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.

10. Sanctuary

Chapter Ten

Sanctuary

May 22, 2011

Patience and understanding were key ingredients in cooking as well as life. It was about understanding the basic, raw ingredients and how to balance tastes, textures, and flavors to create meals. Hermione kept turning the thought over in her mind as she gathered everything the recipe book called for to make Bolognese.

It was a favourite of Narcissa's, and considering Hermione needed a healthy dose of those key ingredients to deal with the older witch, it seemed like an appropriate use of her Sunday afternoon.

Preparation for another week.

Hermione organised all her ingredients on the countertop, pre-measured per the recipe in individual bowls. Minced beef, pancetta, milk, wine, onions, carrots, celery, tomato sauce, paste, and spices were all ready to be added.

As she worked, heating the olive oil in a pot before adding the finely chopped vegetables, she also realised that cooking involved an endless amount of beginnings.

Really, each meal she prepared was another fresh start.

Hermione raised the heat, added minced beef, and stirred, breaking up the meat as it browned. Like people, no two recipes were the same, and that sentiment extended to the Malfoys as well. While composed of the same base ingredients, each flavour profile couldn't be more different.

Next came the tomato sauce, paste, and more spices. Everything was mixing well together when she lowered the heat and added the bay leaf. Each step was executed exactly as printed in the recipe book next to her.

As she waited for the pot to boil, Hermione allowed her thoughts to turn to each of the Malfoys.

Narcissa's recipe gave her a dish that was delicate but potent; the flavours came out one by one over time.

Though she had some understanding of Scorpius' texture, she was still trying to guess all the ingredients that made him up. There was a sweetness to him that was natural. He clashed with Narcissa's potency and she didn't know how he blended with his father.

Malfoy was something all his own. Strong like Narcissa, he wasn't at all delicate, just convoluted. A flavour symphony that teetered between sweet and sour or bland and spicy.

How could anyone make those contrasts blend together into something congruent?

The question floated around in her head as she lowered the temperature. Bolognese required a slow and patient simmer for three hours in order to achieve the ideal, authentic texture. Hermione gave it the time it needed by completing her other tasks. First, she checked the parchment for notes from Sachs: there were only two.

Narcissa didn't like the pre-made breakfast. She prefers it fresh. It didn't seem like the insult it was intended to be.

She will be attending dinner with the Greengrass family and Scorpius. Interesting. She wondered if Malfoy spoke to her about their conversation.

Or if he was even awake.

The query lingered before floating off as Hermione scheduled her next meeting with Charles to check in regarding the adjusted potions. But each time she stirred the Bolognese sauce, the thought about blending flavours and Malfoys returned.

Her reason for considering them all was Narcissa. They were her family, her motivation, and though she was partly responsible for the friction, it would wear on her over time. No matter how unaffected she seemed. And that wouldn't do. The only way to relieve it would be to strip the three apart and focus on each dish independently of the others. Which meant a little closer look at the one dish that hadn't ventured too far from her mind since—

Pansy popped into her living room dressed in a black and white polka dot dress with a peach rose tucked behind her ear and her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She lowered her sunglasses before frowning at the sight of Hermione cooking.

"I was planning on Granger-napping you to take you out to dinner, but you look like an orphan that's been rolling around in dirt all day."

Hermione laughed. "I've had a productive day." The sauce was nearly done and it was time to start the pasta. She tapped the pot on the stove with her wand, watching as it filled with water. With a flick of her wrist, she turned on the hob. A few drops of oil later and she gave her full attention to the witch in her kitchen. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"Every one of your days is productive. As for your dinner invitation…" Dramatic as usual, Pansy inclined her chin, touching it delicately with two fingers, appearing wistful. "Seeing as I'm such a good friend, I must keep you company. I suppose I'll—"

"I've chilled a bottle of Chianti to go with it."

Pansy put her purse down on the edge of the island. "Say no more, Granger. You don't need to work so hard to convince me to stay." Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled at her ridiculousness, noting that the water was now boiling, perfect for the linguini. "You're making that al dente, right?"

"Yes." For someone who couldn't cook, Pansy certainly had specific tastes. She removed her sunglasses, placing them on the island next to her purse, and gracefully took her seat on a barstool across from Hermione, who was preparing their salads. "How has your day been?"

"Busy. I've got two parties to plan. A small one for Draco's birthday that I'm forcing on him because he'll only turn thirty-one once. And a much larger one for Summer Solstice at Theo's next month."

Pansy threw parties like toddlers threw tantrums. One for every holiday and birthday. Really, she barely needed an excuse. Organising every detail of an event—right down to the mandatory magically binding non-disclosure agreement, with an added clause for privacy protection—gave Pansy something to do when she was bored and in need of stimuli. It also gave her the connection with people she'd never admit to needing. Whenever Pansy seemed a little morose, or when dark thoughts she'd never confess to having started creeping to the forefront of her mind, Hermione knew she would plan a party.

Theo always gave her a place because he knew she needed it.

He was good like that.

"What's the theme of the solstice party?"

"Floral and bohemian. It'll be outside in the clearing behind his family's country estate so I'm thinking of a place for people to dance, music, light hors d'oeuvres, tables set up under the trees with fairy lights and candles floating above them. Nothing fancy or elaborate." She ended with a shrug. "Of course, there will be flowers incorporated into all the decorations so perhaps that may take time. But really. It'll be simple."

It didn't sound simple.

Hermione stirred the pasta. "Uh-huh, how many people?"

"A fair amount… perhaps two hundred?"

"I don't even know a hundred people I want to be at a party with."

"Draco said the same thing when I approached him about putting a Stonehenge replica behind the estate. There's enough room and the clearing is perfect to view it as if you were there. Only with less Muggles." Pansy smiled at the sceptical look on her face. "It's a social gathering, Hermione. Don't be dull." Then her smile widened.

She glared at Pansy. "What do you want?"

"Two favours."

One of her eyebrows lifted in curiosity. "It depends."

"Nothing elaborate." Pansy rolled her eyes. "I just want a vial of your inhibition potions for the drinks, as I won't be serving wine. The potion was such a hit at my Winter Solstice party. The guests said they didn't feel any different."

The request was easy, even if the potion was not. Potions that lowered a person's reserves were complicated at best, couldn't be rushed, and took an incredibly long time to make—likely why Pansy had put in the request a month early. Too much and they lost their free will, acting purely on instinct. Too little and they wouldn't work at all. Just right and they would be freer with their words and slightly bolder with their actions. "I'll do it, how long do you want it to last?"

That was an entirely different set of variables she would have to account for.

Not hard, just time consuming.

"I'm thinking until the Last Light—the last moment of daylight. The official end of the solstice. Make it strong enough for me to consider speaking to Cho… voluntarily."

"Like I did for Winter Solstice but slightly stronger? You did say hello to Cho at Winter Solstice, and you were cheerful about it."

The cringe she received was comical. "Don't remind me."

Hermione checked the timer for the pasta. It had a few minutes left. "What's the second favour?"

"Oh, nothing particularly strenuous." Pansy's pause sounded more strategic than necessary. "You could invite the Weasley brother with table manners."

"Percy?"

"Is that his name?" Pansy blinked with wide-eyed innocence. "I hardly remember."

Hermione glared at her friend, who had found something particularly interesting about the jade green cabinets, but she decided to let Pansy stew in her own denial. She could wait until they'd both had a couple of glasses of Chianti. Her lips would be a little looser.

Pansy checked her fingernails. "I suppose his company won't be intolerable."

"Am I asking him to the party itself or as your date? The former I'll do, the latter I won't."

"The former. I'll give you the invitation tomorrow."

The last couple of minutes ticked away. Hermione summoned everything she needed, turned off the bog, and set it all up in the sink to strain. Once the pasta was ready, Hermione began the process of plating. Salad first, then the linguini, then Bolognese sauce. Hermione carried the plates and cutlery out to the conservatory while Pansy grabbed what was important to her: wine and glasses. Soon they were eating and drinking with the sunset as a backdrop.

Pansy finished her first glass before she even started eating. "How's Narcissa been since the potions debacle?"

"Who told you about it?"

"Theo told me that Draco figured it out."

That path of communication seemed accurate. "That's correct. She's not had any issues since starting on the corrected potion." Hermione took a sip of her wine and looked out at the darkening sky. "Speaking of, we should have a conversation about Narcissa since you're here."

Hermione expected general caginess from Pansy, but instead, she got something else.

"I've been waiting for this for nearly a month. I'm surprised you took this long."

"I was a bit busy trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with her and why she started declining right after I changed her potions. Forgive me for not being quicker."

"You're forgiven." Pansy smiled. "What do you want to know?"

Hermione gave her a look. "What I want to know and what you're willing to divulge are two different things."

"That would be correct, but I'm willing to make an exception."

"How gracious."

"You are doing me a couple of favours, after all. Not to mention the fact that I yelled at you about not taking her case. Would be pointless of me not to help." Which was all true. "Besides, the last month or so of her ranting about you—well, outside of her horrid mood swings and the fact that she calls me Bella all the time, which is just as horrifying as it sounds—has been interesting at best."

Hermione just blinked at that new bit of information. Best if she catalogued it for later.

"And here I was thinking we were becoming great friends." She rolled her eyes sarcastically, which made Pansy laugh. Hermione revisited one of their earlier conversations. "She did say that I remind her of herself, though I'm certain that was a backhanded comment at best."

"Or maybe it was a compliment."

"Doubtful," Hermione replied with a dry chuckle. "From what she's told you, what do you—"

"Look, I'll be honest with you. I love Narcissa, she's been something like a second mother to me, but she likes things done a particular way, and she's not used to relinquishing control. Especially not as much as you're asking her to give up."

"Sooner or later, she'll have to. Either by choice or the disease will take it from her. I'm trying to make her realise that she needs to make adjustments in her life now to prepare for this change. She cannot be in control of everything—"

"And she should, but look at it from her perspective. You're asking her to change a lot in a very short amount of time. You're asking her to give up a large piece of who she is."

"I didn't say she had to completely give up on society, in fact. I'm going to observe her book reading tomorrow just to see how she is when she doesn't know I'm around. My reason for asking her to step back is that at some point, her disease won't let her operate at the capacity she does now. She'll have to stop running Scorpius' education, society events, everything. I'm trying to help ease her into that transition, but—"

"Don't you think she knows this?" Pansy sat her fork on the plate and leaned back. "She knows that she'll decline to the point where she won't know herself or anyone else. I think she's taking comfort in the routine before she has to come to grips with reality."

"I understand that, but—"

"There's the second issue. You. But you can't change yourself, so nothing to do there."

Hermione tilted her head. "Me?"

Pansy chuckled into her glass. "A little insight on Narcissa. People treat her one of three ways." She held up one manicured finger. "One: with respectful reverence she has earned through her name, wealth, fame, or her philanthropy since the war." Then a second. "Two: with scorn and contempt. Even though Lucius died, the manor has been burning for thirteen years, and they're prime targets for Death Eaters, some people don't feel that the Malfoys have suffered enough." Pansy added a third finger. "Or three: with awkward confusion. Like they have no idea how to feel about her."

Hermione thought that sounded accurate.

"You… don't fit into any of those categories, Granger. She's also not used to anyone speaking to her the way you have." Pansy shook her head before laughing to herself. "Did you really tell her—" The witch stopped herself. "Knowing you, everything she has accused you of saying is likely true. Also, Draco confirmed it."

Ah, so he had heard more than she thought.

Hermione merely shrugged. "She gave unsolicited advice like she didn't expect a challenge. Meanwhile, I have never backed down from one."

"In that part of your life, yes." Pansy gave her a meaningful glare that Hermione returned just as stubbornly. "Speaking of challenges…" Pansy shook her head before chewing on her bottom lip. "Do you think you'll be able to regulate her condition?"

Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "It's too soon to tell after the mishap. It seems the potions have helped so far. At the very least, she's sleeping better. But she's not exactly forthcoming about any symptoms she does experience. That needs to change."

"Give her time. She'll come around."

"Whether she comes around or not, that's not my only concern. This is a job she hired me to do. She wants time and I can't give it to her without transparency on her part. I'm giving it on mine." Hermione ate more from her plate while Pansy drank first then joined in. Several minutes of companionable silence passed before Hermione settled on another question. "How long have you known about her condition?"

Pansy sighed the sigh of someone faced with having a conversation she would much rather avoid. "She would occasionally forget things, but I don't think anyone thought it out of the ordinary until she took Scorpius to the tailor to be fitted for robes for Astoria's funeral and returned home without him."

Hermione stopped eating. "What?"

"I was there with Daphne and Draco. They were making arrangements together when she came in. When Draco asked where Scorpius was, she looked at him and had no idea what he was talking about. I'll never forget, she said, 'You're too young to have a son.' And then all hell broke loose."

All she could do was blink wildly. "Where was Scorpius?"

Likely terrified and confused. Lost. She couldn't imagine.

"He was still at the tailor where she'd left him, and the owner was just completing the fitting. He said she went to look at a different colour robes while he was doing measurements, and when he turned around, she was gone. He pretended like nothing was amiss so as not to distress Scorpius." She sighed, rubbing her temple. "He wasn't talking by that point, but I doubt he noticed anything was wrong."

Hermione deeply doubted that. "Any other incidents?"

"Over the last three years? Hmm. I can think of several, thanks to hindsight. More when I was staying with them after my divorce. During tea, she would forget what she was talking about, who I was, or where we were. It still happens. She calls me Andromeda sometimes but mostly Bella. I never say anything to correct her, just go along with it." Smart. Exactly what she would advise. "Let's see. Before her diagnosis, her hands would shake uncontrollably. She would sweat and get agitated. Once she Apparated across the room accidentally. I'm honestly surprised she didn't Splinch herself. She's wandered off loads of times over the last two years. Draco probably has a better account of it. He's been dealing with it longer. Had to force her to see a Healer."

"From what I gather, things aren't great between them."

"No, they aren't. They're both stubborn as fuck and refuse to bend. They might not speak much outside of very select topics, but he won't let her go anywhere without security."

That sparked her interest. "How long has she had security?"

Years, she assumed, given everything she knew and didn't know about the Death Eater threats the Malfoys had faced. At least since the letters started. Or maybe since they moved back to London. Or—

"There were incidents in the past, of course, but Draco hired them the day after she left Scorpius. That was his last straw."

Which meant they were hired for more than just protection from threats—they were hired to protect her from herself.

After recalling her accusations about him being more concerned with the threat of Death Eaters than what was actually killing his mother, Hermione inwardly winced. She hadn't been entirely right in that assumption. Not that Malfoy had been open with his reasons, but… Well, like she'd said to Harry, it wasn't like him to be forthright.

At that point, Hermione began to wonder what she had gotten right about him.

Didn't seem like much.

Questions.

Hermione had plenty of them, and they all were threatening to burst forth all at once. However, she knew better. Was more patient. Knew she couldn't ask them all at once.

In fact, she waited to ask any more until after they were finished with their meal and sitting on the sofa, enjoying wine and the ambiance of the darkening sky. The fairy lights had only just come on, adding enough light for Hermione to really see the rose in Pansy's hair.

It wasn't decorative, but alive.

Now that was a question she could ask. "You're wearing a real rose in your hair?"

"Of course, you would notice." Pansy took a delicate sip of Chianti. "Weasley's been sending them. Just one rose a week. Seems like every time I come close to forgetting him, another rose shows up."

Smart.

"Weasley?" Hermione gave her a knowing look. "The one you don't know?"

"Oh, fuck you, Granger." Pansy glared at her, but there was no heat behind it. They were both relaxed from the Chianti and the comfortable mood between them, which had taken years to perfect. "I happen to hate it very much, thank you. I'm not interested in being courted."

She didn't believe Pansy for a second, not when she had his flower in her hair, but she didn't press for more details. Her friend would talk on her own terms, be honest in her own way, and Hermione would be ready to listen whenever that happened.

That was how they worked.

Hermione drank a bit of Chianti, enjoying the flavour. "I wasn't under the impression that there were rules to courting for purebloods. I thought it was all contracts, arrangements, and societal machinations."

"Of course, you're not wrong. But you're not entirely right either. It depends on the family's status. I was the only girl, so my marriage contract basically auctioned me off to the highest bidder." Pansy shrugged like it was normal, even though she'd run from that life.

"I won't say I understand it—"

"You're quite expressive with your disapproval, Granger. You're not as subtle as you believe. In fact, Narcissa said that you looked like you'd smelled something rotten when she talked about contracting Draco's second marriage."

Well, there was no denying how she felt about it. "The entire matter is archaic."

Pansy crossed her legs properly, reclining on the sofa. "It's the pureblood way."

"But you don't subscribe to it anymore."

"Not entirely, but I can't help the way I was raised. It's ingrained into me, taught to me by tutors and governesses and my mother." Pansy finished her wine, placing her glass on the table in front of her. "No matter how removed I am from it, that life is a part of who I am. I still catch myself walking how I was told to, speaking when I should, and reaching for a dress that I would usually wear. Parvati wanted to get a tattoo and I immediately rejected the idea because tattoos are somewhat of a taboo in society—"

Hermione almost choked. "Sorry what? Tattoos are a what?"

"No respectable pureblood has one." The other witch stated, as if obvious. "They have a negative connotation, especially given Voldemort. It's also unseemly to mark up your body."

Of course, now all she could think about was the colour on Malfoy's left arm. "What else would be considered unseemly? Just… to understand Narcissa better."

"Facial hair, but that's becoming more acceptable with the time. It's still frowned upon in certain circles with more traditional families. Narcissa complains about Draco's facial hair until he gets irritated and shaves it off… and then he lets it grow again. He's moody like that." She pursed her lips. "What else? Hmmm… Short hair on both wizards and witches. Being divorced or unmarried past a certain age. Honestly, there are so many more."

"What about children?"

Hermione's attempt at casual fell flat as Pansy's blue eyes settled on her. "Ah, so you've met Scorpius." Not a question, but a statement. Pansy leaned forward and refilled her glass with the last of the wine like she was going to need it. "Go on, I know you have a million questions. I'm not certain how much help I'll be. Theo has a better grasp of the situation. I met him when he was two and wasn't around much, but I'll answer what I can."

Interesting.

Hermione made a gesture. "I'll let you speak freely."

"The fact that he doesn't talk is a source of stress for Narcissa. She's tried everything to get him to talk—coercion, mainly, but she's tried to make compromises, too. Everything except outwardly expressing her frustration." Which was a good thing, Hermione supposed. "Nothing works. He's incredibly strong-willed for a five-year-old."

"I wouldn't talk either if she treated me like she treats him."

Pansy sighed. "Between Daphne, Theo, and now you—"

"Scorpius is well taken care of, no doubt about it, but his emotional care leaves a lot to be desired. How can you ignore how coldly she treats him? How can you revere her when she—"

"I've had this argument with her so many times in the last six months that I'm sick of the words, but she's insistent on doing things her way. She thinks she's making him strong." Pansy swirled the wine in her glass. "I know you don't understand my relationship with her. Daphne and I fight all the time about it, but I can say that you can care about someone and not like their choices."

There was so much more that she wanted to say, but wouldn't allow herself. Scorpius wasn't a patient, after all. And yet… "She's got to know that his silence is an obvious sign that he's grieving and needs help. Last night I told Malfoy that he needs help and he—"

"What? Said that he'd talk to his mother about it."

"Yes."

"Do you honestly think that Narcissa would put him in counselling? That's like admitting that he has a problem. That they're not perfect. Draco can try, but he won't succeed."

She had a point. Even while working at St. Mungo's, there weren't many that sought help in her department. Many still thought of mental health as a taboo topic. "Okay, but she's not his father. Malfoy—"

"Traditionally, he has little to do with Scorpius' care right now. He's too young."

Hermione stared at her as if she were speaking a different language. "What exactly does that even mean?"

"It's the pureblood way."

She took a breath, patience vanishing rapidly. "Pansy, if you say that one more time."

The witch gave her an irritated look that matched her own. "You asked, Granger, and now I'm telling you. You're going to call it antiquated, but this is how it works in pureblood families. Witches take care of the children up until a certain age. They handle their lessons, etiquette, preparing them for Society, and they fulfill their emotional needs. Everything. Fathers are rarely involved with a child's care."

"That's—"

"How it is." Pansy examined her nails like she was explaining something as common as time. Hermione felt a rant building, welling inside of her like a shift in the tide. But she stopped herself and listened to what her friend had to say. "If he were a girl, Narcissa would continue preparing him for society, but since he's a boy, when Scorpius turns eight, Draco will step in, take over, and teach him like his father taught him."

Hermione waited several long moments. "You're absolutely right. That is completely—"

"Traditional. I know it's a swear word to you, but to some people, it's a way of life." Pansy took another long pull of her wine. "I learned from my mother, who learned from hers, and so on. I know that with Scorpius, the lessons Draco will teach will be very different from his father's teachings as he had a rapid change of heart during and after the war."

"Nevermind that." Hermione dismissed the thought of Draco teaching his son. That didn't matter because Scorpius was three years off. And a lot would change for them in those three years. First being… "Narcissa has dementia. She's only going to decline from here. Now, at what rate, I'm still not certain, but who will take over his care when she's unable to? His nanny or his tutors? People who don't know him—"

"Or Draco's new wife."

At Hermione's sharp recoil, her friend sighed. "I already know what you're thinking and you're wrong."

"I'm not thinking anything at all." She bit back what she wanted to say and finished finishing her wine.

"Liar." When Hermione said nothing in her own defence, her friend sighed. "It's not uncommon for him to marry again. In fact, it's expected. I won't deny the fact that I believe Narcissa's disease is making her focus hard on that one-year deadline. I know she's making him take Marriage Meetings and attend Gatherings. Well…" She looked momentarily uncomfortable. "That's part of the reason."

"It's disgusting." Hermione realised she was gripping the stem of her empty glass too tightly and set it on the table. "He should be focused on his son, not finding a new wife."

"His focus remains elsewhere, much to Narcissa's frustration." With a tired exhale, Pansy tilted her head up, observing the darkening skies. After such a wonderful day, it looked ready to rain, with clouds rolling in from the south. "Draco is… complicated, and I'll need more wine to discuss him. I understand him both less and more than I did when we were teenagers. However, it goes without saying that he's always been… Draco."

That also sounded like a vast understatement, but Hermione didn't dare speak that out loud.

"He's always been faced with difficult decisions, always had so much on his shoulders. He struggles with the weight of it all, but he tries to do the right thing for his family, even if the choice he makes isn't always the right one. I know for a fact he has zero interest in remarrying. He didn't want to marry in the first place—neither did Astoria… at least not to him, but that's neither here nor there."

Hermione blinked a couple of times, trying to catch the parts that Pansy had blazed through, knowing for certain that she'd missed something along the way, but unable to pinpoint what. Or remember every word of what had been spoken. Still, she had one question about what she had caught from Pansy's tumble of words: "If he's not interested, then why go along with it? Why let his mother orchestrate his remarriage at all?"

The question was left in the universe for so long that she had no idea if the other witch would acknowledge it or let it scatter to corners of the sky.

Fade into nothing.

Pansy broke the silence just as it was shifting into uncomfortable. "I had to be burned off my family tree to live and choose for myself, but Draco has never had the opportunity to do the same."

---

May 23, 2011

Hermione had a talent.

Well, she had many, but one in particular was noteworthy considering her fame as The Brains.

She knew how to blend into crowds and become invisible, either out of absolute necessity or selfish desire. And though ideal, she didn't need Polyjuice Potion to do it.

The secret was to become a different person. Someone not Hermione Granger, someone washed out and forgettable. A face and nothing more. And that wasn't just accomplished by dressing differently, changing her makeup, or taming her recognisable hair. It was about changing her body language. About not sitting alone. Mingling was absolutely necessary, but not starting random conversations with strangers, only joining them.

And the most important tip?

Being confident in the fact that anyone notable who attended upscale charity events didn't pay any mind to those who weren't worthy of their time or attention. Those who weren't on their level. Those who weren't instantly recognisable.

Narcissa never noticed her.

It had been a busy week for her patient, as the witch was hosting her third charity event—and it was only Wednesday. Narcissa had been so preoccupied over the last few days that she'd barely had time to argue or criticise Hermione and her care, much less complain about her meals. In fact, she had eaten every breakfast and lunch Hermione had prepared without fuss.

It seemed like the perfect time to see just how stressful Narcissa's life was.

Which was why she was in an elegant decorated ballroom that had a surprisingly intimate feel. Tonight's social gathering was for the Orphans of the Wizarding Wars—one of the many charities the older witch supported. The event had opened with a moving reading from her biography, which was still as popular ever. But other than that, it was nothing more than Narcissa floating around the room, engaging with donors—wealthy families and fans rich enough to afford the thousand-Galleon seat alike—while Malfoy dutifully stood next to her, clean-shaven and in proper wizarding attire. All black.

He looked almost bored.

Well, no matter. Narcissa's lack of awareness worked for what Hermione needed to do: observe.

Hermione watched her for any blank moments, any signs of confusion or distress, even the subtle ones like tremors or sweats. Or physical ones like any slow movements or rigidity. Hermione also watched out for any changes in alertness or attention. Overall, her observation had been a bust. However, there had been one moment when her face had momentarily tensed, but it ended up being nothing as she cut her eyes over to her son after he'd said something to an older looking gentleman after he'd presented a stunningly beautiful witch.

Whatever Malfoy had said hadn't amused his mother one bit.

Outside of that moment, there was nothing noteworthy.

It had been a good night, and Hermione was glad for it. For her. She deserved it.

That thought caused her surveillance to shift from monitoring her as a Healer… to observing her as a person.

Hermione knew about her book—everyone did—but she hadn't been cognizant of the extent of its reach. Over ten years had passed since its release and she was still reading passages from it, still auctioning signed copies for charity. It was impressive. As Hermione mingled, weaving in and out of conversations, she did so with a growing awareness of just how many of the event's attendants still clamoured to get in Narcissa's good graces. Still were intrigued by the Malfoys as a whole. Wanted to be associated with them. Seen with them. Know them.

Or in several cases, become a part of them.

And while her son had a certain appeal, it mainly had to do with her.

That night, Narcissa was beautiful as always in stunning emerald robes, her blonde hair twisted into a graceful coiffure. Life, time, and a progressing illness could not—and had not—withered her. There was so much life in her, so much shrewd intelligence and poise that Hermione found herself much like the other guests: stuck just watching Narcissa Malfoy in her element.

The public gravitated towards Narcissa like moons around a planet, believing they were close when in actuality, they were stuck in her orbit. Millions of kilometres away. Her intent all along had been to attract, not to allow them into her atmosphere.

Because then they might be able to see past her surface and mine their way into the core of who she was. See the cracks and flaws she hadn't exposed in her book. The dull parts that hadn't been buffed to perfection. And in doing that, perhaps they wouldn't revere her so much…

Or perhaps they would love her more because of those imperfections.

After all, those were the aspects of Narcissa that reminded Hermione of her humanity, reminded her that Narcissa was more than her conventional beliefs. More than their differences, friction, and clash of wills. More than just a patient. And it made Hermione wonder if there was a part of her that could get to know Narcissa on that level, a part that could understand the older witch simply because those cracks and flaws reflected something.

Something that reminded Hermione of her own imperfections.

The appearance of an unfamiliar witch in her line of sight pulled Hermione from her thoughts.

She was taller, thanks to her heels, with blue eyes that contrasted her black hair, which was pulled back into a low bun that highlighted her high cheekbones and slender neck. Her robes were as black as her hair, modest but snug enough to off her figure.

"Oh, hello." Hermione's eyes flickered down, noticing Narcissa's signed book in her hand.

It wasn't the first time someone had approached her that evening, but it was typically single wizards—oh, and the lone married one she had sent immediately on his way after noting the pale line on his ring finger.

"Do we know each other?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Oh no, I'm Olivia. I just spotted you standing here looking at the Malfoys and thought I'd say hello." Naturally, Hermione almost argued, but actually she had been staring. She put on a pleasant smile, but apparently the other woman wasn't finished. "Have you been formally introduced?"

Hermione blinked. "To who?"

"Why the Malfoys, of course." Olivia scoffed as if she couldn't believe how silly Hermione was being. "You can't be invited to a Marriage Meeting without an introduction."

"Oh, no." Hermione shook her head. "I'm certainly not looking to contract myself into a marriage."

When the other woman realised that Hermione wasn't in competition she softened. Or rather, she began to brag. "My father introduced me to his mother with the hopes of securing a Marriage Meeting with Draco. We may be half-bloods, but my family owns Madam Malkin's as well as several clothing lines. My dowry is quite substantial."

So, she was very rich. Hermione pretended to care. "Wow…"

Not noticing the sarcasm in her tone, the strange woman continued on, unbothered. "I think it will be enough to secure a Meeting and I'll let my charm do the rest. Rumour has it, he's not looking to remarry, but I think I'm persuasive enough." She lifted her chin and put on a sly, knowing smile. "I know what men like him want."

"Oh, definitely."

"Exactly." Olivia smiled like she'd found a kindred spirit. "A little of that and I'll be the next Mrs Malfoy in no time. My parents will be elated."

Good luck with that, Hermione almost said, but only just barely managed to stifle herself. "Have you met him yet?"

The witch stole another glance at the unsmiling Malfoy heir. "Only from afar." Her eyes lingered for a second. "But I'm hoping to by the end of the evening. How do I look?"

"Lovely." That wasn't a lie. Hermione really tried not to ask her next question, but what harm could it do? It was conversational at best. "What do you know about him?" She nodded in Malfoy's direction.

To observe.

While Narcissa charmed a nicely dressed pair, a witch who looked at least a decade younger than Malfoy offered her hand to him while smiling in a simpering sort of way. Sharp grey eyes cut from hers, down to her extended hand, then back up before the corners of his mouth quirked into a frown and he turned his attention elsewhere.

The smile on the girl's face crashed and burned.

For a moment, Hermione felt bad for her, a little indignant because of his behaviour, but then she remembered the intent behind her action and reasons for getting close… and her sympathy went out the window.

Meanwhile, Olivia barely seemed to notice. "I know that he's rich, eligible, and comes from an influential family; the rest doesn't matter. At least he's attractive for someone so cold. Thank Merlin for that." She started to chuckle, thinking Hermione would join in. She didn't. Nowhere in that did she mention Scorpius, which was extremely off putting. And after the awkward moment, Olivia sobered and cleared her throat while gripping the book in her hand.

"Well, best of luck to you, Olivia. I really must be going."

Startled by her abrupt farewell, the woman just nodded. "Oh, well it's nice to meet you…" Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

Quick on the uptake, she thought of a name that was inconspicuous. Forgettable. Her middle name. "Jean."

"Oh! Well, Jean, it's been wonderful to meet you."

"Likewise, Future Mrs Malfoy."

The witch giggled, flushing prettily. Hermione made her way towards the exit, passing people by who barely gave her a glance. She was just another face in the crowd, after all. She didn't matter because she wasn't memorable. Even Olivia had already moved on and was now chatting with the latest of Malfoy's rejects, patting the sullen witch on the back, not believing at all that she may end up just like her by night's end.

But that wasn't Hermione's problem and she silently wished the witch luck.

Now that her task was complete, there was only one task left: leaving.

Hermione was only a few steps from the door when she felt something strange.

She looked over her shoulder to figure out what it was and—well, the moment called forth another reminder: she wasn't always the most observant person in the room. She wasn't always the smartest or the quickest either. There was almost always someone better. Someone that didn't quite fall into line with expectations. Someone who already hadn't.

Someone whose grey eyes had locked on her from across the room, trapping her in his gaze.

Hermione froze, heart stuttering in her chest until—

Wait, she had nothing to hide and every reason to be there. She held his even gaze, noting the way his eyebrow rose slowly in question. But instead of making his mother aware of Hermione's presence, his mouth lifted into a wry smirk.

Then Malfoy looked away, moved on, resuming his conversation with a wizard who seemed to be a little baffled by his moment of distraction. The man had even looked in her direction, but didn't see her.

At least not the way Malfoy did.

---

May 25, 2011

Narcissa Malfoy had never exercised for fitness purposes a day in her life… and it showed.

When hosting and entertaining—or even existing—she possessed the grace and elegance of a bygone era. There was a presence about her that caused people to look whenever she entered any room; an energy that made everyone take notice. Infectious. Just because she was immune to Narcissa's charms, just because they had vastly different attitudes and beliefs that clashed like two armies vowing to take no prisoners, it didn't mean she was blind to it.

Didn't mean she didn't notice.

Or respect it. Privately.

Consistently, Hermione met the challenge each day as Narcissa's Healer, never backing down from the continuous test of having a patient that was almost as strong-willed as herself.

However, now that her potions had been corrected and she was levelling out, it was time to tackle other aspects of her care.

Namely, physical activity.

Hermione watched as every ounce of that poise and dignity evaporated within the first few steps of their scheduled walk outdoors. It was a source of humour for her, a moment that showed Narcissa's humanity in such a bizarre way that she often had to stifle her mirth behind her hand. It had taken five whole minutes into their first walk for Hermione to realise just why Narcissa hated exercising so vehemently.

Narcissa hated sweating. Hated the physical aches that followed a good, long walk. Hated everything that had anything to do with the act.

That knowledge didn't stop Hermione from changing into trainers and approaching Narcissa as she reviewed her schedule while sipping tea. "Let's take a walk, shall we?"

"I assure you I am very busy." Narcissa was tense, her voice as crisp as the early morning air. The vertical lines between her eyebrows were so firmly grooved that Hermione had to assume that her expression—and outright refusal—would have been her instinctive reaction to any suggestion in that moment.

Not just walking.

Her mood now had Hermione's attention.

Not to combat it, but to figure out the source and determine if it was worthy of the stab of concern she felt as her Healer.

Narcissa was temperamental at best, but this was something unusual and that made it noteworthy. In truth, Narcissa had been in quite a horrific mood all morning. After Scorpius was hurried along to his lessons by his nanny, Zippy had reported to her that morning that Narcissa had returned extremely late after last night's charity event (her second of the week) and ignored all his attempts at rousing.

When she entered the kitchen about an hour later than usual, Narcissa looked as if she hadn't slept a wink. She was flushed and quiet, agitated to the point where she would have spilled her tea had Hermione not used magic to save the cup. And it had still been a close call. But after breakfast and potions, her mood had seemed to improve.

Until now.

Hermione sat on the sofa next to her, wand in hand, several diagnostic charms at the tip of her tongue. "How are you feeling right now?"

"Annoyed." She shut her planner and sent it to the table with a smooth push of magic. "I despise walking, yet here you are."

All of her slowly mounting worries temporarily vanished as she suppressed her laugh by clearing her throat. "I've already explained the importance of having a physical activity routine. We've been lax on it, but now that your symptoms have levelled off, I feel it's a good time to integrate it." At that, she earned a dark glower. "Perhaps we can compromise. Is there an activity that you enjoy doing that we can substitute?"

Narcissa offered a testy look in response. "I am going to the spa today, as recommended. In fact, I leave within the hour and will return before dinner."

"Good for circulation, but not exercise. I only suggested walking as it's a lower impact activity. Perhaps swimming? Zippy told me that there's a pool inside—"

"That is Draco's domain. He swims twice a day. Sometimes more." Narcissa waved her hand with casual poise. "I, myself, have never gone down there, nor do I intend to, as I find the act tedious and unbecoming."

Unbecoming of what exactly? But Hermione didn't ask that, she knew how and when to pick her battles. She'd also learned that sometimes, if she waited long enough and let things settle, she wouldn't have to fight at all.

Narcissa's eyes softened as if struck by a memory, fiddling with the ever-present ring around her neck as she often did while contemplating. "I enjoy gardening as a whole," she confessed softly, much to Hermione's surprise. "It was the only task at the Manor I did not allow the elves to do. The only task I did with minimal magic. I happen to find it incredibly relaxing and the outcome is always rewarding so I don't mind the labour."

Which actually meant she didn't mind sweating, as long as it was on her own terms.

It made perfect sense.

Amongst all their differences, it was something that they had in common.

Something she could work with. Something they could grow from.

"I have a greenhouse and garden that regularly need work, if you're interested."

Narcissa contemplated it for a moment before smoothing down the front of her robes. "I suppose it will do for your required physical activity." Her tone was so dry it could have caught fire, but Hermione caught a hint of colour in her cheeks and a twinkle in her eye that verified her true feelings.

Delight.

For the second time, Hermione suppressed her smile with her fist, but for an entirely different reason. She cleared her throat. "I'll add it to your schedule?"

"See that you do." Narcissa glanced at her watch. "I prefer to garden in the morning after breakfast. We can begin tomorrow."

"I'll be sure to schedule that in." While Narcissa continued her tea, Hermione sat in patient silence, but not for long. "How are you feeling on the potions?"

"More like myself than I have in months. However, I have noticed that the afternoon potions increase my appetite, and that simply won't do."

"There's nothing to be done about that, I'm afraid."

"Are there not other alternatives that would remedy this? I am aware it sounds vain, but it's concerning."

"Perhaps, I can look into an alternative." At the look of relief on Narcissa's face, Hermione added a disclaimer: "I'm not making any promises."

"I understand." The older witch nodded. "Also, there is one matter I wish to discuss with you."

"Oh?"

"Particularly about your meals." Hermione visibly relaxed, but readied herself for an argument until she noticed a hint of hesitation. It reminded her of Malfoy, which tickled her curiosity. "I understand that we have agreed to one meal a day during the week. However, I am finding everything I eat outside of breakfast dissatisfying and unpalatable." Which might as well have been a compliment. "I understand that our agreement…"

"If you like, perhaps I can add dinner, something hearty but healthy. I can make meals ahead of time for you, enough to last through the week and weekend. Something that can be reheated or charmed to remain fresh." At the little sign of interest, she continued. "We can come up with a menu based off of the fruits and vegetables in season. I can start preparing snacks to curb your appetite after your potions. We can adjust to your taste."

Narcissa finished her tea and leaned forward, placing it on the glass coffee table facing the fireplace. "I would like that."

"Good."

Feeling more than accomplished, as that had been the most that she'd gotten out of Narcissa since becoming her Healer, Hermione started to rise when the witch seated next to her said something that kept her seated. "Also, I quite enjoy your tea selection, but would like to be afforded the opportunity to sample other blends."

"As you wish." Hermione smiled. "Any particular preferences?"

Once Narcissa left for the spa following a pleasant lunch where they scheduled time for her to garden, Hermione decided to treat her patient with a surprise dinner of baked wild salmon and salad upon her return, elated by the progress they had made on several fronts.

Dinner preparation had been easy.

The tip with salmon was to not season it too early or the salt would break down the proteins and draw moisture out of the fish, so until Hermione was ready to bake, she went about preparing the salad. Normally, she would have made it warm with asparagus heads, fennel, and radishes, but instead—knowing Narcissa's preference for refreshing foods and cold salads during the warmer months—she created a blend of freshly picked spinach and arugula, tomatoes, cucumbers, and peppers with a sherry vinaigrette she'd made that wouldn't be too strong.

Simple yet flavourful.

By the time Scorpius' nanny entered the kitchen with purposeful, rubber-soled strides, Hermione was busy humming to herself while slicing tomatoes and cucumbers. She looked up to greet the witch the same way she always did: with a distant yet polite hello, but halted when she noted the frustrated grimace on her face. Panic rolled off her in waves while she purposefully searched the living room, looking under the table and behind all the furniture.

Likely Scorpius-related.

It wasn't that he was wild—quite the opposite—but even on a good day, Catherine Prichard barely had her wits about her. Hermione thought it had a lot to do with Narcissa's need for strict routines and order. Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that Catherine, at twenty-one, was almost too young for such an encompassing position and incapable of standing up for herself, especially when Narcissa was being unreasonable.

It was a wonder she had kept the nanny on, or hired her in the first place, but Hermione got the impression that Catherine was the latest caretaker on a long list that had come before her—all driven away for a variety of reasons that Hermione wasn't privy to.

But what she did know was that the help always talked.

Which meant one thing: Catherine, however inexperienced, would be hard to replace.

The witch only spotted Hermione at the island when her search turned to the kitchen. Her face smoothed into a tight smile that did nothing to hide the fact that she was troubled. "Hello, Miss Granger."

She tried not to bristle, but being called Miss Granger by someone easily ten years younger made her feel incredibly old. "Please, call me Hermione."

It wasn't the first time she'd said this, but her request fell on distracted ears as Catherine pulled open the cupboard, looked inside, and shut it with a frustrated groan. "I wish locator charms worked in this house."

"Oh, if you're looking for Narcissa, she's gone to the spa and will be back later."

Catherine's shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank you for letting me know that, but I'm not looking for Narcissa for the status update." She and Zippy seemed to rotate the task of updating Narcissa on her grandson's lessons with his tutors.

It didn't make much sense to Hermione. Actually, none of it did.

Why hire a nanny when she had a perfectly capable House-elf that could—with a snap of his fingers—easily handle all matters concerning both housework and child supervision?

Strange, but also none of her concern.

Catherine looked around as if Narcissa might be eavesdropping. "In truth, I've lost Scorpius." Hermione's eyes widened, her task instantly forgotten. Sure, he was quiet, but how could she possibly lose an entire child? The nanny cringed, clearly reading Hermione's expression. "I know, but I was discussing a timetable for when they would be adding Latin lessons with his tutor and Zippy was off cleaning. When I turned around, Scorpius was gone. Have you seen him?"

To keep her distaste to herself about a five-year-old's strict schedule, Hermione squatted down to the lower cabinet she was in front of to grab the salad bowl. "I ha—oh my goodness!"

She nearly lost her balance, heart hammering like a war drum in her chest. Instead of her bowl, she found Scorpius.

His blue eyes went wide with shock as he clutched the open dictionary tightly to his chest, no doubt wrinkling the pages. He had been just as startled as Hermione, but unlike her, he hadn't made a sound.

There were several questions running around like people escaping from a smoke-filled room, but the first one was the most important: How long had he been there?

Hermione instinctively looked around the space he'd created, spotting her bowl directly next to his feet. It wasn't too cramped; outside of the kitchen items she'd left to stop the back and forth, there was hardly anything in the storage space inside the island. It was the perfect crawl space for a child who was currently staring at her like an owl.

"Miss Granger?" The now alarmed Catherine appeared at the end of the island. "Are you okay?"

"Um…" Hermione gripped the open cabinet door, blinking at the little boy. Instantly, she noted the sharp spike in his anxiety as he started to fidget and look for an escape. The level of stress coming from a child so young bothered her on a deeper level than she cared to admit. "I…"

And it really, really wasn't any of her business.

Truly it wasn't.

Not in the slightest.

But… she'd never quite gotten the mental image of him falling apart out of her head and she hadn't been able to forget him calling for his mother while asleep in his father's arms. She continued moving his cup each morning and waving him goodbye, all while feeling more and more drawn to him. Unable to look away. Like now.

Scorpius' eyes turned desperate; holding onto hers like a lifeline. The world began slowing on its axis. Not because she had made a decision, but because it had been made before she knew there was one to make.

"I haven't seen him."

Genuine surprise spread across the little boy's features and she ripped herself from his gaze, turning her head towards Catherine. Then she stood. "Sorry for alarming you, I seem to have forgotten a bowl I was looking for. But no, I haven't seen him. If I do, I'll bring him to you straight away."

"Thank you." Catherine smiled so genuinely she almost felt bad for lying. Almost. "He's especially good at hiding when he's tired of lessons, I'll check his normal spots."

"Good idea." Hermione reached for her wand as soon as the nanny turned her head. With a whisper, she cast a charm that would ensure she wouldn't return. It was a simple charm really, nothing that would hurt her, but anytime she thought of the kitchen, another room with another hiding spot would pull her away. The nanny went stiff the moment the spell made contact, but kept walking, her shoes echoing on the wood floor as she went.

Positive that Catherine wouldn't come back, Hermione set her wand on the counter and sank to her knees, resting back on her heels.

If at all possible, Scorpius looked even cagier.

Hermione wondered why, but the answer was as clear as glass. Outside of seeing her every morning at breakfast and their lone interaction beyond that, Scorpius didn't know her. Or trust her.

First things first?

A reintroduction.

"Hi." She extended her hand with a soft, sincere grin. "I'm Hermione."

It must have been a Malfoy thing because Scorpius studied at her hand as if it were a particularly confusing word in the dictionary he still clutched to his chest. Then his eyes flicked back to hers. Ultimately, Scorpius made no attempt to accept what she was offering. Instead, he carefully smoothed the wrinkles from the page of his beloved book.

While she hadn't expected to see a child so reverent about a book, Hermione had anticipated the snub; she wasn't offended. "Do you want to come out of there?"

Scorpius shook his head.

No surprise there, either.

With a patience reserved for children and animals, Hermione's head bobbed with a nod as she pushed her hair over her shoulder. "That's fine." She paused then gestured to the book. "Can I see what you're looking at?"

It was an innocent enough request for him to comply, manoeuvring the large book so she could see the page. Then he pointed at the plant.

Ah.

That was simple.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, making herself as non-threatening as possible. "Do you like plants, Scorpius?"

Still hesitant, he answered with a slow nod.

It was enough.

"I love them, too," Hermione disclosed with a soft smile. Blue eyes narrowed at her warily, and Hermione was amused at how expressive Scorpius could be despite his silence. "So much that I keep them close. In fact—" Blindly, she reached up and felt around until her hand came into contact with her beaded bag and she pulled it down. Scorpius observed with growing curiosity as half her hand disappeared into the bag before finding what she'd been looking for.

A sprig of mint.

She offered it to him. "Here."

Without accepting, Scorpius examined the herb closely. He was so completely focused on the task that Hermione had all the time in the world to just observe him, unable to do anything else. Scorpius wore his normal attire: blazer, white shirt, shorts, and socks to his knees. Like a proper schoolboy. Nothing amiss there… well, except for the fact that he was hiding in a cabinet with a book.

For some unknown reason.

A feeling had settled deep in her gut ever since she'd entered the house, overheard the bits of conversations pertaining to the little boy, and actually observed him. A feeling that had only grown the more she saw him—studied him. A feeling that told her right then that perhaps this cabinet wasn't the first one he'd hidden in.

His incidents, as Narcissa had called them. Perhaps these were it. Moments when he snuck off and disappeared in places around the house like the day by the window. Today it was the small, cramped space where no one knew to look for him. It made sense to her. His schedule was so restrictive that it didn't leave him much room to express himself like children his age typically would. It didn't give him time to relax—or play. It didn't allow much for anything, actually.

Scorpius Malfoy had no free will.

Hiding seemed less like an act of rebellion or a fear response, and more like he was seeking sanctuary.

Freedom.

"You can hold it," Hermione told the boy who was still inspecting the spring of mint pinched between her fingers. "You can smell it, too, and even eat it." At the dissecting look that reminded her far too much of his father, she couldn't help but smother her amusement into her closed fist. Then she gave him a choice. "I can show you, but only when you're ready to come out, okay?"

Still trying to determine what to make of her, Scorpius' eyes went from hers to the mint bundle, back and forth, much like a curious woodland creature would before they scampered off deeper into the forest.

Back to safety.

"How about this, I'll finish preparing your grandmother's dinner and if you'd like, then I'll show you other things you can do with mint." Once the suggestion was out, Hermione mentally scrambled in an attempt to plan for something she hadn't anticipated doing in the first place. But she had his full attention. Twisting the mint between her fingers, she offered it to him again. "Would you hold onto it and keep it safe? Can you do that for me?"

Scorpius put the book down with child-like clumsiness that should have been normal, but was odd given how shrewd he seemed. It was then she realised why. He was interested. Curious. Ready to accept the responsibility. So much so that after nodding, eyes locked on the mint as if it were a shiny new toy, he accepted the sprig with reverent fingers.

It was adorable, really, watching him light up when he smelled it. His eyes went wide, as if shocked that it actually smelled nice, that she had been honest with him. Then Scorpius sniffed the herb again, much like someone would roses; when he saw her staring, his face evened out.

Closed up.

Hermione didn't push it, knowing better than to say anything else. She allowed her actions to speak louder than words and left the cabinet door open for him to accept her offer.

When he was ready.

Hermione returned to her task of cutting up the tomatoes and cucumbers for Narcissa's salad, seasoned the salmon and put it into the oven to bake at the proper temperature before she set her watch.

She glanced over at the open cabinet door to see if he'd used it.

Hoping he would.

And if her heart raced at the appearance of a little blond head peeking from the cabinet—well, that was only because he'd startled her. Not because she had been waiting patiently while cleaning up the evidence of food preparation without magic.

Not at all.

Scorpius' small, pale hand gripped the cabinet only moments before he stood to his full height, facing away from her until he turned. Mint sprig still in his hand, the silent boy carefully closed the door, minding his fingers before Hermione could instinctively tell him to after having said it so many times before to Harry's children.

Awkwardly, he held the mint out to her and her heart just warmed.

"Thank you, but hold onto it just a bit longer, okay?"

They stared at each other with Scorpius still holding the bundle out, blinking with an expression that faintly reminded her of a child waiting for something to happen.

Like a magic trick.

Oh, right.

He was used to things being prepared in front of his face with the snap of Zippy's fingers.

"I don't use magic," she said candidly as an idea formed in her head, making her realise she would need a few items from home. "It'll take some time. I have one thing that I need to get from my house. Take a seat right here and I'll be right back."

Before he could react, Hermione left him standing there, grabbing her bag and hurrying into the living room Floo. When she stepped out of her own fireplace, she could hear Pansy yelling at someone upstairs—likely about the tub that was being delivered that day—but it didn't matter.

Hermione was on a mission.

After looking around, she quickly found the right ingredients and stuffed them all into her beaded bag. Another handful of Floo powder brought her back to the Malfoy's home where…

Where Scorpius stood right in front of the fireplace, his face carefully blank in a way that reminded her of James when he was trying to look like he wasn't doing something he—in fact—had been doing all along. And he looked as if he hadn't been waiting right there the entire time.

Awaiting her return while holding her mint.

Just like that, her breath caught from visualising Scorpius just anticipating her return, but not knowing when she would. Or if, her internal voice whispered as Hermione reflected in mounting, unfamiliar dread. He didn't speak, so words were useless. She couldn't ask him how he felt, but there were little cues Scorpius gave off that gave her pause. He reminded her so much of Al when he was struggling.

He reminded her that words couldn't always tell someone's story.

Al was an anxious boy who required more attention than his siblings; it was the entire purpose of his bi-monthly visits. However, his nerves weren't born out of any stressful situations or neglect. They were natural. He would grow out of them as he conquered his fears, of that she was confident.

And while Hermione didn't know about Scorpius outside of their staring sessions over breakfast and their one conversation, she would bet her salary that distress played a part in both the flush of his cheeks and how stiffly he was standing at attention during his wait. There was no doubt in her mind that he was well-taken care of, but with Narcissa's firm hand, Malfoy's absence, and Astoria's death…

Hermione kneeled in front of the unreadable little boy, something she did with Al to put them face to face. She didn't touch him, but made certain she kept eye contact when she said, "I just rushed out of here. I'm so sorry about that. I won't do that again, okay?"

Scorpius relaxed only long enough to unlock his knees. Then his blond head bobbed.

"Are you ready? I've got everything we need." Hermione flashed a reassuring smile and held up her beaded bag as evidence, but Scorpius only blinked as if she had three heads. Wondering if all the progress she'd made to get him out of his hiding spot had been lost, Hermione righted herself and led the way back to the kitchen.

When she looked over her shoulder, Scorpius was following behind her with a look on his face that spoke of his hesitation. But that didn't seem to stop him. And Hermione didn't allow her own apprehension to speak any louder than it already was, she muffled it in favour of looking over her shoulder once again.

Perhaps not all had been lost after all.

Smiling to herself, Hermione started setting up while Scorpius stood next to the stool; the top of his towhead barely peeked over the counter. After pulling out strawberries, blueberries, apples, oranges, and honey, she heard a chair scraping against wood. Curious, she abandoned her spot and peeked around the island—only to find the five-year-old still holding the mint while trying to manoeuvre his way onto the barstool.

And failing.

"Would you like some help?"

Obviously, Scorpius hadn't seen her because he was momentarily startled. He declined with a distracted shake of his head, attempting again to climb his way onto the stool. He wasn't successful. After suppressing a smile at his stomp of frustration, Hermione whispered a quiet charm that stuck the chair to the floor… so he could use the steps.

By the time he was situated, Hermione was already back at the island directly across from where he was seated, slicing strawberries and peeling oranges.

While her audience was mesmerized by her task, she observed the way his blond brows furrowed in concentration at each of her actions. She struggled with the abnormal silence. Whenever she cooked for Harry's kids, there was never a moment's peace. In fact, she never had associated quiet and children together in one thought before she'd met Scorpius. James never stopped talking, Al only talked in small groups or when he was one-on-one, and Lily was surprisingly eloquent for a three-year-old.

Scorpius just watching her in patient examination was so bizarre that she found herself filling the silence with pointless conversation, describing every step of her process. "I'm making fruit salad. I usually make it with pecans, but I don't know if you're allergic. I'll ask—" At the way he briefly tensed, Hermione scrunched her face. "I'll ask someone." She shrugged and continued on when he relaxed. "After I peel the oranges, I'll do the same with kiwi and apples. Then I'll add the strawberries, blueberries, and blackberries together in the bowls for us. I'll drizzle the honey on it all and chop up the mint and sprinkle it on top. Does that sound good?"

Scorpius' blue eyes met hers before he agreed stiffly, handing over the bundle of mint for chopping. Hermione accepted it for the second time with a warm smile.

"Maybe next time I'll make you something sweet like sorbet. Have you ever had it?"

It was something she'd made for Harry's kids a few times, when they'd stopped fighting long enough to agree on a flavour. Scorpius looked bewildered and that saddened her. Not because he hadn't had it—with Narcissa's firm hand, that had been expected—but rather because sorbet in the summer was almost as good as magic itself, and he'd never known the joy of racing to eat it on a hot afternoon before it melted.

It was an experience.

Something memorable.

She couldn't help but wonder how many moments like that Scorpius had missed. Or had yet to experience. Or never would. Not the important ones, but the minor ones that didn't mean much to anyone outside of the memory, but everything to the one living it. Moments that a child would reminisce about later in life with a smile on their face and joy in their heart. As Hermione did exactly as described, she found herself wanting to do more with the short notice she'd been given.

Quietly, she longed for it to be just enough to invoke a feeling.

A memory.

A moment he'd look back on fondly.

Something.

As Hermione prepared fruit salad, she stole little glances at Scorpius, who watched the short process as if there were going to be a test on it. When completed, she placed the bowl of fruit salad in front of him, sprinkled the minced mint on top and chuckled to herself at how eager he seemed to try it. Then she frowned in confusion when he continued to wait with odd patience.

Oh, right.

He didn't have a fork.

As a demonstration, Hermione picked up a cut strawberry and popped it into her mouth, chewing a few times before swallowing.

"Sometimes fruit tastes best when you eat it with your hands." Next she picked up a blueberry, gently encouraging him to do the same.

Scorpius was highly sceptical, frowning so hard it looked like he was going to crumble upon himself. In fact, his expression was so pinched that Hermione almost retrieved a fork for him to use. But then Scorpius picked up a cut orange that had bits of honey and mint on it, and eyed it carefully before bringing it to his mouth.

Hermione bit back her own smile when his eyes lit up upon tasting it.

He liked it.

She let him eat with his hands a little longer before joining him with her own bowl and two forks, giving him the option of whether or not he wanted to use it. For a while, Scorpius didn't, simply enjoying his fruit salad with a content look on his face and sticky hands. But, eventually, his training won out and he picked up the fork. The first attempt was blueberry that rolled right off the fork and down his white shirt, staining it.

"Whoops," she said in an absent yet playful tone, ready to get down and pick up the fruit that had fallen onto the floor.

Al was a messy eater, too. Dropping fruit on the floor was practically a rite of passage. But the distressed look on the boy's face stopped Hermione, and made her halt her comparisons of the two children. Scorpius dropped the fork, visibly shaken, looking around as if someone were going to walk in the room and find him with a mess on his shirt.

Though he wanted to, he didn't touch his shirt because his hands were sticky from the honey, which only upset him further. His cheeks flushed.

Hermione had no idea why his mood had shifted so drastically, but managed to get his attention. "Hey, it's okay. Can I help?"

That only made his face go redder. She reached for her wand and Vanished the blemishes on his hands and shirt, which… calmed him down. He was no longer looking at her, instead peering down at his hands. It made Hermione instantly want to help, made her recall the sequence of events that had led up to that point.

Scorpius had been perfectly fine with messy hands, so that hadn't been the issue. He'd only become distraught after his shirt bore a visible stain. Which made Hermione wonder if it had less to do with the blueberry spot itself, and more to do with being caught with evidence of a mistake.

An imperfection.

Hermione offered her hand to him that was stained with the juice of berries she'd cut. "I have stains, too. Take a look." She adjusted on the stool, facing him and holding onto the seat while he did the same, facing her. "I have so many, actually." Hermione pointed to each imperfection on her jeans, starting with the knees. "From weeding this morning." Then she pointed to a faint stain on the centre of her shirt. "From breakfast. Your dad startled me."

With his entrance and stiff, unprompted Good Morning.

Hermione had dribbled a bit of poached egg on her shirt.

She had no idea why Malfoy had startled her so badly. He'd been greeting her ever since that night with Scorpius. It felt like a temporary ceasefire that Hermione had accepted. She would keep her comments to a minimum and he would materialise and look as though he'd actually rested.

On the sofa, her traitorous mind reminded her.

That twinge bothered her more than the stain on her already yellow shirt.

"Stains are okay," Hermione told the young boy who was staring at the dirt on her knee with a pinched expression. "They happen because no one's perfect. Not even me. Your grandmother nearly spilled tea today, so she's not perfect either."

At that, Scorpius lifted his head, blue eyes sharp and inquiring. When would she recover from the shock of him and his mannerisms reminding her so much of his father? Probably never, Hermione thought with an internal shrug and fond chuckle at the little boy who was still eyeing her, basically telling her to elaborate.

So, she did.

"She's not perfect. And that's good. Just like sometimes stains like yours and mine are good." Hermione opened her blemished hands to him, but his eyes remained fixed on her. Listening. "I could clean them away with magic, just like I did yours, but it's okay that I don't. I'm proud of mine. They show that I've worked hard. And when I'm ready, I can just wipe them away and start fresh."

Hermione did just that with a fluid movement of her wand and a whispered spell. His eyes widened in wonder, much like they did when she performed diagnostic charms on Narcissa at breakfast. He was intrigued by magic. "One day, you'll be able to do this, too."

Scorpius appeared confused.

Hermione grinned. "Yes, you'll go off to school and learn just as your father did, and—"

Zippy popped into the room and spotted them both. "Miss Prichard is searching for Young Master. He must resume his lessons."

For the first time, Hermione heard Scorpius make a noise when he sighed before glancing over at her with wide, innocent eyes. It was almost like he was begging her to let him stay. But he couldn't. He'd stayed long enough. She'd given him a well-deserved reprieve.

"It's time to go back to your lessons." Hermione slid off the stool and helped a now pouty Scorpius down. He sullenly fixed his blazer and one of his socks that had rolled down a little.

Perfect again, the little boy turned to leave, but before he could—well, Hermione couldn't help herself. She tapped his small shoulder, which made him turn back to her with sad eyes and pink cheeks. As she had in front of the fireplace, she kneeled in front of Scorpius, putting herself at his eye level. She had no idea why, but Hermione told him, "Thank you for keeping my mint safe."

After hesitating, Scorpius bowed, all stiff movements like he'd been taught.

But when he lifted his head, Hermione shook hers. There were so many things she found herself wanting to tell the little boy while she had his full attention, but instead, she was flooded by odd emotions—regret, empathy, wonder, and just plain old exhaustion.

"Don't bow to me, only smile. When you're ready."

But he didn't, obviously puzzled by her request.

It had never been her place to care about the quietest child she'd ever met, but it wasn't enough to stop Hermione from wanting to hug the sour look off his face like she'd done to Al countless times. Not enough to stop her from wanting to make promises just to make him smile for a bit. It was a similar sentiment to the emotions she felt for Harry and Ginny's kids.

Despite all the ways he was different, Scorpius was also the same.

Just a child.

And a lonely one at that.

But as she grappled with what to say, Scorpius watched her with ever-increasing curiosity, even taking an unconscious step forward—one of significance she recognised for what it was: he was trying, making a small connection and an effort to open the door she'd unconsciously unlocked by providing him sanctuary.

Instead of twisting the lock back into place as she should have, Hermione left it up to him by not saying another word. Allowing him to make a decision about her. Giving him the choice.

She extended an open hand for him to take.

Which he did, slipping his small hand into hers, holding on until they both heard Zippy move behind him. Then he let go. Scorpius only looked back at her once before they vanished from sight, but Hermione remained rooted to her spot long after he left.

It was a mistake.

The entire encounter had been one mistake after another. An overstep on her part—one of those that had been so far over the edge there was no going back. And yet…

Hermione had a lot of regrets, things that she could have done differently or said better. She accepted her flaws for what they were. Owned her mistakes. Understood the sources of her shame. But her inability to continue turning a blind eye to Scorpius—his blue eyes, sweet and guarded spirit, or his silence—much to her utter shock, wasn't something she regretted at all.

"Fuck."

---

Narcissa had been pleased with the surprise extra meal, so Hermione left her to eat it alone at the outdoor table while she enjoyed the setting sun and music from the Wireless. It was later than Hermione usually stayed, as she typically turned the reins over to Zippy to handle her dinners and evening potions after lunch.

Tonight, she would have gone home, but didn't as she needed to make one last stop.

Since accepting Narcissa as a patient, Hermione had been drafting a list of questions that couldn't be answered by her patient or file. Some of her questions had inadvertently been answered by Pansy, but there were more than a few left that could only be answered by one person.

Her son.

Who owed her a favour.

Armed with parchment and a peace offering in the form of a dinner plate, Hermione went to his office.

Malfoy sat at his slightly cluttered desk where it appeared he was still working on his translations. The back of his chair faced forward and the only part of him that she could see was the very top of his head. But that wasn't what first caught her attention.

That honour belonged to a copy of a very familiar blueprint charmed to float at eye-level.

Now, instead of pins, there were coloured letters. A through E. From the doorway, Hermione could hear the sound of a quill scratching against parchment, but couldn't see the evidence that he was writing. His head rose from the parchment before lowering to the blueprint, taking what sounded like detailed notes.

So focused on his task, Malfoy didn't notice her presence until she knocked on his open door.

The intrusion made him sigh hard before rotating in his chair. "Mother, I'm not in the mood to discuss another one of those insipid Marriage M—"

His eyes landed on her, then on the plate in her hand. All of the frustration in his voice, the tension in his shoulders, and the lines on his forehead smoothed out into an expression that wasn't quite indifference. But close.

"Granger." Malfoy released the quill in his hand, allowing it to float beside his head as he leaned back in his chair, elbows resting on each arm. He was the picture of tense ease, an oxymoron, and yet Hermione was beginning to understand that was his default response to her.

Not a threat, but also not an ally. Just something.

She understood the sentiment; it resembled her own.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"May I come in? I made your mother dinner and figured you hadn't eaten. Have you?" Hermione asked, not moving from the doorway.

Malfoy stared at her with an odd expression. A strange moment that ended with an honest response. "I have not."

"Are you hungry? It's salmon and roasted vegetables. I'm not sure what you like but—"

"That's fine." He gestured for her to come in, an offer she accepted, placing the plate on a clear spot on his desk. She didn't sit, but stole a glance around the room while Malfoy pretended not to examine the food. Hermione didn't want to watch him eat any more than he wanted her to watch, so she ventured to the wall of books.

Everything still looked the same, except the ladder, which had been moved recently.

What was he reading? The question rang odd in her own head so Hermione ignored it because what did Draco Malfoy's reading list matter in the grand scheme of things? Nothing.

"Scorpius is asleep on the sofa, if you're here to start that argument we never finished."

Oh?

Without any hesitation, she ventured to the sofa and found Scorpius covered up by the same blanket she'd covered his father with. He looked content, small on the large sofa, and adorable with his thumb in his mouth. From across the room, she heard the sound of a fork scraping against a plate and almost looked up to see if he liked the food, but refrained. Her attention went from Scorpius to the photo above the fireplace then back to the books before settling on the little boy again.

"Does he fall asleep here everyday?"

"No," Malfoy replied after a moment's pause. "Not ten minutes ago, he went directly to the sofa and fell asleep."

Automatically, she brought the blanket to Scorpius' shoulders, tucking him in, ignoring the weight of his father's inspection. By now, she was used to it, even found it a comfortable norm for them. Hermione approached Malfoy's desk next. She didn't sit, but did notice that he had at least tried the food. Eaten a portion of it. It was hard to determine by expression alone if he liked it, but Hermione didn't try to puzzle it out, only handed him the parchment.

"I have written out a few questions about your mother that only you can answer to fulfill your promised favour."

Absently, Malfoy reached for his reading glasses, putting them on before staring at the top of her parchment. He flipped through the pages quickly, eyes widening slightly at the sheer number of questions. "A few?" Malfoy's usual drawl was tinged with a hint of amusement. "There are forty-six questions."

Equally spaced for ample room to answer.

"I'm thorough."

"That you are." It didn't sound unkind, just an obvious statement. He peered up at her from above the rim of his glasses that had slid down his nose. "Thorough enough to observe my mother at a charity event."

Ah, so they were going to talk about this.

Hermione only shrugged. "It's a part of my job." At his doubtful look, she shifted her weight from her left to right. "I watched your mother for symptoms or blank moments, signs of agitation. I need to know what they look like, how they come on, and any cues she gives before they occur. She had none that night."

Malfoy's next query came after a short pause. "Why not ask her directly?"

It was a fair question. "Perhaps she may remember what she was feeling before an episode, but she definitely wouldn't know how she looked. If she got suddenly hot or cold, whether the expression on her face had changed or not. There are little signs that can only be observed."

He stared at her for several moments, seemingly turning her words over in his mind. "Seems plausible." It sounded like a concession and Hermione felt victorious until he glanced back at her list. "I'm too busy tonight to answer these before bed. Perhaps you should just ask my mother. You have a talent for aggravating her into doing things she doesn't want to do."

Another backhanded compliment.

Hermione had already walked down that avenue and ended up at a dead end on each of those forty-six questions. "She'll only provide information she's willing to part with."

Obviously, a family trait.

"I fail to see how…" Malfoy trailed off, eyes back on her parchment, flipping to the third page. "Question nineteen is relevant."

"I would argue that the Black's tendencies towards mental illness are absolutely relevant to her current condition, especially should anyone want to determine if her form of dementia is hereditary. And there will be research done."

Malfoy fixed his glasses, shooting her an appraising look. "You've memorised the questions?"

"Of course, I wrote them."

He took a second look, but suddenly frowned, mood darkening. "This is going to take time that I don't have right now. Perhaps we can schedule a time and place to go through them."

"Okay." She quickly ran through a list of possible compromises that wouldn't antagonise Malfoy any more than absolutely necessary. "My office should do. Feel free to schedule the date and time."

"Will do." Mission accomplished, Hermione turned and headed for the door, nearly breaching the doorway when his voice rang out in the silence. "This doesn't taste bad."

That wasn't at all what she had expected and it made her turn around.

"Thank you? I can't tell if that's a compliment."

"It's not an insult." He kept his eyes on her for a long moment. "I confirmed the secret passageway."

"Oh?" Intrigued, she waited until he nodded before she asked, "And the plan?"

"Moving forward."

That was good.

"Are you sleeping?"

Malfoy's annoyance was visceral, but she waited for an answer anyway, which he eventually gave with a sigh. "I am no longer needed on overnights. The hideout was found Sunday morning and it was abandoned. Hestia has sent in a team of investigators to gather evidence."

"Good to know." Even though he didn't answer the question. Hermione let it go and folded her arms across her chest, bag wrapped around her wrist. "And training?" She had already asked Harry about it once, so while she knew the answer, she found herself wanting to hear his side of things. His perspective.

Malfoy grimaced at the question. "It's going about as well as it can with Aurors, Hit Wizards, and Magical Law Enforcement officers fresh out of training. But Potter…" He trailed off with a sour expression that conveyed the fact that he was more willing to simultaneously eat plutonium while having his organs removed with a rusty spoon than admit to whatever was about to come out of his mouth. "Potter isn't a completely useless teacher."

After suppressing her amusement behind a delicate cough, she let the still-grimacing man in on a little secret…

"Funny, he said the same thing about you."

Malfoy couldn't hide his surprise—or the flash of pride—fast enough before schooling his features behind a suspicious, narrow glare. But it was too late. She'd seen every bit of it.

And just a bit more of him.

The man who removes a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.
Chinese Proverb

---

A/N: Happy Friday! Welcome to the continuing shift happening. I know there's a lot of things to unpack: bits about Draco's marriage, the whole traditional aspect, Pansy and Percy, Narcissa and Hermione's cooling of tension as well as the same happening between her and Draco (and other stuff), but mainly Scorp's moment of sanctuary (which is what the title is named after) and the changes from that (in him taking her hand FINALLY). Ahhhhhh. So many moving parts. So much to come. See you all Friday.