Measure Of A Man

by inadaze22

To truly know someone is to differentiate between who they once were, who they are now, and who they're capable of being. Hermione realises the duality of one man as she rectifies what she knows of the past and begins to understand the pieces of who Draco Malfoy is now: a father, a son, and a man.

9. Let The Wild Rumpus Start!

Nine

Let The Wild Rumpus Start!

May 20, 2011

Bridges.

When Hermione spared herself a moment to consider them, she realised how strange they were. Outside of exquisite architecture and meticulous buildings, bridges were a contraption of metal and wood, wire and thick rope, built to link places, people, and worlds together that had been kept apart by nature itself.

Building one was complicated—impossible without the right tools—but travelling across a bridge involved an act of faith for someone like Hermione, who was terrified of heights. To her, they posed a strange and sudden sensation of impending doom. Like flying.

Irrational, but there was nothing to be done about it.

However, as Hermione sipped her mint tea with Narcissa's Palliative Healers, Sachs and Keating, she couldn't help but also realise that the bridges could be a metaphor for what she was trying to do: band all the pieces of Narcissa's life together to create a cohesive pathway of assistance, information, and maybe even progress where none had existed before.

Building bridges had been Hermione's primary motivation behind opening her home up to Narcissa's existing team. She had originally scheduled the meeting to take place at the Malfoy home, but she'd changed her mind. Sometimes a change in scenery was beneficial to generate the desired outcome; it could help shift perspectives and potentially create the foundation necessary to build those bridges.

It was also away from Narcissa's presence and influence.

The timing couldn't have been better.

Fresh off holiday, their guards were down and they were relaxed. The backdrop of the world around her cottage was just as green and alive as the plants in her conservatory they'd examined upon arrival. Hermione provided tea and fresh apple pie she'd baked after another frustrating day, but she tucked those feelings away and forced a thin smile as she politely listened to their stories about their holidays—time they had obviously needed, judging by their brighter spirits.

It was already going far better than their first meeting.

Sachs had gone on a bucket list trip to Egypt while Keating spent time with family and welcomed a new grandchild she proudly showed pictures of. A girl named Helena. The bits she'd learned during their conversation would help in her ultimate quest to get to know them as individuals…

That wasn't why Hermione had extended the invitation, of course, but she was finally understanding the reason behind Theo's controlled silences. Words were powerful, they could lay the groundwork, but silence was just as important.

She had to be patient. Had to watch them interact. Had to learn them in order to find a way in.

Which was something Hermione needed.

So, as they chatted with each other, she separated them and analysed each as an individual rather than a pair that worked so well together. On paper, she knew them well enough. Age. Hometown. Education. Healing Specialties. Employment history. Based on their employee files, they were qualified for the job she needed them to do, but Hermione could see the personality clash approaching from several kilometres away.

Keating was softer, more obliging and matronly in the same way as Molly. A nurturer and a follower. But Sachs was different. Bolder. More outspoken and confident—like an extremely watered down version of Narcissa. Like Keating and Narcissa, she was also traditional, but lacked the latter's poise and grace that came from years in high society. They were opposites, in every way. Sachs was a pale, greying brunette, while Keating had a beautiful olive complexion that complemented her full head of grey. They worked fluidly together thanks to experience, mutual respect, and a bond that established years before.

Ultimately, Hermione realised that Sachs would be her issue. But she could also be the key.

Keating would be an easy win, but if she won Sachs' favour, she wouldn't have to work hard for Keating's… and maybe they would help her win over Narcissa. Hermione pondered it. The plan was still a work in progress with issues she had to resolve in order to wiggle her way through the gap.

First order of business?

Determine the extent of their loyalty to each other and—more importantly—to Narcissa.

"Do you have any children?" Keating asked in an attempt to make conversation. She was clearly the sort that thought a good ice-breaker was a mildly invasive question about family.

With a good spirit and a polite smile, Hermione shook her head. "Three godchildren, something like one to another, but none of my own."

"Oh." There was an awkward pause as Keating looked at Sachs, who had wisely picked the right moment to put all her focus into sipping her tea. The older woman cleared her throat. "Well, there's still time."

That was something people said to placate a childless woman on the wrong side of thirty. What she really meant was: your time is running out.

Had Hermione's skin been thinner, had she not already had the same conversation with her mother, the woman's words might have bothered her a great deal. As it stood, though, she brushed the comment off. Still, they didn't make for a good transition. The air around them shifted imperceptibly, a bit more awkward now tinged with discomfort.

She needed to get things back on track. Hermione had not just invited them over for tea and a chat, she also wanted to discuss their new assignments. "If I'm meant to be a mother, I'll be one. If I'm not, I already have plenty of children to spoil."

Both women agreed with wordless nods. It wasn't the best response, slightly too personal for her taste—considering they were subordinates at best—but it was open enough to make her relatable in a way that was necessary to lay the foundation for what was needed.

Hermione wasn't used to working with others, at least not at the level she would be working with them, but if the last month had taught her anything, it was going to take a team effort. She couldn't do it alone.

She needed their help. Their support. Their knowledge about the family.

And, most importantly: their trust.

Which wasn't going to come easily.

"I'm glad you both had restful holidays. Have you had time to review everything I sent via owl yesterday?" The amended care plans had been thick. She'd given the delivery owls in Godric's Hollow two treats a piece to take them.

They both nodded.

"It was very… detailed."

"Do either of you have any preferences for morning or evening?" Hermione knew, just from Keating's remarks, that she hadn't read it all, but she kept that to herself. "And do you understand your duties as they pertain to each shift?"

"We've discussed it and I've agreed to take days as I've accompanied Narcissa to events in the past as an aide," Sachs spoke up. "Keating will take nights. Before you took over, we would alternate, but your manual didn't allow for such flexibility."

Hermione couldn't ignore her tone. She firmly believed that if a weed was left alone too long, it would grow and flower and spread its seeds, making her weeding situation exponentially worse. Which was why weeding had always been an essential daily activity. And while she had already weeded her garden, she apparently had more to go.

Clearing her throat, Hermione slipped her finger through the handle of her teacup, using her other hand to assist lifting it to her lips. "Before we go on, Sachs, do you have issues with my treatment methods, my presence, or just me?"

She took a healthy sip of tea. Lemongrass and ginger. Just the tang she needed.

Sachs blinked several times, jarred by her brazen question and stunned into silence. Keating, seated across from her, went completely still.

"I feel that the key to a successful working relationship is to create one based on respect, trust, and open communication. I sincerely hope that I haven't done or said anything that makes either of you feel as though you don't have a voice. Because you do. I considered myself to be approachable." Hermione made an easy gesture with her free hand. "Please, don't hesitate. Speak up."

After a long pause, Sachs did. "I don't have a problem at all with anything you have laid out in your treatment package, but it seems… strict. Narcissa will push back."

One could argue that her treatment was no less strict than Scorpius' schedule, but that was another thing she kept to herself. The irony of it was astounding.

"Be that as it may, it'll be your job to see that she doesn't. As she declines, she might become a different person, not the Narcissa you know. It's not an easy job going forward, so if you don't feel you can, please don't be afraid to let me know."

They both, in their own words, accepted the challenge.

Hermione took another sip. "Continuing on: the potions don't work unless they're taken both consistently and within a certain frame of time. Her condition, as well as her potions, require strict monitoring. I will also ask that you both make sure to keep notes in your notebooks. The parchment is spelled to appear on a master parchment so please monitor any fluctuations and be on the lookout for triggers to her episodes. While you trade off monitoring her days and nights, I'll be around during both, checking in, handling meals and making potions. Once we have a baseline, we can make adjustments."

Sachs picked up her fork. "I would have thought that after a month you would have been able to answer some of those questions yourself."

Hermione sat her teacup on the saucer. "Due to an undisclosed allergy to Goat's Horn, her potions have been rendered useless until two days ago. Unfortunately, I'm still trying to create a baseline."

Both looked confused. "She doesn't have any allergies."

Ah, they hadn't known either. "Apparently that's not true, as I found out a few days ago."

"From where?"

"Her son."

That got both of their attention. They went from relaxed to sitting straighter in their chairs, which made her do the same. Keating and Sachs exchanged looks. The former looked flummoxed while the latter's eyebrows lifted slowly.

"Draco helped?"

"Reluctantly." Hermione found herself wondering what they knew and how easy it might be to get them to talk about the Malfoys. Keating seemed to take her cues from Sachs, which made Hermione grimace. "He told me about the allergy and made the adjustments to her potion."

So far, her potions had been working well.

Everything hadn't quite levelled out, but last night had been the first with zero disturbances.

It was an improvement.

Hermione was as cautiously optimistic as Malfoy had been quietly cocky that morning over his black tea and daily crossword. Outside of his physical signs of exhaustion, her biggest clue to his lack of sleep had been Malfoy not reacting when she'd told him the answer to fifteen across.

Vexatious.

Absolutely fitting.

She frowned with deep annoyance.

"Are they speaking again?" Keating asked, forcing Hermione to tuck the thought away.

"Not particularly." Hermione was brave enough to push the envelope. "You both have been working for the family for years. Do you know how long things have been like this between them?" Another look passed between the two women., "I only ask because I'm part of the team as well."

Which was true.

Something that was also true?

The help knew everything.

Sachs sighed, resting back on the chair and folding her arms. They traded one last look before Keating took the lead. "I was originally caring for Astoria, the poor dear." The Healer paused for a moment. "Her parents spent an excessive amount of time and money trying to save her. She had just graduated from Hogwarts when I was hired, and they could barely afford my salary. When she married Draco, I was given a choice. Deciding to stay required me to move to France. I didn't think twice. I packed up my family and moved. I didn't want her to be alone and I didn't know what sort of man Draco was—the rumours about him were awful."

Interesting, but true. Malfoy's reputation in Wizarding London hadn't been the best—an understatement, despite his mother's beloved status.

"And what do you think of him now?"

There was a quick moment where Keating pondered her statement, but her body language didn't indicate anything except truth. "He's distant and guarded, but not unkind. They did the best they could under the circumstances."

The statement was so loaded Hermione couldn't fathom interpreting it right then.

She would need time, wine, and a whiteboard.

For now, there were hundreds of questions that passed through her mind, hundreds more options, but Hermione chose one. The first one: "Was he involved?" That question would determine if his lack of involvement in Narcissa's care was a normal thing or an exception.

"Her disease was incurable, Miss Granger, but there was a treatment that existed which slowed it down. Not enough for her to have a normal lifespan, but that wasn't good enough for her parents who wanted her cured. So, Astoria spent every spare moment of her life being experimented on. By the time she married Draco, she was tired of being subjected to dangerous, experimental magic and harsh potions that would leave her sick or listless."

That sounded horrible. Hermione couldn't fathom the pain, both from disappointment and from the treatments themselves. Vaguely, she remembered Daphne explaining this to her a long time ago, but she couldn't recall many details.

"In a way, her marriage saved her from that. Draco had the decency to respect her wishes for a normal life. As far as involvement, he had more than a passing level of knowledge about her blood illness. I doubt she would have lived as long had he not made her potions himself."

Hermione froze.

Definitely an exception.

As for the rest, she filed it away with the other things that needed processing, categorising, and analysing. It would take a while.

"When did you start?" Hermione asked Sachs.

"Halfway into her pregnancy with Scorpius. Narcissa hired me exclusively for end of life care. No one expected her to live through childbirth. They were nearly correct about her and Scorpius."

An awkward bubble was born deep inside Hermione and it swiftly rose to the surface. When it burst, it projected the pure, vivid image of a man who had nearly lost everything in one day—in one instant. The visual caused something to coil inside her, a long, slow wind that tightened uncomfortably with a small jerk. Hermione finished her tea, but it tasted like warm water.

It took another few moments to realise that Sachs was still talking. "…she was so frail after he was born but determined to be involved in raising him. Naturally, they had a Mediwitch and a nanny, but Astoria was very involved in his day-to-day care. And as he got older, she mustered the strength to teach him, despite being nearly bedridden."

Hermione had to ask. "Etiquette?"

"No," Keating spoke up. "The basics that one would teach a toddler: colours, counting, letters, shapes. She hardly ever had the energy to take him outside, but she played with him, read to him all the time, and showed him everything she could. Her sister visited monthly and she would take him places. Not around too many people, of course. There were a few incidents…" Keating pressed her lips into a thin line. "Daphne stopped taking him out after the last one. Instead, she tried to bring activities to him. I think that was around the time they put a telly in Astoria's quarters. Narcissa was upset."

Hermione found the mental image of Narcissa in a state about a telly appearing in her home hilarious. "Do they still have it?"

"I haven't seen it since the move back to London. It's probably put away along with everything else." All of Astoria's things. Keating looked wistful, like most caregivers thinking of a lost patient. Even when they were expecting it, it still hurt. "Narcissa would never allow it in the house. She only tolerated it because Draco—well, things were sour with them long before Scorpius was born. Partly had to do with Narcissa's treatment of her."

"You're speculating." There was a hard set to Sachs' narrowed eyes. "Draco was hardly around."

"He was around when he could," Keating clarified after catching sight of Hermione's raised eyebrow. "He also helped when he could, but…" The woman's sigh was one of someone who had a lot to say, but didn't quite know how to phrase it. "I think he spent more time on security and warding than anything."

"As he should have," Sachs said. "I still have scars on my hands from that poison."

Hermione blinked, then took a sharp look at Sachs' hands.

The similarity between her scars and Molly's was—

Keating blinked down at her partner's hands and took a deep breath. She got back on subject. "Narcissa's education didn't start until after Astoria reached the point of no return."

Sachs made a small noise after taking a sip of tea. "My opinion is that had she allowed Narcissa to help with Scorpius earlier, she might have taken better care of herself and lived longer. But as it was, she dedicated every ounce of energy she could to raise him and shut Narcissa out until she absolutely had no choice in the matter."

Having seen her strict treatment of Scorpius, Hermione honestly couldn't—

"Can you blame her?"

For a split second, Hermione wondered if she'd asked the question that had been on her mind. How embarrassing. But then she realised that no, she hadn't.

It had come from Keating.

There was a frown on her face and she was gripping her teacup with both hands; a complete opposite to Sachs who had nearly finished her pie.

And there it was.

The divide.

---

May 21, 2011

Hermione woke up in stages.

She found she was in no rush to start the day after a late night with Padma and Susan in the conservatory, drinking elf-made wine and chatting about the ins and outs of work at St Mungo's—something they couldn't do when everyone else was around as they found their work stories dull. Hermione felt good, despite the lack of sleep, deciding to lie there for a while and watch the sun creep across the floor towards the bed. Fortunately, she hadn't bothered to shut the drapes, and she was catching a glimpse of a glorious sunrise.

The promise of it pulled her from the bed and into her bath, where she showered before pulling her hair back into a purposefully messy bun. Opting for comfortable clothes, she laced up her Wellies and headed downstairs for tea. She also needed to check on Narcissa's enchanted parchment.

A second night of stable readings was more than enough proof that the corrected potion was working.

From the readings, it appeared she was still sleeping.

Good.

Today was the first day back for Keating and Sachs. Hermione made a mental reminder to visit Keating tonight and draw her into conversation. Perhaps during the day tomorrow, she would go over to check on Sachs.

A solid plan all around.

With that done, Hermione decided to check on the sun's journey into the morning sky, but first she took a call from her mother who asked her what she was doing.

"About to start in the garden."

"Sounds lovely, dear." There was a noise in the background and it sounded like her dad. "Oh, never you mind." He must have realised she was still on the phone. "Sorry about that, love. Your dad has opinions." Whatever that meant, Hermione knew better than to ask because she would never get an answer.

Not from her dad, at least.

"Anyway, I was calling to check and see if you were free for dinner Thursday. We'll be leaving for Greece in a couple of weeks and thought it would be lovely to see you before we go."

Hermione blinked at the change in plans. The change in the schedule they had adhered to for years. It was a welcomed surprise that filled her with a hope. "Oh! Of course."

"Wonderful. See you then!"

Farewells were exchanged before Hermione hung up the phone. With a pep in her step, she ventured around the conservatory, caring for the plants scheduled for Saturday watering and even those who were greedy and dry when they shouldn't be.

By the time she started pruning the climbing roses, the sun had really begun to make an appearance, brightening all corners of the room… and further lifting her spirit.

It was a lovely sight to behold.

Both the conservatory from above and the world beyond the window.

Peaceful and quiet.

The morning sky was blue with streaks of orange, reds, and yellows, and cloudless for a change as the last couple of days had been grey, heavy and drizzly. Well, at least until yesterday afternoon when it had cleared up. Typical for the season and her location, but today was a treat.

Hermione looked around the orderly room.

She'd done enough work. It was time to enjoy the view.

After climbing down her ladder, she put it away and curled on her chaise by the full-length window with a fresh cup of tea and a book she'd been working through over the last week. She was truly ready to enjoy the view of her growing garden, the greenhouse a short walk away, and the pasture that led to the edge of the forest in the distance. After a long look, she opened her battered copy of The Book Thief and picked up where she'd left off.

The sun was a good deal higher in the sky when she heard her Floo come to life and felt the tingling of her wards announcing the arrival of two people. After tucking her bookmark between the pages, Hermione ventured back into the living room to find her guests patiently waiting.

Well, not the smaller of the two.

As she stepped through the door and into her kitchen, she had just enough time after hearing "Auntie 'Mione!" to shut the door behind her before a child-sized blur appeared, wearing a Cannon jersey, jeans, and Velcro trainers. The blur named Albus Potter practically launched himself at her legs, hugging them tightly and almost knocking her off balance.

"Oof!" Hermine breathed out a laugh when he didn't let go. "Well, hello to you too, Al."

"Hi!" The little boy's word sounded more like a squeak.

Harry, meanwhile, just chuckled from his spot in front of the fireplace, shaking his head in amusement as he sat Albus' bag on the sofa. "Hey."

"It's only been a week!" She ruffled his soft but messy brown hair. "Missed me much?"

"Yes!" he answered, still holding on.

"He's not lying." His father crossed into the kitchen and approached them. "He woke us up at five, and was already dressed with his bag packed for the day. Quite determined." Harry gave Albus a fond look. The little boy raised his head, peering up at her with a big grin, flushed cheeks, and bright green eyes. "Sorry we're so early."

"No bother at all." She looked down and smiled. "Did you eat?"

Albus shook his head.

She made an exaggerated face, pretending to think very deeply. "I might have a bit more of that strawberry jam Deloris made." At that, his eyes lit up more. "We can have eggs and toast with jam. How do you feel about bacon?"

"Yes, please!"

Hermione grinned. "Okay, go wash your hands and I'll let you help make breakfast."

Off he ran, back through the living room and up the stairs to the guest bath upstairs where his stool had a permanent home so he could reach the sink. They both watched him go, then Harry grinned. "He'll be gone for ten minutes, tops."

"Yep."

They both chuckled.

"Thanks again, Hermione."

"Stop thanking me, I love having Albus over. James and Lily, too." Even though all three together were chaotic at best. She had no idea how Harry and Ginny managed. Years of practice, she supposed. When she had all three, Hermione would sleep for hours after they left, truly worn out. "They're fun and a big help in the vegetable patch. What are you all doing today?"

"Errands mostly, but we're taking the kids to the Aquarium and then to Diagon Alley this afternoon. I asked Al if he wanted to go, but when Ginny said he could come here, even though it wasn't his week, he was hell bent." Harry shrugged. "What's on your agenda?"

"Weeding mostly, but I've got to clean the chicken coop. We'll picnic in the pasture, too. Last time, he wanted me to read Where the Wild Things Are and Scaredy Squirrel, so I'll do that before we take a walk towards the forest."

"Ah." Harry fixed his glasses and gave her a look as he leaned against the kitchen island. "He said he's ready this week. Let me know if he makes it, yeah? It's all he's talked about."

"Will do." After a moment's hesitation, Hermione gave her best friend a knowing look as she folded her arms. "How's it going with Malfoy?"

The question made him sigh, despite the fact that it had been just over a week since their compromise in his office. She had no idea if his response was good or not.

"It's not going horribly, if that's what you're asking. We've started quietly training Teams D and E together. We let Hestia in enough for her to create the cover. Malfoy found a training room and warded the hell out of it. It's going well enough. Malfoy is…" Harry frowned, unwilling to continue on that train of thought. "We've scheduled a meeting with Team C on Monday."

"Then why the sigh?"

"Because it's Malfoy." Harry's statement was deeply relatable. "He's frustrating."

"That he is."

Harry was silent for a moment. "I will say he's been far more tolerable than usual. Also, he's not so horrible as a teacher. Yet for some reason, I still have the urge to hex him—repeatedly."

"A natural reaction." Hermione patted his shoulder in mock sympathy. "There, there."

Mending bridges wasn't the easiest thing to do. It also wasn't something that could be done in a week or two with a few positive interactions. It would take time and a conscious effort from them both. Whether it would extend past the completion of their job of eradicating the threat of Death Eaters, Hermione had no idea. She refused to speculate or give it much consideration.

"Regardless, I'm just glad I was able to help." She cleared her throat, tentatively touching on a subject she was curious about. "How has he been the last… say, week or so?"

"A bit off, but I can't tell how." He looked at her oddly. "Why?"

"No reason." It was a quick lie and Harry didn't look convinced. He crossed his arms, which made her poke at the topic a little harder. Might as well; he was already slightly suspicious anyway. "He told me that he's doing the nighttime canvassing in Wales?"

Harry's eyebrow disappeared into his hairline. "He told you that?"

"Yes."

The look he gave her was oddly probing, but Harry was no Theo—or even Malfoy—so she returned his stare comfortably until he shrugged.

"He volunteered to handle them. The Task Force is…" He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Malfoy's trying to wrangle them together before someone gets killed. He believes there's a hideout nearby, and based on the number of low-level Death Eaters they've caught in the last couple of days, I think he's right. We were supposed to report to the Wizengamot, but all security briefings have been suspended as Tiberius goes through each department and questions people about the restoration movement."

"It has a name?"

"I have no idea. I'm not allowed to know anything, apparently."

"Then how do you know that?"

Harry smiled and they both started laughing—but not for long. When her best friend ran his fingers through his messy hair, she knew that he was trying to approach a topic he was unsure about, and gave him a look that basically told him to spit it out. "That day, in my office…"

"What about it?"

"That's probably the most Malfoy has spoken since we caught Rockwood. Usually, it's all one-sided conversation where he hates all my ideas, but doesn't offer any reason for the things he suggests. Like the pureblood Ward Specialist? Had he actually said that, I would have understood. I might have even agreed!"

He wasn't wrong. There was a deep communication issue between them, which had a lot to do with their fundamental differences—not to mention their history.

"Not to make excuses for him, but what did you expect? Didn't you have a row with him your first week?"

Harry looked slightly ashamed of himself. "Okay, yes… but—"

"It happened." Hermione shrugged casually. "Not your finest moment, but Malfoy didn't have to be an enormous prat in the aftermath. Let's call it a tie and start over. Leave it in the past. That's all you can do if you truly want this collaboration to be successful. I know both of you are anxious to be rid of the Death Eaters. I am too. They're getting too close for comfort, especially with the children."

"And your threats aren't too close for comfort? Theo told me about two more attempted security breaches in the last month."

Of course Theo did. Harry gave her a look and she pressed her lips into a thin line.

"The fact that you and Theo discuss me behind my back is aggravating."

"If you want details, it happens over—" Hermione shoved him in the arm, which only made him laugh. "Don't act like you don't use Deloris to keep tabs on me."

"That's not the point."

"But it is. Just like the threats concerning my kids, they're also too close to you—"

"I can protect myself. James, Al, and Lily—they can't. Malfoy's probably having similar thoughts about his family, hence his extensive attention to security."

"You're right." With another sigh, her best friend rubbed the back of his neck.

"You're both on the same side now, with a common enemy," she reminded him as she slid into the space next to him, angled towards her friend. "I'm not saying become friends with him, but there's more common ground between you two than battleground. You're both fathers with children and families who are facing the same threat. I don't know the extent of Malfoy's issues with Death Eaters, or what's happened while they were in France, but from what little I do know, it wasn't easy. And I know everything with Molly and the kids… it's been difficult for everyone. If Malfoy is paranoid enough to work a job for free to avoid being a sitting duck, I just—"

"You really should have taken that Liaison position before they offered it to Malfoy." Harry gave her a sidelong glance. "Would have made life easier."

Hermione rolled her eyes after bumping his shoulder with hers. "You'd just rather work with me over Malfoy. Admit it."

"True, but also, you'd be good at it. You're capable of looking at an argument from both sides."

Hermione gave a half-shrug. "Perhaps, but I'm not always right, nor do I always have the right answer. I have my point of view, and will express that through my words. With that being said, I actually think it's good that I'm not working with you."

"Oh?" Harry's brow rose over the rim of his glasses.

"Yeah." She thought back to her conversation with Theo. "I'm not a challenge for you and we've been through so much together that our perspectives are too similar. We generally agree on most things, and even when we don't, we still manage to find common ground. Malfoy is that different perspective, Harry, and he's also a test for you."

Really, Malfoy was testing them both.

The thought made Hermione frown. Meanwhile, Harry's scoff was one part annoyance and one part sceptical amusement. "A test? That's an understatement."

She chuckled quietly. "Maybe so, but Theo said something that made me think. From working with his mother—and by extension him—perhaps sometimes we need to be challenged in order to grow as people. It's the only way we learn and the only way you'll prove that you're a capable leader to anyone who doubts you."

They fell into a short, companionable silence, where Harry reflected and she listened out for Al, who had a tendency to play in the sink when he was supposed to be washing his hands. She'd give him another minute.

"You're right." He let out a deep sigh. "Any Malfoy advice?"

"I've got no idea how to read him—" At her best friend's disbelief, because she always had a grasp on most people and their motivations, she held up a hand. "No seriously, I don't. Think about it. It's not like Malfoy to be up-front with anything. I mean, think about it, you basically had to stalk him around Hogwarts to glean information. What makes you think he's any different as an adult? We know less about him now than we did then."

Harry merely shrugged, clearly not ashamed about his past actions. She couldn't deny he'd had his reasons—right or wrong. But his face shifted momentarily as he turned his curious green eyes on her. He didn't even bother hiding his continued scepticism. "Really? You seemed to have a handle on him in my office. He actually listened to you instead of calling you an idiot."

She scoffed with a dismissive roll of her eyes. "From what little he does know of me, not even Malfoy could, in good faith, call me an idiot. On any scale."

At that, he laughed and tossed his head back. Hermione couldn't help but smile at the response.

"That's true." Harry's crooked grin reminded her of Albus when he found something both surprising and funny. "If it means something, I think he's trying to figure you out, too—and he's stumped."

Hermione barely suppressed her recoil, but found herself shocked by his statement; a flare of unfamiliar warmth shot through her veins. But a quick rub at the back of her neck was her only outward reaction. "What makes you think that?"

"He watches you." With a shrug, Harry glanced at his watch as they both heard Al's footsteps approaching.

"Malfoy's observant. "

"Yeah, but it's like he's waiting for you to say something that doesn't ring true, something that isn't straight. Anyway, I should head back. I left Ginny to sort breakfast. James and Lily were arguing about who should get the last of the juice."

Which meant Ginny was about to break both of their spirits and drink it all herself.

In front of them.

She would call it a lesson about compromise.

Harry would likely return to a house of pouting children and a wife who was supremely proud of herself. "One of us will come by and pick him up later."

"Take your time." Hermione waved him off as Al made his appearance, holding onto the railing.

His shirt was soaked, so she already knew he'd been splashing around in the sink.

Hermione chuckled to herself as she went to the refrigerator to pull out eggs, bacon, and cameo apples Neville had brought by last weekend. Peering in her breadbox that was under a stasis charm, she picked out the bread she'd just baked the previous morning, and found it perfectly fresh.

Harry, meanwhile, used his wand to dry his son's shirt before kneeling down and hugging Al, who never ran from affection like James. The little boy only grinning when his dad kissed him on the forehead. It was nice. Harry never once hesitated to show Albus—or any of his children—the affection he hadn't grown up with.

"Have fun today."

"I will, Dad!"

Albus was at her side before Harry could leave through the Floo. Step stool acquired from the closet, the five-year-old was ready to crack the eggs.

"Remember how I showed you?" Hermione placed the bowl in front of him and summoned a fork.

The young boy eagerly nodded. "I can do it."

Of course he could. She had no doubt about it.

Fears and wariness around strangers aside, Al had an independent streak a kilometre long that he'd inherited from his father, along with a healthy dose of obstinacy from both of his parents. When Hermione handed him the egg, she stood behind him, not hovering, but watching as he gently tapped it on the edge of the countertop just like she'd taught him. Then he broke open it over the bowl. A little heavy-handed, as she quickly picked out a few shells, but overall, it had been a job well done. Hermione took a moment to celebrate with him by letting him do the second egg.

And third.

In almost no time, she and Albus were eating breakfast at the table in the conservatory, enjoying the slow crawl of the sun across the morning sky. By then, he had settled into his normal bundle of content energy and was on his knees in his chair because it was easier for him to reach. His fork usage was spotty, at best, as he licked jam off his fingers and created a mess on his face.

Between—and sometimes during—bites, he chattered about every pertinent event from his week. Which was basically every second of every day. Hermione listened along as she ate, smiling when he told her about something good, asking questions that made his entire face light up, and making sure she looked engaged, even though she had no idea what he was saying during the parts the young boy sped through with frenetic energy.

"Can I play with the chickies today?" Albus finished his apple juice, licking his lips. He was mostly done eating, just a bit more to go. The area around his mouth was a sticky mess, but he looked pleased with himself.

She left him be. For now.

"Well, you happen to be in luck." His eyes widened in barely concealed excitement. "I've got to clean the coop out, so you'll need to feed them while I work, okay?"

"Okay."

"After we're done, we can weed the garden and water the plants in the greenhouse. How's that sound?"

"Fun!" Albus smiled, reaching for his fork with his left hand.

"So, when you finish up, you've got to clean your face and hands then we can get started, okay?"

"Okay!"

Hermione stood, picking up her dish and cup. "Don't forget to bring yours in when you're finished."

"I won't!" Al beamed as he continued eating the last few bites of his meal. He dropped a piece of egg on his shirt, picked it up, and ate it. Boys. Exactly how Ginny kept his and James' clothes clean, she had no idea, but it likely involved a good amount of magic. After shaking her head and chuckling at the sight of him licking the jam off his toast as opposed to eating it, Hermione gave him one last lingering look before leaving him there to happily finish his breakfast.

It didn't take long.

By the time she was putting her teacup away, Al came inside, balancing his breakfast dishes.

She went to help him, but he insisted he could do it himself. And she let him, moving his little step stool over in front of the sink so he could do his own washing. She made him wash his hands while she wet a fresh dish towel with warm water to wipe his face. Naturally, Al grouched and complained, but was pretty good-natured about it once she told him the bugs were going to eat him up if he came outside sticky sweet.

After putting the clean dishes away, Hermione clasped her hands together, snickering when he did the same. "Now, what shall we do first?"

The five-year-old threw his hands up. "Chickies!"

And that's what they did.

Hermione had never intended to own chickens, but back in January, when a wizard had offered to barter three newly-hatched chickens for the rest of the vegetables she'd brought to the market in Godric's Hollow, she couldn't pass up the idea of fresh eggs every day. She didn't require much or many. How hard could it have been anyway?

Famous last words.

For the Brightest Witch of her Age, raising chicks had ended up being a lot more of an undertaking than she'd anticipated. She made more than a few errors along the way, but once they were big enough in late February, Neville had built a dedicated area for them to roam (outside her garden), equipped with their own chicken coop. No one was happier than Pansy, who had threatened to end their friendship over the fact that she'd kept baby chicks in her spare bath for a month under warming charms while they were growing.

They'd warded the coop against cold, weather, and predators, and the three chickens were thriving. Each of Harry's kids had named one—Zazu, Iago, and Pink (courtesy of Lily's favourite colour and word). Last week, Al had asked if there were going to be more baby chickens for him to cuddle.

The answer? Not if she could help it.

At least not right then.

Hermione cleaned out the small coop and Vanished the mess, lining the floor with old Prophets and hay and refilling their water and fresh feed with a wave of her wand. Meanwhile, Al fed the chickens scraps she'd given him, played with them, talked to them about anything he could think of, and walked around their enclosed area while they toddled after him obediently.

The sight was adorable, especially when he sat down and the three competed for his attention.

But he just loved them all, looking deliriously happy.

Soon enough, they got bored with him and started eating, but by then her task was complete.

"Did you have fun?" Hermione asked once he ran over to her at the gate.

Al nodded with a goofy grin, trailing after her out the enclosure. "They're so big!"

Hermione led the way back into her garden and helped him into his gloves before putting hers on. With a little direction, they worked under the rising sun. It was nice outside, the perfect day to be out, and Al was loving the fresh air. And the weed pulling.

He was pretty excellent at it.

"Next time," Hermione told him as they worked. "They'll be a little bit bigger."

Al gasped. "Bigger than me?"

"No, never." Noting the look of relief on his face, she tapped her gloved finger against his nose, which made him giggle before he refocused on pulling the weeds.

Just like she taught him.

His small hands combined with the softer earth from the rain gave him just enough of what he needed to succeed. When he held up the weed to show her, root still intact, the look on his flushed face was pure pride.

She grinned with him. "Good job, Al!"

Using their hands and a bit of magic, they worked for almost two hours to complete the task. Or she did. Al ended up going back to the chicken enclosure to run around with them before flopping onto the magical hammock and napping in the breeze.

It was just past noon when she finished, and Al was ready for lunch. But first, he wanted to see if any of the fruit in the greenhouse was ripe enough to eat.

To his disappointment, they weren't.

She made sandwiches, cut up fruit, and packed crisps into a picnic basket before grabbing her outdoor blanket, sunglasses for them both, and allowing Al to carry the books he wanted to read. He picked a spot in the middle of the pasture behind her house that put them in the direct sun. Together, they laid out the multi-coloured blanket and sat with their legs folded under them as they ate. Al talked his heart out between bites—he never got to say much around the much louder James or younger Lily.

Here Al had a chance to speak his mind.

Hermione enjoyed the warmth of the sun as she listened.

It wasn't long after they finished that they stretched out on the blanket with a book held aloft, blocking the sun from blinding her, despite the tint of her sunglasses. Al curled up against her and laid his head on the crook of her arm as she read Where The Wild Things Are to him for what felt like the hundredth time.

It was his favourite book.

"And the wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws."

Like he'd never heard it before, Al gasped and covered his eyes.

"Do you want me to stop?" Hermione knew the answer.

The little boy uncovered his eyes long enough to turn the page. "No."

With a tiny grin, she continued on until she finished and he clapped his small hands. She only sat up long enough to pick up the second book and place the first next to her. Al's second choice was a book she purchased for him called The Scaredy Squirrel.

"I never leave my nut tree. It's way too dangerous out there. I could encounter germs, poison ivy, or sharks. If danger comes along, I'm prepared. I have antibacterial soap, Band-Aids, and a parachute."

Albus giggled his way through the book, as always, and Hermione reminded herself to read him the second in the series next in an attempt to help normalise his fears, and help him overcome them one by one. Starting with the first one. His biggest one.

The forest.

He must have been gathering his nerve while she read because as soon as Hermione finished, Al was getting to his feet. "Can we walk now?"

"Of course, love."

They left their things at the blanket and walked towards the edge of the forest with the breeze blowing both their hair, untamed as ever. Al was quiet, as always, slipping his smaller hand into hers as he braved on, mouth set in determination. Hermione never once forced him on these walks. It was something he initiated. A challenge to himself. Her wards extended into the trees and James went into the forest all the time with Harry, Lily too. Albus wanted to be brave enough to join them.

So on they walked, closer and closer to the place of his fears.

As always, behind her sunglasses, Hermione watched him more than she focused on the sunny day and greenery around them, reading the subtle cues he gave off and noting each milestone they made. The first part was always easiest and he smiled up at her before running ahead.

Until the point where he got a little nervous.

Then he waited for her.

Reached out to hold her hand.

Before long, he let her hand go long enough to pick up the marker of where they had last stopped, holding on to it as the forest loomed closer. Al was now slowly walking, lagging behind to the point where Hermione slowed down with him.

"It's okay, Al, we can stop."

"I'm okay." She heard the tremble in his voice.

Still, they pressed on, walking more than a hundred paces past the last marked spot before Al finally squeezed her hand and stopped. He was looking up at the tall trees. They were so close she could hear the sounds of the forest. Smell it. Al pushed the little Cannons flag they used as a marker into the soft earth as a reminder of how far they'd come. Hermione was bursting with pride for his new milestone, but today he seemed sadder than usual.

And she had an inkling as to why.

Disappointment.

"Come now, sit." Hermione tugged him down gently.

They both sat right there on the same path they did every other Saturday. Al was facing her, looking closer to tears than she'd seen him in a long time. Frustration. Hermione lifted his chin with her finger, using her thumb to rub his flushed cheek and wipe away the tear that slipped from under his sunglasses.

"You've done brilliant, Albus." When he shrugged sadly and more frustrated tears fell, she took off his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt. His lip quivered as he struggled not to cry. "You know I think you're brave, right?"

Al's pouty face scrunched up adorably. "But I'm scared and James says I'm a baby and—"

"You're scared yet you walk with me anyway. In my opinion, that makes you brave."

His eyes widened in child-like wonder. "It does?"

"Yes!" Hermione patted her knees and he crawled into her lap; he was almost too big. One day he would be for those moments and it made her momentarily sad. Nostalgic. But she shook it off and brushed the hair from his face before wrapping him up in a comforting hug. She felt his small arms around her and rested her chin on his forehead, speaking to him softly. "You're brave because you get scared, but keep going. You never give up."

It was truly what she loved best about Al: his determination.

It reminded her so much of Harry.

"My dad says never give up and I won't."

No, he wouldn't. Hermione was more confident of that than she was of most things.

She held him in silence, stroking his hair as he went through his emotions about not making it. When Al started to stir, she asked, "When we get there, what do you want to do first?"

"Climb trees!" It was the same answer he gave every visit and he sounded much better than he had before.

"And that's what we'll do. Your dad and Neville will build you, James, and Lily the best treehouse. I'll bring you sandwiches and juice while you three play."

"But what if it's not James or Lily?"

Hermione frowned in confusion. "Who else would you play with in your treehouse?"

Albus thought about it for a long minute. "I don't know… a friend?"

---

The rest of the day passed too quickly, but Hermione enjoyed every second of the energy Albus brought into her house. His presence kept her focused; it kept the troubling thoughts about a second boy at bay.

For now.

She got to continue her morning reading by the stream in front of her house, watching him play and splash around in the lazy flowing water that went to the knees of the jeans she'd rolled up in an effort to keep them dry (she'd failed). He was less occupied with rock collecting, more interested in trying and failing to catch the small fish that avoided him at all cost.

Much to her horror, Albus had, however, caught a small frog and brought it into the house.

And lost it.

It took ten minutes of panic before Hermione found it, and together they sent it back home into the great outdoors.

"Bye, Mr Frog." Al waved enthusiastically as it hopped towards the water's edge.

Neville would have been amused.

Hermione spent the rest of their afternoon together testing him on the names of plants she'd taught him on his last visit and teaching him some new ones. Al was intelligent and, more importantly, motivated to learn. They worked on reading, addition and subtraction, and the schoolwork that he was struggling with. She even approached the tough subject of school itself.

"No one likes me," Albus confessed with a shrug that looked as casual as it wasn't. His eyes were sad, shining with unshed tears. Then he cuddled against her on the sofa. "I try."

"I like you, and…" Hermione trailed off, occupied by fresh thoughts of Scorpius. Albus looked at her curiously. Her smile was tinged with sadness he seemed to notice. He stared at her, patiently waiting for her to finish. "I know another boy out there who will like you, too."

That grabbed his attention. "Really? A friend?"

"Maybe." Hermione swallowed thickly. Green eyes were focused on her. It reminded her so much of Scorpius wanting to know more about his father. She held onto Albus a little tighter and rested her cheek on his messy brown hair. "Do you want to know about him?"

"Yes."

Then Albus shifted away, turning to her and Hermione tapped her finger against her chin. "Hmm, he's five, like you." Al's face broke into a grin while she found herself scrambling to recall little details about Scorpius. Admittedly, she didn't know him well. "He likes books."

"I like books, too!"

Ruffling his hair, Hermione smiled softly. "Yes, you do, love. But he's quiet. He doesn't talk."

"Why not?"

"I don't know." It was an honest answer, if not a complete one. Al remained in pensive silence for several seconds longer than expected. Then he nodded like he'd made a decision. "What is it?"

"I can be friends." And there was that determination in his eyes.

"Oh? What do you know about being friends?"

"Being nice and sharing and—and—can we count now?"

Hermione laughed at the abrupt change of subject. "Sure, but why so suddenly?"

Albus blushed. "I want to get it right so I can show my new friend."

There were moments when she found herself in awe of Albus Potter. It boggled her mind how anyone could make fun of someone so kind. Children were cruel sometimes, but not Al. Never Al. And so Hermione counted to twenty with him in French and German—something he'd learned in the Nursery School he hated—and she even let him pick out a film to watch.

Not that it mattered, Al fell asleep before the opening credits, tuckered out from his day.

Harry returned to collect him right when Hermione finished making him a treat for the next day. His favourite: lemon cake with strawberries. She'd made enough to share with his siblings, but she was certain there was plenty from him.

"How was he?" Harry asked after he crept past his son. The telly in the corner of the room next to the fireplace was muted and Al was still bundled under the blanket she'd covered him with earlier.

"Excellent as usual. We made it closer today."

"Yeah?" Harry's proud smile reminded her so much of Al.

She nodded and handed him the container with the cake. "Yes, just over a hundred paces closer. It's probably the biggest jump he's made since he started, but he's frustrated with himself." Hermione paused. "I need to talk to you about something." Which made Harry grow serious. "Not about Al, he's great, but… I think I have a solution to your socialisation problem."

"Oh?"

"You're not going to like it." Hermione glanced over at the sleeping figure. "But I think he needs a smaller space to meet a friend. One-on-one. It may boost his confidence. And, I have a suggestion."

Then she smiled.

Harry's suspicion was tangible. "Hermione, the last time you looked like that I ended up on an albino dragon."

Which was incredibly fair.

"But did you die?"

Harry winced. "I mean, technically—" Then he looked around the room to ignore the well-deserved glare he'd earned from her. Finally, his acquiescence came in the form of a sigh. "Fine, who is it?"

"Malfoy's son is his age."

His recoil was so dramatic it was comical. "Is that why you made a cake? Ginny said you made sad pie when I took Al to the planetarium."

"Partially, and it wasn't completely sad, it was blueberry. Lily's favourite." Harry squinted further. "I already know what you're going to say, but if I could state my argument. I think it could be a good idea."

Harry ran his hand through his hair three times then huffed. "Look, Dean already says he's a lot different from Malfoy, which is fine. Okay, I'm not going to say no because his dad is a wanker who's decided to be moderately tolerant in the last week. But do you honestly think either of us will survive a playdate? Much less scheduling one?"

No, but she would pay all the Galleons in her vault just to witness that conversation. Hermione was barely able to hold back her amusement at the mental picture.

"Al's already excited."

If at all possible, Harry looked even more stressed. "Oh, Merlin! I'm doomed."

"You're being dramatic." Hermione grinned too wide, but in all likelihood, he was right. Once Al latched onto something, he would never let anyone forget it. "I could host?"

The look he gave her was long-suffering at best. "I make no promises for a quick turnaround, but I'll discuss it with Gin, then I suppose I'll approach Malfoy." He looked like he'd rather drink magma from the core of the Earth. "If it happens, you have to stay."

Hermione just laughed. "Don't threaten me with a good time."

---

When Hermione stepped out of the Floo, it was just after nine, too late to be considered evening but too early to be called night, a weird, nameless time between the two. That she had found herself in the Malfoys house at such a time had long since lost its shock value, but the real surprise was that everything looked exactly the same right then as it did at five in the morning.

Cold. Empty. Quiet.

Devoid of character and identity.

It wasn't a home.

Just brick and wood, held together by nails and plaster, constructed into a nicely furnished dwelling, albeit divided.

And that truth was easier to ignore in the early hours of morning. Easier not to look at the lack of personality in favour of putting on the kettle and cooking, with Malfoy serving as an opinionated distraction in glasses. Easier still to ignore the plain walls when Narcissa complained about each meal while simultaneously enjoying the food, even during her irritable moments when she was snappish, when she stared at nothing. Even easier to ignore a home that was too sterile when Scorpius waited for her to move his glass from right to left, and watched her until she waved goodbye like it meant something to him.

Because it was beginning to mean more to her.

There was life in those moments.

Hope.

She never saw it in the moment, too caught up in analysis and action, but she knew that, even in darkness, hope was something that could be found anywhere. She just had to look for it. And keep finding it each day, during each interaction.

The same applied to her own life. To her own struggles. And Hermione did just that with the Malfoys, discovering tendrils of it in the most uncanny places, reaching for her. It breathed new life into her spirit and strengthened her bones.

But there was also something to be said about the hope found in healing. It made the days easier for Hermione, who needed the tiny shreds of it found in those moments.

Without hope, there was no determination. Without determination, there was nothing. And having nothing would make her job very, very hard.

Nothing wouldn't provide the inspiration Narcissa needed to fight to accomplish her goals.

No matter how much Hermione disagreed with some of them. That wasn't her place. And so, she persisted.

Though crippled and barely visible, Hermione held onto each string of hope in order to see past the bleak grief, past the loneliness and pain, and past the family's problems. Problems that flowed like a river: on and on, in search of a sea it never found. All it did was gather sediments, which were slowly muddying the waters of her opinions, and those waters could only be purified by looking through the lens of the distance that separated them.

Hermione sighed to the empty room.

Tonight it felt extra cold and lonely.

Enough to propel Hermione in the direction of Narcissa's quarters.

Just before she knocked, a slice of light farther down the hall drew her attention.

Malfoy's office.

The light meant that the door was open. He was home and the fact that she found that odd made her cringe internally.

Hermione had every intention of ignoring it and him. She planned to knock on Narcissa's door and be accepted into the room by Keating.

But, as it often did, curiosity got the better of her.

With light, careful steps, she made sure not to announce herself too soon on the creaking wood. An odd feeling accompanied her, building with each step down a dimly lit hall, keeping her close to the blank wall. Her mind began to spin in anticipation of what she might see as dozens of scenarios played in her head.

Malfoy in his glasses working. Or reading. Or scowling as he prepared to shut the door in her face. Maybe he would talk. Or argue. Or not even look up when he flexed the fingers needed to spell the door shut.

Anything was possible with him so Hermione prepared for it all.

In the end, reality was different from anything she had anticipated. What she happened upon was a sight mind-bogglingly normal, yet it still managed to blow all her working knowledge of him out of the water.

Malfoy stood beside the chair in front of his desk that faced the door with a hand on his chin. His emerald signet ring stood out amongst the black of his clothing. There was a frown marring his expression, not angry, but there was some sort of hesitance in it that gave Hermione pause. She was used to seeing surface emotions of cold annoyance and defensiveness coupled with confidence and that little unidentifiable bit of him that made her want to slap him. But this vacant expression of doubt? Indecision?

This was new.

Malfoy looked as if he were attempting advanced Arithmancy with no parchment—an impossible feat. And when Hermione stepped closer, when she stopped focusing on him and turned to look for what had given him pause, she finally noticed what—no, who—was the reason behind the expression.

Scorpius.

Wearing navy pajamas with gold snitches racing around, he had awkwardly fallen asleep in the oversized chair with his knees drawn to his chest and a familiar dictionary open, haphazardly pressed against the cushion, pages wrinkled. Hermione silently tsked at his bare feet, noting one was tucked under the other. He was probably cold. His little head rested against the cushion, hair sleep-mussed, and his thumb was in his mouth. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully, but it looked uncomfortable despite being adorable enough to make Hermione smile.

Children had a habit of falling asleep anywhere.

Would Malfoy leave him there?

Perhaps not.

Malfoy slowly and carefully extracted the dictionary from his son's grip, freezing when Scorpius shifted in his sleep as he brought his second arm around himself. Seconds passed before Scorpius settled again. Malfoy seemed to calculate each move before he made it.

He quietly shut the book and placed it on his desk without making a sound.

With that out of the way, he adjusted his glasses and returned to how Hermione had found him.

Hand on his chin, mouth tight, brows furrowed.

Pensive.

He focused on Scorpius much like he did his crosswords. Then he moved. Only now, with the book gone, he wasn't nearly as confident, nor did he appear to have a clear plan. Hermione watched as he reached, paused, moved towards Scorpius again, then wavered. It was like a dance of contemplation, of uncertainty, one where Malfoy never hazarded too close but didn't venture too far either.

What he was trying to do dawned on Hermione so suddenly she felt silly for not realising it all along. Malfoy was trying to be careful. Trying to plot, calculate, and solve one problem.

His only problem.

How could he pick up Scorpius without waking him?

And that was hilariously… ordinary. And strange. And… woefully human.

Hermione bit her lip in an attempt to push back a myriad of reactions that blended together, melted into shocked amusement, and then evaporated. She was currently standing in a reality where she found herself witnessing something that wouldn't have been a private moment for anyone else.

But Draco Malfoy wasn't anyone.

There was a wall around him that kept everyone out—a thick one built and reinforced with years of commitment. Seeing him awkwardly try to figure out how to pick up his sleeping son felt like an invasion of privacy, a step past a different sort of line. There was wading closer to the Malfoys storm and then there was launching herself into the eye of it.

Not the most strategic or the wisest of moves.

Rather than wait until he noticed her, she decided to leave Malfoy to it. But she didn't move. At least not fast enough to miss hearing him sigh right before crouching next to the chair. With a slowness tinged in nervousness, he hesitantly brushed Scorpius' tousled blond fringe from his forehead in one swipe that didn't accomplish his mission.

It shouldn't have made her pulse skip.

But it did.

The action was normal, Hermione rationalised. Malfoy was his father. It was just… different.

Outside a smiling photo on his desk, she had never seen that softer side of him; she doubted many had. A sleeping child served as the instrument that smoothed the edges of him. That was…

Hermione flexed her hands, not realising how tense and stiff she'd gotten until she tore her eyes away in order to take those first steps back towards Narcissa's room. Exhaling the breath she hadn't realised she was holding, she ran a hand over her hair.

Then she took a second breath.

A third and fourth.

Hermione knocked on the door and Keating opened it almost immediately. Forcing her to push back all thoughts of Malfoy, Scorpius, and the tickle in the back of her mind, she focused on the task at hand.

It wasn't long after her walkthrough and update that she found herself reviewing notes Keating had already taken, catching words like hallucination and restless legs.

"How is she doing tonight?"

"Just went to sleep not an hour ago after Draco-inspired agitation." The woman shook her head, leaning in to gossip, which meant she was comfortable. She was right. She knew Keating wouldn't be the issue. "Apparently, he refused a second marriage date with a witch she liked. Sent her into quite a state because he wouldn't tell her what he didn't like about her."

"Interesting." Hermione redirected a displaced thought. "How did she tolerate the evening potion?"

"Despite not being a fan of the taste, she took it well." The taste couldn't be helped. "Do you want to see her readings for the day? She looks even, right on the baseline of where she should be that you've provided."

Keating turned to retrieve the care plan Hermione had created, but Hermione reached out and rested her hand on the woman's arm.

"No, I have the master parchment in my office. I only came tonight to check on things and see how you were settling in. Nights aren't easy." Hermione cleared her throat. "I couldn't help but glance at your notes. Hallucinations? Did she have an episode?"

"Oh." Keating made a small gesture like it was hard for her to explain. "No, she didn't. Sachs and I agreed on this schedule because I'm better at handling her when she does hallucinate, which happens more at night, according to the research you included in your care manual… and also from experience." She had at least read that part, which was nice to know. Comforting, because nights had been difficult for Narcissa—and for her as well.

"That's true, yes, but why did you write it down?"

"I've been around Narcissa long enough to know when she's seeing something she shouldn't." That was valuable information Hermione had little to no knowledge of. "It doesn't always happen in the confines of her episodes, which are—as you know—very intense." Hermione agreed with a tired nod. "Normally, her hallucinations don't agitate her, but when she sees something distressing, that's when I've witnessed more dramatic episodes. Do you know if she wandered off yet?"

"She's with security all the time when she leaves the house. They haven't reported anything to me."

"Good." Keating took a relieved breath. "Narcissa has wandered off a few times over the last year and I don't know what the trigger for that is. It's nearly impossible to find her, but Draco always manages to."

Duly noted. "Ah, well as far as her wandering goes, the trigger could be anything." Even in the Muggle form of the disease, the severity and path varied from person to person and could still change once she had established a baseline, that much Hermione remembered in her extensive readings. She'd drilled that piece of information into her skull. "How can you tell she's hallucinating?"

"She looks off to the side mainly. Like she's looking at someone sitting next to her. Or at least that's how I could tell before she realised I noticed such things. She hides it much better now."

Hermione folded her arms, glancing over Keating's shoulder at the shut door where Narcissa was tucked into bed. "Why would she hide it?"

"I think whoever she sees is a comfort for her."

Finding comfort in a hallucination was disturbing, but since it didn't bother Narcissa, she wouldn't even address it. "You noted restless legs as well? Her evening potions are designed to combat this."

"They do, but I observed her while she was asleep not long before you came and noticed that while her readings show that she's entering into a deep sleep, she's tossing and turning and her legs are restless. I'll monitor her through the night and make notes."

Her statement was correct, readings could only show so much. There was a human element of care that Hermione couldn't do by herself day in and day out. It simply didn't work.

"You should head home, Miss Granger." Keating gave her a matronly smile. "You don't work weekends, but you do work exhaustive hours during the weeks: brewing, researching, monitoring her condition, and cooking meals. I know you're not used to having help, but it's our job to handle the in between. Go and enjoy the rest of your weekend. Our weekly meetings are on Mondays, yes?"

Hermione was slightly mystified. "Ah, yes. Okay, thank you. Have a good night."

"You, too."

Possible clashing with Sachs aside, she was happy to have the Palliative Care team—a shift in her original opinion on the matter. But time and experience had shown her that Narcissa's case was intricate and ever-changing. Caregiving was more than one person. It involved the sort of teamwork Hermione had never required with other assignments.

Perhaps a change from the normal status quo wouldn't be so horrible.

They had already provided a different perspective, more information, and fresh eyes.

All things needed to build those metaphorical bridges.

When Hermione shut the door behind her with a soft click, her eyes automatically went to where that light caught her attention for the second time.

No.

It was really none of her business.

She was finished there for the night. Done working. Well, sort of. She was headed home to prepare for tomorrow's brewing of Wolfsbane for Padma's patients, but all in all, her work at the Malfoys was done. Hermione repeated this over and over as she took step after step away from the light that called to her curiosity…

No.

Hermione made it all the way to the Floo, had her hand on the container and was fully determined to (for once in her damn life) not be so bloody nosy, and—

"You're not supposed to be here today," someone—okay, not someone: Malfoy—said from behind her in a low voice that sounded like distant thunder. She'd learned his voice like she'd learned most things—after studying. Not that it mattered.

She hadn't heard him coming so the fact that he was suddenly there startled Hermione so badly she knocked the container off the hearth. It shattered. In one swift motion, she whirled around, words positioned for exit, and—

Then the fire was snuffed out.

Like magic.

Why?

Because in his arms was Scorpius, and he was asleep.

Hermione found herself wondering if he would move on so she could leave in peace, but time awkwardly continued to stretch on as she picked apart the sight in front of her.

Whether it was because of how tired he looked or because he just wasn't used to the act itself she wasn't sure, but Malfoy looked incredibly stiff while holding him. One hand was on his son's back, the other under his bottom. Scorpius' head was nestled in the crook of Malfoy's neck, turned away from him as he slept on. Hermione couldn't tell if the visible tension rolling off Malfoy had to do with the fact that Scorpius was heavy or because she was there.

Maybe both?

Silence quickly lost its appeal. "I'll just…" She trailed off as she turned to repair the broken Floo Powder container. After it was mended, Hermione placed it back where it belonged and slowly turned back to the man who was still waiting. "Have—"

Scorpius turned his head, exhaling a word that changed the entire course of Hermione's night.

"Mum."

Hermione probably would have broken the container again had she been holding it so tight because she jolted at the sound of his soft, mumbling voice. Malfoy peered down at his son as best as he could, more confused than anything.

She was nearly breathless, trying to regain control of her racing heart.

"Did he just—"

"No."

"Mummy."

Her inhale was loud in the empty room, but she couldn't help it. The sharp stab of pain felt like a knife to the gut. It twisted further when she heard a pained, choked-off sob come from the boy.

No tears.

He was dreaming.

Try as she might, Hermione couldn't keep her heart from aching for him without restriction. Her focus was strictly on the little boy, vaguely recognising the sound of both her bag and wand hitting the floor, no longer caring about either as she approached them slowly, carefully. She was so afraid to spook him.

But Malfoy never so much as moved. Never stopped looking at Scorpius. Never lifted his head.

He was just… there.

A blank husk. A part of the background in the scene before her.

Frozen to the spot.

What little colour he had drained from his face as a visible heaviness settled over him like a solid weight. It seemed to drag him down further when Scorpius kept pitifully calling for his mother, squirming in his father's arms, and breathing heavily while Malfoy just blinked over and over, unsure of what to do.

He just held Scorpius as best as he could, looking overwhelmed and rigid and as lost as he was exhausted.

When Hermione gripped his arm, Malfoy finally moved, if only in an attempt to recoil from her touch. It became apparent by the deep, ragged breath he took that had he not been so shocked by her presence, had he been able to move, he would have retreated and the entire incident would have been another thing they didn't speak about.

Not that Hermione would ever forget it.

But as it was, she was there.

Malfoy tried to say something, but Scorpius moaned again and she felt her heart crumble all over again. Hermione took an uneven breath of her own then did what came natural.

She helped them both.

The shushing noise she made did nothing except make Malfoy tense so bad he seemed to vibrate, but Hermione remained as calm as she could, tentatively resting her hand on the top of Scorpius' blond head; his hair was as soft as it looked. "You're okay."

He instantly fell silent.

After catching a glimpse of Malfoy's surprise, emboldened by success, Hermione got closer, ignoring his gaze in favour of continuing, running gentle fingers through Scorpius' hair and talking to him. Words her mother used to say when she was a child came to her slowly. "As… as the day turns to night, keep your worries out of sight." Scorpius steadily continued to settle. "Close your eyes and go to sleep for all the good times are yours to keep."

There was more, Hermione was sure of it, but that was all she could recall.

Malfoy carefully adjusted him and she followed the action, keeping contact and connection as she stroked his hair and whispered nothing noises until he finally went still.

Scorpius was asleep.

The silence that followed was more than awkward, more than deafening, it was nearly unbearable, but Hermione waited it out as long as she could before taking a hesitant step back. "Y-you should take him to bed."

Without a single debate, Malfoy did just that, but his steps were not as silent. Hermione didn't watch him go—couldn't. Instead, she picked up her wand and bag, tossed them both on the chair, and sat down on the sofa, feeling emotionally spent.

But she didn't leave.

Time passed as she waited for Malfoy to return.

Five minutes turned into fifteen.

By twenty, Hermione was on her feet, ready to find him. She knew it didn't take that long to put a sleeping child to bed. But Malfoy returned then and she really took a look at him. Pale. Haggard. Malfoy was exhausted in a way that looked just as soul deep as physical, but his eyes still had that sharp quality to them, one that told her to tread very lightly. All she wanted to do was the opposite.

Malfoy looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Well, that made two of them.

"We should talk."

A hundred different responses to his placid statement raced around in her mind, but the winner was only a single word: "Where?"

They ended up in his office with Hermione sitting in the same chair Scopius had fallen asleep in hours before. Only now it faced Malfoy, who sat behind his desk, paying no mind to the fact that she was hurling fire at him.

He remained focused on his task, sweeping silver eyes back and forth between writing on parchment and reading from probably the oldest book she had ever seen—so old he had to be delicate about turning the pages, which he'd only done once in the last thirty minutes they'd been sitting there. As a person with a deep respect for books, Hermione appreciated the care he took, but as someone who had her questions crafted, listed, categorised, and ready to be asked…

Well, she wasn't in the mood for games.

It was late—nearly midnight—and Hermione was as drained, depleted, both mentally and physically.

Unfortunately, that didn't mean her mind rested while she watched him work. Hermione had another look around, taking in things she'd missed on her first visit. A broom mounted to his wall. A framed Falmouth Falcons shirt. More books caught her attention, of course, but not on his wall-to-wall shelves. There were eight books on his desk that looked just as old and dusty as the written word itself. The animal hide covers were so faded she could hardly read the titles.

Just as well.

She had already tried reading the pages he appeared to be copying—no, translating—over a dozen times, but Hermione wasn't skilled enough to read his handwriting right side up, much less upside down.

The letters were familiar, but they were arranged in a language she didn't speak.

A convoluted thought tumbled into the doors of her mind and she sent it back out, but it was slow to leave. Hermione found herself wanting to be able to translate him with the same ease he converted the words in front of him. She had no reason in particular beyond being able to communicate with him in the only language he seemed to understand.

His own.

Malfoy worked on, but she could tell his energy was nearly sapped. His current appearance made the version of him from earlier that week—who'd taken two of the three potions with him when he left the room—seem healthy and full of vigour.

There was a tremble in Malfoy's hands that he kept flexing through, kept trying to steady. He rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses, eyes that were heavier than ever before—now that she was paying enough attention to notice. He'd already nodded off three times while writing. Hermione pretended not to notice the simple truth that he was running low on fumes. And the whiskey that floated next to him wasn't helping matters.

Why he insisted on pushing himself so hard, Hermione had no idea, but couldn't focus on that.

At least, not now.

"You like your silences just as tactical as Theo does, I see."

Malfoy's quill stopped abruptly. "I actually find the way he starts conversations annoying as hell." He sat the quill down before finally looking up. Hermione nearly cringed at the dark circles under his eyes. He looked almost sick. "Frankly, my head is pounding and I was merely waiting for you to begin."

And just like that, her well-prepared list of questions vanished before her eyes, leaving Hermione at a loss for words. "I don't know where to start."

"It's obvious where you want to start." Malfoy grabbed his floating whiskey glass and finished it in one go, taking a breath after quickly grimacing. "No need to wait. Go on and tell me I'm a failure of a father."

That gave her pause. He wanted her to say that? Actually, no. Expected it. The bait had been laid out so perfectly, but every instinct in her told her to leave it. So she did. "I won't say that. I don't know your situation beyond what I see, but I will say that Scorpius needs help. Therapy at the very minimum. My department has a pediatric Healer."

"I'll speak to my mother about it." He rubbed the stiffness from his jaw—or tried to, at least. There was a certain detachment in his tone that made her distastefully frown. Those were words he said a lot. Said to placate. Said to end conversations. "She handles his daily activities for now."

For now.

Hermione managed to stifle all but one of her comments.

A proud moment.

"Your mother?" She blinked at the overtired man incredulously. "Your same mother whose treatment of him is just as rigid as his schedule?" There was more Hermione wanted to say, but the hardening of his expression made it perfectly clear that she was about to lose her window of opportunity. She had to backtrack. "Forget that." Because she absolutely needed to choose her battles carefully and Malfoy was not himself right now. "Let's start with what happened—"

"That hasn't happened before, as far as I know. Sometimes he wakes after he's gone to bed and sits in my office until he falls asleep. My mother can't stand it. But—" He pinched the bridge of his nose yet again. "I haven't—" Malfoy stopped himself short of divulging more than he wanted to say, but she already had a good guess.

Even if Scorpius had been upset in his sleep recently, Malfoy would not know because he wasn't there.

And really hadn't been in the last week or so with his overnight canvassing trips in Wales.

Hermione waited in brittle silence as he poured himself at least two fingers, but didn't drink it. He just stared at the liquid before placing it on the table. Malfoy removed his glasses and sat them on top of the stack of books, massaging his eyes so roughly it made her cringe. Resting his elbow on his desk, he ran a rough hand through his hair multiple times and rubbed the back of his neck—it was surely stiff and sore.

Meanwhile, the Healer in Hermione was listing off symptoms to a condition she knew he already had. Mental exhaustion on top of physical. Strain.

She leaned back in her chair. "How's your stomach?"

"Stop diagnosing me." The glare she earned was worth it.

"Stop giving me a reason to lace your whiskey with a sedative and go to bed. You're beyond exhausted, Malfoy, and I meant what I said before. You're no use to anyone like this."

"There—"

"I have a lot of things I wish to discuss with you, but I can't say anything because you look like death."

Malfoy yawned, seemingly irritated by the outward signs of his fatigue, but even his own emotions fell flat. Limp.

"For what you did for him, I suppose I owe you a favour."

She frowned. "You know, a thank you would have sufficed, but I won't turn down your help. Favour or otherwise."

"Fine. If you'll excuse me, I have a Portkey to—"

"Sorry what?" Judging by the way he looked, there was no possible way that he could even function another day without sleep. He looked a breath from falling over. "When's the last time you actually slept, Malfoy?" His jaw clenched and Hermione rolled her eyes at his stubborn stupidity.

But she took a patient breath. She could do this.

"You're not my patient, Malfoy, we've established that, but you're clearly not fit to do anything except sleep. I—" And the words of her half-detailed argument died in her mouth when he stood, grabbed the floating whiskey glass, and took it with him across the room to the sofa in front of the fireplace.

Hermione got to her feet when he sat, feeling a wave of frustration course like fire through her veins with nowhere to go.

"You do what you want, Malfoy. I'll just go."

The battle between them looked like it would be one of attrition.

And right now it was too close to call.

"Close the door on your way out."

Hermione would have. Really. She'd even opened the door to leave. But then she heard the sound of glass on wood as he sat his whiskey on the coffee table, heard the sofa's low creak under his weight as he shifted. A noise that sounded something like resignation escaped Malfoy only moments before he laid down…

Kicked off his shoes

Gave in.

There wasn't much Hermione could do to stop herself from drawing closer to him.

The fact that Malfoy was already asleep and breathing deeply by the time she stood over him was the truest testament to his exhaustion. On his side and knees bent, he used his arms for a pillow. He was fully dressed but had no blanket for warmth. And while the sofa was just long enough for him to stretch to his full height, it wasn't a bed. Also, well….

Hermione found the sight just as lonely as Scorpius looking out the window.

She gave a mournful exhale for his inevitable aches and pains. "You'll be hurting in the morning for sure." Maybe she would leave a potion for him on the island. Not that he would take it, but perhaps a night on the sofa would make him more apt to comply. "Definitely should sleep in a bed." It was a half-joke. One she said more to herself than the sleeping man.

But Malfoy's mumbled words shocked her.

They followed her like a shadow, growing heavier to the point where they ached. They stayed with her long after she found a throw blanket to cover him with. They waited for her while she turned the lights off and shut the door. They haunted her in the space between awareness and sleep. Echoing over and over and over again…

"I can't."

He's just a boy, pretending to be a wolf, pretending to be king.
Maurice Sendak

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A/N: Happy Friday! First, thanks to my beta dreamsofdramione for everything. And my alpha reader for reading this twice. Second, thank you for all the reviews. I'm slowly trying to respond, but also trying to write and edit and stay ahead of you all. But seriously, you all have been so lovely and supportive. I just wanted to take a moment to thank you. As for this chapter, this starts the shift for good reason. I had so much fun writing Al with his little anxious self. Wanted to keep his voice childish and thanks to my beta for having a kid his age. So sweet. I also love writing Harry in this scene. I laughed so much. It's also funny because there were questions about Draco's marriage and I'm like "it's coming" and some questions hopefully have been answered. Some. There's still more on that front. And lastly, the last part of it crumpled my heart. My lost boys. And I love writing Draco's first overt moment of vulnerability. Packed chapter indeed. See you all next Friday. That chapter is probably just as long as this one. Oops.

inadaze22