Chapter Text
Draco Malfoy is an Auror, and a good one at that. He takes cases that most other people don't want and apprehends criminals on the daily. He has a close group of friends and a loving mother, plus a child to call his very own. For all intents and purposes, he shouldn't feel lonely. He shouldn't want to call his ex-wife, or feel her arms around him, or hear her call him sweetheart.
But as he's sitting next to his mother's bedside, just watching her look over the books Blaise brought, there are two names going through his mind: Scorpius, and Hermione.
He misses Scorpius when the boy is with Hermione, but part of him misses Hermione more. Every time they meet for drop off, he has to Occlude, because looking at his wife still hurts, even after three years of divorce.
And then there's that, the slip-up: in his mind, sometimes, she's still his wife; it's like they never divorced, except they did, and it's his fault. It's all his stupid, stupid fault. And he knows Hermione feels the same—the way she silently handed him the divorce papers three years ago in their kitchen said it all.
Draco thought that by signing, Hermione would be . . . not happy, but he'd thought it was what she wanted. She filed, after all. But as he'd written his name, her eyes had grown more and more agonized, and when he had slid them back against the table to her, she hadn't been able to look at him. He had been so confused.
But the more he thought about it, the less he was surprised by it. The years between their marriage and the birth of Scorpius had been rough, contentious, marred by Draco's long hours and Hermione's—eventually successful, but still taxing—attempts to start a business. He took more hours and shifts at work because she didn't want to use his family's money to pay for the space rental; but it left him without much time for her.
And Hermione was having trouble then, too, but he realized it too late. He'd work nights and miss her nightmares, or work days and miss when her scar was burning. He didn't see what was going on until the day he came home around four in the morning, and found her holding a muggle pregnancy test, and she looked up at him and whispered, "What if the scar hurts it?"
And suddenly he had a million questions, and she told him what she was going through, and she had looked so defeated, because she knew he hadn't noticed. When he asked what he could do better in the future, she had asked for help. Draco had assumed she meant with the baby.
So, when Scorpius was born, Draco thought he was doing a good job by taking the baby whenever he could, letting Hermione sleep through the night sometimes, cleaning, anything. It somehow hadn't occurred to him, after nine years together, that she may have also wanted help with herself.
Draco did, and always has, tried to be selfless for her. He is being selfish when he, watching his mother carefully, decides to go to Timebound Books, and ask something of Hermione that he knows will hurt her.
No matter what, when Draco meets Hermione at Charing Cross on Sundays, the first thing his eyes are drawn to is always Scorpius. Those curls, the little hands that love to sign about dinosaurs even when they're sticky, the way he always asks why Draco doesn't have a 'microwave' and Draco has to explain that really, the process is much easier with magic, and I don't understand why your mother doesn't use it. The boy is a perfect mix of the both of them.
But there's something different about watching Scorpius through the window of Hermione's bookshop. Draco has been trying to work up the nerve to knock on the door, but he completely froze when he saw them come down the stairs, a onsie-clad Granger-Malfoy boy in his mother's arms. Draco has never witnessed how their routine is evolved, but this slice of it is the most interesting thing he's seen in weeks.
Hermione is talking to Scorpius when she sets him down, with her back to the door and him facing it, and his eyes widen when he makes eye-contact with Draco. Draco smiles, and winks. Hermione hands him a book, and that's when she notices that Scorpius's attention is on something else.
A million emotions flow through Draco when they make eye-contact. Because sure, they've seen each other, four times a month in fact, but this is not the same thing. This is something far more temperamental, charged. Draco is longing, but Hermione is simmering, he can see it in the subtle shift in her eyes before something else shows itself there, too. Perhaps she feels the longing as strongly as he does.
Draco waits patiently as Scorpius signs something, most likely prompting Hermione to come open the door. She does, walking like each step pains her. It probably does.
When she pushes open the door, the air gets thicker. He takes her in, and what she looks like at this time of day now: hair a bit frizzy, as usual, eyes still bright, face full if not a bit pale. Although, a lot of this is also likely in relation to his being here, so he's not sure how reliable his observations currently are.
Hermione sighs at the same time he's about to say something. "Would you like to go first?" he asks drily. "Also, might I come in? The wind is quite rough on my skin." There is no wind.
Draco beelines toward his son, bending down a little as Scorpius reaches toward him. Draco tucks the little guy against his chest and kisses his head. Holding his son is one of the best and most fulfilling experiences Draco gets in this life. And in this moment, he's only thinking about Scorpius.
It concerns him quite a bit when Scorpius says he hasn't napped. He's sensed that Pansy has been quite stressed lately, and apparently it's gotten to the point that she is no longer adhering to the daily schedule. Thank goodness Scorpius agrees to an early bedtime, because he really needs it. He's basically falling asleep on Draco's shoulder.
Draco's heart aches in that way it always does as he carries his son up the stairs and steps into Hermione's sitting room. It was his sitting room, once, too; everything here is something they used to share.
He bypasses the kitchen in favor of the bathroom, but Scorpius protests. I'm supposed to get a snack and a story, and then we brush teeth.
Draco almost laughs. "I know, little dragon, I'm not trying to change the routine on you. I want you to use the bathroom. I can tell you need to."
Scorpius huffs. How do you always know?
"I'm your father. We just know these."
Does it work with mums, too?
"Yes," Draco agrees, setting Scorpius down on the bathroom tile. "Now go pee, and then we'll get you some pretzels, or whatever your heart desires."
Apparently, Scorpius's heart desires the leftover pancakes from the refrigerator, so Draco happily pulls them out and takes them back to Scorpius's room, where he's picking out a book. It's about dragons who like to eat tacos. Scorpius adds another book on top, about bears; and a red search & find book, too, because Scorpius likes puzzles. Draco exchanges the pancakes for the books, and they do the search & find book first, looking for someone named Waldo. The book about bears might be more appropriate for Christmastime, but that's alright. The one about dragons is Draco's favorite, and he resolves to find a copy for his house, because Scorpius seems to love it too.
When the books are done, Draco makes sure the nightlight is set to the blue setting and sits next to bed as Scorpius snuggles in, clutching Leonard the Koala and having a lot of opinions about pretend Quidditch. Even near-sleep, Scorpius asks quite a lot of questions.
When Draco knows for sure that his son is asleep and not waking up anytime soon, he forces himself to swallow his pride; if he wants to make it through this without getting hexed, he'll need to put it away. Even for Hermione, he always struggled with that.
Draco comes down the stairs and pauses on the third-to-last step, stilling as Hermione turns to look at him. It's her turn to survey him, and her eyes focus on his face, as though she's trying to figure out why he's here in the first place.
He makes his way to the counter and holds his wand in his hands, something he always does when hes nervous. "He's deep asleep. I miss him every time I have to leave him with you, you know." He's sure he knows; he can Occlude all he wants, but there's no hiding how much he wishes they could all just . . . go together. He doesn't even want to keep Scorpius with him all the time, he just wants them back as a unit again. It'll never happen, though.
Hermione never learned to Occlude, and so the agony that he feels is reflected on her face as she agrees with him. However curtly she were to say it, he'd always be able to pick up on the sadness saturating her voice.
And Draco, like an idiot, just nods back. Because he wasn't expecting her to agree, and now he doesn't know what the hell to say. He wants to say something, but he can't for the life of him figure it out. Thankfully, Hermione saves him, like she always has.
"Why are you here, Draco? I'm assuming Astoria contacted you about Romilda?"
Draco tenses immediately; he hates just hearing that woman's name, let alone considering the implications of her being connected to Astoria. "What about her?"
He hates the way it comes out: he sounds dangerous. But Hermione simply looks confused, not frightened. She was never afraid of him, not even back when he was basically a Death Eater; he's grateful for that. "I thought that's why you were here. Astoria and Pansy are going to hire Romilda to help, because—"
"No," Draco cuts in, fingers tightening around his wand. Just the thought of Ms Vane working even remotely close to his son is terrifying. "No, absolutely not. I don't want her around Scorpius. I hope you told Astoria that, because—"
Hermione grits her teeth and sighs in frustration. "I don't want Romilda around Scorpius either, Draco. But it's their decision, who they hire. They need help, Pansy is overwhelmed; that's why she forgot the nap today, she's carrying too much. What they want to know is if we have strong feelings about Romilda watching the other kids."
Draco sneers. "Honestly—" he rolls his eyes—"I thought they were better than this. Hiring someone so terrible. If they go through with it, I'll just pull him out—"
"Draco! That is not the discussion! Would you just shut up and listen to me for once?!" She bangs her hand on the counter, and he stares at her, shocked. She hasn't used that tone with him since they were working out custody arrangements. It almost manages to drag him back to a different time; a time he definitely does not want to visit. She continues. "We're not pulling him out, and we don't get a say in whether or not they hire her. What we do get a say in is if she interacts with Scorpius regularly. And I know for a fact that you don't want that, and neither do I. But I told Astoria to contact you about it, because I wasn't interested in discussing it."
Well, that's that. If there's no getting Romilda completely out of the situation, then . . .
"I'll tell her no," Draco mutters. "I want him to be safe."
He watches his ex-wife as her shoulders relax a tiny bit, and when she blinks, her eyes stay closed for a moment longer than normal. Anyone else probably wouldn't have noticed, but Draco does. He always has. "I do too," Hermione whisper. "Now . . . if not that, why are you here?"
Draco's chest tightens and he closes his eyes, desperately attempting to build his Occlumency walls. He needs to detach, needs to not focus on the emotion and just the facts. That's extremely hard to do given that the entire thing involves the three people he loves most, but he's going to have to try, for his mother's sake.
When he tells Hermione what he wants, however, he's not clear enough, because she simply comments on how long it's taken him to ask. And he doesn't blame her for being confused, honestly. He should have taken Scorpius to meet his mother earlier, long before this entire mess. Still, he has to rip the words from his throat with a groan when he says, "Fuck, Hermione. My mother is dying."
Draco can barely stand to look at his love when he delivers the news. He wants to throw up when grief washes over her face, aggressive and undeniable, before she hides her expression away in her hands like she always does when she needs to process.
Hermione liked Narcissa; it's part of why Draco fell in love with the girl. Most people look at Mrs Malfoy and see a Death Eater's wife; they assume she's got the Mark, just like her husband and son, that she's just as bad as her sister. The truth is more complicated: because yes, a Death Eater's wife she is. But Narcissa Malfoy was never cruel, or insane; as Draco sees it, as Hermione agreed, Draco's mother did what she had to for her family. And according to Narcissa herself: "If there had been any other options, I would have taken them. Anything, just to keep you safe, my son."
And now, of course, Draco is failing to keep her safe, even though he would do anything, too. Anything, just to keep her safe, his mother. And he knows it shows on his face, because Hermione's expression crumples, and it almost breaks him when she says his name, when she reaches toward him and presses her warm, feather-light fingers to his cheek.
He can only feel her and barely registers what he's saying, just that she responds with, "I'm not pitying you, sweetheart. I want you to know you're not grieving alone."
He has to swallow down bile at the word sweetheart. She hasn't called him that since the day she walked out of a divorce courtroom carrying their son, and didn't look back. But all his feelings decide to come out at once, and suddenly he's baring his soul to her, telling her how he really feels about his mother, and what he's doing about it—which is nothing.
He doesn't realize he's crying, not even as she pulls him into her—something they don't do anymore. Something he probably doesn't deserve, seeing as he's about to be very selfish asking this of her.
And then Hermione gets logical about emotions again, and damn it all to hell but he's back in the Hogwarts library for a moment, before she drags him back by asking, "When is she going to St Mungo's?"
Draco pulls back, tries to ground himself with the feeling of the stool underneath him, the way her hands stay securely on his shoulders like she's trying to ground herself, too. "Sunday afternoon. That's why I'm here. I can't take Scorpius until Wednesday. I wanted to see if I . . . if I could take him tomorrow? And bring him back Sunday morning?"
Scorpius has told Draco a lot about how Hermione spends Saturday evenings with their son. He doesn't want to drag his little dragon away from popcorn and football and dinosaur figurines. But he needs Narcissa to meet Scorpius, and he needs Scorpius to know that his Grandma Cissa was real, and a good person, no matter what he will hear in the future.
"Draco. I need you to hear me," Hermione murmurs, and Draco's heart drops. He doesn't expect Hermione to say yes easily, and so he nearly falls off his chair when she makes him meet her beautiful brown eyes and says, "We have our issues. But i will never keep you from your son. Especially not under circumstances like these."
"Thank you," he whispers, voice hoarse. He forces himself to stand on shaky legs and ask her about an overnight bag. His mother can't come to London, otherwise Draco would have never let his son step foot in Malfoy Manor. But he doesnt' have a choice.
He senses something in Hermione, like she's about to say something, but maybe it occurs to her that asking him to stay would lead to things they'll both end up regretting, because instead she simply murmurs, "Goodnight, Draco."
He almost asks if he can stay. But no, he can't. It would be catastrophic. Especially because now, he's not entirely sure she'll say no. Instead, he pushes open the door; the London air is a bit chilled, and he blames the wind for his shudder.
He glances at her once more over his shoulder, and tries not to let his voice give too much away as he murmurs, "Goodnight, Hermione. I'll see you tomorrow." He's not thinking of tomorrow as he watches her close the door and lock it; no, he's thinking of the times he was inside when she locked that door, and how he'd grab her and swoop her up; she'd laugh, and he'd carry her upstairs, and one time, it resulted in Scorpius, nine months later.
The back of her head is the last thing he sees before he disappears.
Draco returns to Hermione's apartment at eight in the morning, sleep-deprived and in desperate need of caffeine. Maybe she'll make him some coffee; or perhaps she has some Muggle energy drinks stashed away.
He knocks once on the door; he can hear what must be the television playing, and the tell-tale hum of his wife making something. It's late for her to be making breakfast, but maybe she's baking.
The door opens, and Scorpius is standing there, shoes tied, backpack on, looking completely ready to go. Draco chuckles as his son steps aside to let him in, a perfect little gentleman.
Are we going to see Grandma Cissa? Scorpius asks, practicaully jumping up and down with excitement. I always hear about her but you never let me meet her.
"Yes, little dragon," Draco says, scooping up his son swiftly. The backpack slips down and off his shoulders and lands on the floor with a thump, and Draco carries Scorpius over to the couch, dropping him carefully but unceremoniously onto the cushions. "But I need to talk to your mother first. Do you think you can watch your videos for a little while more?"
Scorpius nods and gives a little salute before turning to where something called Octonauts is starting. It seems to be about animals. Maybe Draco really should invest in a television.
"You're exhausted," Hermione observes. In the morning, she looks even fuller and brighter than she did last night; meanwhile, Draco knows he probably looks like a piece of street trash—a plastic bag, if you will. His clothes are rumpled beyond belief, his hair has not been combed, and he thinks he's going to fall asleep standing up.
He nods, and then glances over as Scorpius, because he really doesn't want him to overhear what Draco's about to say next. Before he can, Hermione orders him into a seat and slides a glass of iced coffee over to him. He nods gratefully. The condensation is wet against his fingers, but he doesn't care much as he takes a sip. It's exquisite; her beverages always are.
My mother has a seizure last night, he signs with shaking hands.
Hermione's eyes widen, and her eyes flick to Scorpius for a moment. Is she . . . can he?
Draco takes a deep breath. She's alright, but shaken. She still really wants to meet him. And I promise, we'll be careful. If I think she's going to have another one, I'll get him out of there. I don't want him to witness that.
Hermione lets out a deep breath. You should get going. I'll see you early tomorrow?
Draco almost laughs. Define early.
Nine.
Ten-thirty.
Nine-forty-five.
Deal. I'll bring him here, then?
Something in Hermione's eyes settles. I'll meet you. Charing Cross.
Draco takes a deep breath. Space, that's what she needs, what he probably needs too. "Alright," he says, loud enough for Scorpius to hear him. "We'll get going then."
In moments, Scorpius is across the room, grabbing Draco's leg as Draco stands. He's brimming with anticipation, and Draco lays one hand on the top of his head. He holds up his glass of coffee to Hermione. "May I take this?" Hermione nods, and then turns to Scorpius.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then, love. Give Grandma Cissa my love, alright?"
Why can't you give it yourself? Scorpius asks, genuinely confused. Draco's body tightens, and he forces it to relax
"I have to stay here," Hermione says, crouching down. "With the store. But give me a hug, okay? And give Grandma Cissa an extra one from me."
Scorpius nods, wrapping his small arms around Hermione's neck. Draco just watches, sipping his iced coffee instead of crying. When they're done, Draco bends down and picks up his son, conjuring a lid for his cup and sliding it into the side pocket of Scorpius's backpack.
"Goodbye, Hermione," Draco murmurs.
"Goodbye, Draco," she says back.
Draco and Scorpius Disapparate with a CRACK, leaving behind only a ring of condensation on Hermione's coffee table.
Blaise would call it culaccino.