braced herself, but the gel wasn’t cold. In fact, nothing felt like anything. It was all cold and muted like she was looking in from the outside, no longer on earth with her feelings. Maybe it would hurt less that way. Her eyes glazed over as she watched the screen then the wand gliding on her stomach. Back to the screen. Back to the wand. Screen then Wand. Screen. Wand. 

His thick, black brows furrowed as he moved all over her stomach, frustrated that he was unable to find what he was looking for. He wiped off the tiny wand with a paper towel and placed it back on the station. “Baby is being fussy. We need to do an ultrasound, just to see her.” There was that false, sugary sweet smile that told her all she needed to know. It was not going to be good news.

She breathed heavily, steadying herself with each breath, trying to cool her nerves. Her purse had been discarded on the table next to her when he had come in. She eyed it distrustfully, knowing that no one would show up for her, even the one who was supposed to love her until her last breath. 

The doctor squirted some more gel on her stomach and then began to steer the paddle across her belly. He clicked his tongue in revelation when he seemed to discover the answer to his earlier obstacle. Then, he sighed shakily, looking her directly in the eye, face stone. “I am very sorry, Mrs. Weasley, your baby doesn’t have a heartbeat. This is very uncommon at this week of development, with only a 2% chance of this happening. You’ve had what is called a late miscarriage. It happens between 14 and 24 weeks gestation, and it is also classified as a stillbirth. So, our next steps would be to give you pitocin to hopefully start labor then you will have to deliver your baby.” 

Tears began to leak from her eyes before she could control them. Her chest began to rise and fall. Sniffling, she asked,  “So, my baby is gone? The baby I tried too hard for, gave every last fiber of my bones for, is just fucking gone?” A pained sob tore from her lips. “Can I at least call my husband? Before you give me pitocin?”

The doctor nodded, and he gave her those sorrowful eyes openly now. “Yes. I will be back in a few short minutes. I have to confer with the staff about your procedure then I will be back.” 

The doctor took his leave, giving her a sad look once more then closing the door behind him. She grabbed at her tray table haphazardly, grasping her phone and clicking on her nearest contact without even looking at it. 

Ring… The call picked up within seconds, only letting out two sobs before the absence of sound set in. Hermione didn’t bother to let them speak, gasping through her freefalling tears, “I lost the baby. Her heart stopped beating, and I needed someone here with me. I have to give birth to my baby and never get to experience the joy of her life with her. I’m so fucking scared. I-I-” She choked on a sob, hiccuping on her tears. “I’m so fucking scared. I need you.” Her sobs broke free, overcoming her. 

“Shh,” The voice soothed, a bit deep to be her intended friend, but she’d fucking take it. “Where are you, Granger? I’m at St. Mungo’s with Scorpius and Astoria. We’ll be right there, okay?” 

“I-I am so sorry. I thought I rang Ginny. You don’t have to-”

“Granger,” He growled into the phone, shutting her up immediately. “I will be there in a few minutes. Just tell me where, and I will be there. It will be okay, and Astoria will understand. She’s in here for the rest of the night, and the visit time is over in five minutes. Just hold on for five.” 

Hermione nodded even though he could not see her through the device, trying to contain her tears as she spoke shakily, “I’m at the hospital in London. I am by myself, and my husband will not answer his fucking mobile, and I don’t have enough strength to conjure up a patronous.” 

“Alright. I will be there in ten minutes. Once I hang up, ring Ginny and tell her to get over there. If you feel like dealing with Pansy's fat gob then ring her too.” His instructions were strict and nonnegotiable. She would not win fighting against him. 

Hermione chuckled watery at his last comment then agreed before saying a quick goodbye and hanging up and dialing Ginny calmly.

“Hello?” Ginny asked, sounding a bit confused but overall cool like she had been doing some lounging. It wasn’t normal for Hermione to call her at half past ten in the morning. “Hermione, are you alright?”

No. Hermione took a deep breath and then spoke. “No. I-I’ve-” She takes another deep breath, tears hitting her all again. “I lost my baby, Gin, and I’m all alone at the hospital. I-I need you- really bad right now. Will you come up? I’m at the muggle hospital in London, and they’re going to induce me so I can birth her.”

Hermione heard this distant sound of shuffling followed by a faint jiggling. Ginny’s door could be heard, slamming on its hinges. “I’m on my way. My flat is five minutes away. Do you need anything? Just stay on the phone with me whilst I walk. I’m here for you, Hermione.”

A sob bubbles in her throat, trying to break free. It’s a losing battle when it erupts like an active volcano. “I just wanted a baby. I wanted my little Rose, my little girl. The universe is sick, Gin. So bloody sick.” 

“I know it is, Love. That little girl needs your strength right now. You need to be strong and give birth to her, even if she will be born asleep,” Ginny cooed into the phone, the faint sound of other people coming through the mobile. “You’ve got this, Hermione. Even if she isn’t here, you’ll always be her mum.”

Hermione swallows sharply, body crying out in tiredness and mental fatigue. “I don’t think I can recover from this,” She admits, mind blanking at the thought of going home without a babe. “I can’t go home without her.” 

“I know, but you’re going to because that’s what the universe set in store for you. And I’m sure in another lifetime, you won’t suffer like this. You deserve the fucking world, Hermione, and don’t you forget that.” 

Ginny’s words rang in her empty head, into the white abyss that had numbed her. The way to protect herself was to shut down. 

“I’m rounding the corner now and opening the door to the hospital. Just hold on. I’ll be right up, okay?” Ginny asked, sounding a wee bit out of breath.

“‘Kay,” She said numbly. Suddenly, the white wasn’t so white anymore and more of a hole. The kind that sucked you in and couldn’t get out of; a black hole where time moves so slowly, letting you be awake during your nightmares. 

The call presumably dropped when the call clicked off, leaving Hermione in the darkened, empty room with the machine that told her she lost it all. The one thing she wanted, dangling in front of her face like a carrot to a rabbit. 

Click. The heavy door opened, and Hermione didn’t look at it. It would solidify that everything was real and that this wasn’t one big fucking nightmare or some sick cruel joke. She hadn’t known when she turned on her side, looking out at the still-alive leaves beginning to wilt, turning that sad red colour. 

Ginny’s red hair came into view as her arms embraced her from the side, crawling into the bed behind her. Her warm arms welcomed Hermione back to this empty reality. Tears fell from her eyes, unable to stop them as she silently sobbed.

“It’s okay. Shhh, I’ve got you.” Ginny’s hand rubbed her back soothingly and her nails scratched it lightly. “I’m here. Let it out.” 

Her sobs break free like a crack that leads to the whole foundation crumbling. “I just wanted a baby. My little girl with bright red hair that I will never get to brush and style for picture day. I won’t get to see her eye color develop her first tooth her first step or her words. I carried her for her to not be someone I can hold on to.” 

Ginny’s other arm came around her face, wiping at her tears from behind. She pushed away some of her curls that were frizzed from the paper on the bed. “I know. Where’s your bloody husband? He should fucking be here.”

Hermione shrugged, numbness overtaking her once again. Don’t show any emotion. This will make you not feel. Honestly, she admitted, “He’s not here. I rang him, and he didn’t answer. And I don’t have the strength to cast a patronus.” 

Hermione could feel the burning fury coming from Ginny. It burned red like her hair, barely contained within the surface of her emotions. She rose from the bed, stalking out the room with such big steps she might shake the foundation of this very place, throwing behind her, “I’ll be back.”

Hermione doesn’t bother to question it, letting the darkness creep in like bad tooth decay. If she lets her mind blank, she can’t let reality. In this state, Rose still exists and is the perfect awaited addition, and her husband is by her side because she needs a bit of bed rest. 

Her door clicks open again and a nurse appears, this time met with her puffy red eyes and streaky face. The words of the nurse wheeling in a chair are bland like the colour beige. The airiness of the room and her happy tone like she loves her job and is completely oblivious is closed off by this window of nothingness. A stranger looking in.

In her short ride to the maternity ward, Hermione only noticed the different tones of whites varying as she passed each fluorescent light. So many stories roamed this hallway, many too alike. 

The gown they dress her in is too white, unlike all the bright maternity gowns that are worn by the happy mothers that she passes on this ride from him. Sterile in all wrong ways, devoid of feelings and the lushness that comes with motherhood like she isn’t one. Like her little Rosie, with her button nose and red hair, doesn’t matter. Her mind is numb, and her soul is empty. Only if she could make it last forever. 

Rejection rolled around in her stomach like a bad case of gastroenteritis. All she could do was lie on her side and cry that gut-wrenching silent cry, fat tears rolling down her face as the telly hummed lowly. It was the kind that made her gasp for air after so many sobs, face red and puffy from the raw display of emotion. The kind that made her whole body jolt in the bed, shaking violently. 

Yet, she sat there all alone until Ginny came back just mere seconds before the doctor came in, and Ginny held her hand through the IV and pitocin administration. 

Her contractions were supposed to hurt. Every book she had read told her that they were supposed to hurt. Although she hadn’t accounted for this whole devastation, she thought she would have at least a twinge of pain in her abdomen. Something at least. The veil of depression was so easy to get lost in, the pain barely registered as anything. It was like the numbness absorbed everything in the moment until early labor truly began, and Hermione’s diet was ice chips. 

Ginny rubbed her back when she flipped to her other side, trying to comfort her to the best ability. Hermione could tell that she had been crying for her when she had come back, eyes a bleary red and nose slightly pink. “It’s gonna be okay, ‘Mione. We’ve got this. You got this.”

She didn’t respond, unable to conceive any idea then the dark thoughts that currently clouded her. I did this. I had to have done something to her. That second cup of coffee last week was so fucking stupid. I did this. I killed my baby just because I couldn’t get the proper rest.  

Ginny patted her back, shushing her as if she could hear her thoughts. “It’s not your fault. Things like these happen, and we cannot control them. This. Is. Not. Your. Fault.”

This made her break out into a sob, crying deeply yet silently as if releasing any noise was going to betray the strength in her silence. The very strength she’s trying to portray to them all. It’s all pain and a meek shell of a woman.  

22 August 2004

Rose Nevaeh Granger was born at three past 7 on a sunny, unusually warm morning. The sun peaked out from behind the white, fluffy white clouds just to shine into her room, to shine on her darling babe. 

Her eyes were blissfully closed like she was settling into a quick snooze, and Hermione would pretend that was only what she was doing. The nurses had dressed her in the outfit Draco had fetched from her and Ron’s flat, per Hermione’s request. It was supposed to be her coming home outfit. Her debut outfit, as the girls had dubbed it. One of the nurses swaddled her up snuggly, and they allowed her to even let Harry and Ginny in to meet their niece.

Harry looked glumly at her, eyes sorrowful through her glasses when he looked at the girl. Her patch of red, curly hair was hidden by the hat they provided. “She looks just like you, ‘Mione.” 

Hermione smiled watery at the girl in her arms, eyes bleary with the constant tears. “I know. She’s so gorgeous, my little Rosie.”

Ginny reached her hand out, running it over her warm skin. It was like she was frozen in time, a small bundle of life that would stay little forever. A picture of what could have been. 

Hermione held her in the crook of her arm, eyes never leaving her little, gorgeous face. It was as if someone held up a mirror to Hermione’s baby picture or decided to make copies of little Hermione with a red frizz of curls. Curls she’ll never style.  

“I think we’ll let you have your alone time with her, Hermione. We’ll be in the waiting area if you need anything.” Ginny squeezed her shoulder, offering her a sad but encouraging smile. Her eyes didn’t glow with pity, and Hermione elected to savor that. 

Harry took one last longing look at the babe then shot her a sad look. Mourning never looked good on Harry, especially when he was mourning for others. 

“Harry?” Her eyes were red and puffy from all of her crying, but she had enough resolve to look at him normally like she wasn’t going to snap in two for the first time in the last 72 hours. “Can you send Malfoy in? I think he should meet her.”

Harry nodded, not questioning her. Draco Malfoy had picked up in the time of need when her own husband was nowhere to be found and even stuck around throughout her labor, only leaving once to take Scorp to his parents and change his clothes. “I reckon that he would be gracious of the opportunity.”

Hermione watched him take his leave, taking a few minutes to bask in the rays of her short-lived motherhood. She simply wished she would open her eyes, just to show her that she had the beginnings of an eye colour. After the stint he pulled, Hermione hoped that babe wouldn’t have his eyes, no matter how wonderful she had once found them.

Rose was the size of a large bell pepper, so small and meek. 19 centimeters looked a lot different in this perspective. She was so little that she basically could fit in the bottom of her hand and was as light as a feather. Hermione kissed her little forehead, savoring the feeling of her soft skin and the new baby's smell. Tears sprung in her eyes.

A light rapt sounded in her small maternity room. A wry smile plastered itself on her lips, watery as she shouted softly, “Come in!” 

Her smile dropped and a frown took its place. Her eyes were no longer woeful and full of sadness. In her iciest tone, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

The red-haired man looked sheepishly, eyes catching on the baby girl bundled in her arms. His face soured soon after the realization set in, muttering lowly to himself. “Shit.”

Hermione raised a brow and wanted to laugh. Those deep, manic unbelievable laughs that scared, the ones that the loons did in movies. Mad with laughter and cut with betrayal, she just broke into a heated cry, only a few tears streaking down her face. “You weren’t here. Why weren’t you here?”

“‘Mione, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that you had gone into labor while I was-”

“Save your fucking excuses. I rang you, Gin sent a patronus, and you couldn’t even bother to check in on your pregnant wife.” Hermione breathed a laugh that quickly turned into more tears. “I’m not gonna fault you right now because I want you to be able to see our daughter before we have to bury her.”

“Bury her?” He gulped and tears could be seen glazing his eyes. “Wh-What happened to her?” 

She opened her mouth to respond, but his temperament flared before she could answer, his eyes pinning her crazily. “What did you do to my daughter?” 

Her sobs ensured harder as she held the baby close. “Nothing. Her heart stopped. They think there was a malformation of one of her valves, and they caught it too late.” Her heart leapt out of her chest in pure agony at the accusation and hurt that someone she loved so dearly would accuse her of such things. 

He fell to the bed, crumpling on to the bed, looking at his baby. With tears in his eyes, he looked up at her, big blue eyes watery, he cried, “She looks like you, ‘Mione.” 

Hermione nodded, biting her lip as her face flooded with fat tears. “I know. And she’s so pretty. She’s the most gorgeous girl in the whole world.” 

The couple held each other as they cried for what seemed like hours upon hours. Yet, it had only been ten minutes. Grief really knew no bounds, especially when coupled with time like a glass of wine and pills. A deadly concoction. 

Hermione wrapped herself in his arms seeking the comfort she was missing all those hours ago. His arms were burly and stiff, much to her dismay, but she would take it. After all, it was the only thing that she could get from him most days, no matter how hard she had tried. 

“‘Mione, I can’t be here right now. It’s too painful to look at her like this,” Ron admitted in a shallow whisper, redness spider webbing across his eyes. He pulled away from her, leaving only the emptiness of space in his wake. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Anywhere but here,” He clipped, not even bothering to look at his family, the ones he was leaving behind. 

Hermione had no tears left to cry for him. Once more, the dagger of loss struck her again, leaving her bleeding out all over again. She looked at her little girl and promised, “I will be strong for you, my love.”

Hermione watched the sky darken as rain clouds rolled in. Rain trickled down her window in slow, sporadic beats. Some were little and some were small. “Thunderstorms are my favorite thing, darling. There's beauty in the chaos of rain, thunder, and lightning.”

“I like storms too.” 

Her head snapped to little Scorpius, seated on the edge of her bed in his green jumper, sleek black trousers, and white trainers. His little face was bright with that glow of innocence she had missed. He smiled at her, showing his missing front tooth off. “Is that baby?”

Hermione nodded, taking a longing look at her daughter. “It is. Her name is Rose, but I like the name Rosie too. What d’you think?” 

He peered down at her, brows furrowed as if he were thinking really hard. “I don’t know. I really like the name, Penelope. I think it’s quite nice.” 

“Penelope is a dandy name, but you cannot name a baby after your Nana’s puppy, Scorp. It isn’t very proper.” Hermione bit her lip in amusement. 

“I reckon you’re right.” The boy shook his head as if debating with himself then ultimately decided in his head. “I suppose Rose fits. She’s basically the size of a rose petal that Nana has in her garden.”

Hermione nodded, looking down glumly at her baby girl solemnly. 

“Hermione?” Scorpius asked, craning his neck to get a better look at Rose, resting his forearms on the bed to get as close as he could without invading her space. His light gray eyes looked up at Hermione. “I have a question.”

“Yes, Scorpius?” Hermione asked, fixing the hat atop her head and righting the swaddle. 

“My daddy said that Rosie was born asleep. Does that mean she’ll get to see Dad’s Gran?” He’s so blissfully ignorant, no malice behind his words.

Hermione’s lip quivered as she answered, trying to hold back her tears. “I suppose so. I don’t know if they’ll meet for sure though.” 

He nodded thoughtfully, tapping on his chin. “D’you think they’ll play together?” 

“Maybe.” Hermione shrugged lightly at the question, not bothering to shut down his curiosity. It was the only thing that felt normal. 

“Scorpius, what are you doing here?” Draco chided from the doorway, face red from being in a frenzy. 

Hermione waved her hand at him, shaking her head lightly. “He’s just being curious. He wanted to meet Rosie, Draco. He’s a nice boy, I assure you. He has been nothing but respectful.” 

Scorpius nodded defensively, eyes flipping to Hermione as if he were trying to protect her from the scolding that she was about to receive. Such a caring boy. “Yeah, Daddy. Come meet, Rosie. She’s pretty like Hermione!”

Draco approached the bed, daring a look in the swaddle blanket, finally seeing the small babe that occupied it. A faint smile twinged the corner of his lips. “She is gorgeous, Scorp. We have to use our inside voice when we’re inside, okay?”

The boy nodded dutifully as if it were his job. Merlin, the Malfoy’s were a passionate bunch if she ever saw one, and they always looked out for each other. Her heart clenched for her future, knowing that her future kids would be raised with the right influences.  Maybe her girl would have that in another lifetime, a boy who cared for her daughter like his own kin. 

Draco’s eyes lingered on the window, brows furrowed in confusion as he gazed into the abyss of the storm clouds. Then his face contorted into a sweet smile, a rarity for him, when his eyes found the baby girl again. “You’ve done good, Hermione.”

Her heart clenched and words couldn’t form anymore, biting back her tears. She nodded, sniffling whilst looking at the babe. “Yeah. I did.” 

Chapter Text

7 September 2016

Hermione flickered the flame of the lighter, bringing it to the tip of her cigarette. It was an every-so-often indulgence that only Lily Luna Potter had discovered last year when she happened upon Hermione with a lit cigarette between her lips. Bloody babes and their teething. 

She inhaled a lung full of the cancerous stick betwixt her fingers. The tip burned red, puffing into the cold night above her house, rising from her rooftop where she sat all alone like she always had and most likely always would. Drowning in her sorrowful thoughts, she takes a drag from it, savoring the delightfully minty taste of this variety. Tar tasted so bloody good when it had a nice spearmint flavor. Though, some nights she would crave something a lot softer on the palate like an apple tart. All she would ever have is spearmint, and she’d relish all that she would have, taking in the good graces the universe would allow.

The waxing crescent moon glittered upon her house like it were something to be relished by the moon’s beauty. Such a gracious offer of the night. Hermione flicked a bit of ash off the tip, fingers tracing the constellation. Yet, her mere hand would never touch the sky as she was a mere human in this sodding world. On nights like these, she wondered what her prized Rose was doing up in heaven. Not that she was very religious. She would’ve been twelve. Tears no longer sprung to her eyes as easily. She had kept her promise to her little girl, and she sure as hell kept it. 

Thunder boomed in the distance, purple lightning cracking across the sky. Somehow, Hermione could sense that Rose’s favorite colour would be the lavender that always struck closest to her house. It was like she was always with her spiritually. Raindrops had yet to fall, so it was still safe for her to be watching from a distance. When the rain came, she would go inside and watch the storm through her reading nook window, an odd octagon attached to the corner of her bedroom. 

“Thought you might be out here,” A deep voice remarked behind her, his heavy steps echoing off of the little bit of roof that covers the wrap-around porch of her pink house.

Her eyes darted to the man taking the space next to her, her hair blowing wildly in the wind, cigarette still in her mouth, a cloud forming at its red tip. Then her hands scramble to pluck it away and die it out behind her back like a child poorly binding a sweet they've taken without permission.

“Those are bad for you, y’know.” Malfoy’s lips tug into a smirk, looking at her like a parent who’s caught their teen smoking as he takes the spot next to her, dangling his feet off the edge. 

“I-” Hermione huffs, drawing her lips in a thin line and narrowing her eyes at him. Yes, she knew they were unhealthy. Okay? And? She was a grown witch, who was almost bloody forty. She could make her own decisions, thank you very much.

“Relax, Granger. I’m only taking the piss,” Draco chuckled lightly at her expression. He pulled out a small, metal case and opened it. “These are much better for you, Granger.” 

Hermione raised a brow when he offered her an all-white cigarette then accepted it as the one that was between her lips was currently lying in her pretty pink flowers. She flickered the flame of her lighter once again, pressing it to the tip for the second time tonight. 

It was as sickly as the menthol’s. It was a lot lighter but still, that delicious mint she craved time and time again. “It’s quite good,” She remarks into the cool air, tucking her knees under her chin as she takes another drag, savoring its taste.

Draco nods and then lights his cigarette. “They are. Theo rolls them, but I’m not a big smoker. I prefer a drink, but this doesn’t seem the most appropriate occasion.”

Hermione furrowed her brows at him, eyeing him with a confusion that seemingly wrote itself on her face. “Since when have you smoked? It’s bad for you, y’know. And, herbal cigarettes are not healthier or better for you.”

His eyes look like they gloss over as if the words are going in one ear and out the other. Another smirk tugs at his lips. “Oi, shut up, Granger. Just smoke the damn thing before Scorpius and Marie come out here and bother us and expand your list of the children that know.”

“I-” Hermione narrows her eyes at him. “How do you know about Lily catching me?”

“Because she’s got her mother’s fat gob,” Draco chuckled lightly, in pure fun. “That’s the one kid that can never know a secret, I tell you.” 

Hermione laughed too, nodding in agreement. “I’d drink to that. I was expecting a howler from Pansy asking why I was smoking in front of her twelve-year-old.”

Draco snorted, taking a long inhale of his cigarette. “That’d be the fucking day. Send her one back and ask her why she was imbibing firewhiskey in front of our- in front of Scorpius.”

Hermione smiled glumly, refocusing on the brewing storm that awaited them ahead. “I love Scorpius, but I’m not here to replace his mum, Draco. I’m just Hermione to him. I didn’t birth him, not that it makes him my son if I didn’t, and his mother is perfectly fine shape to parent.” 

Draco sighed next to her, refocusing on the storm too. “I know that. I just feel like you were there more than Astoria, and I think you deserve more credit than the title of Aunt. You were more of a mother than her, and you were more of his mother than she ever was.”  By the end of his rant, the tips of his ears are pink and his impeccable face is soured at the thought. Draco looked good for age, objectively. Only a few wrinkles tittered his forehead and the addition of reading glasses was needed. He still fit those posh suits and was amuck when Scorp came home in street fashion for the first time, muttering something about bloody kids and their rank fashion sense.  

Hermione could almost laugh at the preposterous notion that he had set forward. “She’s his mother, and she has every right to be his parent as much as you-”

“I know that!” He snapped suddenly, eyes flitting to her quickly. His gaze softened when she pinned him with a glare. “Sorry. I just wish sometimes that we would’ve reconnected when I was eighteen and you’d be the biological mother of Scorpius. He would’ve got a better deal rather than a woman who still sends him things meant for a ten-year-old. I would’ve had a wife that cared for my son, and I wouldn’t have put him through all the shite of my divorce with that selfish woman.”  Hermione could swear his eyes were watering, even with only the moonlight to light up his face. Would it be so wrong to touch his face? “He deserves someone that cares about him just as much as he cares about them. He used to cry when he was younger about when he had to leave your house after sleepovers. He wanted me to move you in.”

Hermione laughed at the thought of Scorpius holing himself up in her guest bedroom; she kept clean and open for him with a revolving door policy for most of his childhood and teen years. “He was quite the character when he was younger. Always wanted hot chocolate and a muggle bedtime story.” 

“He was quite the character, and he would yell at me when I didn’t do the bloody voices right.” His laugh is distant, and he’s returned to peering out into the storm as if in deep thought. After a few seconds, he meekly admitted, “I almost listened to him. I almost floo’d to your house and then stole you out of your bed. I wasn’t too fond of prison the first time around, so I decided against it.” 

Hermione smacked his shoulder lightly then chided, “You cannot steal a person from their bed in the middle of the night. I suppose I’ll let this slide so long as I remain in my bed for the rest of my happy life. But only for Scorpius, I’ll keep you out of Azkaban.” 

Lightning crackled closer, striking just a few hundred meters away, lighting up the whole sky with that gorgeous Lavender that she admired so much. Hermione leaned into Draco, resting her head on his shoulder. After so much healing and hurt in their lives, he was what Ron was supposed to be. A companion, a very cared-for friend, someone who actually cared about Hermione. “Draco?” 

“Yeah, Hermione?” He asked lowly as if raising his voice an octave would disturb the natural beauty of the storm setting in.

A smile rose to her lips. The sound of her name spoken from his mouth never got old, and it was just as savory as a crème brûlée from the finest of dining in London. “I would’ve reconnected with you when I was eighteen if I knew it would give me Scorpius, but I don’t think my fertility issues would’ve let me. For all we know, he could’ve ended up like Rose.”

“Cared for? Happy? Loved?” He’s soft in the way he speaks as if he’ll hurt her. “Rosie may have only existed on earth for a few months, but that was the most pampered, cared-for baby I’d ever seen in my life, Granger. I think she’d love to see you prosper.”

Tears sprang to her eyes, welling up as she sniffled, “I look for her in the lightning. It makes me think of the day that she was born and Scorp snuck into my hospital room. I think that made her feel loved, especially after Ron just fucking ran out of the room. So, I look for her in the rain, especially in the lightning storms. It’s like she’s saying that she’s okay.”

Draco wrapped his arm around her shoulder, lightly rubbing her upper arm in comfort as her tears fell. “I think she’d like to know that you didn’t do it on your own and that you have someone looking out for you. And lightning reminds me of the day that I saw your husband leave out of the door with his mistress whilst you said goodbye to your baby. I knew that day that our families would unite, and I wouldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. And I look for Rosie in the garden, especially when they’re in full bloom. It’s like she’s trying to tell me something.”

Hermione smiled at the idea, bouncing it around in her head. “She always loved to play around in my stomach when I would help Scorp pick out the weeds out of it. It was like she did flips.” She chuckled sadly at the memories of spending all her time with Scorpius in the garden Narcissa had erected in Draco’s large backyard. Her heart swells at the idea of the two running amuck in the garden, growing older with each thought. 

Draco’s hand brushed her hand, interlocking their fingers together. Hermione knew he wasn’t one for public affection, but she’d sure as hell take what she could get in comfort. Drying her eyes, she looked at him, watching him as he watched the storm. His face was more relaxed, wrinkles barely displaying, chin sharp as a tack, and hair still as platinum as the day that she met him. Would it be so bad to reach out and touch his handsome face? 

He’s grown fine with age like a nice wine. He's never lost his quidditch figure, thighs still thick like tree trunks. His face made him seem more approachable, a learned skill with his age. He’s aged like a bloody celebrity, and all she wanted to do was to touch. 

His gray eyes met her brown eyes, and it was like the lightning struck them. A smirk played on his lips, “See something that you like, Granger?” 

Her hand reaches up to grasp his cheek, fingers tilting his chin down, so she can study his face. He barely has aged from his young adulthood, just some reading glasses and faint wrinkles. She licked her lips in anticipation, the next moments hanging in the thick air between them.

He was so close, just a few mere millimeters from his lips. She could just lean in and risk it all. Right here, right now. “And risk everything that we’ve built with Scorpius because we haven’t felt the touch of a man in a few months. What a fucking joke,” The voice hissed in the back of her head. 

“I can practically hear you thinking, Granger. So, please shut that thing the fuck off.” He tapped the side of her temple, licking his lips as his eyes flickered to hers. “And snog me already.”

Her brain stalled like a computer made in the eighties, gears turning with such a rust that needed a bad fixing. Her brain is foggy, and she can barely see through the fog and barely register when exactly he’s pressed his lips to hers. All she knows is the warmth of his hands tangled in her hair and the pillowiness of his lips, warm and welcoming. 

Her hands wander into his hair, grasping his hair on the back of his neck and pulling him in deeply with a hand on his cheek. His hands are strong but delicate and soft like a posh man’s, a man who hasn’t seen a day of labor. They light a fire under her skin, letting her relish in his touch. He’s like a torch, burning his way up her. 

She allowed her body to go on autopilot, not bothering to think and only lean into what feels best. It distracted her mind from all of her sadness and pain, melting into his touch. He made everything feel so bloody good, so right. Her mind didn’t race with him. For once, it felt like her brain wasn’t going to break down with all its overthinking. If he wanted to open this door, she’d hand him the fucking key and let them both be free.

His teeth nicked her bottom lip, causing her to gasp into the kiss. The sound lay lightly between them, she snogged him back properly, nipping at and sucking his bottom lip lightly. 

He broke away, hands still tangled in her hair and resting on the back of her neck. He chuckled airily, the sound ricocheting into the night. “Fuck.” His hand rubbed at his face, a small smirk on his face. Smug bastard.

Her lips feel swollen, and puffy from their antics. Would it be so bad if I leaned back in? Would it be so bad to feel… content again? 

His eyes sparkled in the moonlight at her, his grin reaching his eyes, showing his very distant smile lines on his handsome face. “Granger, I told you to stop thinking.” 

She bit her lip, staring at her fingers sheepishly, breaking their eye contact and a blush forming on her cheeks. “I’m sorry, it just happens sometimes.”

“Hm,” He mused, crooking his fingers under her chin and pushing her face up. His face was still soft, yet no longer grinning. “Granger, one day I’m going to show you that you’re worth all of the love that I plan on giving you.”

“You plan on loving me?” A cackle wanted to bubble out of her chest. The man who was supposed to love her most of all left in her time of need. Could she do it again? “I don’t think-”

“Bloody hell.” He crushed her lips with his, her curls tangling in his hands. She responds quickly, kissing him back with newfound rigor. It’s not a nice kiss like before, it’s full of teeth and the feelings that she’s projecting to him. Hurt him before he hurts you.  

He’s not one to back down, meeting her with the same harshness, as if to challenge her. I raise you, Malfoy, she thought indignantly, hooking her legs around his thighs, effectively straddling him. 

Their bodies move on the same wavelength, hips bucking into each other as Hermione discovers how much he exactly wants this. He’s fucking solid between her legs, the teeth of his zipper barely containing his hard cock, and it’s driving her fucking mental. 

Draco’s hand grasped her hip, guiding her flush against him, letting her feel the full length of him. Merlin . She’d be lucky if half of him could even fit. 

She shuddered involuntarily against him, a shiver trickling down her spine with anticipation. Something in her is just lit up, like a burning ember never dying as if she’s held this flame for longer than she’s realized. Sure, Malfoy was always attractive, but she never- surely, she couldn’t. 

Oh, but she could, and the way his hands on her body made her feel, she didn’t want to stop. His hands are too good to stop from finding their way under her shirt, running his thumb over her waistband. 

“Is this okay?” He asks breathlessly in between their kisses, holding her in an iron grip like she’s going to vanish before his eyes. That fucking look in his eyes. Damn it to hell.

Hermione doesn’t pull away but rather kisses him with a newly found ferocity. Her hips ground against his, the fabric of his trousers hitting delectably against her clit in a way that made her wanna shout from the rooftops. Hermione pulled back, eyes glinting against the incoming storm, hair blowing violently from its wind. “Fuck, Draco. You can touch me anywhere and in any bloody way you’d like. Everything you’re doing to me is so okay. It’s more than okay.” 

He chuckled against the nape of her neck, resting his head against her shoulder. He fingers her waistband, pushing his hand into her knickers. They’re not sexy and lace, but rather pure cotton boy shorts that hug her arse. 

“Sorry, I didn’t plan-” Her cheeks flushed, pinking up as she looked off into the distance. He’s still against her besides from his fingers ghosting over her cunt. 

“Granger, stop apologizing. I’d shag you in a bloody bin bag if you let me.” Wordlessly, Draco disappears her pajama bottoms, leaving only her knickers and his trousers between them. His ministrations are pure filth when his hips grind back into her testily. Her nerve ends light up at him.

Hermione makes do with his belt, pulling it free from his waist then unzips his trousers, revealing his cock. His tip is an angry red, leaking with his arousal. And she can’t fucking wait. 

Neither can he apparently as his fingers move the gusset of her knickers aside, letting her position his cock at the opening of her weeping cunt. Hermione spreads the pre-come down his shaft and then pumps him a few times.

The pad of his thumb finds her clit, rubbing in circles as she withers against him. He groans deeply in her ear as if holding on to his last restraint, “I’m going to fuck you now, Granger. I’m going to try to go slow, so I can fit.”

Hermione nods, biting her lip between her teeth. His eyes bulge wide, but he doesn’t bother to say anything. In fact, they’re silent, relishing in the moment between them. Their bodies are in sync, and there’s something about this happening under the moon that makes her just want it so much more. The old chapter of their lives was brought in and ended by a thunderstorm, Hermione ultimately decided when she sat herself on his cock. 

There’s no going back. And she doesn’t want to. They’re the closest they’ve ever been in their lives, and she enjoys every tantalizing inch he gives her in his shallow thrusts from below her. The stretch gives a delicious burn that’s slowly turning into pleasure with each thrust. Breathily, she moans in his ear, “S’good.”

“Your cunt has me in a fucking vice. I’m gonna-fuck-” Hermione feels his hand squeeze around the base of his cock, as if trying to keep himself in control. His hand returns to her hip, helping her to take more of his cock. “Losing control… Might hurt you if I-”

“I can handle it, Draco,” She pants, finally taking the full length of him in her cunt, arching into his hand toying with her clit. “Feels s’good.”

His head fell against her shoulder, thrusting faster now. She’s so small against him, and her cunt feels like it’s being split in half in such a way that she wouldn’t care if she actually were split down the middle. If it meant she got to ride his fat cock again then she’d risk it all, even her thoroughly used cunt. 

Their pace picked up, Draco fucking her from under her at such a force that her thigh shook with each and every thrust. “Fuck- Such a good girl, taking my cock. All of me.” 

Hermione shivers at his words, clenching around his cock so delectably. He’s thick and hot between her legs, licking up her spine with such pleasure. 

His thumb circled her clit so delectably that her head threw back. “Fuck, Draco. I’m gonna-”

“That’s it, Love. Soak my fucking cock,” Draco cooed, never stalling or slowing down his pace. His hips grind against her pelvis, letting him hit the spot that made her see fucking stars.

She rocked against him, chasing her high with all the stimulation she was given, eating it up like a greedy pet. Soon, it grew too much for her, his punishing pace never stopping. Was it possible to be so fucking close already?

His hips snapped against her so fucking good but so fucking overwhelmingly. It made her head fucking spin with need.Her hips arched, trying to escape his overstimulation, and she whined out. “Draco, I don’t know if I can-” Her word fell short as her brain turned to fucking putty in his hands.

“You’ve got this, my good little pet,” Draco smirked at her, arm wrapping around her hips as he helped her thrust herself on his cock. “Give me one more then I’ll give you mine.”

Her traitorous body listened, soaking his cock again, thoroughly being fucking into her next orgasm. His eyes lit up at her depravity, and he palmed her arse, almost like he were tempted to smack it, “Good fucking girl.”

Her insides clenched at the praise and the thought of his palm spanking her arse, craving more for him. It was as if she were a young, sex-driven teen once again with unlimited libido. Her eyes grew big and glossed over like her brain was going to fall out of her ear. 

He chuckled in short choppy breaths, watching as her face pinked, “You like that, don’t you? Makes that pretty cunt weep for me. I can fucking feel it. Bet I’d make you sing for me if I spanked your pretty arse.”

Her cunt clenched around him, gripping him at the thought. Her ears pinked, and her face heated in a blush. 

“Oh, so you like your arse spanked,” Draco chuckled darkly in her ear, his words warm on her. “If you want your arse spanked, all you have to do is ask.” 

Hermione glared at his smirk, still riding him into fucking obilvion, still chasing her high. Maybe if she were good just this once, if she listened, she would get a reward. No one would really know she actually let Malfoy boss her around. Meekly, she asked with doe eyes. “Can you please spank me, Draco?”

He smirked, seemingly happy to oblige her. His hand cracked down on her creamy white skin with his large hand, leaving a burning hot red handprint in his wake.

Her abdomen clenched and her hands balled themselves into his hair, looking for something to ground her to earth, and she completely drenched his trousers and him. “Draco!” She called out from the rooftop, crying out into the cold air of the rainy night.

“What a fucking whore, cumming on my cock because I fucking spanked your arse.” He met her in a harsh, teeth-filled kiss, pushing her aggressive onto his cock, fucking her from below. 

Hermione pants, riding through her orgasm to let him reach his peak, trying to let him get to where she had been so many times tonight, on the brink of pleasure.

“Fuck, do you want me to pull out?” He pants between clenched teeth, his control slipping.

Hermione shook her head, words unable to form as she chased her high for the third time tonight. “No, I can’t- just cum in me, Draco.” 

He indulged in a few deep thrusts that grew choppy then followed suit, shooting thick white ropes of his cum into her and praising, “Such a good fucking girl.” 

The haze around them fell, chests heaving as Hermione fell into his body. She didn’t say a word as her senses came back, hoping this moment wouldn’t be broken.

Draco rubbed her back and placed a sweet kiss on her forehead as if savoring her attention and their time. He didn’t bother pulling out, and she didn’t mind it. He whispered lowly into the air, too low for her to hear. 

She took his face into her hands, looking up at him whilst studying the distant freckles on his face from his years of quidditch. 

“You look mighty fine freshly shagged, Granger.” He offered her a lopsided grin then kissed her on her lips sweetly. 

Hermione smirked back at him, “I suppose I could say the same about you.” 

Draco pulled out of her after a few moments of peaceful silence, helping her fix her knickers and right herself as if his cum wasn’t running down her thigh. He helps her face forward in his lap, arms clasped around her waist to steady her. 

The rain pillowed on the horizon, light creeping in from the cracks of lightning. A slight trickle of rain began to sprinkle on them.

Draco whispered against her ear as the thunder rumbled closer, “Should we go inside?”

Hermione shook her head, leaning into his arms, relishing in the comfort of him. “Not yet. Can we just stay like this for just a bit longer?”

He indulged her, wrapping his suit jacket around her front as if it were a blanket, watching as the storm rolled in. 

Chapter Text

18 November 2004

“That’s fucking ridiculous, Draco,” Astoria snarled at him, chipping at the nude polish on her nails as if it were too much of a bother for her to pick her head up and look at him. She leaned against one of his large, cherry oak bookshelves. Two large black leather armchairs sat adjacent to his broad desk.

Work had been long, much longer than usual with Granger’s leap of absence. In the mornings, with a cuppa in hand, he would ask Potter in passing about her. Just a simple work chat, if he’d be allowed. Draco sighed heavily, looking up from his paperwork and arching a brow, “What is?” 

Astoria gawked at him, like he could read her fucking mind, astounded as if the question she wasn’t asking was something he should just automatically assume. “The amount of paperwork that Granger gives you. It’s fucking ridiculous. And the way that you just cater towards her like a lost puppy.” 

Draco dropped his quill and threw down his glasses, rubbing at his temples, trying to relieve the tension headache. “It’s called doing my job, Astoria. And Granger is literally still taking a leap of absence for her mental health. Why do you keep bringing her up? She has nothing to even remotely do with my workload, only once in a while are we required to work together. I’m not having this argument anymore.” 

“Pfft,” Astoria scoffs, sitting down on the leather chair adjacent to his cherry oak desk with her perfect posture that made his skin crawl with such a distaste that lingered on his tongue like cigarette ash. It all felt too cold, too much like his darkest years, and reminded him of the pureblood society he wanted to burn to the fucking ground. After all the pain it’s caused him, he’d watch it go up in embers. Her green eyes rolled at him, once bright with hope in their sad youth. “We don’t always have this argument because you won’t talk to me half the bloody time. I’m lucky to catch a glimpse of you after you come home. You’re always in your office with your work or you disappear into your office and never come out to see your family.”

Draco could almost cackle at the prideful indignation painted across her smug, pompous face as she’d caught him. Caught him doing what? Being a workaholic who occasionally catches drinks on Fridays with his colleagues. “I’m working, Astoria. I will gladly take some time off if you would like. My project will need to be submitted this Friday, but I will put in for holiday when Granger comes back next week, okay, Tori?” 

“Yeah because the world revolves around her, right Draco?” Her tongue sliced with an accusatory venom, sickly green with jealousy as if she weren’t his fucking wife. The one he vowed to love with every bone in his fucking body. “You never understand what I tell you, Draco.”

“She just lost her fucking baby, Astoria. I saw her hold the little girl, who was barely larger than my hand, in her arms and sobbed when they took her away from her, so she could take her home in a box of ashes and a box of things that were supposed to fit her little body.” Tears distantly sprung to his eyes, and he gulped down a sob. He wouldn’t show her how much he felt for Granger’s situation. “All I could think about was how she could continue. You and Scorpius are my fucking life, and I couldn’t imagine a world without either of you. So, yes I am going to be sympathetic towards her.”

Her foot tapped impatiently on the marble floor of his study, her posture never wavering, as if this were boring her now. The row she fucking started.   “I don’t care about how you want to defend her. I’m tired of being the third person in our marriage, Draco. Are you fucking her? Is that why-”

“No!” He screamed, slamming his palms onto his large desk in pure frustration. His face flushed and he towered over his desk, trying to rein in his anger. “I’m not fucking her. I have never strayed, Astoria. Never in my fucking life. You are it for me, so long as you will have me!” 

“You’re a bloody joke of a wizard. Forgetting who he is, forgetting what we are, disconnecting us from our rich status of being in such an honorable society.” Her eyes lit with that vengeful fire, the one that he recognized from her sister and her bashing at Hogwarts. Astoria eyed him as if he were chewing gum tacked on her Louis Vuitton, specifically the red bottoms she’d insisted she needed every Christmas since they had married. “What would your father say about you being this way with a blood traitor and a mudbloo-”

“Don’t call Hermione that!” Draco roared, grasping his wand and casting a reinforcement silencing charm. Maybe Scorpius wouldn’t hear him kill his mother. “You are so full of yourself all the time. Can you ever be a caring person, Astoria? I try for you! I try to do date night, but you blow me off. Unless I am offering you more material items, you don’t wanna fucking see or hear it. I’ve poured everything into a fucking loveless marriage, Astoria because you were pregnant, and I was stuck in a shitty situation. Mind you, I didn’t receive a single fucking visit from you whilst you took holidays all over Europe after the war, gallivanting around on my family yacht and fucking other men.”

She scoffed, perfectly manicured face twisted in disgust, “That’s a damn li-”

“You had photos of you riding other men, from Spain to Russia, and I chose to forgive. Yet, I never fucking forgot!” His throat burned as his emotions bubbled over like a well during a monsoon. “I did it for Scorp, and I wish I never did! He deserves better than you!” 

“Who does he deserve then? Your slag?” Her eyes glistened with the tears that tried to escape, but it’s hard to do that with a face full of plastic and Botox. Despite her only having a few wrinkles, she would jump on every sign of age. 

Draco shook his head and laughed as if the air were completely devoid of his lungs, so harshly that it even surprised him by the sound he made. “He deserves someone that will care for him properly, not a witch that is off on ships and other countries with men that aren’t his father. And a mother who doesn’t drop him at his Nan’s every day to go out and pamper themselves with money that isn’t even theirs. So, if that is what Granger does, then yes. He deserves someone like Granger who strolls in the gardens with him or packs him a picnic or kisses his scrapes and puts his plasters on.”

Tears streamed down her face, cheeks, and nose red-stained from her vigorous rubbing on her pale skin. “I’m not a whore! I’m twenty-three, so I am allowed to go to the pub and on holiday, you utter arsehole. I am a damn good mother, at that. So stop trying to push the narrative of being father of the year. You’re not! You’re barely fucking home! How would you even know!?” 

“I am fucking home, Astoria! I have one late night once in a while, this case being the exception. I take him out flying! I play dragons with him every day before I leave for work! I don’t even have time to eat most mornings because I value my time with my son more! And I try to spice up our marriage, but it’s hard to love the shell of a once good woman!” He exclaims, pounding on his desk, trying to keep his anger at an appropriate level. “I just want him to have a person who will drop everything for him, even if she is sick. You were never there, Astoria. You’re like a bird in a cage, begging to take flight, but I need you to tell me what you want, Tori. I hate that we live at war like this constantly.” 

She sniffled, dabbing the corner of her eyes with the handkerchief that Draco had tossed her way in an angry haste, “I don’t know when we ended up like this, Dray. I hate that we feud so often. I don’t think Scorpius deserves this, so…” She takes a deep breath, as if steadying herself with the intake. He’s waiting for the shoe to drop, for it all to click. “I think we should get divorced.” 

There’s the other shoe, dropping smack dab in his face. Not that it wasn’t a long time coming, but he never thought it wouldn’t sting like it was supposed to. In fact, he felt almost… Well, quite relieved. “I don’t know how to react to that, Astoria. I- I don’t think we were meant for each other, and I think we worked with what we could. But, I will agree to it.” All of his anger washed away, suddenly clearing his head. As if suddenly he acquired the wisdom of an older wizard before him. “I think we deserve to be happy, Tori.”

She sobbed harder, mascara streaking down her face and ruining her carefully applied blush. “I knew you’d agree to it! Of course, you would! You take any chance to get rid of me!”

“Because we don’t fucking work, Astoria! I’m tired of being the only one who puts effort into our family Astoria!” He shouted, shaking with the reignited, seething rage. “I love you, but I am not in love with you! I never was! We were just fun for a bit until we made a fucking mistake-”

“So Scorpius is a mistake!” She accuses, still forcing out those manipulative crocodiles from her eyes. It had become blatant over the years that Astoria had used her tears against her father so easily yet so skillfully. 

“I didn’t say that, Astoria.” His chest is heaving, his face flushing, and a vein popping on the side of his forehead. “We were a mistake. Our marriage was a mistake.” His tone is even and cold to the touch, icing her out almost completely. 

“Yeah because I’m not that mudbl-”

“Astoria, if you keep calling her that then I’m going to have to ask you to leave. If you cannot respect anyone that is part of mine and our son’s life then I urge you to take your leave.” His eyes cut to her, and Merlin, if looks could kill. His gray eyes are menacing, almost sneering at her. 

“Wonderful! You’re going to kick me out of my home, divorce me, and never allow me to see my son! Father of the fucking year, Draco!” She screamed, now rising to her feet and drilling her pointer finger into his chest. 

Draco grasped her hand firmly, not too tight as to hurt her but enough to halt her minor assault. “You are not a child, Astoria. Act like it. I am not saying anything of that nature. I am simply saying that you will not disrespect any of my friends and, more importantly, some very important people to our son. He loves them, and they love him. So, please stop being selfish, Astoria.”

“And Hermione Granger loves you! And you love her too! Just admit it, Draco! Stop lying to those around you!” Astoria screams in his face, but he’s done feeding the fire that is the spoiled, posh woman in front of him. “You abandoned me to go be with her when I was doing my blood treatment. You’re a terrible husband and an even worse man, Draco Malfoy!” 

His eyes softened, and he finally saw the hurt within her. Despite all her wrongs, she was still his wife, and he needed to do better. And he surely would try. His arms attempted to embrace her, to erase her hurt like he would when she was a young teen during the war. 

“Get the fuck off of me, you- you mudblood lover!” 

His heart no longer beat in his chest, and then all the nostalgia squashed itself where it sat, chest suddenly cold creeping in. This was no longer kind, young Astoria Greengrass who tried to free Mippy then bought her tailored dresses when she refused after much congregation with a redefined Pansy Parkinson. Yet, she was Astoria Malfoy, the perfectly cold pureblood wife. A prejudiced bint that couldn’t see a future besides the one where they all remained in their own blood status, not that she didn’t like to use muggles and their cosmetic amenities to her disposal. 

“I’m tired, Astoria. I can’t do this anymore, and I do not want your prejudice projected onto our son. I will give you until the end of the week to leave then I will offer a hefty compensation that is up to par with our years of marriage, and negotiable custodial rights, and then we will co-parent amicably. We are over, Astoria.” Draco took up his seat once more, placing his glasses on his face. Why fight a losing battle? Why hurt people that don’t need to be hurt? 

She scoffed at him, perfectly manicured brows raised, befuddled at his action, “This is ridiculous, Draco! I’ll be out by tonight, and you’ll be hearing from my lawyer, you utter arsehole. Make sure you tell your son why his mum doesn’t live with him and make sure he knows it’s your fault!” 

He sighed, rubbing his face harshly as her black hair whipped and her insufferable heels clicked against the marble floors. He picked up where he left off in his paperwork, shuffling through the stack, never bothering to look at her retreating entity. 

There went his marriage, up in flames, and all that wandered his mind was what Scorpius was up to at Hermione Granger’s house this lonely evening, not that Astoria even cared enough to notice that her son wasn’t here. 

Unlike her, their son was the most caring boy and brought Granger over some of Mippy’s freshly baked biscuits and hot chocolate packets he picked out at the shop whilst out with his Nana. 

At least, Scorpius was partly Astoria Greengrass, youthful and so kind, everything that had become such a stranger to his mother. 

Draco pours himself an obscene amount of firewhiskey, hand clenched tightly around the crystal-cut glass, his staple whiskey glass. He sighs then pushes his papers back into their manila folders then files them away appropriately in his desk drawers. 

Just him and his thoughts, chasing each other around in a poor game of cat and mouse until he drinks his sorrows away, drowning them away the only way he knows how. 

He drains his drink, shaking his head at the preposterous notion that bloody woman set forth, and he doesn’t comprehend when he’s launched his glass until it clatters against his stone fireplace, shattering into a million tiny pieces. Glass splinters into a million pieces, alongside his unhappy marriage. 

Chapter Text

1 September 2004

“Are you fucking kidding me, Draco?” A woman, audibly his mother, screamed throughout his father’s study. The walls of the manor weren’t usually this thin, but tonight just seemed different. Like the stars aligned so perfectly to break down most magical spells. It was a phenomenon Hermione had told him about, and he was a rather nosey young bloke.

His heart thumped in his chest, respiratory rate rising with each rapid breath. His body always had done this, the moment his mother’s voice began to climb in octaves. Being just five, almost six, his body had acclimated to this response. 

His mum wasn’t a bad mum; she was a rather peculiar one, to say the least. She would swallow these funny blue and white tablets then drink them down with this funny smelling brownish red liquid in that big bottle that Daddy told him to never touch. Then she would have fun dance parties with him or let him have some ice cream a wee bit too close to supper. Mostly, she would eat her funny sweets, drink her adult beverage, kiss him on the forehead, call Mippy, and leave. 

Yet, he hadn’t understood why Daddy was so angry that she ate the sweets around him. He was responsible. He knew not to eat the sweets, and he listened pretty decently for his standard. 

In all, he preferred his mum most when she ate the sweets. It meant that she would not scold him for talking about Hermione or calling her that nasty name his father had explained was mean to Hermione and muggleborns. Or for that matter, Hermione’s parents who insisted they be called by their given names. They were a rather odd pair that did not seem to follow proper protocol. 

Sure, it was rare that he ever saw the two muggles, but oh godric, when he did. Jean, as she insisted she would be called after one too many Mrs. Granger’s, always welcomed him with a tray of cookies, and Rich would allow him to play with train sets that he kept from his childhood. He really could not comprehend why his mum disliked them so much; they were fair and kind, much like Hermione. 

He had asked his father why he couldn’t call Hermione, Mummy Hermione like Albus calls Aunt Pansy Mummy Hermione. Apparently, it was because she wasn’t his girlfriend. Like that mattered. If he were being honest, he would rather his father not kiss Hermione because girls still have cooties, even at their big ages. 

“Astoria, please be rational about this. I know that you are angry, and you have every right to be, but I would prefer that you have this conversation with me when you are sober.” His father’s voice sounded calm like when he made a mess at the breakfast table, not quite scolding but a bit annoyed. 

He could hear his mum tapping her foot. She was annoyed, she did that when she was annoyed with him for not cleaning up his toys properly. That’s why he liked those sweets. They gave her a serenity that made his heart happy to finally see.

His mum deserved to be happy, unlike she was when she was stuck home all day with him, barely paying him any mind whilst her friends gathered in their sitting room for tea. Mostly, Mippy would feed him nice jam sandwiches with quite good sweet bread that she made just a few hours prior. 

“I’m not on anything! How dare you!?” He could picture her pointing an accusatory finger in his father’s direction.

His father sighed loudly, and the dull clink of his reading glasses sounded. “Astoria, I think we should have this conversation rationally, and your pupils are blown wide, and you’re falling asleep in that chair, actively.”

“So what if I am? It’s nine pm, Draco. Pardon me for getting old.” Scorp could picture her sitting in his father’s large armchair, legs crossed, with that glossy look on her face. Her happy look. It usually came after eating too many of those sweets, likely from a tummy ache like he would get from time to time when he ate too many biscuits at Jean’s. Yet her tummy aches seemed different like she had to have them. 

His father groaned, “It’s five o’clock, Astoria. We have supper with our son in an hour, and I am trying to finish up my paperwork, so I can spend the rest of my night with Scorpius.”

“I’m still jet lagged from Greece-”

“You went to Greece a month ago!” It was rare that his father raised his voice, ever. He usually conveyed his anger in a low and disapproving tone, not that he used it much. Only this tone was reserved for his mum. 

“Bullshite.” He could imagine her flicking her long fake nails dismissively at him. She loved to do that to the project he would bring home from Jean’s or Hermione’s. “I am allowed to be tired, Draco! If we’re going to talk about permissibility, then shall we chat about how you took our son to that- that thing's delivery? Then you let him just look at its dead baby. Father of the year, truly, Draco!”

He winced at her voice, anxiety at a sudden incline. He never really understood why she felt the need to yell so loud. His father never felt the need, and it made his heart sing. There was no hostility for making simple child mistakes, just an understanding. 

“He snuck in, Astoria, and I couldn’t pry him from Hermione’s side until the nurse came in and essentially kicked us out.” His father sighed, taking in a deep breath. “It is not my fault our son is such an empath.” 

His mum tutted, clicking her tongue in distaste. “You're a sorry excuse for a father, Draco. You let your small child look at a dead baby because you are a cheater! I bet that was your baby!”

“Astoria!” His father brought out his scary Dad voice that he had only used on Scorp once. He hadn’t known how Mr. Ron’s hair turned purple, or when he had ended up in the manor’s dungeons, but that is apparently where his father had found him. Maybe he should learn to share the pumpkin pasties . 

“That is the foulest thing you could say about Hermione at the moment. It wasn’t her fault! Scorpius snuck in, and he would not leave her side! We tried to make him leave, but he wouldn’t. And he didn’t see a dead baby, he saw Hermione’s baby who looked like it was fucking sleeping. He’s so much like you before you decided to dabble in muggle pharmaceuticals and blood supremacy. I just wish you would realize that your path isn’t the best thing for our family, and I wish you would correct your ways, Astoria.” His dad sounds almost tired. Sometimes he was tired, especially when his mum was in his office. They were rather careless with a silencing charm, and Mippy would usually fix it for them after a few moments. 

“You are always on with these fucking excuses, Draco. At least admit when you’re wrong!” His mum’s voice ricocheted throughout his playroom. “You never take responsibility! You’re always emotionally incompetent all the fucking time.”

“Ain’t that the kettle calling the pot black!” Draco laughs, irritatedly and his chair screeches across the floor. 

Suddenly, the door swung open, thudding against the brick of Malfoy Manor. Scorpius jumped up, running to his corner of the room with his toys. Suddenly, his rocking horse was the best thing since sliced bread or pumpkin pasties. 

His mum stomped into the room, high heels clicking against the marble. She makes her way to him, just standing behind him. Her nails wrapped around his arm, and she pulled him to his feet.

“Ouch! That hurt!” Tears began to form in his eyes, as his skin stings from such a tight grip. His feet drag in defiance. “Mum, get off!” 

His feet get tripped up at the entryway of his father’s office, and he skids across the floor on his knees, attempting to break his fall with his palms. Finally, his mum’s hand leaves the forearm, but at what cost?

“Astoria!” His father jumps to his feet, scooping him up in his arms, accessing his knees and palms. His little palms are red, blood pebbling in the scrapes, and his knees are warm to the touch, likely his body’s response to the trauma. Tears fall freely from his eyes, and the feeling of betrayal stabs his gut. 

Maybe his mum hadn’t meant to. Rarely, did she get to this level whilst eating her sweets, and it was rather an odd phenomenon when his mum partook in both too many sweets and too much of that adult beverage. She wasn’t always the nicest, but she had never done this before. 

Sobs choked in his throat, and all his anger clawed at his stomach. The resentment he held for such a young child. His mum was not like the other mums; she was quite different, and it hurt sometimes. Especially when Ginny would dance in the living room to muggle music with Albus, or when Hermione was the one to tuck him in most nights because Dad had asked her to because his mother had been on one of her grownup holidays. 

“Shh, it’s okay, Scorpius. I’ll get Mippy to put some salve for the cuts, and we can dress the wounds,” His father soothed, lifting his palm to his mouth and blowing lightly on his warm skin like he was magically going to cure his cuts. His dad gave his mum the greatest glare he had ever seen in his short life, and he would hate to be on the end of that.

He could almost empathize with her until the sting of his scrapes vibrated through his bones, and more sobs escaped him, his gray eyes flowing so freely whilst he looked at his mother and her self-satisfied smirk. Then, the malicious being in him reared its unkind head, and he wanted her to hurt just like he had. Between sobs, he managed to shout, “I wish Hermione was my mummy!” 

That immediate feeling of satisfaction melted when he took in his gobsmacked mother, tears welling in her eyes. Maybe he shouldn’t have said it. His little arms itched to go hold his mother, to take away her pain. Maybe he did deserve to be thrown. It was probably the universe punishing him like his grandmother had always said.

“Scorpius!” His father scolds face muddled with shock and something underlying. Yet, Scorpius did not need to be a legilimens to tell his father was disappointed. It was practically written on his face. 

His heart ached, and he cried harder, all of his large emotions overcoming him. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” He apologized, wrapping his small arms around his father’s neck, and burying his little face into his shoulder. 

His father patted his back, rubbing his back lightly to calm him down a bit. “I’m not the one you need to apologize to, Scorp. I understand we have big emotions, but we cannot allow our feelings to hurt others. No matter how bad they hurt us, my boy. You’re above being a nasty child, Scorpius. I think you owe your mum an apology. Do you agree?” 

The boy nodded, gray eyes still sparkling with leftover tears. “I know we have to take responsibility, Daddy. Sometimes I can’t control it, but I’ll try better next time.” His eyes waiver to his mother, who is not moving nor is speaking. She’s not looking at them but through them, like they don’t exist and this interaction is the greatest inconvenience of her life. Still, he meekly says, “I’m sorry, Mum. You’re the bestest mum I could ask for.” 

Astoria scoffed and rolled her eyes, “You’re not sorry. Go be with your mother, that sorry excuse for a witch. You and your father are a waste of pure blood!” 

“Astoria, that is enough!” Draco roared, then rose to his feet with his son in his hand. “Mippy!”

Crack. The house elf, dressed in rich red silks appeared, surveying the tense room. Her eyes bulged when they found their way to the battered boy then lit with a fire that Scorpius had never seen before. 

“You called for Mippy, sir?” The house elf asked, looking at Astoria as if she were dirt under her small shoe. That was a rarity for the small creature, as she had never shown an ounce of animosity towards anyone nor had Scorp thought she could harbor such feelings. 

Draco nodded to the boy in his arm, letting his legs extend onto the marble floor of his office, letting her see the scrapes of his knees that were now beginning to scab.

“Young sir!” The little house exclaimed, taking in the young boy’s legs, and kneeling beside them to take a better look at his injury. Then her eyes widened when Scorpius held out his palm, tears still bubbling in the corner of his eye. “Oh my!” 

“Mippy, will you please put some salve on his wounds and have dinner sent to the sitting room? I think we’re in for a more casual night.” Draco’s eyes flipped to Astoria, daring a glance. There she is, a glassy look in her eye, and he can not help but wonder how this had become his life. He focused back on his boy, kissing him on the crown of his head then helping him to his feet.

“Of course!” Mippy nodded, taking Scorpius’s hand and whisking them away with one last fleeting look to Astoria. Like she would notice.  

He rises to his feet, using his height as an intimidation tactic. Draco pinned her with a glare, sneering, “Astoria, I will not give you another chance after this. You come into my house, hurt my son, and abandon him to go gallivanting about with strange men from the Mediterranean who keep supplying you with pills and blood supremacy bullshite. Get out. Do not bother coming back anymore. You will only be allowed back when I am home, and I am present. You will only get an hour to get all of your belongings out of my home then we will not speak anymore, and you will not receive any money from me. You will go to a rehabilitation facility for your drug problem then you may slowly begin to rebuild your relationship with our son.” 

“I do not have a problem, Draco!” She shouts, that glaze never leaving her eyes, pupils blown wide. 

“Clearly,” He replied dryly. Sod this. “I’m going to floo call Daphne to pick you up. You had better hope she picks up! Because I am going to ring your parents if not. Go sleep it off then we can talk about this when you are sober. You are not welcome here if you are going to take those pills, Astoria.” 

“I am an adult, and I do not have a problem. I’ll just floo to my sister’s house if my husband is going to be an utter arsehole his whole damned life. Starts hanging around that lot and thinks he’s a savior or something!” She cackles like a witch in that one movie that Granger puts on every time Scorpius is over. Her hair flips as she stumbles her way to the floo then steps in and calls out to the Greengrass manor.

Draco releases a breath then walks to his minibar, pulls out his least favorite crystal cut glass, then pours himself two finger lengths of fire whiskey. His hand wobbles around the neck of the bottle, slamming it against the wood to not break the bottle. 

The firewhiskey doesn’t burn his oesophagus going down; it just brings down his nerves a bit. He casts a scrougifying charm and then places the glass on its tray. Closing the cupboard door on his glass then closing his office door on his marriage. 

Chapter Text

“Why do you order such womanly drinks?” Draco asked, eyeing the white mug in one of his oldest friend’s hands warily. “It’s barely even bloody autumn.”

“That’s the fuck of it, mate,” Theo said cheerfully sipping the contents in his white mug contently. It’s got a swirl of whipped cream on top, just like a child’s drink. “It tastes like Christmas in a cup.” 

Draco shook his head, sighing disappointedly at his antics and that blood masala chai in his hands. Festivity be arsed. And this was the bloody man he was about to share his deepest secrets of all with! Merlin, he needed new friends. And not the kind you shag. 

He and Hermione hadn’t spoken for nearly a week, evading each other like the bloody plague, not that they should. They were bloody adults who should and could talk openly about their relationship status, and behave civilly to discuss where this brought them, whether or not they would like to further their connection.

Alas, Draco may have been thirty-six, but he was still at a loss. His mind swirled about with the what-ifs, daring to wonder what it would be like to come home to Hermione Granger. Would the kitchen be full of muffins that she loved to bake with the kids? Or would their shared room be piled high with books, smelling of their fresh parchment? Either way, he supposed it would do. 

A sharp pain jolted in his side, rocking him out of his thoughts. He clutched his ribs, exclaiming, “Ow! What the fuck was that for, mate?” 

“Then answer the bloody question then, dickhead. I don’t know what’s so damn good about the wall that makes you stare at it as if it were one of those fit yoga mum’s at a juice bar.” Theo wags his eyebrows suggestively then sips that bloody masala chai with a fucking grin. 

Draco rolls his eyes and takes up his coffee, black with three sugars. He never had been partial to milk in his coffee, especially in shitty drip pot coffee that was a specialty of this specific café, an import that the little old lady’s granddaughter had sent from America. Despite the poor quality, it was a staple of the small shop. 

“What was the damn question, Nott?” He asked, indulging himself with some of the hot beverage. 

Theo sighed, shaking his head at his friend, “My gods. I’m sure Lynn has a better attention span than you, mate. And she’s barely four.” 

“Just tell me what you said, Theodore. I’m in no mood to deal with your bullshit right now, you absolutely child.” Draco heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes at Theo. He hadn’t the time nor the patience for Theodore Nott to act like… well, Theodore Nott. 

Theo snorted at his crabbiness, almost amused by the suffering of his friend. “Well, I asked you why you wanted to meet. What did you wanna discuss, you old grouch?” 

Draco took a calculated sip of his coffee, choosing in those few seconds to work up the courage to just admit his deepest secret, very clumsily kept by his loose lips. His bones itched to just tell someone, anyone. “I slept with Granger.”

There it is, all laid out in front of him. Bare on the table, nothing can be taken back now. Theo’s face twists up, bemused at the barely conceivable to himself. 

“Oi, you shagged Hermione!?” Theo exclaimed, spitting taking his masala chai like a character from one of those funny muggle shows. A siphon? Draco racked his brain, mentally flipping through the muggle dictionary that acquired over the years from Granger and Scorpius alike. 

He shook his head, filing the thought away for later, most likely a fleeting shower thought. His eyes wandered, pinning it on the sticky spot of syrup on the faux wood table, sheepishly saying, “No need to shout, Theo. Tell the rest of London whilst you’re at it, mate.”

“I-” Theo shook his head, double taking as if he and Granger were such a hard relationship to stomach, the bumbling fuckhead. “Hermione actually let you monster cock near her? That’s a fucking surprise.” 

The two older women on the opposite end of the cafè swung their heads around, agape. 

“Theo,” Draco scolds like a father berating a child for eating sweets too close to supper. Merlin, it was like he had another, more disobedient child. He gave him that father glare he gave young Scorpius when he was caught under his duvet with a flashlight and a book. 

“Don’t look at me like that! I’m not the one that- y’know.” He lowered his tone an octave and suggestively wiggled his eyebrows at Draco. “Got busy with Granger.” 

“My gods, Theo. Can’t you ever have a mature conversation without behaving like a bloody first year?” Draco grumbled, finishing off his caffeine fix for the morning, spitting out the terrible coffee grounds into the white mug. 

Theo rolled his eyes, scoffing, “Hm, okay. Are you done yet? I need a bit more than an ominous ‘I shagged, Granger.’ I need details, the time, the date, and where this took place. You are such a bore, and you are gatekeeping-“

“Do you even know the definition of gatekeeping?”

Theo shot him a glare yet continued, “Gatekeeping.” He punctuated with a harsher glare and a sip of that bloody chai masala. “The details, you absolute knobhead.”

“What is this? A bloody book report for Snape? Would you like me to name the protagonist whilst I am at it?” Draco asked the insufferable man. “And I’m not the knobhead yelling about someone’s erm…” Draco coughed awkwardly, grasping at the word in his mind. “Appendages. You are, you insufferable git.” 

“I’m sorry that I wouldn’t want to be touched by your monster of a coc-”

“Gods, Theo! Shut your fat gob!” Draco chides, swatting at him. 

All of the elderly women glare at them, their wrinkled faces pulled in disgust. Trust him, he bloody knew.  

Some of the women were dressed in a knee-length skirts and matching blouses with that little black book that Granger’s parents had, but these women were a bit more into it. Bible thumpers, he had heard Granger call them. 

Theo grins like a Cheshire cat and then polishes off that absolute monstrosity of a festive drink. Bloody mental, that one. He drawls, that mischievous glint in his eye that Draco knows all too well from their formative years, “So, have you discussed what this means between the likes of you two?” 

Draco almost wretched at that question. Sometimes, he thought he would be best described as a child, afraid of his own feelings to bloody fess up, not that he could comprehend these mad feelings. Feelings for Granger? It was absurd; it was positively mindless of him to think he ought to have the right to even touch Hermione Granger in such a way! It was preposterous! 

Her soft supple skin didn’t deserve his privileged hands or his greedy mouth; it deserved a man with a kinder touch and a healthier concept of how to love. He was not a good man, taking advantage of her vulnerable state to get a shag. What a ridiculous, worthless excuse of a man, his subconscious snarled at him.

“Draco.” Theo gave one of his large forearms a great shove, nudging him out of his trance. “Are you okay there, mate? Cat got your tongue?”

“Har har,” Draco laughed, desolately in that annoyed sarcasm he feigned to keep his emotions from leaking through. “I just don’t think there are any details to spare. We shagged then had to go back in the bloody door like nothing happened.” Like my cum wasn’t making a mess of her thighs.  

“So, you just straight-faced had a conversation with her, your niece, and your son as if you two hadn’t just been shagging.” Theo arched a quizzical brow at his friend, half bemused yet wholly entertained. “Where would you even have to shag to sneak back into her home?”

“The roof,” He breathes mutely yet quickly, face twinging a slight pink. He pushes his hands into his hair, burying his face into them. 

“Where?” Theo repeats, brows now furrowed.

“On the roof. In a bloody thunderstorm,” He admits, face heating harshly, red tinting his cheeks, contrasting darkly against his pale skin. 

The women look over once more as if bloody were the one thing that could offend them even more than Theo’s comments could ever. Nosey old bag. 

Theo shoots the woman a particularly nasty glare, biting on his last bit of restraint, barely keeping his anger in check. He gives her a pained, polite smile but rolls his eyes when her blonde hair swishes as she turns back around. “Anyway. All I am saying is that I think you should let yourself indulge in it, Draco. You deserve it.”

Lies. He wants to hiss, and wants to deny. It shouldn’t even be a conceivable notion that Hermione Granger may one day belong to him, be his to cherish and love the way she should be. Like he could ever love her properly. Instead, he plasters on that faux smile he wore so well in his early life. “I don’t know. Don’t you think I’m a bit too old for romance?”

“No one is ever too old for romance, Draco,” Theo clicked his tongue in distaste. His boyish demeanor made him seem like he hadn’t aged much. In all fairness, he truly hadn’t aged much with a few wrinkles from his smile around his cheeks and his few whisky grays setting in. His eyes glitter truthfully, and it’s almost reassuring of his attainability of such an idea. 

Draco shrugs, passing his mug from hand to hand. “I don’t know. I don’t think she’s going to let her love me how I want to, and I don’t want-” He sighs, trailing off and swallowing his doubt. “I don’t want it to be like Astoria-”

“Granger is not Astoria, Draco!” Theo exclaims, rubbing at his temples, uncaring of the volume or the harshness of his tone. 

The women look at them once again, to no one’s shock, with a now snotty privileged expression Draco knew so well. The one that accompanied a sort of wealth. 

Theo waves off the woman and doesn’t even bother to acknowledge her. Sometimes Theo could be an adult. “She isn’t some girl that you married at freshly eighteen. She’s a grown woman with her own decisions to make, Drake.” He looks at his best mate solemnly. “Just try, Draco. You deserve happiness.”

Draco sighs exasperatedly but ultimately gives in to a morsel of hope. What harm will a little bit do? “I will think about it, Theo, but do not hold it to me.” 

“I’m going to hold it to you,” Theo said firmly. Then the two settle into an amicable silence; one of much understanding. He takes a moment of deep thought before laughing, “Can you imagine if you and Granger had a child? I mean she’s already let you touch her with that monster in your trousers.” 

The woman next to them gasped at the innuendo, a large ricocheting sound. Her hair bobs as she turns to gossip at her table. 

“What is your problem?” Theo asks suddenly and loudly, crossing his arms. 

The woman feigns ignorance and a bit of disgust as if to point her metaphorical nose down at them. “This is not a very godly conversation. I suggest you do some soul searching, love.”

“I suggest you mind your own,” Draco grumbled in that darkly brooding tone, the one he used when he wasn’t in the mood for a simple innate conversation like this.

The woman gawked at him and raised the book to their view, squeaking out in that agitating grating voice like one of the women who would bore him with those faux doting compliments, “I really think that you should say a prayer and brush up on your manners. They are rather bleak.”

“And your hair colour is rather bleak. Could you please mind your own?” He plasters on a shit-eating grin. “Or better yet, get a new personality, lady, then mind your own.” 

“That is no way to talk to her! Respect your elders, young man!” The second woman chimed in, just as snooty. 

“Show a little respect to others first. Why preach to love thy neighbor when you can barely tolerate two blokes in a coffee shop on a bit of gossip.” Theo rolled his eyes at the woman and stacked the two glasses on top of each other. 

“A bit of gossip!?” The older woman exclaimed, her table looking in full solidarity. “Preposterous! Those foul words should never be muttered before the word of God or his children.”

“Yet, aren’t we all his children?” Draco quirked a brow at the lady, unimpressed. “That’s rather a contradiction there.”

The woman gulped and then looked to her friend for an answer, a witty comeback, something to react to his supposed blasphemy. Draco barely knew anything about the bible except that one of Granger’s mother’s friends was uptight about it and kept referring to him as one of his children. As much as he would hate to admit it, he was the son of Lucius Malfoy, not some book character even if he were a bloody saint.  He also knew that one bible verse from it being plastered around the mental woman’s home twenty times over again. 

Draco shivered at the thought, drawing him back into reality as he pulled on a rather comfortable jumper, motioning at the glass door with his head. 

Theo nodded, pulling on his black coat that Draco thought to be a bit much as the leaves barely began to change. 

The two men took their leave, wordlessly strolling a block to the apparition point and then offering each other a wave despite the many questions in Theo’s eyes.

Questions he had no bloody answer to, nor a damn clue on how to even respond without having an aneurysm. He and Granger were… he and Granger, and maybe a little more. If she would allow him to be loved. 

Chapter Text

Hermione placed a warm cup of hot chocolate in front of the teens. Although Marie was nineteen, Hermione still held her in her heart as a teen, young and naive, barely accustomed to this shotty world they had to come to terms with. Still, she remembered the kindness of the young girl who strategically placed thirty bows in her hair and then made a rather mess of Draco’s face with smeared makeup. 

Unfortunately, she is no longer a tot in her arms at Christmas accompanying Draco and Scorpius to the burrow in her early childhood, yet she stands beforth Hermione in a circumstance she wishes upon no child. Being twenty was a measure of how many years this poor girl had been alive, not the age of her wisdoms. Hermione’s heart ached for the girl, but she braved the teens with a smile and a cup of hot chocolate, as they welcomed in the cool days of late September. 

Hermione took the red armchair adjacent to the sofa the two sat and fixed the pair with a look of concern as they each sipped their cocoa piled high with squirty cream and marshmallows. Taking a quick sip before placing her mug down on the coffee table, cringing when it makes a loud thunk . “Sorry.” She apologizes quickly, grimacing as she fixes the glass. “The wood is a bit fragile, so I try not to place too much stress on it.” 

Scorpius laughs and places his mug down on the table with as much grace as a child. He is still a child, she supposes. The teen smiled, a white fluffy mustache made of the squirty cream flexing across his top lip. “You always say that Hermione, and I think you’re well overdue for a new table. Just let Dad give you one from the manor.”

“Scorpius, I do not need a table nor do I need the charity of your father,” Hermione clucks her tongue at him. “Besides, we have more urgent matters to attend to.” 

Marie shifted in her seat, sitting her mug on the table, wincing when it creaked loudly. Her throat bobbed and her fingers interlocked in a tight ball, and Hermione’s heart lurched for the girl. 

She was no psychologist, but she did fancy reading the occasional scientific journal every now and again. It was a new telltale sign of anxiety within younger adults, and they rather fancied fidgeting with their hands. At least that is what the studies were proving so far. Hermione watched as Scorpius took her hand in his and allowed his cousin to lean on his shoulder. Their bond was not a close one, but rather a childhood bond that had been deeply missed; they had grown up without a bond that he had admired among all the Weasley cousins and children. 

Hermione smiled at the two, trying to radiate the maternal energy Scorpius had always told her she emitted. “Love, I am not here to yell at you. I am here for you as long as you need me. But we have to have a mature discussion, Marie, and we must figure this out together if I am to, erm.” Hermione took a deep breath, steadying herself with a potential reality that could be just a few short months away. 

“Take the baby,” Marie finished for her with that Greengrass disgust she remembers so fondly from her years at Hogwarts. Yet, she can see all the fear in her movements, the ways she rubs her thumb into her palm much like her mother did. It was a small movement Hermione would notice during her bit of people-watching in the library when Daphne would study for midterms. 

“Yes, that,” Hermione says shortly and takes a sip to steady herself. “Who currently knows that you are pregnant aside from the people present?” 

“The healers at St. Mungo’s and a muggle obstetrician in Greece,” She responds, her bright eyes staring into Hermione’s, and her worry was almost palpable. 

Scorpius ran his thumb over her knuckles, his brow furrowed and eyes full of a deep wariness. He had many of his father’s mannerisms even down to his nervous twitches. His hand adorned the Malfoy signet ring, the M carved out with gorgeous, small emeralds and the band real silver. Both he and his father tended to twist the ring when under stress or just suffering from anxiety. 

Hermione placed her hand over their hands, squeezing them reassuringly. “I am here to help you, Marie. Perhaps, I could accompany you to your next appointment if you’d like.” 

“I suppose.” The girl takes a deep breath, her hot chocolate untouched and squirty cream withering away. Her marshmallows are a sad pile indented in the melting squirty cream. 

Hermione smiled meekly, knowing the reality of her situation had yet to fully sink in. A deep sympathy furrowed in her bones, burying itself within her bone marrow. “You don’t have to answer at the very moment, and I will be here for you. It is up to your discretion, and you have every bit of say in this as I do.” 

The girl meekly smiles, still a bit icy in uncertainty. Being that young, Hermione could sympathize with the girl no matter how hard her exterior seemed to be. She was just a scared child, and Hermione would make sure she had at least one responsible adult present in her life. Hermione clears her throat, offering a small smile, “Shall we discuss how we are to get Draco in on this then?”

The girl is visibly relieved at the suggestion, still a bit tense in her body language. The disgust on her face is a defense mechanism, Hermione surmises, and files it away for later. 

Scorpius is still young, but he’s attentive with such a gentleness that makes her heart clench. The young man has always been an empath, ever since he was a tot strolling around offering hugs and lollies in his sticky hands to those who look down. He and his father were so much alike yet contrasted very harshly.  

Hermione takes their joined hands on the table, not missing the glossy look in Marie’s eyes. “I think that it’s best if we sit him down and discuss this. He may freak out at first, so we will probably need his wand.” 

Marie’s eyes go wide, and Scorp wraps an arm around her, letting her physically sink into him. He hums softly into her hair, “It’s going to be okay, M. Dad is just a bit of a drama queen and will probably try to kill Lucius, but we need him present to pull this off.” 

Marie’s tense look melts, and she snorts, “Only you would say something so morbid so casually.” Her jitters lessen slightly, and she finally managed to take a sip of hot chocolate. 

Hermione smiles at them, admiring akin siblings, much like she and Harry consider each other. At this moment, she decides that she would be damned if anyone else corrupted this poor girl’s life. Still, she has to burst this bubble and remember who she is to this girl, a bloody stranger.  

“I believe that it is in the collective best interest to inform Draco immediately then take it from there.” Hermione runs her thumb over their intertwined fingers, soothing Marie’s shakiness. “Besides him flipping his lid, he’s usually my voice of reason. Once we thoroughly explain everything to him, he will help you, Marie.” 

“But what if he judges me, Hermione? I slept with his father for fucks sake!” The verbal lashing makes Scorpius flinch at the harshness of the words. The mug in her handshakes with her anxiety, and it clinks against the cozy coffee table when she sets it down.

An uncomfortable silence hangs in the balance, but Hermione will not allow her to lash out rather than discuss the matter like a bloody adult. Her brow is furrowed as she eyes the girl. “Marie, you are twenty and pregnant. You’ve made your bed, and I am here to help you change the fate of your life. I know you are scared, but lashing out will not be an effective way to cope. Nor is it an effective way to communicate. If we are to be in cahoots then we must be on the same page, so please behave like an adult.” Her voice is even and strict yet not demeaning like she is scolding a child. 

Scorpius shifts in his seat, and Marie’s eyes gloss over with tears welling the corners. She swipes at the tears and wails, “I’m sorry. God, I’m being such a fucking loon right now, and pregnancy makes me cry at every fucking turn. I’m just…” Her mouth is moving frantically like all of her thoughts are simply pouring out. “I’m fucking scared.” 

The admission floats into the air, met with a hug from Scorpius and a reassuring squeeze from Hermione’s hand. “It’s okay, lovely. Would you like to revisit the Draco issue at the end of our visit?” 

The girl nods meekly, settling deeper into her cousin’s side. “I think I would like that. Just for a few moments.” 

Hermione beams at the young adults, her age showing in her smile lines. She feels most at bay in her home, especially when it’s filled with children, even if it is in an unfortunate circumstance. “So I think we should discuss prenatal care, if you’re partial.”

Marie nods, tears drying on her face, giving her a youthfulness that hurts Hermione physically to see. 

Sorrowfully, she rubs her arm and then asks, “Are you taking prenatals? Did the healers go over the dietary restrictions and other hazards to avoid?” 

She shrugs in such a teenage way that it makes Hermione want to chuckle. At least she was semi-comfortable in her home to settle into her beat-up couch. “I know about the raw fish and caffeine restriction, but the healer just told me to avoid poly juice potion.” 

Hermione sighed at the lack of education on the professionals' part. “That’s a bit of it. We can go over it later, once we have everything figured out.” She mentions their Lucius issue vaguely so as to not trigger her, but the girl’s body still tenses. “I think those are the two most common, and I will personally see to it that you are in works with a proper healer. I know a wonderful obstetrician who would be more than willing to help.” 

Marie eyes her warily, as she sits up, straight with practiced poise. “I’d like to do my obstetrics in Greece, so no one will… y’know.” She motions to her stomach, which has yet to swell. However, in due time. 

“That you’re pregnant?” Hermione finishes for her simply. 

The girl nods, not allowing any words past her lips. 

“Love, we have the Malfoy vaults behind us. Anyone will shut up for enough sickles.” Hermione winks at her, basking in the small smile and meek chuckle Marie offers her. “Also, I slept next to this specific doctor throughout eighth year, so unless they would like their absolute nightmares on the cover of Witch Weekly, they will shut the fuck up.”

This cracks up both of them, and the tension seems to melt away as they discuss the baby’s health and shopping alike. 

Chapter Text

Her eyes are soft and sympathetic like a mother’s, and the pit of longing crawls within her skin when she hugs Scorpius and gives his pink cheek a kiss. Her chestnut eyes are soft on him, lips turned up in a soft smile that shows her faint age lines. 

Her nose is slightly pink due to the unexpected blistering chill on this September night. Yet, her spine is stiff, slick in a cold sweat underneath her jumper. Muggle clothes are the only things able to conceal her current condition. At least that’s how her mother makes it seem. 

“Marie, are you bloated?” “Do you really need that sugar in your cuppa?” “Must you wear those filthy muggle clothes?” “Shall I get you in with the alternative healer I’ve been seeing? He specializes in weight loss.” 

No. Yes. It’s the only damned thing that will fit. Shut the fuck up, you old hag. 

A sharp pain throbbed through her temples as it does anytime her least favorite subject is approached: Daphne Greengrass. Better known as her mother, yet she preferred to be known as the greatest nuisance in Marie’s life. 

Rather than being loving and adoring like Hermione, Daphne pushed her daughter to develop a hatred for men and eating. Every night, a new man. Every shared meal, a new quip about her appetite. Although there weren’t many that Daphne was present for, she was sure to make her statements about how she was still a size zero at her age. Bloody hell, she was twenty and a fully grown woman. Size zero be damned especially with the way her breasts would be jumping in cup size.

Scorpius had been a rock throughout her childhood, allowing her to live vicariously through him. He would come home and tell the tales of his newest adventures with Hermione and the Weasleys. Jealousy ebbed at her bone marrow, forcing its way into her cells. 

Of course the universe and every divine power that existed never allowed Marie such happiness, and the utter rubbish muggles would claim that “God gives his toughest soldiers the hardest battles.” Utter bullshite if you asked her personally. 

Yet, Hermione found some way to make Marie belong, offering her a seat on her dingy sofa with a cup of hot chocolate like she was simply one of the kids she had helped to raise. Damn Hermione and her damn hospitality. And damn the warm feeling blooming in her chest every time she sat on the dingy sofa and gladly accepted the mug of hot cocoa. 

However, a chill racked the house tonight, and she would have to settle with a cup of tea, extra sugar cubes, and a splash of oat milk. Anticipation hung heavy on her stomach, and dairy would only agitate her condition. So, she opted for the dairy-free option that tasted the least like clay a child would play with. 

No longer was she a child. Her behaviors and their consequences clearly showed that. Her, a mum? At the ripe age of twenty? Unfortunately, she could not be what that child needed nor did she have the support system to bring a child into. Daphne Greengrass would dress it in ugly Victorian-style children’s outfits like she had Marie, flaunting her wealth to her posh friends. 

Marie shivered as she conjured up the image of a poor little lad in one of those complex robes with all those bloody buttons. She vowed to ensure that she would never be a mother like that, let alone a mother at all. 

“Marie, how are you feeling tonight, dear?” Hermione asks in the honey-smooth tone that made Marie want to sink into the woman.

She cleared her throat, placing her sauce down neatly on the coffee table followed by its paired teacup. “I’m doing well. Just a wee bit nervous.” That’s an utter fucking lie. She was fucking damn near terrified. 

Hermione’s soft eyes saw right through the facade, but the older woman said nothing about it. “You’re bound to be nervous, lovely. Are you ready to discuss things with Malfoy?” 

Taking a deep inhale, she nods. “As ready as I can be.” 

Finally, she looks to Scorpius for reassurance, his presence as reassuring as they were when she was just a tot that was caught red-handed with a biscuit past their bedtime. The brother she never had, and the saving grace of her childhood. “Promise me the baby will be okay?”

“I swear it to you.” Hermione places her hand on Marie’s knee and squeezes it comfortingly. “That baby will be as happy as a clam. No matter where they end up, Marie.” 

Suddenly, a childish reassurance overtakes her alongside the warmth of Hermione. This child is going to be brought up half decent, and Hermione would love them unconditionally. She nods, saving her voice for the battle yet to ensue. 

“Draco will be here momentarily, so I’m gonna just pop next to you, and we’ll let him have the armchair. I’ll be right by your side the whole time.” Hermione’s brow furrowed, stress lines flexing with her worry.

Scorpius gave her arm an appreciative squeeze. “That’s perfect. Thank you, Mione.” 

The older woman smiles and squeezes his hand. She opens her mouth to say something, her faint age lines showing with her soft smile and brown eyes. 

Swishhh. The green glow of the embers announce his arrival before the soft click of his dragon leather shoes, his telltale arrival echoing down the small hallway of her condo.

She fixes his tea, and Marie observes the subtle domesticity of Hermione and Draco. The older woman has pictures of Scorpius throughout the years, featuring both her and Draco in some. They were truly a family, and they were the ones going to care for this baby. 

“Hermione!” Draco shouts, rounding the corner, brows furrowed in a deep worry. “There you are. Are you alright?” 

She nods, rolling her eyes with a small smile, “I am fine-”

“What was so urgent that we needed to discuss?” His furrowed brow deepens, wrinkles of stress prominent. “And why are the children here?” 

Hermione holds out her hand, motioning to the armchair adjacent to her and the children. “We will get to that in due time. For now, sit and drink your tea. I’ve kept it warm with a charm.” 

Marie watches in almost awe as Draco, her stubborn aristocratic Uncle, bends to her will, accepting her demands so willingly. Astonished, she watches him take a sip of his tea, almost gasping when he actually approves of it. 

“Alright,” Hermione sighs as if knowing there is disapproval brewing, “now I am going to need your wand.” 

“Pardon? My wand?” He looks at her like she’s gone bloody mad, but he palms his wand. “May I ask why?” 

“Because you have a tendency to overreact, Dad,” Scorpius replies impatiently as if he could feel the anxiety radiating off of Marie. “So please give Hermione your wand. You’ll have it back when we ensure you aren’t going to overreact.” 

He raises a brow at his son, wordlessly dropping his wand into Hermione’s outstretched hand. With a nod to her, the wand is pocketed by her. 

Perplexing people, truly. They weren’t romantically involved as far as Marie knew, yet they held such a familial bond, and she couldn’t help the ugly envy that swung its head in Scorp’s direction. He got an adjacent mother, and she got Daphne. 

“So?” He drawls, raising his eyebrow and looking between the lot of them, eliciting a cold sweat on Marie’s back. 

Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. It’s as if someone has jinxed her silent or damaged her vocal cords. So many words yet so little expression. 

Hermione clears her throat at the lack of Marie’s words, taking the girl's hand in hers discreetly. “I need you to know that this is not just about us, and you must think about this fully before you react. Think of the children, and think of how uncomfortable Azkaban is.” 

“Mhm, I will note that.” His response is clipped, impatient almost. Like father, like son. 

Hermione issues more warnings vaguely, but Marie can only focus on the shame that will overcome her. Draco looks almost bored at this, but she can just imagine the look of disappointment when she finally reveals the truth.

All she can hone in on is her uncle and his thinly veiled annoyance with Hermione. This isn’t Hermione’s fault, so he has no reason to be cross with her and her stalling. Impatient twat. 

Her skin crawls, and bile burns her throat. A slight tug pulls at the nerves in her eye, causing an irritating twitch. “Oh bloody hell, I’m pregnant!” 

Numb. She’s so bloody numb now, dragging her eyes to her lap where her free hand sits in her lap. Faintly, she can feel the gentle squeeze of Hermione’s hand. 

He’s quiet for a beat, calculating silently in that Malfoy way that is genetic. “Okay, and how do we feel about it? Do you need a physician? Granger, does Lovegood still specialize in magical obstetrics? We can phone her. You still have her number, right Granger? We need-”

“Draco.” His name is spoken so softly by the older woman. It’s enough to silence him, enough to reassure him. “I have been in contact with her, only per Marie’s request. Her scans and such will be done with Luna, so you need not worry. We have to take things one at a time, so try not to overload the poor girl.”

Draco always-put-together Malfoy is spiraling over her and her condition. He actually cares. Unlike many of the adults in her life, he cares for her and her well-being. 

Finding her voice again, stomach still churning with anxiety, she manages to say, “Uncle Draco, that’s not it. I want you and Hermione to keep this baby.” 

“You have plenty of options, darling.” His eyes are soft and forgiving, unlike the man that bedded her when she was just an 18-year-old. “We can raise the babe, or we can watch the babe while you’re away at uni. There is always the option of termination too. Whichever you decide, truly.” 

Marie sucks in a breath of air, frustration festering. “No, that is my decision. There’s a bit more to it.” Leaning into Hermione for support, she releases a breath. “I need you and Hermione to pretend like the baby is yours.”

His brows furrow. “Why must we do that? I mean we can just tell them we adopted from Greece-”

Hermione takes pity on the girl, butting in, “No, Draco. What Marie means to say is that I must pretend to be pregnant in her stead, and we must say that the child is ours, yours and mine.” 

“Why is that? It would be easier to-” 

“It really wouldn’t, Draco. I can assure you that.”

“Why?”

“Because your absolute knob of a father impregnated a twenty-year-old, Father. Not just any twenty-year-old, my bloody cousin!” The rage radiates off of Scorpius, and it’s almost like looking at a clone or really good poly juice potion of a younger Draco. Some much hostility in one person. 

“Pardon? He’s done what?” Silent rage looks the scariest on the Malfoy men. Draco is intimidating, his aura radiating the seething hatred she harbors deep down. 

“It’s true. He is the father of this child.” Tears well in her eyes, shame taking over every inch of her bones with the chill of a dementor. “We were going to stop, I swear! I’m so sorry! Please don’t hate me, Uncle Drake. I was stupid and in love.”

Hermione wraps her arm around her shoulder, pulling the girl into an embrace. “Shhh, no one is angry at you, Love. You are not at fault.” 

Her hand is grasped gently, and she finally looks at her uncle, his face not screwed up in anger. His eyes are soft and paternal, much like her memories from her childhood.

“Don’t do that,” The girl clicked with her tongue, pointing at the blonde man, eyes glowering with tears. “Don’t you pity me, Uncle Draco. I’m an adult who has made an irresponsible decision, and I am trying to take accountability and do right by this child!” 

“Marie, you were and are but a girl. He should not have moved in on you. It’s downright disgusting, and I will not stand for it.” He’s calm, his rage card within now. He gives her hand a tight squeeze before releasing it. “You are being responsible, and I can admire that, but this is a situation you, or any person, should’ve never been placed in. Lucius knew damn well that you were and are barely a young adult, and he has watched you grow up. Marie, he’s a fucking sick sod.” 

“But I wanted it too! Don’t just blame him!” She rebuttals, tears only becoming apparent to her when the taste of salt reaches her tongue. 

She couldn’t comprehend when or why she started sobbing; she had mourned what they were already. It shouldn’t hit this hard a couple of months later. 

“Darling, no one is mad at you, and we appreciate you taking responsibility and seeking help for you and the baby.” Hermione’s tone is soft, soothing almost. Her hand gingerly wipes away her tears, soft against her cheek. “We are rather angry at Lucius. It’s a power imbalance, and it is not right. He knew better, and he still used his dynamic to manipulate this relationship.”

“He didn’t manipulate anything. I wanted it too!” She protests, another set of tears rolling down her face. Why couldn’t they understand? It was her fault too, and she was the gods awful one giving away the child. Why were they so sympathetic when she was a sorry excuse for a witch?

Hermione and Draco exchange a fleeting glance, a simple communication that she can make out between her blurred vision. His hand rests on her knee, the grasp overprotective and warm like the father she never had. “I know, Marie. Only one of you has a fully developed prefrontal cortex, and that person should’ve known not to pursue this relationship. Especially because they watched you grow into a young lady. It’s unacceptable, but we will not press the issue right now.” 

“Now, our only focus is you, Marie. You and the baby, but more importantly, you.” Hermione rubs her back soothingly. 

Draco gives her knee a last squeeze, patting her leg before he stands to retake the armchair. “That’s right. You are the number one concern at the moment. Let’s make sure you’re healthy then we can go from there.”

“So you’ll do it?” Marie questions, rubbing her eyes dry with the back of her hand. “You’ll go along with this?” 

Draco nods shortly, “I’ll do it. As long as we are doing what you want, and you are completely sure, I will do this for you.” 

“Yes, it is what I want. Thank you for helping me.” A small water smile takes her lips, and her heart swells. This baby will have better than anything she could ever provide. 

Draco offers a rare smile to her. He has a faint smile line on his cheek, one that would only be able to see if graced with the affection. “Of course, Marie. You know you’ll always have me, darling, for anything. You are like the older sister that would only torture Scorpius on occasion.”

This earns him a chuckle from the young adults. Hermione smiles at them, and Marie can spot the envy in her eyes, almost feeling the call of pain to her soul. Strange.

Her smile grows a bit tighter, her eyes seemingly less expressive, “Shall we order a takeaway pizza?” 

“Yes! The one from that Italian shop with the lovely brick oven Margherita pizza.” Scorp looks into the distance, eyes round as if remembering the last slice he’s eaten. Fat arse.

“My god, you’re gonna start salivating like a bloody dog!” Marie exclaims, chuckling at him. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault!” He has the audacity to look offended. “Every time I’m near you, I get a pregnancy craving.”

Hermione snorts next to her, and Draco shakes his head, grinning at the ridiculousness of his son. 

“Scorpius, I’ve not even had a craving yet. That doesn’t make any sense,” She concurs, raising her brow in challenge.

“Because I’ve been carrying the brunt of it!” He counters, raising his brow in the same challenge.

“Now, now, children. Don’t bicker,” Hermione tuts, pinning them with a playful scolding glare. “We can have a pizza, but you’ll need to go retrieve it from the shop. Those are the terms.”

“Phone it in, and you have a deal.” 

“Malfoy, I believe those terms are agreeable. What d’you think?” Hermione asks her uncle, a faux business-like aura forming between the pair.

Draco leans back in the armchair, long legs tucked under the coffee table. “Hmmm, that is certainly agreeable, but Scorpius must carry everything, and Marie will be entrusted with the money. Knowing my son, he’ll come back with twenty pizzas if we let him be left alone.”

“Hey!” The teen protests. 

“Well, he’s not wrong.” Marie laughs, shaking her head. For once, she manages a genuine smile. Something in her bones tells her this isn’t her last one either. 

Chapter Text

The door shuts with a soft click. 

“Are we really going to do this?”

Hermione looks up, teapot in hand. Her actions halted. The cups and saucers no longer litter the table, just the teapot that holds more in emotional value than some would say it’s worth remains in the middle of the coffee table. “I believe so.”

It’s short, but he knows her well enough to accept that as her answer. It’s full of uncertainty, but that’s never stopped her before. Brave witch. 

“So…?” He drawls, hoping the casualness of his voice will soothe the tension left behind with the departure of the kids. “Are we going to address it?”

“Address what?” She bites her lip, and the teapot slightly tremors in her hands. 

She knows about what. “Oh, we’re playing that now, are we?” He smirks at her, taking this chance to stand on his feet. “Do you need a repeat of that night in August? Because I’ll gladly provide the reminder.” 

Her cheeks burn pink, and this is the most beautiful he’s seen her, shy. “Draco!” She scolds, placing the teapot on her coffee table. “The children will be back soon.” 

He raises a brow, gaze slowly raking up her body. She is wearing denims and a red top, and he loves the casualness of her. He’s in his work suit still, sleeves still held together by his diamond cufflinks. Much too overdressed. “The takeaway will take fifteen minutes, and I only need ten.” 

Hermione swats at him. “Draco Malfoy! Your son and your niece could walk through that door at any moment! And it was a one-time thing!”  

“Fine, fine. You win, for now, Hermione.” He smirks at her, hand finding her hip, “I doubt it will remain a one-time thing.” 

She bites her lip, contemplative, “We really shouldn’t. It could complicate things.”

“Complicate things?” He barks out a laugh, his other hand stroking her cheek. “I think things got complicated when you agreed to pretend to have my child.” 

“It’s for the children’s sake!” Hermione huffs out a laugh, agast. “She needs our help, and we are providing it to her, nothing more!” 

“We are to raise a child together, Hermione. Things are already complicated.” His tone is even despite her verbal lash-out. His gaze is soft, studying her defenses.

“We don’t know fully that Marie is going to give us the child. She is still the child’s mother, and she still has months to change her mind. Months!” A vulnerability overtakes her, tears welling. 

His arms wrap around her, pulling her flush into his chest. “Shhh, it’s okay. We will get through this together, no matter the outcome.”

Soft sniffles escape her into his shirt. “I’m so damned selfish! I want a baby so bad that I feel so selfish for preying on Marie’s vulnerability. What if she gives me the baby, and I fuck it up? The universe already concurred I’d fuck one up.”

His hand tethers in her hair, rubbing circles soothingly at the base of her skull. “Hey, no, you are not going to bring in what happened to Rose into this. That was not your fault, and that little girl was meant to be loved. It doesn’t make you selfish to actually allow yourself to want for things, Hermione. Whether or not this baby comes home to us or to visit us, you will love that child as unconditionally as you have every child that has come into your home.”

“Yeah because all I ever have been and will be is Aunt Mione, not Mum!” She lashes, eyes red, and nose  “You will never know the feeling of not coming home with a child that you grew. And I pray you never will.”

His hold is still firm, just listening to the shakiness of her voice. Her soft sob etch a crack into his cold heart. “Hermione, I shall help you never understand that pain once more, but you must work with me here. We will support Marie throughout this, and I assure you we will either end up with a child we call our own or another cousin to our child. There are many ways to have a child, but Marie is our priority at the moment.”

“I know that. I’m just so lost at the moment. I had made my peace with being only an aunt, but the universe has come back to dangle the carrot of motherhood in my face.” She wipes her face, cheeks pink, and nose glowing red. “I wish to help Marie, but I must confide in my friend about my fears. So, be my friend, Draco.”

His hand rubs a soothing circle along her spine, a simple expression gesture that allows her to melt into his shoulder, violently shaking with every guttural sound she makes. “I am your friend, Hermione. I know you are scared, but we have each other and the whole lot. We are not alone, and I assure you, you have never been just Aunt Hermione.”

“I have no kids calling me Mum! I was a Mum for 4 hours, Draco. 4 of the best and worst hours of my life.” It seems tears escape her as her eyes begin to burn. “All I’ll ever be is a Mum in spirit, and I harbor that pain with me daily. It hurts to watch mothers shop with their early teen daughters, knowing that should be Rosie and I. ” 

“Hermione,” His tone is soft, smothered in pity. Nothing she wants at this moment. His arms are so warm, and it feels as if he’s plugging her weeping heart. “We will overcome this. I will agree to this, only if you are going to be able to do this with me. So, I ask this of you, are you willing to pretend to be pregnant with my child? Forsake Marie and anyone else.”

His steel-coloured eyes stare at her, shining in their beautiful opaque way when he has allowed for his walls to be down. One whisper and she could slip into his mind. A trust only a select few have been graced with. “Yes, I am willing to pretend to be with your child. For her and that babe’s sake. And by decree of my own will.”

He offers her a rare smile, short yet a reassurance she needs. A fluttering in the pit of her belly overtakes her, and she is like a young witch again. His eyes are trained on her face, warmly running his other hand over her jaw. 

Oh gods! Her face must be all blotchy and red and-

“Sometimes, I do not believe you understand how lovely you are, Hermione Granger. You’re absolutely gorgeous, even blotchy and red-faced.” His thumb swipes her cheek, over where tears stain her face. 

Arsehole. “It’s not polite to read other’s thoughts, y’know.” A defiance overtakes her, and she crosses her arms, raising a brow at him.

His eyes flit from her lips to her eyes then he smirks. “I’m sorry, head girl. I believe detention with you is proper punishment.”

“Ew, Dad! We didn’t need to know about your schoolgirl fantasy!” Scorpius announces, a chuckling Marie in tow. As per Draco’s request, Scorpius holds a singular box of takeaway, and Marie grasps the plastic card Draco coughed up.

“I am inclined to agree with Scorpius, but I suppose son like father,” Marie chuckles at herself, rolling her eyes at the aghast looks of the room. “You lot need a sense of humor.”

“I need a bloody drink after that one. Good god, Lucius.” Scorpius dry heaves dramatically. “And you let him put you in the uniform?”

Marie winks at him, smirking when he places the takeaway box on the coffee table to assume the position of hands on his knees dry heaving. 

“I’m going to be sick!”

“Not on my carpet!” Hermione exclaims, wordlessly summoning a bin to his feet. She pulls away from Draco, panic-stricken.

Draco chuckles at them, watching it all unfold in front of his eyes. You could’ve come home to this twelve years ago if you had pursued this earlier. He glowers at the thought. 

Bitter, he mutters in a redirected rage, “Makes sense the bloody cradle robber wants the girl to change back into her uniform. Fucking nonce.” 

Marie cringes at the harshness of his words, but she doesn’t bother disagreeing. He’s right, and she knows it somewhere deep down. Still, the internal battle avails.

“Scorpius, are you done being overdramatic?” Hermione quirks a brow at him. 

Scorpius shrugs, tossing the bin to the side. “I suppose. I could eat.”

Hermione rolls her eyes, the tremors of her laugh shake against him, and he yearns to pull her close. Rather, he lets her go, the cold setting in when she’s gone. 

Clearing his throat, he takes Hermione’s hand. “We have decided to do this. Fake the pregnancy and help Marie.” 

The girl's eyes are soft, but her appreciative tone conveys through her uncertainty, “Thank you both.” 

Hermione offers the girl a small smile in that motherly way she’s perfected over her years. “Of course, my darling. You will always have our help.” 

“Does this mean we have to see you kiss in public now?” Scorpius asks, slyly smirking at his father. He nudges the man suggestively.

Gods damn Draco for having a spawn of himself and damn Theo for encouraging his teasing. Oh, he was fucked. 

“Scorpius, stop trying to get me to snog your father. I’ve been telling him for years it’s not going to happen!” She sends Draco a meaningful wink. 

It did happen. He’s grinning like an idiot, he’s bloody sure of it. “I’ll get you one day, Granger. Until then, pizza anyone?” 

Chapter Text

October 2001

“Granger, you cannot give my child an ice lolly in the middle of October,” Draco sneered at her, snatching up the crook of her arm. 

Hermione pinned him with a glare, the bow of her lips pursed, “The tot is teething, and it was not like I threw him into the snow in only a nappy. Your mother was quite pleased when I shushed the boy’s cries.” 

“You had absolutely no right-”

“Draco, will you please hush up, a little bit of red dye and sugar isn’t going to hurt the boy!” Narcissa swats Draco off the girl, rocking the red-lipped tot in her arms. “You should be thanking the gods for this absolute gem of a woman. He drove Astoria and I  absolutely mad, shouting about his father because his teeth hurt.” 

The boy looked at Hermione wde-eyed, when she placed the icelolly in his hand. It was an off hand thing that Harry kept ice lollies on hand, per Ginny and Albus’ visits to his office, and Scorpius seemed to really be struggling. Pardon her for trying to help the tot out. 

Draco’s eyes were dark at the mention of his wife, muttering about her mother, or lack thereof, under his breath.

Hermione hadn’t nor couldn’t bother to meddle in his personal life. The poor tot was red in the face from sobbing over the tooth breaking his gums, and poor Narissa lacked her typical grace and style, her hair a bit array and makeup smudged with a constant rubbing of it. 

Hermione offered a meek smile to Narcissa, a silent show of appreciation. The relationship formed between the pair hadn't been one of friendship but a mutual benefit. Afterall, Narcissa preoccupied the Malfoy seat in the Wizagamont currently. Thus, the matriarch’s presence with the tot on this fine morning although the boy would best be with his mother. Not that it was her place to say.

Rather, the witch glared at her colleague, asking him as if she were bored, “May you mind your son whilst your mother and I have a grown witch talk about legislation?” 

He eyed her but did not retort, most likely due to the motherly stare Narcissa pinned him with. Instead, he took the stick handed toddler, accepting his fate with a nod. 

The toddler reached for the witch once settled in his father’s arm, a gummy smile on display and red ice lolly covering his face. “Bye!” 

Hermione chuckled, offering the boy a wave, “Bye, Scorpius. Enjoy your icelolly, sweetheart.” 

Draco made a short, displeased sound but quickly shut up with the pining glare from his mother. 

“Shall we, Miss Granger?” The matriarch asked impatiently. 

Hermione smiled at the witch, “We shall.”

October 2016

“Narcissa,” Hermione greets, taking the eloquent white wire-like chair across from the older witch. 

The garden was in full pumpkin bloom, the patch closest to the cobble stone path full of the lush vegetation. Atop the cobblestone sat the glass table under a beautiful marble gazebo, a sight familiar to both women. They had traded in their ministry meetings for a much better sight when Scorpius had turned six, on the account of friendship. 

The older witch stirred a sugar cube into her tea, an earl grey to welcome in the morning, and pinned Hermione with a calculating glare. “Hermione.” 

Hermione fixed herself a cuppa, trying best to mind her nerves, careful as not to clink the spoon stirring in her sugar against the side of the ancient tea cup. “If you’re going to stare me down, can you at least offer me some of Mippy’s raspberry jam biscuits?” 

This caused a chuckle as the older witch flicked her wand, levitating two biscuits on a decadent plate. Oh, she must need a favor. 

“Two? To what do I owe the pleasure?” Hermione remarked, taking a small bite of the biscuit, an explosion of tart raspberry on her tongue. Just the way she liked. 

Narcissa cleared her throat, eyes flickering to the corner of Hermione’s mouth. “I must ask you something, and I do wish you understand how and why I need to ask this. Tell me the whole truth, as I am too old for animosity in regards to this situation. This is a matter of the truth and consequences for guilty parties.” 

Hermione’s spine stood ram-rod still, ears perking up, swallowing the rest of her biscuit and wiped her mouth. “Of course, Narcissa. May I ask what this is about?” 

“Lucius has taken a lover,” Narcissa sighs, shamefully not meeting her eyes. 

Although, she would not be met with a look of judgment but one of sorrows. Bracing herself, the older witch admits into the silence, “Lucius and I are legally separated. We have been for a few years, but I insisted on living together. Only in separate wings, of course.”

A few years? Things finally clicked into place in Hermione’s overworked brain. She took the woman’s hand across the table, running her thumb across the back of  her soft hand. Not saying a word despite being gobsmacked, she helped Narcissa steady herself. 

“Now, there is a purple line to an Unnamed Malfoy on our family tree under him. He’s to have a child, and he has rejected them. Hermione, I must ask a big favor of you now, darling.” Narcissa takes a hasty breath, settling into the warmth and comfort of her now dearest friend. “I need you to pass these letters on when the time is right, my darling.”

“What- Narcissa, I do not even know-”

“Do not play coy with me, Hermione. You and Draco are set to adopt that child, and you two will wed. Even if you do not know it now, I have foreseen it. Andromeda was not the only one with visions.” She’s stern now, but the barrier has broken, and there are tears willing  in her eyes. The urge to deny it was strong, but those tears told her not to. “Tell her I am not mad but disappointed in him. Anything of the Black vaults is hers for the taking besides from my mother’s engagement ring, and I am sure Draco would allow her access to the Malfoy vaults. He’s a good man like that, Hermione.” 

Hermione fought the urge to wipe her tears, something she would do for her own mother. In some ways, it had felt like Narcissa was a mother adjacent to her. “Narcissa, when am I supposed to give this to her? Do you have an inkling as to who she may be?” Lying was bad but hurting Narcissa felt worse.

The older witch narrowed her glassy eyes, clicking her tongue in displeasure. “I may be old, but I am not daft. You know her, and the only thing I’ve been able to decipher is that she is a Greengrass. It's the only name that the tree will betray. I just hope that it is the more desirable Greengrass and not her sister, or worse, her poor child.” 

Hermione fought the urge to gulp, trying not to betray the truth that could lurk in her gaze, just offering her a bitterly sad smile. “I will see to it that this envelope is delivered appropriately.” 

With a lay squeeze of her hand, Narcissa concluded, “Please see to it that she receives it after the birth of her child, and let her know it’s her choice. I will know her identity when the universe decides it is time.” 

Hermione nodded, taking a rather large and unladylike sip of her tea. “If I knew we were going to address the heavy question, I would have brought fire whiskey.”

Narcissa laughed, swatting at her hand, “I told you it was of utmost importance in my owl.” 

“You said that about picking out curtains for the drawing room.” 

Both women shared a giggle, the melodic sound filling the marble surrounding them. 

“Oh, yes!” Narcissa gasps, placing her cup down on her saucer particularly hard, causing Hermione to snort. “I completely forgot. I have a gift for you!” 

Hermione arched a brow, no longer glum as they were a few minutes ago, questioning, “A gift?” 

“Mippy!” Narcissa snapped her finger. 

The elf appeared, dressed in fine gold jewelry and overalls, with a small pop. Alongside being paid handsomely, Mippy was able to select a piece of jewelry from a vault of her choosing as a Christmas present. “Yes, how may Mippy assist Mistress?”

“I would like you to bring my gift for Hermione to the garden. That would be lovely if you could bring the other thing that accompanies it. Thank you, Mippy.” She waved a dismissive hand at the elf who popped away.

Hermione patted her face with the napkin, insisting, “Narcissa, you mustn’t-”

“Nonsense, my dear. You deserve more than you’ll ever allow yourself to have.” Narcissa waved a hand at her, making a soft pft. “So, I ask you to allow yourself to have this. Think of it as a service to this old witch.” 

The younger witch sighed, taking a calculated sip of her tea, the warmth a welcomed familiarity. She could not say no; it was one of the only things Narcissa ever asked of her. Instead, she sat in silence while she mulled over the possibilities of this gift. 

“It’s not a bag of spiders or something devious, so stop looking as if I am going to poison you,” Narcissa scolded, rolling her eyes at the uncertainty. 

“You said that last time too,” Hermione smirked, taking a bite of her second raspberry jam biscuit. 

“I didn't know you had an allergy to lavender! You accepted it and ate it despite that!” Narcissa protests, finishing her cup. 

“It’s an oral allergy. I thought you meant we were going to look at some in the garden until my throat was scratchy,” Hermione said with a bit of a laugh, causing more laughter to ensue between the pair. 

Thump. A small piece of furniture appeared in front of them, followed by a few accessories then Mippy, who simply bowed at Narcissa. 

“Thank you, Mippy.” The witch rose from her seat, strolling to the rather large gift, where she began to gather two smaller items accompanying the furniture. 

Hermione followed suit, taking to her feet where she could better examine her supposed “gift.” 

Narcissa’s hand smoothed over what seemed to be a cloth of sorts and a velvety black box, smiling as she beckoned, “These are for you. Open the box first.” 

Swallowing the uneasy lump in her throat, Hermione snapped the box open. A thin silver bracelet lay inside, small enough to fit around a small child’s wrist. “Narcissa, what is this? I don’t think it’ll fit me.” 

“It’s not meant for you. It’s for the baby. It connects to Draco’s singlet ring and your necklace, so you can monitor the baby. The curse breakers just finished it this evening, but you are more than welcome to take it in for a second opinion.” Narcissa’s face was steel but her eyes shook with anxiety. ”It should adhere to their wrist. You don’t have to-”

“Narcissa, this is lovely.” Hermione clutched the small bracelet in her hand, tears pricking the back of her eyes. “It’s gorgeous, and if we do receive this child, this will be put to good use.” 

“Wonderful,” Narcissa praised while she watched Hermione snap the box shut, securing the jewelry within. 

Running her hand over the soft velvet of the fabric, she smiled fondly at the blanket in her arms. Then she placed the blanket with a small monogrammed Malfoy in the younger witch’s hands, apologizing sheepishly, “I’m a bit rubbish at sewing, so I had a bit of help from an undisclosed source.” 

Theo couldn’t sew for shite, and Pans was too busy this time of year to offer that type of assistance. Perhaps Narcissa made a new friend? 

The blanket was a lush emerald green, the letters monogrammed in a classy silver. The stitching was a bit jagged, but it only sewed the love into the fabric. 

“Narcissa, this is lovely, but it’s so much. I cannot possibly accept-” 

“You can and will because I say so. Do not deny a lady’s gift, it’s improper,” She insisted, holding the blanket into her hands. 

Hermione bit her lip, uncertainty in her gaze. She was sure that Marie would gladly accept if she were to keep the child despite the clear Malfoy branding. 

“Plus, every baby’s cot needs decorations to accompany it.” Narcissa smiled mischievously, revealing the intricate designed rare wood cot. 

Perhaps it was Draco’s? It was extravagant like him. 

“It’s a Black family heirloom. It’s a cherry wood with protective wards to monitor the baby throughout the night as well.” Narcissa smirked, having to read her mind. 

Hermione’s eyes welled, overcome with the generosity of the woman. “Narcissa, this is all too much for some witch that is adopting your ex-husband’s child. Are you sure?”

“Hermione Granger, you are the one thing I have been sure about in a long time. You were, and always be, the best part of Draco, remember that, Love. Scorpius and you are the reason that my son is nothing like Lucius.” Narcissa wiped a stray tear from her eye and squeezed her arm. “You were my family before this child, and you both will be my family once they are here. Hermione, you are the best thing to ever happen to this family.” 

Hermione’s tears escaped, and she wrapped her into a hug. “Thank you, Narcissa.” 

“No. Thank you, Hermione,” The matriarch mumbled into their stuffy embrace. 

A hug from Narcissa Malfoy. Now, that was a first. 

Chapter Text

“Delphine, do you know if Draco is in, perchance?” Hermione asked the witch, mug in hand. It is an unusual day in the office for her, catching up on her piling paperwork, instead of in the field solving civil rights issues.

The young witch with long eyelashes, presumably lash extensions that were all the rage with the new graduates from Hogwarts, and bright green eyes scan then flips through the small planner on her desk, presumably checking the time slots. Biting her lip with furrowed brows, she says, “He’s supposed to be in a meeting with Harry Potter, but he’s taken leave.” 

“Hmm, okay. I’ll check back later, but put me in for lunch. Thank you,” Hermione smiled at the girl, who was hurriedly scribbling her in. 

The door clicked open, Harry chuckling lightly and shaking his head, presumably at Draco. “Git.” 

Hermione shrugged, watching Harry close the door behind him. “Never mind, I’ll just see him now.”

Delphine simply nodded, busying herself with the papers on her desk. 

“Oi, Hermione, what are you doing here?” Harry asked, brow raised and his glance fleeting over her, resting on her stomach before returning to her face. 

What the fuck?

Hermione arched a brow at him, “Are you not supposed to be on bed rest?” 

“Calm down, Mum.” His eyes shoot to her stomach again for a split second again. “I’ve gotten a clean bill of health from the healers.”

Does he want to die? Hermione was certainly not in the family way nor did she look it. It was a bit of bloating from her menses, and he needed to mind his own. What the bloody hell was his issue?

“Okay, but you certainly have not been cleared for work. Must I call Ginny?” Hermione uses her stern tone, the one she takes with the children when they misbehave. 

Harry chuckles, pushing up his glasses on his nose, “Gin knows I’m here, Mione. Malfoy and I have a bit of personal business to attend to.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “If you must. I also have personal business to attend to with Malfoy, now that you are done holding him up.”

“Right then. Best I take my leave, huh?” Harry rakes a hand through his hair, giving his usual disheveled look that he could not shake from childhood. “See ya.”

“Bye, Harry.” It comes out a bit tense, Hermione wincing at the harshness. She was surely overreacting, but he knew how sensitive she was about this topic. Being a mum is the one thing she wanted, and he knew that.

Hermione pushes the door open one-handed, sipping out of her “save a broom, ride a quidditch player,” mug. Damned Ginny and her jinxes. “Mention the mug, and I’ll kill you the muggle way.”

Draco looks up, snorting at the familiar mug. His reading glasses are on his face, and it’s quite possibly the hottest thing she’s seen in the century. “To what do I owe the visit?” 

Hermione takes the leather chair across from him, crossing her ankles. She’s in a pencil skirt with a flowy cream blouse with her hair pulled into a bun and spare curls framing her face. “I had tea with your mother. She knows.”

“Knows what?” He questions, rubbing at his temples, a dull ache evident in his eyes. 

Hermione clears her throat, placing the mug on his cherry wood desk. “Knows about the affair. Well, it wasn’t technically an affair, I fear.”

“She knows it was Marie?” His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, flinging his glasses on the table. “And how did she find this out? What does she plan on doing to my father? She won’t touch that girl, and I’ll make damned sure of it!”

Casting a quick silencio, Hermione pins him with a bored look, asking, “Will you let me finish?” 

He nods, sitting in his silent annoyance, but he does not care to interject. 

“Thank you. Now, I must tell you that she does not know which Greengrass it is, just that she is a Greengrass. She has no ill will towards her and said that, if you agree, the expectant mother will have access to the Malfoy vaults and all pregnancy and maternal expenses are to be paid for.”

Draco nods, reaching for parchment and a calligraphy pen Hermione gifted him last year. “I’ll write these down and send them to my solicitor, and we can draw up a contract. She can have an allowance amount for herself then any additional expenses can be sent to my financial management. I’ll put her as the first priority.”

“Good thinking. Perhaps, pay for her school too if she wills it? I doubt the Greengrass’s have much after filing for bankruptcy last year.”

“Okay, wonderful idea.” Draco writes in the practiced cursive that Hermione had always been envious of, bloody aristocrat. 

Hermione sips her tea before continuing, “Your mother told me that she and your father were separated and have been for quite a while. She knew that he had a lover, but she thought he was smarter than to get her pregnant.”

“Apparently not,” Draco mutters, digging into the parchment particularly hard. “I’ve suspected as much. Mother never talks of father anymore, and he has been particularly cold to her at galas. It’s certainly no secret in pureblood society.”

Hermione takes a calculated sip, not bothering to make a sound that indicates either opinion. It was a shock to her but not to the people in the way of that society despite a new generation taking hold.  “She has given me a letter for Marie after the baby is born. It’s the Malfoy inheritance and claim to the Malfoy name.” 

“I doubt Marie will want that, but we can make the child a trust. It is up to her to decide even if we are to raise the child.” Draco pauses his writing to look up at Hermione, eyes reassuring. 

Her hand itches to grab him, and she is sure that he’d reciprocate, but this is business. “I will talk with her. Poor girl lacks a support system.” 

He nods in agreement. “Well, let us change that.” 

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, placing her empty cup on his desk and fixing her posture. 

A loaded silence hangs between them, the soft noise of quill to parchment in the hang. The busy sounds of work.

Clearing her throat, Hermione swallows thickly before asking, “Have you told Harry I’m pregnant?” 

The quill halts, and his eyes find hers. “Pardon”

“Harry seems to think I am with child. Have you dropped any hints? Mentioned anything to him at all?” Hermione questions, sitting ramrod straight in her seat. 

Not bothering to look at him, she allows herself to take in his office. A beautiful desk with a vintage chair, and many bookcases encased the windows that lay behind him. Four roses sit in a vase in the window, and a photo of him, her, and Scorp sit atop his desk. 

“I’ve told him that we were perhaps seeing each other and we’re looking into possibly having a child. I had said nothing about you being with child!” He exclaimed, tossing his glasses onto the desk in front of him. 

Hermione nodded, impatiently, giving him the eyes that rivaled his mother's. “Yes, but he believes we are in the family. Which I suppose we are, but I cannot have the rumors yet when there is no contract or establishment of care for the situation.”

She knew better than to speak aloud in this building. It was full of insects after all, much to his dismay. He eyes her empty cup warily. “I shall get a contract drawn up by the end of the day, and we can correct everything that you wish then send it to my solicitor. Okay?” 

“Okay,” She sighs, leaning back into the chair, no longer tense. Her eyes find his, as a sudden wave of sadness hits her. 

He takes her hand into his, the soft expression reminding her distantly of Narcissa’s late father, surprising as he was a true-bred Malfoy in his youth. “What’s the matter?” 

“I just remembered being pregnant with Rosie and all the joy that was there until there wasn’t any,” Hermione sniffles, tears escaping her eyes. “I’ve been thinking about consulting Cho as my mind healer. I really think that I need to fully process the possibility of having a child, and I need to cope with pregnancy as a whole, even if it is…”

He catches her trail, nodding while his other hand itches to wipe away the tears leaking from her eyes. “I know, darling. Let’s set an appointment with Cho, and I shall draw up an agreement for your privacy.” 

Hermione nodded, wiping away the tears streaming down her face. “I’m sorry. It's just been… really hard.”

“I know,” He hums, taking to his feet and walking around his desk to wrap his arms across her. “I know.”

She turns, burying her face into his shoulder as her sobs grow uncontrollably. “I’m so scared, Draco. I gave Rosie her defect, and I do not want to mess this child up the way I did her.” 

He hugs her close, nudging her face into his shoulder. “You are a good mother, even if your child is not with us. Rosie would have been loved, just as you love Scorp and the bandits of Potters. Do not ever discredit your ability.” 

She looks at him, eyes full of pain that he wants to kiss away, but he cannot. For yet she is not his. Instead, he relishes in the kiss pressed to his cheek in a domestic fan girlish way. 

“Thank you,” She whispers between him, tears drying on her face. It feels insane sometimes how her emotions flow and flip so freely. “You and Scorpius have helped me heal in ways I cannot explain. Simply, I must say thank you.” 

They held each other in the silence of the room, savoring their presence. 

Later, the owl flies to his solicitor's office with an urgent request inside and a bit of gold. It may not buy happiness, but it surely could buy silence. 

The Next Day 

“Scorpius, can you please read over this parchment please? I think my fucking head may explode.” Marie threw the parchment onto the dining table of the flat he and James Potter shared. 

The flat they shared on the basis of friendship. Her arse. 

Scorpius sighed, exasperatedly picking up the contract. His eyes scanned the paper, hoping that a summary would come to the forefront of his mind. 

In the years spent with Hermione, he had learned to read exceptionally, yet he lacked the motivation after the third section of this agreement. So far, it had just been promises of education payments, access to vaults, unrestricted visits, and anything that she could ask for in exchange for her silence. Many loopholes allowed her to go public if she wished so long as she did not slander his father and Hermione.

“I believe it is just more of the same shite. Draco and Aunt Hermione have promised you a flat, an education in its full, and many other benefits so long as you consult them before anything regarding the child,” James surmised, yawning at the last paragraph. 

Marie yawned in turn, nodding along with him. “I suppose I’ll sign it. After all, James is the only council I can afford.”

Perplexed, he mutters, “But I’m free?”

“Exactly, sweetie.” Scorpius pinches his cheek. How did that man end up with the smarts of Hermione and the lack of situational awareness like his father? Scorpius asked himself often.

Marie shared a smirk that drew similarities to their shared lineage. They were impossibly domesticated, even if they were scared to admit it to their fathers.

James was a few months younger than Scorpius, both products of a wartime love affair. However, Marie had been a secret hidden in Greece until after the war when her whore mother collected her due to lack of payments on her father’s end. 

Such woes she could draw, but she could care less now. Her father had a new family, and her mother was in the mediterranean sea, getting fucked by men for money. The wonders of the life of Marie Greengrass, pregnant with a broken home. 

James and Scorpio looked at each other other such love that she wanted to smack their heads together, in hopes they would get the fucking hint. “Are you guys going to eye fuck all day, or shall I sign this document?” 

Abashed, a blush spreads across James’s face, but Scorpius is much like Aunt Pansy, unashamed in his romance.

“You can sign the document.” James placed the parchment and quill in front of her. 

He had this gorgeous ink pot that she wanted to steal, but he was too observant for her to make her move now. Perhaps when they were snogging on the couch after a bit of wine, when they thought she couldn’t see or hear them. Her hand glides easily across the parchment, her signature in the masterful pureblood way from her childhood. 

“Soup dumplings, anyone?” Scorpius asked to the table, eyes trained on Marie. 

Bloody hell, that sounds like the best and worst decision of her life according to the occupant in her stomach. It was all the same coming up anyway as she was slowly approaching the second trimester. “Yeah, I could go for a spot of curry too. Now, help me from this chair.” 

James chuckled, “I’ll put in a to-go online.” 

Chapter Text

The breeze is cold against her jumper, an allowance that her mother will excuse due to them being in muggle London. However, she can see the knitted dress her mother is in, nude tights apparent, and gold decadent jewelry on her wrists and hands. 

Marie offers a warm smile, a hopeful invite as nerves eat at her, anxiety twisting in her gut. 

“What ails you today that you urged me to come to England in such a hurry?” The older woman pressed air kisses to either of Marie’s cheeks. Her Gucci purse hung from her dainty arm. 

Marie accepts the kisses, sure her mother’s red lipstick will not transfer to her face, deadpanning, “I need some… guidance.” 

Daphne takes the seats across from her in the small cafe she happened upon during a stroll around muggle London one morning. A safe space where no magic was allowed. 

“Are you well, Mother?” Marie asked, pouring her mother a cuppa of black tea. 

Arching a brow, her signature million pound smile displaying, “Very. I just got off of the boat. Cesar is taking me to tea later.” 

Stirring in two cubes of sugar, Marie returned the smile. “That's lovely. Where to next?”

“West Africa. He has some trade to do, and we plan to stay for three months. After that, we’ll do some exploring in Egypt.” Her mother droned on and on about her newest adventure and newest lover. 

Marie was obedient, splashing in a bit of cream and making room for the three-tier assortment when it arrived. She listened with practiced patience. “That sounds lovely. Send me some photos in the post.”

“Of course, darling.” Her mother gorged herself on the finger food presented to them, stomach churning as she took the last cucumber and cream cheese finger sandwiches. 

Marie smiled as she took a bite of a biscuit, almost losing her composure as the sweet treat melted on her tongue.

“So tell me?” Daphne asked, clearing her throat. She placed her sandwich back on the gorgeous china it was served on.

”Hmm?” Marie muses, placing her biscuit on her own plate.

“Has your recent move-in with your cousin caused you this weight gain, or is it the more time you spend with that..,” Daphne leaned in, eyeing the muggles. “that mudblood?” 

Marie fought the urge to cringe at her mother. “I’ve been under a lot of stress with university, so Hermione and Scorpius are not the reason for the weight gain.”  

“I never understood why you are so partial to these… things.” Her mother looks around with distaste. 

Marie flinches, annoyed and over her mother. She was out of the home, and she was well on her own. “They are people as is Hermione. Hermione is a lovely lady, very motherly towards Scorpius.”

That was a dagger in the heart of the Greengrass family, the lot of them. They knew that Hermione was a better mother than Aunt Astoria, and it stung their pureblood bull-shite harshly. 

“What is this about needing guidance? Stop the chit-chat and the bitch fit, Marie Victoria.” Her mother waves a dismissive hand at her. 

Swallowing sharply, she admits into the atmosphere of the small cafe, “I’m pregnant.” 

“You could’ve led with that!” Daphne exclaimed, her bracelets clicking against each other on her arm as she grasped her purse.

“I’m envious of their bond, Mum!” Marie admits, the air tense between them, tears stinging the back of her eyes. 

Her mother stops in her tracks, hair whipping as she turns to face her. 

“So envious.” Her voice broke, the weight of all the eyes in the entire cafe on her. Tears began to stream down her face. 

“You should’ve thought about that when you got pregnant and disgraced the Greengrass name.” With that said, she turns and takes her leave. 

Silently, Marie buried her head in her hands as she sobbed. Her stomach hurt, a guttural reaction that tore her inner child apart. 

“Love?” Marie found an older woman in her vision, rubbing her back. “Are you alright? Is there anyone I can call?” 

Wiping her tears with the posh napkins, she sniffled, “Can you ring my Aunt? Her number is…” 

Twenty Minutes Later

“Hello, I’m looking for my niece?” An old leather crossbody bag hangs off of her shoulder. Her mobile is in one hand, and her hair is pulled into a bun.  

“Yes, over here, deary.” The frail woman behind the counter led her to a disheveled Marie, whose eyes were filled with tears. 

“Hermione?” The girl asked, big eyes on display. Tears streamed down her puffy, red face. 

Her arms engulfed Hermione in the tightest hug she had ever received. Kneeling in front of her, she rubbed her back, soothing her as the tears flowed freely from her. “Would you like to talk about it?” 

She felt her shake her head against her shoulder. The girl continued to sob uncontrollably into her. Hermione placed her purse on the back of the chair. 

The same frail woman approached them with a glass of water and two tablets of muggle medication. A small gesture that made Hermione’s chest blow with warmth. “For your niece.”

“Thank you,” Hermione mouthed, patting Marie’s back.

With that, the woman placed the medication and water on the table and then retreated with a small smile. 

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know who to call!” Marie wails, uncaring of their viewers.

It shows her youth, the childishness that she never got to know intimately. Rather, a man of more maturity and an abusive mother made her grow up too quickly and put her in the predicament she is in. 

“Shhh, it’s okay. You can always call me, Love.” Hermione shushed, rubbing her back soothingly. This child needed a responsible adult in her life, and she was determined to be that. 

Marie cried openly for the first time in her life, in her favourite little tea place, and it’s the most free she has ever been in her life. 

“I’ll always answer,” The older witch vowed to her, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “You’re like one of the kids, and I always answer for them.” 

Marie held her tighter, all her pain and emotions conveyed with the small embrace.

“Well, except for Lily Luna. She tricked me into purchasing a new tapestry for her room. A rather gorgeous red and yellow one, if I must say,” Hermione mused, wiping the tears from the younger witch’s cheeks with her thumbs. 

Marie laughed through her tears, recalling the youngest Potter. A fiery one and true Gryffindor. Her eyes grew dry, as if there was nothing left to cry whilst a dull ache emerged behind her eyes. 

Hermione gave her a last squeeze before finding her feet. She places her bag across her body. Raising a brow, she offers a hand. “Shall we take our leave?” 

Marie took her hand, stopping a moment to take the medication placed on the table, and placed a hefty amount to compensate for her theatrical debut in the little cafè. 

“Thank you, Hermione,” Marie whispers into the rainy fall of muggle London. 

“You're welcome, Darling.” 

Without looking back, Hermione takes the lead, battling the crowded streets of muggle Londo and finding the nearest floo in an old antique shop owned by a squib. 

They stumble into her cozy little cottage, where the kettle whistles and a fat cat paws around. Marie smiles, faintly wondering what it would be like to grow up in a loving home like this. 

Pictures of a small child with blonde curls playing on a mat then stumbling through the halls, surrounded by a big family. Her heart ached at the image, and the decision was definite. Her child was Hermione’s child. 

“Marie, would you like a cuppa? Scorpius has the kettle on, and James just popped out for takeaway.” Hermione toed off her trainers by the door and then hung her bag on a hook near the door. 

Marie rubbed at her under eye, hoping that her crying was not apparent. She had already cried enough in her… status. “That sounds lovely.” 

“Okay, would you like ginger tea?” Hermione asked, watching her intently this time.

She nodded then bit her lip, asking softly, “Does it look like I’ve been crying?” 

“Yes.” It’s a bit harsh, and both women laugh at her bluntness. Hermione wipes the girl’s smudged makeup with her sleeve. “There is no vulnerability in crying in my home. In this home, we cry, we laugh, we get angry, and we do it together. We heal together here.” 

Marie embraces Hermione for the millionth time today, and she does not feel a bit ashamed about it. Maybe it’s the pregnancy or the way her being feels content in here, but she understands the meaning of this house being a home. She wants to heal here; it's astonishing to imagine, never feeling home until being an adult. 

“It’s okay. If you need to cry, let it out.” Hermione rubbed her back, soothing in circles. 

Scorpius popped his head round, and she mouthed to him to make two cups of tea, ignoring his meddling look that made him look like his bloody father. Draco’s bloody twin, that one. 

Marie just enjoyed the warm, caring embrace of the witch, a rarity that she dared to claim. “I think I cried enough at the cafe.” 

Hermione chuckled, disengaging from the embrace, and caressing her face softly. “It’s okay. I’ll be here if you need to.”

She nods, her face still in the older woman's hand. 

Hermione let her face go with a pat then headed for the kitchen. “I’ll check on the tea. Have a seat.”

Marie took in the hall, exploring the room with her roaming eyes. They flipped to the pictures on the walls. Scorpius at different ages, the Potters at every stage of life, Uncle Draco in the mix, and some of their friends aged with each picture. A rather large piece framed the entryway. 

Rose Jean. A small sonogram with small hand and footprints encased within, a small urn charm dangling from the frame.  

Hmm? Marie felt that she should not ask about this until they were away from Hermione. Or perhaps ask Hermione herself. 

A crib adorned with a beautiful knitted blanket caught the corner of her eye. Mentally, she pinned the sonogram to the back of her mind to investigate. It was an old wood, used by many sacred families to protect their children. 

“It was a gift from Narcissa.” Hermione smiled, offering her the mug that smelled divine. 

Marie took the mug and arched her brow, “You’re telling people already?”

Hermione shook her head, sipping on her mug. “No. It sort of showed on the Malfoy lineage tree that Draco and I are to adopt Lucius’s affair child. Come and I’ll explain it all.”

Marie followed her to her sitting room, swallowing the notch in her throat. “Does she know that I am the mother?”

“No.” It’s short and sweet, a reassurance she hadn’t known she needed. 

A relief washes over her, steadying herself with a sip of her tea. She takes the loveseat on the side closest to Hermione’s chair. “So she knows about the affair?” 

Hermione nods, curtly sipping from her mug. “She knows, and she’s had quite the suspicion for some time that he had taken a lover.”

Marie swallows roughly. “Does she think I’m a whore? I know I am, but-”

“Ah! You will not speak about yourself like that in my home.” Hermione patted her hand, firm in her words. “Narcissa will never think of you like that, my dear. Rather, she and Lucius have been separated for quite a while, so she does not wish ill will.”

“Separated?” Marie blanched at the thought, tears welling in her eyes as she recalled the promises once whispered between her and a man triple her age. 

Hermione nods, adding, “I would have never thought it, but I suppose they never were a public couple.”

“He said he was going to leave her and marry me.” She choked out a halfhearted laugh, like something in her misery was supposed to be funny. “He’s fucking lied to me? Should’ve known it.” 

Hermione places her cup on the table, offering a sorrowful smile and pats her shoulder. “It’s not your fault he’s a bloody nonce.” 

“I thought we were in love and going to get married,” Marie softly admits, pained to meet Hermione’s eyes to find the disapproval lurking within. “He said as much.” 

The older witch did not dare to discredit her, allowing her to cry it out. “I know, my darling girl. You’ve handled this all maturely.” 

“I wish I didn’t. I wish I was able to tell him no, but I was weak.” She whips her head up, tears now streaming down her face. 

Hermione dabs her cheeks with her sleeve, an unconventional method that Marie had witnessed some of the muggle mothers do to their children on their Hogwarts send-off. She pulled her into an embrace as best as she could. “You were not weak at all! You were in love, and love makes us do things we otherwise would not.” 

“Love landed me pregnant with a mum who hates me even more now,” She openly sobbed. 

Her youth hurt Hermione’s heart. She was meant to be in a pub, chatting up a wizard, and going back to her flat, with or without him. “His love wasn’t the true kind of love that makes you light up and wants the best for you. You will find true love like that.” 

“Have you ever been in love, Hermione?” 

Her mind warmly drew to the few short hours she had with her child in her arms. A sad smile formed on her lips, one of mourning yet happiness to have shared the same time on earth. “I have loved before. I had a daughter, and her name was Rosie. She was born in August after her heart stopped beating in the womb. Rosie is the reason I know true love beyond my being.” 

Marie felt her grasp tighten around her, and her heart sank. Distantly, she could recall Scorpius telling her about the babe. ”Hermione, I am going to speak frankly.”

Hermione nodded, releasing her from her embrace. 

“You are love. I see it with the way you took me in, the way you treat any child as if they are your own.” Marie bit her lip, preventing it from wobbling. “You have such a big heart, and I think that is why I was so compelled to you for this child.” 

Tears well in her eyes, almost uncontrollably. A sweetly sad smile plays on her lips. “Thank you.”

Marie grasps her hand, a warm gesture that makes her heart swell. “No, thank you, Hermione.”