Harry was, to say the least, quite surprised when Draco Malfoy arrived at his home to pick up Scorpius. His arrival was not unexpected, his companion, however, was.
"Who is this?" he asked, motioning toward the brunette lady who seemed to be about ten years Malfoy's junior, if not more.
"Hello, I'm Hyppolyta. Draco's wife. I'm twenty-four, looking younger than you really are is a family trait," the woman answered for her husband and extended a stiff hand. Harry took, it, and mentally calculate the age difference. An eighteen-year difference, huh?
Harry had been aware of Draco's separation from Astoria, but he hadn't realised that Draco had remarried so quickly.
Draco sensed oncoming tension, and wished to evade it. "I'll just go get Scorpius now," he offered.
Harry, on the other hand, was completely oblivious to the mounting tension, nor did he notice the crucios shooting from Hyppolyta's eyes.
"How could you?" She asked quietly. "How could you just let him go upstairs, knowing what he'll see? Knowing he'll see the only thing he ever actually wanted at school, which just happened to be the one thing he could never have?"
Harry was extremely taken aback. "W-what are you talking about? What didn't he have?"
"Tell me Harry, what do you see when you look at the two of them playing together? Laughing like the best friends they are?"
"I see me and Ron," he answered, slightly unsure.
"What else?" Hyppolyta twitched slightly, straining to refrain from correcting his grammar.
"Well, they look just like me...and Draco." Realisation hit Harry like the Hogwarts Express. "I never realised! I-I thought he hated me!"
"I guess you're just not too good at realising things, are you?" Hyppolyta snarled, but quickly resumed her petulant expression as she saw her husband walk down the stairs.
"Let's go," she said abruptly. Draco looked surprised, but followed her out. Harry watched him go, the only thought permeating his mind was How could I?