Okay, dear readers. It's time for the time skip. With the exception of some lingering grief centered around Scorpius, the angst is behind us. Do you like fluff? Is that what you signed up for when you originally read this fic? Well then, these final handful of chapters are for you.
All my love to MsMerlin and Graceful Lioness, without whom, this story wouldn't be nearly what it is.
July 2000, a year later.
"Shiloh, love, you need to eat your carrots."
"Ti-loh no!"
"Two bites."
"Ti-loh no!"
The two year old sat in her booster seat at the dining table, her tiny arms folded across her chest and her face scrunched up in a dramatic pout.
Draco sighed and set his fork down, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Remind me again why we were so excited for her to talk?"
Hermione stifled a laugh as she watched her boyfriend and daughter practically imitate each other.
"She's just asserting her independence, Draco. Besides, it's likely our own fault that that's half of what she says. I sometimes feel like that's all we say to her."
Hermione vividly recalled a number of incidents around their home in Muggle London.
There was the time that Shiloh tried to pick up a dead mouse on the street.
There was also the time that their little gift of joy tried to flush her daddy's family crest—a priceless heirloom—down the toilet.
More frequently, there were incidents of colouring on walls and cutting up Hermione's parchment scrolls for work.
Each time, Draco and Hermione ran forward, arm outstretched, eyes wide, yelling, "Shiloh, no!"
The toddler had clearly picked up the phrase.
"Ti-loh no!" became a daily staple to the point that she refused to do practically everything her parents asked of her.
Take a nap?
"Ti-loh no!"
Put on a nappy?
"Ti-loh no!"
While Hermione did find it a bit vexing, she also knew that her daughter was just learning how to express her autonomy. Shiloh was growing up, turning into a tiny human and that's why Hermione did her best not to coddle her too much or show her frustration.
Draco, on the other hand…
He had already summoned the honey jar and a dab of butter from the kitchen.
"Shiloh, you don't like those nasty plain carrots, do you?" He cooed at the toddler, who was straining against the confines of her seat reaching for the sweet treat coming her way. "Well not to worry. Daddy's going to make them taste yummy."
It was Hermione's turn to sigh. "Draco… you do know that you can't keep sweetening up vegetables for her. She'll never learn to actually like them."
"I know, it's just—" He melted the butter over the carrots and then used his wand to pour a dollop of the honey over them as well. "—I can't stand to see her unhappy."
The next time Draco held a carrot out to Shiloh, she gobbled it up.
Hermione shook her head. "You're spoiling her, you know."
"I was spoiled, I'll have you know." Draco stood as Shiloh began to fist the sweetened carrots. "And look how I turned out."
"Precisely." Hermione leaned in and kissed Draco's cheek. "Don't come crying when we get an owl from Hogwarts in several years telling us she's still having temper tantrums." She barely held back a giggle as the tips of Draco's ears turned pink.
The two of them had fallen into a content life together in the year since they'd finished Hogwarts. Admittedly, it had taken a while to feel wholly comfortable around Draco again. After Draco's blow-up following the loss of Scorpius, her trust in him had been shattered.
In that moment, Draco's words had hurt, but Hermione hadn't been some naïve young thing. She knew that he'd been speaking out of grief. She expected him to cool off for a bit and then come back and apologise. They'd move on from their loss somehow. Together.
But he didn't come back. Days passed without a single word. She saw him sitting at the Slytherin table with his old friends. Hermione stole a few glances at him, but every time she looked, he was looking determinedly at his food.
It was just like old times. She didn't exist in his eyes any longer.
That's when her grief really compounded. Ginny spent hours rubbing her back as she sobbed into a pillow up in the Gryffindor girls' dormitories.
Hermione had just about given up hope when Draco had finally turned up, practically groveling. She wasn't sure she was ready to forgive him back then. If she was ready to return to the life they had planned for themselves. Not easily, in any case.
Draco promised to start over—to take things slow in their relationship.
He promised to work on his anger.
To never, ever treat her poorly again.
It had been a big promise, and frankly, one that Hermione wasn't sure he could make good on.
And yet.
Something shifted between them when they dug their fingers into the dirt of the Weasley's orchard together. Hermione wasn't sure exactly what had done it. Perhaps it was the rich earth that helped them grow. Perhaps it had been the simple act of doing something as one.
But Hermione had her suspicions that it was something else entirely.
Although she'd never voiced these ideas aloud, she sometimes wondered if it had been Scorpius who had mended their bond. A part of her knew this was a silly thought to have—that her son was nothing but a memory now. But Hermione knew that she felt him sometimes. When the world was especially still. When a gentle breeze blew past her cheek. When early summer brought his peony back to full bloom.
She and Draco travelled to the Burrow last month just to see it. The flower had unfurled beautifully, its light pink petals swaying in the June air. The two of them sat by it for a long while, sometimes talking quietly to each other about one thing or another, other times sitting in silence. It was there, more than anywhere else, that Hermione felt Scorpius's presence, small but steady. He kept their hearts open—kept them unafraid to reach out and grasp each other's hands.
Draco always took her hand now.
He liked holding her hand. He held it when they were taking a walk in the nearby park; he held it when she visited him on his lunch break at St. Mungo's. He held her hand as they fell asleep at night, his fingers laced tightly with hers.
That's how they had started their relationship over.
All throughout the last summer, Hermione had insisted on limiting their intimacy to holding hands. It had been, admittedly, very difficult to reverse their relationship to that degree. Especially when Draco wandered out of the shower in a towel, his lean torso covered in droplets of water.
But Hermione was nothing if not a woman of moral integrity and she was stubborn to boot. It took her nearly three months of doing nothing but holding hands and talking before she kissed him. And even then, it had been just a peck on the lips.
Snogging didn't come back into the picture until New Years. Mrs. Weasley had agreed to watch Shiloh for the night while she and Draco went out to a party at the Zabini estate. The two Slytherin mates had made up the previous summer over a particularly strong bottle of firewhisky, and were now on good terms again.
After nearly a decade of befriending two men, and now watching Draco and Blaise… well, Hermione came to the conclusion that she would never understand male friendships.
Blaise Zabini was known to throw parties that ran on the wilder side, and by the time the countdown to midnight at this particular event began, the majority of his guests were drunk, dancing on tables and pairing off to find dark corners.
For Hermione, the whole thing was overwhelming. After spending her days at the Ministry and her evenings chasing down a toddler, the sights and sounds and smells of carefree youth were novel and a bit strange in her eyes. Parties and socializing had never been her forte. Not to mention the fact that she was wearing the slinkiest dress she'd ever seen. Black and silky, it barely covered her essential assets. She kept tugging the skirt down in an attempt to feel more comfortable in her own skin, but no adjustments gave her any more coverage.
Had it been under any other circumstance, Hermione might have been tempted to make excuses and leave early. She would've much preferred to ring in the new year in her pyjamas with a glass of wine and one of the books Draco had gotten her for Christmas. But there was one little thing keeping her there, making small talk in high-heel shoes worth her while. It might have been silly, but she had hoped that this dress… these heels… coming to this party—they might entice her boyfriend to finally touch her the way she needed to be touched.
As they made their way around the parlor at the Zabini estate, Draco kept one hand on her lower back, just above her arse. The skin was bare there, just below, she was wearing the first lace knickers she had worn in months. Though her boyfriend hadn't watched her get dressed for the party, somehow she felt like he knew. Perhaps it was the way his thumb traced the dip in her spine that was just centimetres away. Or perhaps the way his fingers grazed the zipper there, like he was itching to pull it down.
After months of limited touching, the feel of Draco's skin on hers was driving her absolutely spare. Although she had set firm boundaries with him about physical contact, there was something about his hands that made her want to throw it all out the window and find a dark corner of their own.
As they chatted amiably with Pansy and some unknown tall, dark, handsome fellow from Italy—one of Zabini's cousins, Hermione guessed—Draco kept shooting her these looks. While Pansy went on and on about some shopping trip she planned to take in Rome next summer, Draco's eyes were fixed solely on Hermione, pupils dilated slightly. His jaw clenched and his lips twitched slightly.
And it only made Hermione's situation worse.
She had already consumed more champagne than she usually would allow herself to imbibe, and the sensation of Draco's fingers on her body was doing far more than offering her comfort. Hermione felt her stomach swoop whenever he looked at her through hooded eyes. And when his thumb dipped just below the zippered edge of her dress, she pressed her thighs together.
They needed to get out of here. Now. She needed to feel his hands everywhere.
Yet when Hermione raised an eyebrow and tilted her head slightly toward the Floo, Draco just smirked and carried on listening to Pansy's shopping plans. He didn't look at her again, though his hand continued to slowly turn her into putty.
When the clock finally struck midnight, it came as sweet relief to press her lips to his. They were soft and insistent. He tasted like the champagne they had been drinking all night. But when Draco started to pull away all too soon—strict with himself as he always was these days—Hermione knew that a single brush of the lips wouldn't be enough to satisfy her.
As mingling resumed in the aftermath of ringing in the new year, Hermione grabbed Draco's hand with an iron grip.
"We'll be headed home now," she spoke to Zabini, her tone far too perky. "Thank you for hosting us. We had a lovely time."
Hermione had just enough time to catch the knowing look Zabini shot Draco before she pulled them into the Floo.
The instant they arrived back home, Hermione's lips were on Draco's, pressing with the need she had felt for the past several hours. She backed him up into the wall beside the fireplace, her hands roaming down the tuxedo blazer she so desperately wanted to rip off of him.
So she did.
Draco made a choked sort of noise but didn't protest as she continued onto his trousers.
"Hermione, are you sure—?"
"Shut up and shag me, Draco Malfoy."
She honestly had no idea where these words were coming from, but once they were out there, it was like the floodgates opened. Within moments, Draco's hands found her arse, and he pulled her closer until she could feel his erection pressing insistently against the silky fabric of her—
"This damn dress," Draco whispered as he trailed kisses down her neck, "has been driving me spare all night. Since when do you own dresses like this?"
Hermione keened as he found a sweet spot near her pulsepoint. "Ginny—" Hermione moaned. "Ginny lent it to me."
Draco pushed the straps aside and continued to kiss down her chest. "Remind me to thank Weaslette later."
With a ferocity Hermione hadn't seen him express in bed before, he turned their bodies so it was her pressed into the wall. He gripped the neckline of the dress and tugged. The garment fell to her waist, exposing her bare breasts. Draco wasted no time enveloping one in his mouth, covering the other with his palm.
His tongue swirled around her nipple and he bit down gently. A shiver ran through Hermione, and from her chest level, Draco shot her a cheeky grin before switching to her other breast to repeat the process.
Hermione tilted her head back, her eyes closing in relief. This was what she needed. How had she gone so long without feeling Draco touch her like this? They had their issues to work through, sure, but it felt silly now, denying herself such pleasure.
For a moment, Draco's hands and mouth left her chest, and Hermione felt a sense of loss. But then his arms hooked around her thighs and dragged her off her feet toward the kitchen.
"I've wanted to have you here since we moved in." Draco set her down in front of the table and spread her knees apart. His eyes were blown wide with lust, slightly crazed and feral. "And you've been teasing me so much with that damned tiny robe of yours that you wear every morning. And now this dress…"
His fingers traced the seam of her dress, which was still on her body—barely. She shivered again.
"Almost, love. Almost," he crooned, his fingers drawing closer to the zipper.
It was almost torture, feeling the zipper slowly, slowly travel over the curve of her arse. But Draco had found her breast again, and his mouth was ensuring she'd be wet somewhere else entirely.
When Hermione felt the dress pool at her feet, she felt Draco take a step back. She watched as he drank her in, wearing only high heels and her tiny lace knickers.
"You are incredible."
He looked at her as though she was a goddess.
She felt like a goddess.
She was a goddess in his eyes.
When he entered her for the first time in months, her arse pressed onto the surface of the kitchen table, it was like every prayer she had ever sent out into the world had been answered. He thrust into her without abandon, his own jaw slack and a string of curses on his lips.
This was what they needed. It was like turning the page, beginning a new chapter. They were done with the misfortunes of the past—done with the hurt and the pain and the tragedy. This was their future. Together. At last.
All in all, Draco lasted about four minutes before he came with a shout. The friction between her legs had been enough to give Hermione a small orgasm, and they collapsed into each other, chest to chest on the kitchen table.
A few minutes later, Draco sank to his knees and proceeded to give her a much stronger orgasm with his tongue.
It was bliss Hermione didn't know she could feel anymore.
From then on, sex became a regular part of their life again.
In their bed, in the shower, on the couch while Shiloh napped… their love life had never been better in Hermione's opinion. There was no need to sneak around and no shame at the regularity of their coupling. Of course, they still had their issues to work through. Living through a war, a late miscarriage, and a series of threats was enough to keep their therapist busy.
That, more than anything, was how she had grown close with Draco again.
It had been their neighbour's idea—their Muggle neighbour, to boot. Hermione and Draco took Shiloh to a local play group a couple times a month, and one of the women had been raving about her couple therapy sessions.
"I swear, it's like we're really hearing each other for the first time," the woman explained as she zipped up her toddler's jumper. "It's been so helpful to have someone to help us talk honestly with each other."
Hermione had shot Draco a pointed look as they walked home from the park that day.
They'd been having sex for a couple months, which had been great. But something still wasn't exactly right. It still felt as if they were properly discussing the trauma they'd faced and their neighbour's suggestion of therapy seemed like it might do the trick.
"What do you think?" she asked from behind the pushcar.
Draco rearranged the nappy bag on his shoulder. "What do I think of what?"
Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Therapy. For us."
He shrugged. "Sounds odd if you ask me. Talking to a stranger about your relationship seems intrusive. Strange, these Muggles…"
"Oh, come off it." Hermione swatted him lightly on the shoulder. "It's a professional we'd be talking to. Someone who can help us get better at talking to each other."
"I don't know what you mean." Draco shifted the nappy bag again. "Both of us are far more proficient than average at talking."
"We're good at talking at each other, but not with each other."
"How very profound, Granger."
They rounded the corner toward their flat. Signs of winter were slowly starting to fade away with harsh, wet winds giving way to crisp, cool breezes. Trees, while still bare, were on the precipice of sprouting new life.
It seemed like a good time for a new beginning.
Nearly five months of couples' therapy later, and Hermione truly felt like their relationship had begun anew. Although Draco had huffed and puffed at first, he'd come around to the idea of therapy... eventually. The man even initiated exercises their therapist had suggested on occasion.
It was… nice.
As Spring turned to Summer and Shiloh turned more and more verbal each day, Hermione felt, for the first time, that her relationship with Draco was solid. They balanced work and home life well enough. They parented their daughter together. They spent their nights wrapped in each others' arms, their bodies intertwined in the most intimate of ways. And as they laid together in bed in the afterglow, they talked.
Just talked.
They talked about their days. About Shiloh's newest milestones. About their hopes for her future—for their future.
Sometimes, they talked about their fears. That was something new to both of them.
It reminded Hermione of that summer that seemed so long ago, when they had passed the time doing nothing but talking and riding bicycles and eating ice cream. It felt like a different life that they had been living back then.
But that was something their therapist had helped them with—helped them to see that all the difficulties of their past had brought them to this point. That they would never be those innocent teenagers again, but that didn't mean they couldn't get to a place where they could find happiness again.
At least, that's what it felt like. That they were finding their happiness.
One suggestion their therapist had put forward was to spend more time together, just the two of them. This wasn't the easiest task with a two year old in the house. They had brainstormed for an entire evening before they came up with the idea to eat lunch together at work.
It didn't happen every day, but Hermione made an effort to make it to St. Mungo's a couple times a week to share food with Draco in the Healer's breakroom. He would have come to visit her at the Ministry as well, if her boss hadn't been such a right bastard.
Hermione didn't use that title lightly.
Mr. Bluster was just as horrible of a boss as Hermione guessed when she met him two years previously during her famously disastrous appointment at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He didn't approve of her taking time off when Shiloh was sick and he certainly didn't look happy when Draco brought sandwiches for them to share during one of their early lunches together. He'd stared at her with his beady eyes as they sat, hunched over in her cubicle together, his features so scrunched that Hermione couldn't see his eyes any longer.
They only ate at St. Mungo's after that.
Today was another day she was going to share lunch with Draco. Hermione had plans to pick up sausage rolls on the way to the hospital. She hummed as she finished her morning's work, her mind flitting to the way Draco indulged their daughter with sweetened vegetables last night—and then indulged her in bed.
Her cheeks heated up at the memory.
Glancing at the clock, she noted that she had five more minutes before she could pop out of the office. She was just polishing off notes on her final memo for the morning when a familiar messy black head of hair appeared in her cubicle.
"Hi, Harry." Hermione rolled up the memo and piled it with the others on her desk. "How's it going?"
She turned to face him, only to find him grinning from ear to ear.
Harry Potter rarely grinned like this. Even well past his teenage years, he was prone to brooding. But he wasn't just grinning—he was glowing.
"What on earth's got you so cheerful this morning?"
Harry's grin grew wider.
"I did it."
Hermione furrowed her brow. "Did what?"
"I've asked her."
"Asked who what?" Hermione placed her quill by her inkwell. Perhaps she would try the new corner store for sausage rolls today. They looked good the last time she had popped into that place.
"I asked Ginny to marry me."
Hermione froze, her hand wavering over the briefcase she had been about to pick up.
"You—what? Harry!"
She was out of her chair in an instant, her arms wrapped around her friend so tightly she thought she might have heard a crunch. "Oooh, Harry! How wonderful! Ginny must be so excited. You know, she's been hinting to me for a while that she was waiting for you to ask." She drew back, holding her best friend at arm's length and grinning just as widely as him. "I assume she said yes?"
Harry radiated joy as he spoke in hushed tones. "She did."
Hermione squealed again, and Harry had to shush her. "I don't need this getting out just yet. Can you imagine the Daily Prophet?"
Grimacing, she stepped back and lifted her hand to cover her mouth. "Sorry, Harry. I can be discrete. You know I can."
Hermione took in her best friend. He really was a changed man from that skinny, too-bold-for-his-own-good little boy she'd met on the train nearly a decade ago. He was getting married, for Circe's sake…
When had they all gone and grown up?
"Any word as to when Draco's going to ask you?" Harry leaned against the wall of her cubicle, waggling his eyebrows slightly. "Word on the street is that he's completely in love with you."
Hermione felt her cheeks heat up at Harry's insinuation. "I… Harry, that's very… I—" She was so flustered she couldn't bring herself to finish a single thought.
Harry just shrugged. "I bet he wants to ask you. Just hasn't gotten the nerve yet. Always was a bit of a coward, that one."
Shifting back, Hermione found her chair and sank into it. She leaned her elbow on the desk and massaged her temple with a sigh. "Honestly? We've talked about it before, but that was a long time ago."
"Maybe it's something you should revisit. Ginny'd like having someone to wedding plan with other than her mother."
He shot her a pointed look that made her lips curl up.
"As much as I can see where Ginny's coming from, Draco and I… we're happy as we are right now. Things finally feel good. Normal. I don't know if we're ready to change things up just yet."
Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Well, no matter what you both decide, I just want you to be happy. You know that, right?"
Hermione offered her best friend a tender smile. "I know that, Harry. Thank you."
Harry straightened and clapped his hands. "Right. I should tell you that Mrs. Weasley is throwing us an engagement dinner at the Burrow tonight. Everyone's invited, of course. I've been instructed to tell you to come hungry."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Would I ever not come to the Burrow hungry?"
The second that Harry had gone, Hermione made a bee-line for the lift. Their conversation, while wonderful, bled into her lunch break by two precious minutes. There wouldn't be time for the uncertainty of a new place for lunch. She'd have to grab sausage rolls from the usual stall in the market around the corner from St. Mungo's.
By the time she made it to the visitor's entrance to the hospital, her hair was a bit frizzier than usual thanks to all the running she did in the summer heat. In her hand, she clutched a hefty plastic takeaway bag.
Draco had been training at St. Mungo's for nearly a year. He'd done rotations on most of the floors, and would soon begin concentrated learning in the paediatric wing. Even though he returned home exhausted most days, Hermione was sure she'd never seen him so content in the time they'd been close.
Hermione asked him about it one night as they laid awake in bed why he liked healing children so much.
He shrugged it off at first, but eventually she got him to admit something. "I get stared at everywhere, and no one talks to me. Kids, though…" He raked his hands through his hair and stared at the dark ceiling. "They're not afraid of me. I'm just the nice man doing their health scans."
Hermione turned her head and grinned. "Nice man, huh?"
Draco offered a half smile in return. "It's different from what I'm used to. But I like it."
Hermione liked seeing this nice man at work. It made her heart clench whenever she watched him kneel down to the eye level of his patients and offer them a sweet or play little games with them as he finished their check-ups.
He really was a nice man, seeing him like this not only confirmed how much she loved him—it also left her achingly sad that not everyone saw him as she did. As these children did.
Hermione made her way to the Healer's lounge like usual, greeting the occasional Healer who she met in the corridor. When she sat in one of the slightly-uncomfortable armchairs in the lounge, Draco came barreling in looking ready for a nap. He smiled when he caught her eye.
"Hello, love," he said as he made his way over and planted a kiss on her cheek.
"Busy day?"
Draco raked his hands through his hair. "Dragon Pox outbreak. Six kids were admitted this morning."
Hermione let out a low whistle. "You're being careful? I wouldn't want you to give it to Shiloh."
Draco's eyes softened as he reached for a sausage roll. "You know I always am."
They chatted about the upcoming paperwork Hermione was set to file later that day and about trying to take Shiloh out to a restaurant sometime. When they finished eating, they simply held hands and continued to chat about whatever topics came to mind. The hour was by far the most pleasant of Hermione's day, and she savoured every minute.
By the time she glanced at her watch, it was nearly time for her to return—by Floo, this time. She thought of the stack of parchment waiting for her in the cubicle and groaned internally. Had nothing of value happened today in her office?
Except...
"Oh, Draco!" Hermione's head popped up, a smile spreading across her face. "I forgot to tell you about Harry!"
Her boyfriend furrowed his eyebrows. "What about him?"
"He proposed to Ginny!"
Draco snorted. "Those two were always meant to tie the knot. Sickly sweet, if you ask me."
For all of her nonchalance about the topic in front of Harry, Hermione knew exactly what she wanted when it came to her relationship with Draco. It had taken her a long time to find confidence in them again, but she wasn't afraid to admit it to herself any longer: she wanted to marry him. She wanted to call him husband and grow old with him.
And even though she had faced down far scarier things in her life, she couldn't quite figure out how to broach the subject.
This, however, might have been the opportunity she was waiting for.
Hermione cleared her throat and leaned in a little closer to her boyfriend. "Are we?"
"Are we what?"
"Meant to?"
She watched as Draco's eyebrows rose and his face coloured slightly. He opened his mouth as if to reply when his wand started buzzing. And the near panic that clouded his eyes moments earlier faded to relief at the interruption that would have normally had him apologising.
Twisting, he pulled it from his holster and flicked it. A message floated in the air before him.
"I've got to go." Draco stood quickly, wiping his hands on his trousers. "One of the little girls with Dragon Pox coughed and accidentally lit her bed on fire. Poor thing's quite shaken."
With a kiss to her temple and a hurried, "See you tonight, love," Hermione was left alone in the Healer's lounge, wondering if his lack of an answer was simply due to distraction or whether it was something more.
The little family arrived at the Burrow via Apparition at six o'clock sharp, ready for the usual commotion that accompanied such an occasion. The house was already packed by the time they arrived, and Hermione had to squeeze past multiple redheads to grab a glass of wine in the kitchen. Before she made her way back to Draco, she slipped outside to get a moment to herself.
Mrs. Weasley had outdone herself as usual. A large spread was laid out on the expanded table out in the garden. Fairy lights floated all around the table, illuminating in a soft orange glow. Two chairs sat at the head of the table, both decorated with streamers and flowers. Above them, a large banner sat in mid-air. It read: "Congratulations to The Boy Who Lived and The Girl Who Stole His Heart!"
The garden would fill with people before long, and Hermione could already picture Harry and Ginny in her mind's eye when they caught a glimpse of the banner for the first time. Ginny would berate her mother for writing such a thing on a large banner for all to see. Harry would turn pink around the ears, but would secretly be pleased.
George would be poking fun of them.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would beam as the couple sat beneath the sign.
Everyone would raise a toast.
So would she. It would be just lovely.
But if she closed her eyes, just for a moment, the glow of the lights still filtering through her eyelids, she could almost pretend that this was an engagement party for her and Draco. It was a larger part of her than she cared to admit that wanted to be the one sitting under an embarrassing banner, surrounded by family and friends as they toasted to their future.
She knew it was silly. Ridiculous. Fanciful. Selfish, even. She should just be happy for Harry and Ginny and be done with it.
But the longer she stood in the garden alone, a nauseating, bitter jealousy grew in the back of her throat.
Right after the war, Harry and Ginny had lived somewhat of a fairytale romance. Ginny often received love letters from Harry in the mail at Hogwarts. They made her laugh and blush over breakfast, and she clutched them to her chest all the way back up the stairs. In the year since finishing Hogwarts, they'd taken a trip to Southeast Asia together. They'd been to numerous Quidditch matches on dates.
And then he'd proposed.
Those were all the relationship milestones Hermione had never had. They'd started with a baby and war. Even after the danger had passed, they faced even more challenges. Threats. Loss. And yet here they still were, showing up to someone else's engagement party, their relationship in the same place it'd been stuck in for so long.
It made Hermione want to scream. She wanted one chance, all alone, to scream out into the world just how unfair this all was.
But no.
Just as the burning jealousy flowed through her veins, it ebbed away, replaced by hot shame.
She was selfish.
So, so selfish for getting caught up in her own insecurities when she was here to celebrate Harry and Ginny.
It just wouldn't do.
Hermione tossed back her glass of wine and rolled her shoulders. Three steadying breaths later, she returned inside to the crowd, the imitation of a genuine smile plastered on her heartsick face.
The evening passed just as Hermione imagined it would. The whole affair was lovely. Toast after toast was given with Harry turning a deeper shade of red with each kind word and glass of wine. At one point, Bill, Charlie, and George each forced a glass of firewhisky on him. By the time everyone had finished speaking, Harry was looking more relaxed than Hermione had seen him in years.
Relaxed enough, it seemed, to whisper something in Ginny's ear and make her smack him in the back of the head.
Hermione managed to shove her jealousy to the back of her mind. She uttered a few words on behalf of the future bride and groom, her wine glass held high.
All in all, she would have been able to cope with the evening's events easily enough.
Except.
At just two months old, Victoire Weasley was this family's newest addition. Everyone oohed and aahed over her as she slept through most of supper in her mother's arms. It was apparent that she was the absolute apple of her parents' eye and the elder Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys' as well. The infant had been passed around to nearly every guest, who had all cooed about what a lovely baby she was.
"Would you like to hold her?" Fleur approached Hermione during dessert and held Victoire out to her with the tired but blissful smile of a new parent. "It's been so long since your little one was this small. I thought maybe you might miss it."
Truth be told, Hermione did miss it. She missed the sweetness of being able to fit her daughter in the nook of her elbow and the bond that came with breastfeeding. She missed how Shiloh used to smell and the little twitchy smiles she used to give when she was full of milk and sleepy. Not that she didn't love having a toddler. There were wonderful things about watching Shiloh recognize colours and learn new words.
And it would have been sweet and nostalgic to hold another baby in her arms.
Except.
Every time she looked at the blond wisps on Victoire's head or her dainty little fingers, Hermione thought she might be ill.
She hadn't been able to look at babies since she lost Scorpius.
Whenever she saw an infant in Diagon Alley or out and about in their Muggle neighbourhood, she'd avoid looking. Crossed the street if she could. Hermione was afraid that she'd be sick if her gaze lingered.
So when Fleur extended the offer to hold Victoire, Hermione's chest nearly caved in as she muttered a quick excuse about needing to get some air. Heart pounding and lungs constricting, she walked to the other side of the Burrow's garden, her whole body stiff as she tried her hardest not to make it look like she was running away. She barely comprehended Draco's narrowed eyes on her before she turned the corner out of sight.
The image of Victoire was burned in her memory. Barely-pudgy cheeks. Flailing arms. New, lopsided smiles. Everything she had been actively trying to avoid, shoved right under her nose.
Hermione heaved right into a patch of marigolds.
There was something oddly comforting about the burning in the back of her throat. Perhaps it was because her external pain matched how she felt on the inside. She gulped at the sweet, summer air. It was sticky. Thick. It felt heavy as she breathed it in.
Hermione closed her eyes, letting gravity take hold of her as she sank to her knees next to the soiled flowers. She spent so much of her time pretending that she was fine—and most days, she really did feel fine—that sadness and grief tended to come in short bursts and overtake her like a tidal wave, leaving her raw and debilitated.
It was… exhausting.
As happy as she was for Harry and Ginny, all she wanted to do now was to go home and curl up in bed.
Like magic, Draco appeared around the corner of the Burrow, his blond fringe flopping over his forehead in the summer heat. The moment he knelt by her side, the tightness in her chest began to subside, if only a little.
She watched his eyes go wide as he spotted the pool of sick.
Vanishing it with the flick of his wand, his arms were around her the next second. The familiar weight and warmth of his body next to hers flooded her veins with comfort. It was almost as though Draco already knew.
Not that it would surprise Hermione. She'd voiced her fears during therapy sessions before. She talked at length about how she saw Scorpius in all of them. It was why she avoided babies these days.
Draco was a good listener. Had he remembered?
"It'll be okay." Draco's voice came as a soft comfort in her ear. "You'll be ready again one day."
He did remember. Hermione's chest unclenched a bit further.
She didn't say anything, but instead, leaned her head on his shoulder. All around them, the sounds of a summer evening chirped and stirred, but they were perfectly still. Hermione focused on her breathing and on the soft scent of cologne that clung to Draco's neck.
"Did you want to go for a visit?"
The suggestion filled the silence, hanging in the sticky summer air.
Would it still be in bloom?
Did that matter?
Hermione nodded, and Draco pulled her up onto her feet. He kept an arm tucked snugly around her waist as they made their way to the orchard, just beyond the garden.
There, amongst the trees, stood their peony. Scorpius's peony.
It was still blooming, bright pink against the inky shades of evening.
The moment she saw it, a sense of peace washed over her. All the tension that had filled her muscles and the burning at the back of her throat made way for a sense of serenity. Of complete calm.
Hermione thought she might cry again, but instead of the telltale tightening of her jaw or stinging in her eyes, there was only calm. A small smile stretched the corners of her mouth.
It was hard to know how she knew it, but at that moment, it was so obvious.
One day—one day when more of her scars had healed, she'd be able to think of babies again.
But the most reassuring part of it all was that Draco would be there.
She was going to be fine. They were going to be fine. So what if Draco hadn't proposed? They were happy. They loved each other.
Hermione reached down and laced her fingers with Draco's. He was staring at the peony with wet eyes, but the moment their hands connected, he blinked and turned his head.
"Are you okay?" He sniffed, eyes brightening.
Her sweet Draco. How he had grown. In years past—even months past, he would have never considered her feelings before his own. But here he was, trying to push his own grief to the side to make way for hers.
It made her feel whole and so, so proud.
"You were right," she said, smoothing his fringe with her free hand. "I'm going to be fine. Maybe not yet. But I will be. And I think you'll be all right, too."
Draco's mouth wobbled a little. "You think?"
"I know."
They both turned back to the peony. It really was beautiful. Beautiful and strong, it was everything they had hoped their son would be. His spirit still swirled around in the air, and Hermione felt a nudge within her to speak. To say what had been too hard to say before now. Even in therapy.
"When we're ready, do you want to have another baby?"
She felt Draco tense beside her. His grip on her hand tightened slightly.
"What if it attaches to the wrong side again and we lose it again?" Hermione heard him swallow before he continued. "I don't know if I could go through that again."
Hermione grimaced. "I know. I don't know if I could do it either. But I've been thinking. What if there was a way to mend my uterus? There might not be a magical way, but there could be a Muggle way."
Draco frowned, his brows knitting together. "Would that be safe?"
"I'm sure it'd be relatively safe. We'd have to do some research."
To her surprise, Draco snorted.
"Hermione Granger, doing what she does best: Research."
She shoved him lightly with her shoulder. "Hey. I think it's a good idea."
Draco just shook his head with a small smile. He leaned down and kissed her on the top of her head. "It's a wonderful idea. I'd love to have another if we can. But if we can't, I need you to know that I'm okay with that, too. I'm more than happy with just Shiloh."
Though Draco smiled down at her as he spoke, she saw in his eyes that he wanted another child. Children, even. He was such a good father. So doting. So attentive. He deserved as many children as he wanted.
They'd both grown up as only children. From the stories they told to each other, it'd been a somewhat lonely experience on both ends, and there had always been an implication in those stories that they didn't want Shiloh to be lonely as well.
Hermione wasn't ready to make that a reality. Not yet. But she was ready to admit it's what she wanted.
One day.
For now, she was content.
What's that? You want more fluff? If you insist!
I know how much you all wanted Draco to beg for forgiveness. Some of you weren't even sure if Draco deserved to be forgiven. I hope that I've painted a hopeful, realistic picture of what that forgiveness could look like. Hermione didn't leap back into his arms, but instead, they took their time retracing their relationship back to the beginning. And it's made them stronger.
So much love to you all. There are 7 more chapters, each fluffier than the last.