The Leaky Cauldron was empty, except for a few regulars. Lunchtime was not the most popular hour for witches and wizards to visit the inn, making it an ideal spot for a high profile witch to eat lunch after a busy book signing.

With keen eyes, Hermione looked around for any reporters from the Daily Prophet. She and Draco sat across from each other in the hole-in-the-wall eatery, both keeping to themselves. Poorly informed publications had been her enemy since she was a teenager, so it felt natural to worry as she sat so close to a reformed Death Eater. Paranoia followed her everywhere she went. It was the best repellent for public scrutiny.

Hermione sat quietly, twiddling her thumbs as she waited for the waitress to visit their table. She bounced her leg, nervously, unsure how she felt about sharing a meal with a grieving Draco Malfoy.

"So what's it like being the Minister for Magic?" Draco asked, taking a sip of tea. "Must be all ball gowns and chardonnay."

Hermione dropped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. Working for the government was not as glamorous as she imagined that it would be. "It's mostly signing off on things and meetings. So many meetings."

A messy-headed waitress finally slunk to their table. "Are you two ready to order yet?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The waitress's deep-set, sleepless eyes reminded her of Ron. He had violet bags upon his face since they got married, only growing darker and more severe as he sucked down decades worth of alcohol. The waitress's careless gaze sent a shiver down her spine. It was almost like her husband was watching her through the tired woman's eyes.

"I'll take the steak and kidney pie, thanks," Hermione said, forcing a quick smile. She immediately looked away, unable to look directly at the underslept and overworked woman.

"Of course, Minister," the waitress replied. She turned to Draco. "And you?"

"The Leaky House Soup."

The waitress scurried to the kitchen, shouting the order at the cooks before ducking behind the bar. She scrubbed a pint glass with a filthy rag, her eyes fixated on Draco and Hermione's table.

Small talk was part of Hermione's everyday life as Minister for Magic, meeting with ambassadors from other magical communities around the world. Nevertheless, she chewed on her lip, wondering how she was supposed to make small talk with someone that she had once known so well. His wife's death was such a taboo subject, but it was all that was on her mind. "Is Scorpius going to spend the holidays with you?"

Draco nodded. "He's going to stay with my parents, but I'll spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with him. He stayed with them last year and it seemed to be for the best."

A regretful expression came over Hermione's face. The clinking of a nearby customer leaving his table filled the silence between them.

"I am sorry, Draco—about Astoria," she whispered, reaching out to give him a comforting pat on the shoulder.

"I don't need any more apologies, Granger, really," he said, waving his hands in surrender. "Everyone wants to talk about her but if I'm being honest, it's not exactly my subject of choice. It's done now."

Hermione nodded, not sure what else to say. Unspoken details swarmed in her head as she could not help but wonder how everything had happened. Draco could see the questions in her expression. He hoped that they would subside, tired of explaining the situation to everyone that he spoke to. He had finished his grieving. He was ready to move on, but he wasn't sure if Hermione would allow it.

The waitress fetched two dishes from the kitchen window and quickly brought them to their table. She gave them a rotten-toothed smile and hissed, "Enjoy."

Draco and Hermione both eyed her as she slunk back to the bar. She kept watching them, a knowing grin plastered on her pallid face. Such stares were not new to Hermione, but she suspected that the overflowing amount of interest was due to the man that she had chosen to join for lunch.

"Is this what it's always like?" he sneered. "People staring at you and such?"

Hermione pondered for a few seconds, preparing her answer. Unfortunately, she could not find a way to put it lightly. "Sometimes. Honestly, I think it has something to do with the fact that I'm here with you."

"Minister and the Death Eater, just like I said," he growled.

She sighed. "Don't get too worked up about it. The more they see there's nothing to talk about, the less they stare." Her questions continued to swirl in her eyes as she stared at the man across from her. "Draco, are you sure you're okay? You just seem so...tense."

Draco nodded, still glaring at the waitress. After the woman looked down at the glass that she was scrubbing, he fixed his gaze upon Hermione. Even after so many years had passed, he could still read her face like a book. "Since you're so curious, I suppose I'll have to tell you everything. Maybe then you can stop asking so many questions."

She cleared her throat, expectantly, unsure how she should respond.

"I'm sure you heard that she was quite ill."

Hermione had known of Astoria's state both after Scorpius was born and towards the end of her life. "The blood curse. There was talk of it."

"Yes, a curse. The lies certainly didn't help," he elaborated. "Honestly, before the illness really set in, we weren't doing very well. I wanted a divorce. I even told her as much. She wasn't opposed to the idea, but we were waiting until Scorpius was home so he wasn't surprised by any of the proceedings."

"I had no idea things were so bad," Hermione said, quietly.

Draco shrugged. "We just weren't getting on as well as we did when we first got married. Arguing all the time, unhappy. The rumors ate away at her, and the longer we dealt with it all, the more obvious it was that we couldn't cope—not how we were, anyway. She blamed me. Thought that nobody would've accused her of such a heinous thing if she hadn't married a Malfoy, and honestly, she was probably right."

"Draco, that's ridiculous," she breathed. "Of course that wasn't your fault."

"Perhaps not, but she didn't see it that way. It didn't matter though. She was getting weak, pale. Before we could get to any paperwork, I realized that she wouldn't be able to take care of herself on her own. So we set aside our differences so she could pass in comfort. I think that I did right by her and Scorpius. I tried, anyway." He watched her intently, waiting for her to respond. There was a sense of ambition about him. Hermione had not seen that side of him since they were teenagers.

Cautiously, Hermione inquired, "And why are you telling me all this?"

Draco gave her a sharp look. Even through the subtle crow's feet, his steely gaze sent shivers down her spine. He had aged well, his hair only growing whiter and his stature still slender and toned. Hermione could not help but notice that the years had treated him better than they had treated Ron.

"You've always been clever, Granger. Let's not play stupid now."

Hermione drew in a deep breath. "You haven't touched your soup."

He took another sip of tea and leaned forward. "You have to know I didn't ask you here for the award-winning cuisine."

The waitress had put her ear towards them, eager to hear the conversation. Hermione cast a quick muffling charm. The eavesdropping waitress cursed to herself and went back to the kitchen.

"I'm getting old, Hermione."

"We're getting old," Hermione corrected with a nervous laugh. "I keep sprouting grey hairs."

He smiled at her, his eyes sparkling. "Yet somehow, you're still striking as ever."

Her face became a vibrant shade of crimson. It had been decades since anyone had complimented her in such a manner. Even on their wedding day, Ron had become so drunk he forgot most of it. She had spent months visiting bridal shops with Fleur, and he would never remember what she looked like.

"I'll see pictures," was his excuse.

"That's not good enough, Ron!" Hermione had cried on their wedding night. "Today was supposed to be perfect and you ruined it!"

"Draco," she groaned, shaking the unhappy memory, "did you bring me here to make me feel bad for you so you could make passes at me?"

At last, he shoveled a spoonful of soup into his mouth. He elegantly placed the spoon back into the bowl and simply replied, "No, though I'm sure you're enjoying it, anyway."

She rolled her eyes. He was the same person that he had been during their N.E.W.T. year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Unusual friendships bloomed during those solemn terms, including their own. Still, time had done its damage. She was not sure she knew him as well as she did back then.

An awkward silence fell between them once more. Hermione was not sure how to communicate with the widower beyond offering her condolences. Draco Malfoy was not one to accept apologetic exchanges, and he often filled the empty air with slick comments and his fiery tenacity. She didn't know if it was his way of bypassing his feelings or if he was trying to express them.

Draco exhaled. "I holed up in our cottage for a long while, avoiding everyone. Mostly the questions. It's been long enough now. I think it was finally time to see you. I wasn't sure when I'd have another chance."

Hermione froze. "Draco, I—"

"You don't have to say anything," he interjected. "I'm in my forties now. Half my life has been chaos and the other half has been—" He stopped for a moment, trying to find the right words. "—well, I'm not sure what the other half has been, but it certainly has not been what I envisioned for myself."

"I don't know how I'd fix any of that," Hermione murmured, picking at her meal.

Draco rubbed his temples. "I don't need you to fix it, Granger. I just needed to see you."

Hermione looked down. "Look, Draco, I'm not sure what you brought me here for, but again, I am sorry about Astoria." She stood up and fumbled in her purse. She tossed two Galleons on the table. "Enjoy the book. Maybe it'll get your mind off things."

With that, she rushed out of the Leaky Cauldron, her heart pounding in her chest. She looked behind her, briefly, wondering if she handled the situation poorly. Unfortunately, she was interrupted before she could decide.

"Minister!" a passerby exclaimed, flashing a camera in her face. The man took another photograph, grinning. "Minister, who were you in the Leaky Cauldron with? What's got your wand in a knot today?"

She scowled and Apparated to her home in Godric's Hollow.

The house smelled even worse than it did when she left in the morning. Ron was sitting in the same place, his mouth wrapped around a new bottle of firewhisky. His greasy, grey-and-red hair was standing every-which-way and he still had not found the energy to put on pants. Clearly, he had not showered in days—perhaps weeks. Hermione sighed and kicked off her high heels.

"How was your day?" she asked, hanging her jacket. "Did you get anywhere with your invention?"

Ron belched and shook his head. "Nope."

Her children waved at her from a photograph hanging on the wall behind Ron. She waved at them, somberly, before averting her gaze back to her husband. "The book signing went well. I'm pretty sure half the people were there just to get their fifteen seconds with the Minister, though."

"Mmhmm," he mumbled, carelessly.

"Did you know there's a movement to illegalize dragon heartstring wands? The Quibbler had a think piece theorizing that a powerful witch or wizard could turn into an actual dragon if they were to wield one. It has quite a surprising following," she said, amused. "It's incredible what people will fight for nowadays."

Ron's focus flickered towards her. He noticed that she had come into the house empty-handed. "Did you remember my sandwich?"

Hermione frowned. "Sandwich?"

Annoyed, Ron groaned. "Hermione, I asked you to grab me a sandwich from the Leaky. It's the one thing I asked of you today."

"Ron, I'm still fairly certain they don't serve sandwiches," she said, quietly. "But I'm sorry. I forgot."

Ron took a drink from the bottle. Dark circles under his eyes were a constant reminder that his drinking had gotten out of control over the years. He was helping manage Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, but at some point, managing stopped being enough. Eager to live up to George's expectations, he spent most days at home, trying to make inventions that could be sold in the store. A year had passed and he had not created one worthy item.

Hermione sat down on the sofa, trying not to lock eyes with her inebriated husband. They did not often speak to one another, but keeping their exchanges short seemed to be the key to their marriage. When they said too much, they ended up fighting.

"So you didn't eat then," he pointed out. "Can you whip something up real quick? I'm starving."

Hermione looked at the floor, her heart pounding in her ears. "Well, actually I did eat." Trepidation touched her words. She was not sure how Ron would react to her encounter with Draco Malfoy.

He spun around on the barstool. "Where?"

"Leaky," she muttered.

"And you still didn't get me something?"

Wrinkling her brow, Hermione replied, "Well, since you asked for a sandwich, and they don't serve them, no, I didn't get you anything. And it wasn't my idea! Um—someone popped into the book signing. We just—we just got lunch."

Ron looked wary. "Who? Ginny? Luna?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. Actually, it was—um—Draco Malfoy." Her heart beat even faster as she awaited his reaction.

"And he just wanted to take you to lunch?" He narrowed his eyes. "I didn't think he dined with Mudbloods."

"Ron!" she screeched. She abhorred the word when pure-bloods used it. It stung like acid. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away. He did not deserve to see her at her most vulnerable.

He rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't call you that, but he would, wouldn't he?"

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "No, I don't think that he would. Not now, anyway."

Ron took another drink, the warmth running into his belly. He patted the large gut that he had acquired over time. "Well, what did the git want?"

She shrugged. "Just to catch up."

"About what?" he scoffed. "Good ol' times when he was trying to kill people just like you?"

She glared. "No."

"Then what?" he asked, throwing his hands up, spilling some firewhisky all over the kitchen floor. "What could Draco Malfoy and you possibly need to go to lunch for?"

"His wife died!" she spat. "He wanted to talk to a friend. I don't think that's such a crime, Ronald."

Ron snickered, taking a swig of firewhisky. "A friend? Is that what he calls it?"

"Yes, a friend." she said, firmly.

"Interesting term," he muttered. "He bullied you for how many years and now the slick git gets to call you a friend?"

"We were all dumb back then, Ron," Hermione reminded him. Her voice turned cold, dripping with venom. "Kids are dreadful as it is, and most of them didn't grow up with a father like Lucius Malfoy." She paused for a moment, waiting for his reply.

He did not respond. Instead, he stared her down, fuming. Jealousy had always been one of Ron's most toxic traits, and as he and his wife grew further apart, it only boiled within him more and more. He envied the men she worked with, the authors she admired, the professors she spoke so highly of, and his brother-in-law. They all kept her attention better than he did. He was not sure how to make her love him like she did when they were young.

"Why do you care now, anyway?" she pressed. "You didn't seem to have a problem with him last time we saw him!"

"He's a man and he's asking my wife to lunch—alone. I think I get to be a little bit angry, Hermione," he snarled.

Hermione got to her feet and balled her fists. "No, Ron. Actually, you don't get to be angry, because if you had come to lunch with me in the first place, he wouldn't have been alone with me!"

She stormed away to her study, slamming the door behind her. They had said too much to one another, and just like it always did, it ended in an argument.