Draco Malfoy had questioned his life on more than one occasion. How was it possible that he should be so happy when he had made so many terrible choices? What higher power saw fit to reward him for his cowardice with a loving wife and a perfect son?
His wife. That was another thing he could never understand. How this beautiful, smart, perfect witch, had ever found it in herself to forgive him for the monumental git that he was. He had approached her at the leaky cauldron 2 years following the battle of Hogwarts. He had just returned from his self imposed exile in South Africa. He had had time to come to terms with all that he had him time to acknowledge that he was a child forced into a war he didn't understand. That he deserved love and forgiveness, that he was not a terrible person.
He had found her, sitting at the the bar by herself, nursing a glass of fairies wine. She was alone, which he found odd. He remembered that he had never seen the Golden trio separated and to see her alone, looking so defeated, tore at his heartstrings. Her head was in her hands and her long, once bushy hair, was now relaxed and luxurious. He longed to run his fingers through it.
He had approached her, had been nervous, expecting her to verbally undress him. She had surprised him, she had offered him a seat and a drink.
"Have a seat, Draco. It's been too long, I think we can have an adult conversation, one that's been long overdue." She smiled as he sat down and before he knew it, 5 hours had passed. It had continued like this over the course of a year. Steadily they had worked from strangers, to friends, to lovers, to eventually husband and wife.
It had been 5 years, Hermione had gotten pregnant within their first year with their son. This is how Draco found himself, standing in the doorway of their little flat in muggle London. He watched her as she bent to her knees to help a crying Scorpius. He had apparently fallen and skinned his knee.
"There there, my little angel. It's just a little scratch, you'll soon forget all about it." He stood, rubbing at his eyes
"I'm sorry, mama. Please don't tell Papa I was crying. I want to be strong like him." the little boy said, between sobs.
Draco had heard enough, never would his son feel the need to stifle his tears to look brave in front of his father. Before he could come to his son's aid however, Hermione was already there.
"You can cry, little man. Don't ever be afraid. Your papa has cried before and he is the strongest, bravest, kindest man I have ever known. You are more like your father then you know, Scorp. And that, my dear, is the best thing you can be." Hermione said.
She picked up the little boy and carried him into the kitchen to tend to his scratched knee. Unaware of the blonde man trying to stop the flow of tears.
Draco stood in the doorway, unnoticed by his family. Tears had welled in his eyes. What had he done, who had decided that he was worth this amazing family? Where had he gone right? He didn't care, what mattered was that they were his and he was happy.