His body stretched, his arm instinctively reaching for her side of the bed, but found it already cold. His eyes opened slowly, and through the soft white curtains, he could just make out the sun starting to greet the day.

The day.

Today was that day. That day that he'd been simultaneously dreading and excited for over the last decade. It had come down to today. All of his worries and fears and joys, today was the day.

He stretched again, pulling a t-shirt out of the dresser drawer before he softly padded down the hallway, into the kitchen. Hermione leaned against the counter, her eyes staring out in the massive backyard, darting over the Quidditch pitch he and Rose had finally worn her down about. He leaned over her, his lips meeting hers in their same morning routine that they'd done every morning for the last ten years. She gestured towards the coffee mug that sat on the counter, steam piping up from the black liquid gold.

"I couldn't sleep well last night, I'm so anxious about today." Her body sank into his side as he wrapped a hand around her waist, careful not to spill his coffee.

"I wish you would have woken me, I'd have sat up with you."

"I know, it's just…"

"I know. Today's just the first time, but I don't imagine it'll get any easier." He kissed her forehead once more, stroking a hand across her growing belly as he reached over to the stove, fresh blueberry scones that apparently his wife had baked sometime in the middle of the night. He grabbed two, taking a bite out of one while wrapping the other in a cloth and retreating up the stairs to a bedroom on the right.

She sat there, on the edge of her pink and white floral bed, her long red curls falling over her shoulders, accented by the soft cream jumper she wore with a dark brown skirt and a pair of cream knee highs. Her trunk was packed at her feet as he knew it had been for the last week, since their trip to Diagon Alley. She'd been so excited to pick her books from Flourish and Blotts, new robes from Madam Malkins, an assortment of new outfits from Petal & Otter. Malfoy, she'd told him, I can't go to Hogwarts wearing my old jumpers. When they'd walked past Eyelop's, she spotted a tiny Northern Saw-whet that had been newly imported from America. He doubted the thing would be very good for long distance letters, but she'd pleaded, and he'd always had a hard time saying no to her. He sat down on the bed beside her, handing her the second blueberry scone as a peace-offering.

"You know, when your mother was pregnant with you, I brought her a scone every morning. The blueberry was always her favorite."

"Malfoy," she mumbled after she finished her first bite, "you've told me this story already. You, the gallant hero who held mum's hair and hired a house-elf for her, sweeping her off her feet."

"Kid, you know it wasn't as easy at that."

"I know. You've told me that part already, too." Her voice trailed off as she swung her feet nervously. "Dad?" It didn't matter that da had been her first word or that she sometimes called him Malfoy, as her mother did too, he still melted when she called him dad. He'd never meant to take Ron's place, but between him, Harry and Hermione, they'd made sure Rose knew who her father was, made sure she was well-skilled in both wizard chess and Quidditch, and weekly dinners at the Burrow had ensured that Rose had also inherited Ron's love of Molly Weasley's cooking. She had Hermione's love of books and knowledge, and Pansy's fashion sense, much to his vault's dismay. "I'm nervous - what if I don't make any friends? What if I get sorted into Slytherin?"

"Ok, first thing, there's nothing wrong with being sorted into Slytherin. There hasn't ever been a Malfoy not in Slytherin, so you'll have Scorp to look after in a few years. And secondly, you already have friends. James will be there with you, and Artie and Isabella next year."

"Cousins, yes. But friends, dad. People I haven't grown up with my entire life." She kicked her feet again dramatically before flopping backwards on her bed, reminding him again how quickly those teenage years were approaching.

"Rose Weasley, you are smart and beautiful, a damn good Quidditch player and a Malfoy to boot. I can guarantee you will have no problem making friends who are not your cousins. Now let's go find Scorp, he's being too quiet and maybe we can get in a few laps on the pitch before your mother makes us leave."

She sat up, leaning into his arm as he wrapped it around her before placing a kiss to the top of his head. Parenting a daughter was hard, and he was holding out hope that the little one still growing in Hermione's belly was another boy.


He stood back watching her, as she rushed forward to push her trolley through the barrier. Hermione had gone ahead first, and he reached his hand to guide nine-year-old Scorpius through the barrier. Scorpius still didn't entirely understand why Rosie had to go away to school and he was being left behind, no matter how many times he'd reassured him he'd have his turn in a few short years. His son was the spitting image of him at his age, except for his wavy platinum curls. Curls that no matter how much sleekeazy he ran through them, they still refused to straighten. He'd finally conceded defeat, accepting that there was still the possibility this next child would have his straight locks.

As he stepped through the barrier, he was reminded briefly of the last time they'd been here. Of how excited he and Hermione had been, bounding down the platform with their trolley's, their years of Hogwarts and the war finally behind them. He froze when he realized he was in the same spot that Ron had been that day, when she'd stopped racing and been faced with roses and a small gold ring. How different things turned out, and how differently things may have turned out then, if he'd only told her of his feelings, instead of referring to her only as a friend.

His grey eyes darted about, finding his wife easily in the crowd that had formed around her. What had once been this band of misfits that met on Friday's at a pub in Muggle London, had grown into quite the close-knit family unit. A very visibly pregnant Pansy stood next to Rose, adjusting her jumper and her hair, while Potter seemed to be having a heart-to-heart with his oldest son, James, while the younger one stood closely to Pansy's side. Isabella Zabini suddenly came bounding past him, excitement overflowing as she rattled on to Pansy and Rose about the new Quidditch gloves her parents had bought her. Her dark red hair was twisted up into a knot on top of her head, contrasting with her dark skin and freckles. He watched as Blaise and Ginny passed greetings around the group, despite them living in Italy for most of the year, they still kept close with the others. His eyes caught a movement and darted back towards his daughter, catching the way Bella elbowed Rose gently, before tossing her head over her shoulder, past him. A hand came down on his shoulder, and he instantly felt a wave of panic wash over him. No. No. But at least it wasn't James with his cocky attitude and who had seemingly inherited more of Ron Weasley's personality than his own daughter. No- at least it wasn't James.

He turned to greet his friend, taking note of the boy standing next to his father. Artemis Nott had grown to be the perfect mix of both of his parents, graceful and calm but a hint of unrule. He preferred to keep his hair longer on the top than the sides, his light brown curls constantly needing to be pushed back from falling into his eyes. His bright blue eyes sparkled with the same hint of mischief as his father's did, and Draco felt that wave of panic again at the thought of those blue eyes landing on his daughter.

At his side, Scorpius tugged at his hand before pushing through the crowd of friends and greeting Albus like they hadn't just spend the weekend prior together. He could worry all he wanted about Rose and the way her eyes kept darting over in Artie's direction, but he was more worried about unleashing Scorp and Albus on the halls of Hogwarts. The two were known to wreak havoc much in the same way as James, but only on a quieter scale. Just a month ago, they'd found a food colouring potion that Molly Weasley used to stain the frosting on cupcakes, and slipped it into the pumpkin juice during Sunday dinner, and then laughed uncontrollably at everyone's blue lips and teeth.

The train whistle blew, signalling to the small group that it was time to say their goodbyes. He stood towards the back, still next to Theo and Artie, watching as Astoria, Pansy, Ginny and Hermione fawned over the first-years, imparting last words of wisdom. He watched her red curls bounce as she bounded up the train steps, before she turned swiftly and she paused, urging James on ahead of her. She stepped down, pushing through the crowd until she stood right in front of him.

"I thought you were going to leave without saying goodbye."

"I'll send Minnie tonight after the sorting, so you can gloat to mum when I'm sorted into Slytherin…"

"Any house is lucky to have you, Rose." He pulled her into his arms, fighting to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes. He leaned down, kissing the top of her bright red curls as he whispered, "Be good, little one."

Hermione stepped to his side, wrapping her fingers around his, and they watched together as Rose once again bounded up the steps of the train. Moments later, as the whistle blew one more time, her and James hung their heads out of a window, waving to the small group of friends as the train began to move. Scorpius and Albus darted away first, racing back down the platform, as the group slowly moved in that direction.

A lot had changed over the last ten years, weddings and babies and many, many dinners, and more than once, he found himself wondering how it was that they had ended up here. Out of those dark days that had followed after Ron's death, had come friendship and love and happiness. He pulled Hermione into his side once more before they stepped through the barrier, kissing her forehead in the same way he'd done thousands of times over the years.

"Ready to go home, Granger?"