I hadn't seen Malfoy for almost twelve years. For nearly twelve years he had been nothing more than a dream, a ghost, a distant memory of what could have been. Yet there he was, standing as erect and unflinchingly as a statue on platform 9 ¾. He was as beautiful as ever. Just the sight of him made me weak in the knees. Made my heart thump, thump against my chest like it was ready to explode. Made my breathing erratic, made my skin tingle. He glanced my way and for an instant I forgot about my husband, Ron, standing next to me; I forgot my best friend and sister-in-law; I forgot about seeing Rose off to her first day at Hogwarts. For an instant I became mesmerised, lost in those steel grey eyes and I forgot such things as space and time existed.

There were voices around me, familiar voices. Suddenly I was once again on the platform staring at the Hogwarts Express, wishing Rose off to school. Ron's voice boomed loud above the clamour – saying something about Scorpius. Something about Rosie beating Scorpius. It was time for me to snap back into reality.

"Ron, for heaven's sake, don't try to turn them against each other before they've even started school."

I took a deep breath and tried to refocus. I'd obviously been rattled by seeing Draco. I stared at Rose. She looked exactly like I did when I was eleven – except she had blue eyes. Ron said they were his grandfather's eyes.

"His eyes are blue."

I stared at my daughter. I could have sworn that her lips hadn't moved, yet it was her voice that echoed in my head. His eyes are blue.

"Whose eyes are blue, Rosie?"

Rose nodded her head in Draco's direction "Scorpius. His eyes are blue."

"I didn't notice."

I lied. I knew Scorpius had blue eyes. I had seen the pictures of him in the newspapers and magazines. I kept every picture, every story of Draco Malfoy – from his engagement announcement to his father's retirement from chairman of the board. I knew Draco had taken over that position. I knew he had married a French witch, Astoria Greengrass. I knew he had been living in France. I knew he had returned to Malfoy Manor in England when his parents retired and moved to Tahiti. I knew a lot about Draco Malfoy from press clippings. I knew much more from that one night, almost twelve years ago.

Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy had blue eyes. But not like Scorpius'. Those eyes he'd gotten from Narcissa.

I wondered why Rose had mentioned Scorpius' eyes. She seldom spoke. I worried about her. All the time. I worried about her self-imposed solitude and solemnity; I worried about her taciturnity and lugubrious personality; I worried about her never referring to Ron as 'dad' or 'father'. And when she did speak, I worried most. Her train of thought never seemed connected, coherent. She was detached – almost like Luna Lovegood, but without the blibbering humdingers or crumple-horned snorkacks. Yet the things she said could stab like a knife; pierce to the soul; make sense days, weeks, months later. She smiled at the right moments and laughed on cue, but there was something else there. Something that worried me. She was such a precocious child.

The others were boarding the train. Harry and Ginny were giving Albus last minute advice. Ron was looking at his Auror coin – it was flashing – work was calling. Hugo was playing with Lily. Rose smiled at me from the door of a carriage. She said in a whisper that was barely audible "I have blue eyes" before turning and walking into the train. Now Albus jumped into the carriage and Ginny closed the door behind him. The train began to move.

I looked over to where Draco and Astoria had been standing, but they were no longer there. Only thick, white steam from the Hogwarts Express lingered in the space, as if they had had evaporated – like some evanescent hallucination – into the ether.

Ron was by my side – work was calling.

"Can't you take Hugo for just one day?"

"Ron I have an important deposition. Today is supposed to be your off day."

"Sorry 'Mione. This is important."

"It's always fucking important Ron. Why am I always the one running the errands? Rescheduling my day? My life? Why can't you tell work to fuck off for once?" My anger was bubbling to the surface; I was getting loud.

Ron looked around nervously, hoping no one was overhearing our exchange. Everyone within earshot was pretended to be concentrating on something else.

"Not now Hermione." He hissed through gritted teeth.

"Not now Ron? When? Your daughter is on her way to her first day of school. You can't even wait for the train to roll off the platform completely before you make a mad dash out of here? Before you make proper arrangements for your son instead of shoving him on me?"

"You act like Hugo is not your son too."

"Don't you try to turn this around Ronald Weasley. I love Hugo, you know that. I would do anything for him. Why can't you? Why is what you do more important than what I do? Than what I want? Why is it always your job first?"

"I have to go." Ron had the final word. He left before I could retaliate.

I was fuming.

Hugo was now standing next to me, clinging to my coat.

"Where did dad go?"

"You father went to work." I was snappy.

"Again?"

"Yes. Again. Your father loves his job. He works very hard,"

"Can't we go visit daddy at work?"

"No."

"Pleeease?" This child was going to try my patience.

"No."

"Pretty pleeeeeeease?"

"NO!"

Hugo frowned. Ginny came to the rescue. "How about Uncle Harry and I take you and Lily to visit your grandparents? Would you like that?" She patted Hugo on the head and a smile returned to his face. He looked at me questioningly and I nodded that he could go.

"Thanks Gin" I muttered as I watched Hugo bounce over to where Harry and Lily were standing.

"Auntie Ginny said I could spend the day with you!"

He was excited. He was never excited to spend a day with me. I wouldn't be excited to spend a day with me. I wasn't fun like his Aunt Ginny or his Uncle Harry – or his dad. Oh how he adored his dad. His dad, the 'big-shot' Auror. His dad who spent all of his days and most of his nights at work. His dad who, for all this working, always seemed penniless. I made our mortgage payments. I bought the car. I put food on the table. If I hadn't gone back out to work, I don't know how we would be surviving. I didn't know for sure how Ron was squandering his money, but I saw the portkeys to Cabo and Vegas. I smelled the firewhiskey on his breath at night. Whenever I confronted him about it, he got angry. We'd argue. It never ended well.

The way Hugo idolised his semi-absentee father irritated me to no end. Sometimes I loved to hear when Rose referred to him as Ron. That bothered Ron greatly, that his own daughter wouldn't call him dad. I hadn't prompted her or encouraged her to call him Ron (as he was convinced I had); she just started doing it one day, out of the blue. But it gave me a sense of satisfaction nonetheless. It made me feel less alone in my constant struggle against him.

I inhaled deeply and clenched and unclenched my fists, trying to relieve the tension that was building inside like an awakening volcano. I gathered my things together and waved to Harry and Ginny.

"I have to get going. I have a deposition to attend."

I hustled off of the platform. My deposition wasn't actually until three o'clock that afternoon, but I needed to get away. Away from an absent Ron Weasley; away from Hugo Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Percy Weasley, Every Damn Weasley and especially away from Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley. I made my way up the steps of the train station. I needed to be just Hermione for a while. Not wife, not mother, not witch-at-law. Just Hermione.

Upstairs I fumbled with the muggle coins in my purse at the coffee stand. My double espresso orange mocha frappuccino cost thirty pence more than I'd anticipated. My folder fell open on the counter top and pages of Minky vs. Crown Estates attempted an escape.

"Shit" I mumbled as I fumbled with pages and purse and folder and coins.

Someone was standing behind me. Standing close. A deep male voice sounded "Let me get that"

"No, I got it" The last thing I needed right now was some too-smooth muggle man trying to chat me up.

A pale, male hand slid an un-crumpled ten-pound note towards the impatient muggle girl behind the cash register who ignored my protest and rang up change from the ten. The girl smiled and blushed as she put the mystery man's change into the palm of his pale hand.

I put my coins back into my purse. My pages were again in order. I grabbed my purse and folder and coffee and turned towards the man with every intention of thanking him and blowing him off. I stumbled, as I was caught off-guard by two grey eyes staring at me.

"Malfoy" I sputtered.

Draco Malfoy was as handsome at thirty-seven years old as he had been some twenty-six years ago when I first met him at Hogwarts. Even at eleven years old, Draco Malfoy was everything I wanted. He was handsome, intelligent, witty and charismatic. Surprisingly, my parents approved of the Malfoys. They were rich and charming and decorous. The Weasleys, on the other hand, my parents believed to be unrefined and lower class. This assessment came after my parents witnessed Arthur Weasley attack Lucius Malfoy in Flourish and Blotts at the start of my second year.

I confided to my mother that I had a huge crush on Draco, but he just seemed to make my life a living hell. My mother told me that boys at his age were often confused about how to react to girls they liked and teased them. She said that Draco's teasing me was probably a sign that he liked me. She said that he'd have a lot to overcome, being a pureblood supremacist and all, and that I just needed to prove myself worthy.

I spent six years at Hogwarts trying to prove myself worthy to Draco Malfoy. I forwent nights of entertainment and socializing to study so that I could have the best grades. So that he could see that I was just as good as any pureblood. I even went the route of trying to make him jealous – I'll never forget the look on his face when I arrived at the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum. He was speechless. At last I was winning his heart. Then Voldemort came back and fucked up everything. Pureblood supremacy was again high on the agenda. He had to act a certain way, say certain things. His life was on the line. His parents' lives were on the line. Our little flirty repartees ended. He stopped loitering around corners waiting for me. There were no more half-smiles in the hallways, not even so much as a 'filthy mudblood' note launched my way during class. I was devastated. I channelled all of my anger and frustration into fighting against Voldemort.

When my side won the war, my first thoughts were of Draco. I thought now we could be open with each other. We could tell each how we felt. He could challenge his parents – his own aunt had married a muggle-born like me. The wizarding world was supposed to be a different place. I made the first move by testifying for him at the trials. He thanked me, but nothing more. He moved to France shortly afterwards. But I didn't give up. I finished my NEWTS then took a job in the Ministry, in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I fought for equality in the wizarding world. I figured the war was just the beginning – perhaps there needed to be more change before Draco would come to me.

Then I read of his engagement to the wealthy, French, pureblood witch Astoria Greengrass. My heart broke. I realised I had been living in a dream, chasing a ghost. All the time Draco was teasing me, I believed he was flirting. He was being serious. How could I have been so foolish? I felt hurt, lost, confused. At the age of twenty-four, two months after Draco Malfoy's engagement announcement, I accepted Ronald Weasley's marriage proposal.

I had given up. Resigned myself to the hard truth – Ronald Weasley was the best that I was going to get. I loved Ron. Loved him like a brother. But now everyone we'd gone to school with seemed to be getting married, including Draco Malfoy. Harry and Ginny were already expecting their first child. I quit my job in the Ministry at Ron's request. He wanted me to be a stay-at-home mom.

I was still twenty-four when Ron and I were married. I tried to pretend that I was happy, but deep down I was miserable. Ron worked long hours. There were still many neo-Death Eaters and Death Eater sympathisers out there. There was also a new, radical group springing up called the Red-Triad.

He went from being an absentee-fiancé to being an absentee husband. He even disappeared off to work for an hour at our wedding reception! I wasn't ready to be a mother yet, and I wasn't prepared for the loneliness and monotony of being a housewife. I hated the macho attitude that Ron developed. I hated when we went out (which was seldom) and he bragged about 'bringing home the bacon' or being the 'sole breadwinner'. It made me feel stupid, useless, and inadequate, less than.

I loathed him for taking my virginity. I told everyone that I was saving it for marriage. The truth was that I was saving it for Draco. I imagined, from the first time with Ron, that he was in fact Malfoy. I tried to enjoy Ron – but he never really turned me on. Sex was perfunctory – like brushing my teeth. He'd come home late, wake me up and hike up my nightgown around my waist. I'd spread my legs and stare at the ceiling until he was done.

Within a few months, the arguing started. I told him that I was bored; that I wanted to go back to work – to be productive. He wanted me to start having babies. I said he worked too much, was absent for too long at a time. He said once I had children to look after the boredom and loneliness would go away when he wasn't around. I said he didn't understand me. He said I was a lousy wife.

I read in a magazine one day that Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy was pregnant. I flushed my contraceptives down the loo. I began faking orgasms. Ron was happy. I was anything but.

He took me out to a fancy dinner for my twenty-fifth birthday – a new, chic, wizard restaurant in Paris. It was nice at first, but he kept excusing himself every few minutes to use the floo in the back to check in on work. Our conversation deteriorated as the night wound along, eventually coming to rest on his work and my non-pregnancy. We kept being interrupted by that damn, flashing Auror coin. I told him I'd had enough. He said work needed him urgently. I called him a liar. He left before I had the chance to tell him that I didn't have enough money to pay the bill.

I cried into my wine glass. It was my birthday and I was all alone, with very little money in a foreign country. He had requested the night off – he didn't have to go to work. It was my twenty-fifth birthday for crying out loud. Why couldn't he just have said no? Dammit, for one fucking time, why couldn't he put me – his wife – before his damn job? He'd just left me – stranded. I'd never felt so foolish in my entire life.

I was contemplating just how many dirty dishes the manager was going to make me wash when I heard a male voice saying 'Happy Birthday'. I looked up, half expecting to see Ron smiling down at me, telling me that it was a practical joke. But the grey eyes that met mine did not belong to Ronald Weasley.