Seventeen
Shades of Grey
June 24, 2011
Keeping secrets required constant vigilance and deception, the ability to suppress all thoughts and prevent accidents. Hermione learned after years in the Ministry and being Harry's friend that the problem with keeping secrets wasn't hiding something, it was that she had to live with it and think about it every day.
Catherine was no secret keeper.
She was, in fact, the mole feeding Malfoy information about Hermione's interactions with Scorpius.
Which was fine.
Hermione had nothing to hide.
But it was something to keep in the pocket of her memory during their conversations. She had no idea how in depth Catherine's reports were, though she was curious to find out, but that was a conversation for another day because right now, there was something going on.
The instant Catherine entered the room, Hermione knew she had a secret.
A big one.
She was so excited she could barely contain herself. If Catherine smiled any wider her face might crack. The combination of her energy and grin struck Hermione as odd; she had never gotten the impression that Catherine, despite her age and talkative tendencies, was an excitable person.
Hermione wasn't the only one puzzled either.
Scorpius stared at his nanny with narrowed suspicion that would have been humourous had he not appeared wary and anxious as well. He wasn't the sort that handled vast changes in—well anything. His nervousness took form in his hand grasping the ends of her cardigan. It made her ache. Scorpius' world had been altered too much, too quick, with little conversation or warning. How was he to know what was expected of him if the behaviours of those constantly around him kept changing?
Hermione felt anxious at the mere thought, but that was Scorpius' reality.
Momentarily, she distracted his rising panic by nudging the cactus into his line of sight; the same plant Narcissa had been glaring at all week during shared meals. Her opinions about the cactus could likely fill tomes, but to Hermione's infinite surprise, the Malfoy Matriarch had not said anything about their succulent guest outside of the occasional scowl or dignified eye roll.
Still, the cactus diversion worked.
Scorpius focused on it instead of the erratic, exuberant energy emanating from his nanny. With her eyes, Hermione tried to signal for her to stop grinning so hard, but Catherine didn't seem to understand. She held that crazed look until Narcissa—after finishing breakfast, potions, and diagnostic testing—left with Sachs and security for a day of schmoozing with other society matrons and their eligible daughters. Even after she was gone, Catherine still waited another full minute to speak, eagerly watching the doorway.
Just in case.
Hermione barely paid her any mind, too busy observing Scorpius, who appeared more relaxed now that he was focusing on his prickly new friend. He then eyed his scrambled eggs with cheese and spinach with suspicion. She was attempting an experiment to test what he would willingly eat. Hermione had made the combination for herself, and at the time, Scorpius had seemed intrigued, but now that it was on his plate, she wondered if his interest had been exclusively due to it being hers.
When he began to reach for his toast, covered in blueberry jam, then pulled back, she pointedly cleared her throat, which made him pause and sheepishly ducked his head, taking his first reluctant bite.
They had an agreement.
After yesterday's hiding episode—when not even Hermione could find him—they agreed to no hiding and breakfast. The cactus had been a last-minute addition. His reward? A second lunch outside with food that didn't require table manners.
And when his eyes widened at the first bite of the mix, it became all too obvious that he had won the better end of the deal.
She didn't mind.
It wasn't about winning or losing; it was about him.
Fondness swelled in Hermione as she watched Scorpius enjoy his breakfast. Catherine excused herself but Hermione barely noticed her exit. A bit of jam dribbled down his chin, landing on the napkin they both wore to protect their shirts—something Scorpius insisted on, despite Narcissa's argument about it not being proper. Hermione Vanished the stain. He signed his appreciation with a sign they had both learned on Monday, tapping his chin while wearing the barest hint of a secret smile.
"Okay!" Catherine returned to her seat. "Narcissa's gone and I have so much to tell you."
Despite her personal irritation with the young witch and the questions forming in her mind, insatiable curiosity would always be Hermione's vice. She gestured for the witch to continue. "What is it?"
"Narcissa called an early morning meeting to inform us of the adjustments we are to make to Scorpius' schedule."
The subject of the conversation froze, looking to Hermione with wide eyes. Not that it mattered, she was already indignant on his behalf. She nearly cast a Muffliato to privately voice her irritation with the fact that everyone—especially Catherine—talked about Scorpius like he wasn't there. Like he wasn't absorbing every little thing like a sponge. Like he couldn't understand.
But he damn well could. In fact, he understood some things better than the adults.
"Sorry." Catherine had clearly noticed her shifting mood. "It's a good change that he needs to know." She gave a leery Scorpius a soft smile meant to make him feel better, but he only looked more distrustful.
"Oh?"
"Yes. Narcissa gave us the liberty to stagger his schedule. We'll be alternating subjects every other day."
Well, that was a surprise. Hermione barely maintained control of her jaw.
Catherine was almost giddy with excitement. "It's to allow him an hour and a half of free time in the morning, which will include lunch, and half an hour in the afternoon."
Hermione's heart fluttered at the prospect, but like Scorpius, she was highly suspicious. This was obviously Narcissa's response to their argument, but she had no idea if the witch was being genuine or simply felt guilty.
Honestly, though, did it matter?
No.
Either way the end results would benefit Scorpius…
He was mid-chew on his eggs, cheeks puffed, blinking slowly as if he were trying to decode a cypher.
"Mind your manners, Scorpius."
For her comment, Catherine received a blank look from her charge and a fierce look from Hermione that either she didn't register or chose to ignore.
"When Mrs Malfoy told me, I went and bought as many toys as I could think of to entertain him for his break today."
"Ah?" Hermione drifted back to a conversation with Theo that involved a children's dictionary.
"Yes, we're going to have so much fun!" There was an energy about her that was endearing… and completely lost on Scorpius, judging by the way his eyes once again awkwardly cut from his nanny to Hermione.
He didn't need to sign for her to see that he was asking for help.
"I would take it slow, perhaps?" It wasn't a suggestion as it was abjectly steering Catherine from her original plan, but her grin was still present, and it was clear she was already planning all manner of activities for him. "Or maybe just let him draw pictures to Albus." Her smile didn't fade and Hermione's finite patience was reaching its natural end. "Perhaps one toy. You don't want to overwhelm him."
"That sounds quite dull." Catherine waved her off dismissively. "He's a child, Miss Granger. I've never met one that only played with one thing."
Scorpius tapped Hermione on the arm to show her that he'd finished his food.
"Nicely done. I'll take your plate."
He would walk it over to the sink if she didn't tell him otherwise.
He removed the napkin from his neck, folding it neatly before offering it to her. Hermione used it to clean the bit of jelly that had accumulated on the corner of his mouth. He didn't mind, just sat there patiently with his head tilted up until she finished.
"There you go." Hermione absently swept back a bit of fringe that had fallen on his forehead. "Are you ready for today?"
Whatever good mood he had been in instantly vanished when the little boy sombrely nodded, which didn't exactly inspire confidence that he wouldn't sneak off to the cupboard the first chance he got. But it would have to do.
"Remember our deal?"
Scorpius signed yes.
Only four lessons in and the amount of single words he'd retained was amazing.
Before Hermione could respond, Catherine spoke up, sounding animated in a way that would appeal to most children. "We're going to have a great day, right Scorpius?" He blinked. "We're going to learn about history, art, and maths before you get to play." Expressive blue eyes shot over to her, mouth forming an O shape while his nanny continued on, missing all his uneasy cues. "That's right, you get to play today. Are you excited?"
Like dark clouds rolling in from the west, Scorpius' glazed look of utter confusion seemed ominous…
Knowing all she did, all Hermione could muster was something akin to… cautious optimism—at best.
At worst? She hoped it wouldn't get there.
Experimentation began with motivation.
A need to solve a problem.
Most would say that it began with a hypothesis, but Hermione felt it was currently too soon for prediction. To her, experimentation truly began with a detailed understanding of one's material, a gathering of relevant knowledge so she could perform a full review to organise and condense it into something easily digestible.
Symptoms and causes. Diagnoses and suggested treatments—both magical and Muggle. Recommended potions and the list of ingredients in each.
She included a drafted summary of the last three months of Narcissa's progress along with results of diagnostic charms and copies of her brain scans spanning from diagnosis to the most recent. Everything was arranged and copied for Roger.
For his case study of Narcissa.
The only thing Hermione left out was the theoretical analysis: her research into building a potion and notes regarding the magic involved in the process. That combined with the information from Charles' failures might one day lead to a success.
She had tested a few options and failed, but she was learning the art of creating a brew.
Roger reviewed everything while drinking coffee. "The patient's brain scans don't show much change from diagnosis to now."
Something that surprised Hermione as well, given the rough road thus far.
"This is good." He took another sip of his coffee, never letting his eyes wander from the notes in front of him. "What have you been doing?"
"Potions. It's a blend already used to treat patients with her form of dementia by American Healers, but I've tweaked hers to account for several other factors, including weight. Furthermore, I make certain she engages in physical activity. I've monitored her diet, mental stimulation, stress levels, among other things. It's all there in my report."
"Snape assigned shorter essays than this." He chuckled in amusement. "It will take a while to read."
"I wanted to be thorough." Hermione shrugged, but she could still feel her cheeks warm with the stain of awkwardness that came with overachievement
"I appreciate that." Roger finally set the parchments down and met her anxious gaze. "Which is why I have no qualms in asking if you've changed your mind about the Head Researcher position."
"No, I haven't."
"Very well." He sighed. "There will always be a position for you. All you have to do is ask."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"These are the candidates we have in mind to recruit for the position and I'd like your opinion, at the very least." Roger pulled out his desk drawer and retrieved a parchment for her to review. "I believe some of the names are familiar to you as you've likely been in contact with them. I'd like your opinion."
Hermione leisurely skimmed each candidate's credentials, rejecting one after another until her eyes fell on a familiar name.
"Charles Smith would be a good fit. He's incredibly knowledgeable and helped me immensely when I began working with Narcissa. We're still in communication." Pulling the profile from the stack, she brought it to the front before handing it back. "As far as the rest? No."
"Thank you."
Hermione left Roger's office thirty minutes later and stopped by Theo's to drop off the loose tea leaves she'd wrapped up for him earlier that day. Her timing was impeccable. He wasn't in meetings with the board or with the Security Team and Ward Specialists about the breaches that had been happening. Two in the last month. An escalation from the occasional. The moment Theo saw her in his doorway, he seemed to relax, relieved to escape the parchment piled on his desk.
They sat on the sofa after, indulging in the toffees he kept in his desk.
The ease between them didn't last long, a sign that Theo was eager to speak. A first.
He reached into the pocket of his shirt, retrieving a letter. "Sent to you for Scorpius. It's clean."
Albus' voice letter. Another one of her ideas, in addition to their enchanted parchment, to foster communication between the boys. Scorpius had been enjoying the picture exchange the last few days, and the letter would be a welcome surprise for lunch.
"Good. Thank you." Hermione deposited the letter into her bag. She pulled out an envelope for him, which made Theo arch an eyebrow. "Scorpius wanted to send Albus pictures of the cactus he keeps drawing so I took some for him."
Fond amusement tickled his features when he accepted her letter with a soft shake of his head.
She smiled. "He picked which pictures to send himself."
"I'll send it off straight away." Theo took extra care as he placed the envelope on the table. "How is he? Narcissa has been quiet during tea with Pansy and I for the last few weeks."
Not a surprise, but Hermione wisely kept that to herself.
"I'm teaching him sign language." She crossed her legs at the knees. "He needs to be able to communicate in some form. Narcissa—"
"She may not consider it a normal way to communicate, but I think it's a good idea." Theo offered her another piece of toffee.
Untwisting the wrapper, she paused before fully unwrapping the treat. "I have moments when I feel I'm overstepping, but—"
"She knows."
Which meant that if Narcissa truly wanted to stop it or her, she would. It begged the question of why she hadn't. Narcissa did very little without reason.
"Has he signed in front of her?" Theo's voice was tinged with concern.
"He knows he can't." Hermione had not told him that, though; Scorpius just knew. It begged the question of how Narcissa had found out in the first place. She briefly wondered if Catherine had told her.
Not entirely improbable.
She definitely needed to curb her words around the witch.
"How much have you taught him?"
"It's only been a couple of days, but I've shown him functional signs, and he's mastered those quickly. I only have to show him a couple of times, tell him what they mean, and he remembers. I've been working on more conversational signs to teach him. I'm looking up classes that I can take to improve, too. I don't want to teach him incorrectly and while the book is a good start, it's not enough."
"I never thought I would hear Hermione Granger say that a book wasn't enough." Theo looked vastly amused, and when she glared at him, his smirk morphed into a full smile. "Seems like life at the Malfoys' isn't the only thing that's changing."
Cryptic words that lacked his normal subtext and meant two things: Theo somehow already knew about Narcissa's schedule adjustments and he wanted to talk to her. Rather than inquire about how he knew, she decided to take a different avenue.
"Oh?" She retwisted the wrapper and placed the candy in her bag. Their conversation was at its true beginning. "What sort of changes?"
"Don't act like you aren't the reason Narcissa was up in arms earlier this week." His look was disparaging. "You're too smart to play dumb."
That almost sounded like a compliment.
"I've never liked your word games, Theo."
"I think you'll find I play few games when it comes to that family." The combination of his tone, statement, and presence heightened her awareness in the silence that followed. "I feel you and I are allies on that front."
"To an extent, yes." Hermione folded her arms, leaned back on the cushion, and looked at him. "I meant every word I said to Narcissa. I'm not accepting any opinions on my comments to her today or in the future."
"And I won't disagree with what you said."
Hermione was caught off guard. Her pulse thumped in preparation for a battle she did not want to fight, but one she would if she had to. "If you're here to discuss my professionalism, I'll have you know that I tried to hold my tongue, but she kept pushing."
"That she does, and no I'm not. I trust you."
A great compliment coming from Theo. It did its intended job, untwisting the forming knot in her stomach and quelling her racing heart. He fell silent, appearing to organise his own thoughts in order to display them how he wanted her to see them. Apparently it took an entire piece of toffee to get it just right.
"Pansy and I have had this discussion several times in the past regarding Scorpius' schedule and how hard she is on him." Theo pursed his lips. "Our opinions are similar to yours on both matters."
Discussion sounded a lot like argument.
It felt nice not to be alone on that front.
"But it seems you've gotten her to bend." The corners of Theo's mouth twitched before he looked away. "I'm impressed, but I still want to talk about what you said."
"Theo…" That feeling was returning ever so slowly. She clenched her fist. "I'm—"
"The reason I feel we need to have this discussion is mostly due to your lack of knowledge surrounding pureblood customs."
"If another person says that, I'm going to start—"
"Though you don't appear to care." Theo made several calming gestures with his hands when he saw her mouth open to let the fire in her out. "Hear me out. They seem archaic to you and, in many ways, they are, but that's how we were raised. My mother died when I was young and I was raised by my governess. I never saw much of my father until I was around seven or eight, which is normal in all the ways you believe it's not."
"Would you do the same if you were in your father's position?"
"No, but I'm a different man." There was an undercurrent of emotion coming from the man who was usually smooth on the surface, but it only lasted a split second. "I understand where to draw the line between following tradition and creating my own, but others are still learning. Right or wrong by any standards, our customs are ingrained into the core of who we are as people. When you strive to become a different person, it's incredibly difficult to rip yourself from the past. The act is like separating pieces of yourself. It leaves you fractured and incomplete, but with new room to grow."
Theo gave her a meaningful glance before standing to summon two teacups and the kettle from his desk. All three items landed on the coffee table with ease. He made tea for the: licorice root tea. She tasted hers and frowned because it didn't have enough honey. And no lemon. Tolerable, but not to her preference.
"I understand what you're saying, however—"
"No one is perfect, Hermione. Sometimes pieces are left behind, things get missed, and humans are often stubborn… as you know."
Her mind went right where he wanted it to go—Narcissa Malfoy—and she shook her head.
"We're going to make mistakes and choices that others won't like." His expression remained as steady as his voice. "But understand that we're doing what we feel is right, which is always a matter of opinion."
"True."
"People don't change because they want to. They change once they recognise—logically, socially, and or emotionally—that they need to." He reached for his tea and took a sip before placing it back on the table. "Change is a gruelling process. It requires doggedness and deep commitment. It's also a slow process, not a sprint, and you'll want to cling to some semblance of normality just to feel like yourself."
Hermione, who was sipping her own tea and thinking about his every word, watched Theo turn towards her.
"What you need to understand is that while some of us are further along than others, there are a few who have made an entire lifetime of changes in a few years." Theo tapped a patient finger on the arm of the sofa. "I'm not saying to excuse anything, but don't negate the changes they have made because they're not where you expect them to be yet."
He wasn't entirely wrong. She could admit that perhaps she hadn't been completely fair to Narcissa, failing to factor in the large strides she had made. The way she watched without speaking, gave liberties with Scorpius, and listened to Hermione's opinion without completely dismissing her. And if Hermione wanted to, she could go backwards. To the beginning. To the truth that Narcissa had never once treated Hermione like the slur she had raised her son to call people like her.
When considered, Hermione internally grumbled before sighing heavily. "I do understand. I just don't know how you can stand by and watch."
"I do what I can," Theo admitted. "I'm not as well-versed in children and wasn't around much, so Scorpius hasn't taken to me as well as he seems to have taken to you." Theo sounded as disappointed as he looked. "It's not like I haven't tried."
"Scorpius struggles to connect. Not just with his father, but with all the people in his life. He wants to, so badly, but he's anxious and afraid to do the wrong thing. Maybe this is because of Narcissa's firm hand or another way his grief has presented itself. I can't say for certain. Drawing with Albus helps, sign language helps, but—"
"He's connected to you."
"I want to see him grow and he can't do that without nurturing, affection, and a sense of security." Hermione finished her tea quickly. "I'm trying to build his confidence and I have been trying to give him the foundation he needs. He's drawing, we're signing, he's making choices. I bring my cactus over because it seems to help ground him, and Narcissa's now allowing him two breaks a day. I've been working on him coming out from around the corner to greet his father in the morning, but it doesn't help that Malfoy has been so busy that he hasn't been around outside of leaving Scorpius' note and my tea."
"Draco leaves you tea?" Theo blinked twice. "Daily?"
Hermione suddenly felt like she was taking a test and choosing between two impossible answers, both of which were somehow wrong.
"He… does. Daily."
"Interesting."
Hermione rolled her eyes at Theo's mysterious tone, and almost commented on it, but a thought passed in front of her.
A rogue one that had been running free for too long.
"How did you become Scorpius' godfather?" Hermione refilled her tea despite not liking it. She was parched. "I didn't know you and Malfoy were close in school."
"We weren't," Theo replied with a small shrug. "I have known Draco all my life, but I refused to be another one of his sycophants."
"And now?"
"I made a vow to look after both him and Scorpius."
That piqued Hermione's curiosity. "An Unbreakable?"
"No, but I'll never break it." Theo's words were fierce with determination.
The cogs in her mind started turning at a higher rate of speed while she filed the intensity of his response away.
"Who did you make it to?"
"Astoria."
Hermione took a deep breath, feeling as if she were standing on the edge of something too deep, but there she was, ready to take the plunge. It might seem like a small molehill to some, but to her it was a steep cliff above the deep unknown.
Astoria.
In learning Scorpius, in watching him each day, Hermione found herself wanting to know more about her. The woman who shared his eyes and spirit. The woman who had lived by sheer strength of will long enough to teach Scorpius compassion and empathy for everything—even a leaning cactus.
The woman whose absence was felt in every person around her.
In every place.
In every conceivable way.
Hermione inhaled her loss but exhaled her memory.
"How…" She had to carefully consider the best way to approach the delicate topic. "How was—"
"The gladiolus were a nice touch. Charmed to never die?" Theo glanced over at her, meeting her eyes. "I'll keep your secret."
"I didn't know her. It seemed like a good choice at the time."
"She was strong despite being ill and frail. She had more compassion and integrity than anyone I had ever known. Such a rare thing. It was a fitting tribute."
The air between them felt heavy enough for tears to swell in Hermione's eyes. She blinked them back as best as she could, but they rolled down her cheeks anyway.
"For all the way he's Draco's son, down to his mannerisms and personality, there is just as much of Astoria in him."
"His kindness."
"No." Theo looked away and chuckled. "Hard to believe, but that's not only from her."
His words lingered in the silence that hung over the room as Hermione's emotions began to recede. Eventually he resumed the conversation, steering it down another path. He asked if she knew why Pansy and Ginny wanted to use his Pensieve, but she had no idea. A quick glance at her watch made her jolt.
"I have to stop by Padma's." Hermione stood up. "We'll finish this conversation later."
"I'm certain we will."
Hermione rushed to tuck everything away for later. She gave the solemn man, who was staring ahead at the fireplace in front of him, one last look before leaving.
By the time Hermione arrived at her next stop, Padma was just finishing up with Group Therapy in a room full of new werewolves. On the walk back to Padma's office, Hermione finally asked a question she had been dying to know.
"The Aurors and Task Force members bitten in the raid, are they—?"
"All negative for Lycanthropy, but they'll eat their steaks rare."
It was a relief, of course, but it still made her insides quiver. Greyback had been out of control since his Azkaban breakout five years ago.
"Have you lost any wolves?"
"Two in the last three weeks." Padma sighed. "But none since May."
"That's two more that are likely at his side."
"And a total of twelve in the years I've been doing this, but we have also had some defect from Greyback's side, which is promising." Padma tapped her wand against the door to her office. There was a faint click before it opened. "All I can do is try to provide them with a safe haven. I don't want to give them any reason to answer his call on the full moon. Laws have been passed to ensure their protection and humanity, but prejudices run deep. They make the Death Eaters' promise for change appealing."
"Greyback doesn't want change. He wants chaos and blood."
"Not just anyone's blood." Padma gave her a meaningful look. "According to the defectors, he wants yours."
A chill ran up her spine.
Hermione didn't need the reminder.
It was always there.
Padma led the way into her office and Hermione followed. The space was nice and inviting, scented with sandalwood and sage. Calming. As Padma put away her files, Hermione leaned against the side of her desk.
Padma cast her a glance. "I'm going to say something you'll hate."
"Wouldn't be the first time, but go on."
"I know you're not out much. I know you spent the last full moon at Pansy's. And I know you've got strong wards, but have you considered getting protection?"
"No. I can take care of myself."
"I know." Padma frowned in disappointment. "But maybe you should let someone else try for once. The things they've said he says about you are…" Padma shuddered.
The clock on her wall chimed twelve times. Hermione was late. Knowing that Padma wasn't finished with the topic, she promised to add it to her list of things she needed to consider.
"Where are you off to?"
"Lunch with Scorpius."
"Malfoy?" Padma's surprise was visible. "The little one?"
"Yes." Hermione paused. "Have you met him?"
"A few times. He doesn't take well to strangers. Or at least he didn't take well to me, but I'm terrible with children."
But Padma, to her surprise, left it at that.
A handful of Floo powder later and she was back in the Malfoy's empty living room with a little more than half an hour to prepare lunch. Hermione wanted to provide him with a kid-friendly option, so she made him Al's staple: half of a regular hamburger and a veggie burger to test her hunch. She also prepared celery and carrots she'd chopped up in small pieces so he could pick them up with his hands.
Per their agreement.
She made herself and Catherine a similar lunch, and when they didn't come down on time, Hermione frowned. Most days, she could set her watch to Scorpius' schedule. But that had changed. Gravitating toward the door that led out to the garden, Hermione glanced around and found exactly what she was looking for.
Hindsight was definitely twenty-twenty.
An incredibly pale Scorpius sat in the grass, surrounded by tiny bubbles. Catherine appeared at her wit's end, steadily creating more soapy spheres with her wand while making excited noises to engage him.
It didn't appear to be working. Scorpius simply ignored her chaos, holding the cactus and looking supremely unimpressed—with everything. Staring straight ahead, his eyes looked empty, fixed on nothing, but his tight grip on the potted plant gave her a spark of hope that he was still there.
Then Hermione noticed just how hard Scorpius held the pot. Oh! He was stressed.
The bubbles weren't popping, just gathering on his face and clothes, which made him retreat further into apathy. One of the larger bubbles bumped the back of his head, and she witnessed his expression slip into irritation. Then back to blank.
Lined up next to his nanny were her other failures: a football, a bag of legos, and several magical toys.
Hermione took a deep breath before stepping out. She would need all the patience she could muster.
"Thank goodness you're here." Catherine's prior optimism was seemingly spent. "I don't know where I went wrong."
Hermione could think of a few moments, but she kept that to herself as she turned her attention to Scorpius. He hadn't even noticed her, but his frown deepened when bubbles began gathering on the cactus, making it appear slightly shiny. He took off his blazer to cover it. Protect it. In turn, he appeared to make himself more uncomfortable.
"You can start by Vanishing the bubbles." Hermione suggested evenly. "He obviously doesn't like them." To put it mildly.
"I thought they would be fun. All kids like bubbles."
Hermione gestured to the obvious exception. "Clearly not."
With an exasperated wave of her wand, the nanny Vanished the bubbles.
The little boy instantly looked around before uncovering the cactus and touching his face to make sure it was all gone.
"He doesn't play," she said. "I tried to provide activities that most kids his age would enjoy, but he's rejected everything."
"Did you let him draw with Albus?"
"We got a note back that Albus would be away until his afternoon break. He'll draw with him then. Meanwhile, I thought it would be a good idea to let him play with something else. But nothing has worked. I was trying to give him as many activities as possible, but—"
"I'm no expert on children, but perhaps you should let him choose." Hermione shut the door behind her, and Scorpius perked up.
"But—"
"I know you mean well, and you want him to enjoy normal playtime, but this is his time. Scorpius should be the one who decides how to spend it. If he wants to sit in the middle of the grass with a cactus, then so be it."
"I thought I could help." Catherine sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I was trying—"
"Rushing him isn't helping, it's just stressing him out." Hermione tried not to sound exasperated, but judging from the falling expression on the nanny's face, she failed. "It's fine. You tried and it didn't work. There's always tomorrow. And the next day. As long as you keep trying, you'll succeed one day. Eventually, the novelty of having his own time will wear off and he'll want something else to entertain him."
Catherine nodded with growing understanding.
"But right now, let him enjoy the simplicity of a moment that's all his." Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the little boy who was approaching with the leaning cactus in his hands. "Can you bring our plates out for lunch? I left them on the island."
Hermione watched Catherine go before turning to Scorpius. At her side, he presented the plant with extended arms and wide eyes.
As she had every day since Tuesday, she bowed her head a little and signed a greeting to the cactus. "Hello there." Then Scorpius. "And hello to you, too."
She could have sworn she saw him mouth the word back.
As if struck by lightning, her heart jolted, but Hermione guarded herself, trying not to make too much of the moment lest she scare him into regression. But she was still buzzing from the proud moment as she guided him to the table.
Lunch was a quiet affair.
They sat at the small, outdoor table instead of in the grass because it started thundering. It would soon rain, and Scorpius was just as fond of inclement weather as he was of sitting in the sun. He calmly enjoyed his veggie burger, ignoring the hamburger after an initial sniff, confirming her suspicion that he didn't care too much for the smell of meat. Hermione ended up taking it off his plate when he kept giving it aggravated glares and moving his carrots and celery away from the bun.
They worked on sign language while Catherine excused herself to check in with the tutor. Today's lesson included family members. The conversation with Theo was still fresh in Hermione's mind so she skipped Mother and taught him to sign the next word on the list.
"Father."
Scorpius immediately rushed to the glass door, looking in, a sad frown appearing when he didn't see what he had been searching for. What he had been searching for every morning. He returned to the table, mood sour. The miscommunication hurt them both.
"No, this is how you sign Father." She showed him again, feeling almost as heartbroken as he looked when he signed it back, sadness rising like the shifting tide.
Hermione ended the lesson and decided to hold Al's letter until Monday.
"How can I help?" She turned her chair and moved his so they were directly in front of each other.
Scorpius signed the new word again: Father.
And she understood. "He's been working a lot lately. I haven't seen him. I know you miss him."
He lifted a hand, but struggled to sign his response.
Eventually, though, he did.
Yes.
Catherine returned.
It was time for lessons.
Scorpius got up without fuss, but instead of following his nanny back inside, he stood in front of Hermione and nervously looked down at his feet. Hermione held up a hand, asking Catherine to give them a few minutes. She nodded and ducked back into the house.
"What is it?"
He pressed his ear against his shoulder before pointing at the cactus. Ah. He wanted to take it with him.
"You can't take it to lessons because it will distract you from learning. We don't always like every rule, but we still have to follow them."
He expressed his understanding with a nod.
"I have to work, so I'll leave it until your break later and you can draw pictures of him for Albus."
Scorpius peered at her. He stood up straight, and grew more serious, more stiff. He started signing every word he'd learned, which made no sense. He was trying to communicate something even she couldn't understand. Then, he stopped, lowering his head in frustration until Hermione tilted his chin up, fixing the hairs that had been blown out of place by the breeze during lunch.
He cast a solemn look at the prickly little cactus.
Lonely.
Hermione almost cursed herself for not realising the reason behind his apprehension. Yes, he wanted to take it to lessons with him, but not because he needed the companionship.
He didn't want it to be alone.
He knew what it was like.
"I'll take him with me to my office so he won't be lonely." Hermione smiled when Scorpius' eyes slowly brightened. "It's time for your afternoon lessons."
He didn't look entirely enthused about the prospect, but he'd come far from actively hiding.
"If I don't see you after you finish for the day, I'll be back on Monday. Same as before."
They had this conversation every week, and while the act would be tedious to some, Hermione understood that Scorpius was different from James, Lily, or even Albus. Teddy had been too young to know his parents, but Scorpius was not. He knew what it was like to have someone one day only for them to be gone the next—never to return. No matter how many times Hermione had promised to return, there was always a hint of surprise when she actually did. It hurt because his actions would forever tell the story of a boy who had been damaged by his mother's death.
Only five and already jaded.
"Today is Friday."
Like each time before, Scorpius held up two fingers.
She touched the tip of one little finger. "Tomorrow is Saturday." And the other. "Sunday." She folded his fingers down gently, holding his hand. "After Sunday is Monday, and I'll be here then."
Another slow bob of his blond head, but instead of heading back inside, Scorpius watched her, seeming to weigh his next actions. Hermione flashed a fond smile, and maybe that made up his mind.
He leaned against her side for several moments, taking a deep breath.
It wasn't a hug.
Just him stealing a moment of comfort, warmth, and support before it was time to go.
Scorpius didn't sign it, but Hermione knew what he meant.
Thank you.
June 25, 2011
Hermione used to feel a sense of accomplishment when her friends were friends with each other.
The keyword being: used to.
When Hermione dragged Pansy into her friendship circle, she had worried about Luna's reaction more than Ron or Harry. She figured Pansy would rapidly warm to Ginny and never gave them much thought. But Luna, while not a delicate flower, didn't deserve the kind of verbal venom Pansy subscribed to.
As it turned out, however, she'd had no need to worry—at least about her quirky friend. Pansy had sized up a serenely smiling Luna for a long second before declaring that she liked her grapevine earrings. In Pansy's book, that was practically an offer of friendship. Then Pansy and Harry just sort of nodded at one another in acknowledgement, while she frowned distastefully at Ron's entire existence.
But Ginny?
It was like throwing a match on petrol. In the beginning, they had clashed so hard Hermione could have sworn she saw sparks flying off of them during each interaction. Luna had reminded her that, while likes had a tendency to clash, two people who were threatened by one another's presence only fought harder for dominance. Hermione eventually had to give up and let them battle with snide comments and one disagreeing with the other just because they could.
The war had lasted until the previous year when the fire starved itself as the lashes dwindled. From the ashes rose a friendship formed out of mutual respect, entirely independent of Hermione. How it had happened, no one knew, and neither of them spoke of it. Harry thought that they had found common ground, but Hermione didn't think that was likely until their bond showed at the most random of moments…
For the better part of the morning, Hermione painted Harry and Ginny's living room a neutral eggshell colour to prepare the house to sell. Luna performed her routine check for Nargle and Wrackspurt infestations while Pansy and Ginny discussed the floors in the kitchen. Whispers filtered from the room as they debated tile versus wood.
Honestly, Hermione should have realised something was afoot when their discussion turned into bickering before falling quiet.
Much too quiet.
But Hermione was so focused on her task, making careful strokes with the paint roller (because Pansy swore Muggle paint would last longer) that she hadn't spared it a thought. Had she been paying attention, she would have recognised that it was all a trap: everything from the painting to the discussion about the floors to her entire Saturday morning visit.
All orchestrated by the two of them to corner her.
Literally.
When Hermione sat on the tarp protecting the floor to take a break, she only had time to wipe the sweat from her brow and pick up her canteen of cold water before she found herself surrounded on either side, boxed in like a lone fox surrounded by a pack of wild dogs.
The analogy didn't make her any less rattled.
Ginny plucked the canteen from her hand while Pansy diverted her attention with a mischievous grin. At that moment, Hermione knew she was in deep shite.
"How did you enjoy the solstice party?"
"Umm…" Disoriented by their invasion, Hermione blinked and rubbed at a smear of paint on her wrist. "I was with you most of the night, so you know I enjoyed myself. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves, too, and the potion worked great. No complaints from anyone."
Outside of Draco Malfoy.
Hermione cleared her throat of the awkward blockage the name inspired.
Then again because it didn't go away.
Pansy pretended to be deep in thought, one black manicured fingernail tapping her chin. "I distinctly remember us being apart a time or two. Right, Weasley?"
"I do believe we were looking for you around Last Light, but then you showed up and—"
"Anyway," Pansy said through gritted teeth, cutting her eyes at the redhead who had said too much, judging from the swipe she made under her own neck. "Did you get to see Stonehenge before dark?"
There was an alarming yet expectant smile on Pansy's face; it inspired nothing short of fear.
First, because it was crazed in a serial killer sort of way.
Second—and most importantly—because she suddenly knew that they knew.
All of which confirmed this was a trap that they had sprung together. That led to a deep regret about them ever becoming friends and an instant desire to return to the days where they fought each other instead of teaming up.
Because that was what they were doing.
Hermione calculated an escape plan that didn't have a high probability for success, but it was all she could figure out with such little preparation.
"I think I have a headache." She tried to get up.
"Bullshit, Granger." Pansy grabbed her wrist; the witch was stronger than she looked. "Weasley saw you."
Heat flooded her cheeks like a broken dam, much like it always did when she felt truly out of sorts. She took a deep breath, exhaling as slowly as she could.
Perhaps the paint fumes would get to her before she had to tell the story. Perhaps they were already working.
She felt faint.
"Well, I—"
"You snogged Draco." Pansy snapped her fingers impatiently. "Weasley saw it and now we're all going to talk about how it bloody happened. No excuses. If necessary, I'm prepared for violence."
Hermione froze like a goat paralyzed by fear. It was as if her brain suddenly had a surge of energy that split and scattered. Panic started to rise in her chest.
"Ah, um. Pansy, your aggression is at an eleven." Ginny knew her well enough to recognise the absolute chaos occurring in Hermione's mind. "Let's dial it down to a four."
"Hmm." Pansy actually seemed to consider it for a moment. "No, I can't go that low. Maybe an eight… and a half?"
"Five."
"Can we split the—"
"Are you two actually negotiating this?" Hermione's voice sounded far more hysterical than she'd anticipated. It made her cringe.
Pansy blinked at her then went back to Ginny. "We can split the difference at seven."
"I've had nightmares better than this."
There was a pause, then Ginny called for Luna: the voice of reason.
"Just a minute!" Luna's feathery voice floated down the stairs. "You have an infestation of Nargles. I believe it's from Harry." There was a weighted pause. "This is going to take more than I thought."
Probably.
Hermione started laughing but it just sounded strained. Tension flowed through her veins like wet concrete. Ginny patted her arm in sympathy, which had the blessed effect of annoying Hermione's panic into compliance.
She didn't need the comfort. She had a strong grip on reality and an even stronger one on her emotions. She was fine—shrill voice and jittery anxiousness aside.
Furthermore, Hermione was a consenting adult who could snog anyone she pleased.
Her internal cringe became external and full-blown because as soon as she allowed herself to think.
She had thought about it before, in the late hours each night since. Nights when she found herself staring at the ceiling, an unending repetition of The Kiss replayed in her mind's eye.
Hermione found herself stuck between two vastly different emotional responses: embarrassment and flustered bewilderment. And as she vacillated on each sliding scale, she felt triply annoyed with herself for being so worked up over snogging that—
"Perhaps let's start at the beginning." Ginny took the lead. "Hermione, when you're ready."
"Or now."
The two scowled at each other like cats while Hermione tried to piece her thoughts together to form coherent words. It was difficult. The entire experience was something she had only just reconciled with herself. Using her own mental voice and hearing it out loud were vastly different. More concrete and real.
Yes, that really had happened, which was still just as shocking.
Fortunately for Hermione, she hadn't had to face Malfoy in the days since as he'd been working long enough hours for Narcissa to complain about him cancelling marriage dates. According to his mother, Malfoy had actually slept in his office at the Ministry on one occasion. She might have assumed he was avoiding her, but Scorpius had gotten his note each morning… and he still made her tea.
Which made even less sense.
Hermione reminded herself, for the umpteenth time, that it wasn't an issue because it was nothing.
She repeated it to herself like a mantra.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
It couldn't be anything.
"He was already there when I got to the Stonehenge replica." Hermione kept her explanation clinical, devoid of the jittery energy she still felt. "We watched the sunset and talked. It happened by accident—"
"What?" Pansy screeched loud enough for her and Ginny to cover their ears for a second. "Did you just say you snogged Draco by accident?"
"Yes, I did." Hermione uselessly tucked her hair behind her ears. "I went to wish him a Happy Solstice and he turned his head—accidentally."
Pansy blinked several times before she burst out laughing; Ginny joined in as well. From upstairs, Luna's giggle in comradery rang out, even though she had no idea what she was finding humourous.
"That's—"
"Nothing." Hermione put her foot down on the entire conversation. "It was nothing."
Pansy's smile faded slowly and her expression went back to normal.
"That didn't look like nothing, Hermione." Ginny's disbelief was palpable. "That wasn't even a snog. Neither of you even noticed me. I cleared my throat twice before I gave up and left. It was like you were both lost in—"
"I don't need the mental image." Hermione pursed her lips. "I was there, thank you, but we both agreed not to discuss it."
"Draco said that?" Pansy arched her brow. "In those words?"
"It doesn't matter if he did or didn't." Hermione didn't let Pansy get a word in edgewise. "When it comes down to it, he's my patient's son, and while not explicitly forbidden in my contract, I can't. It's an ethical nightmare and it shouldn't have happened."
"Okay, I can understand that." Ginny rested her elbow on her thigh. "His mother wouldn't react well at all given how she's pushing him to marry a society witch of her choosing."
An understatement.
"But if it had been anyone else?" Pansy had managed to tone her aggression down a notch. Just one. "Would you have let your guard down?"
Hermione gave her a sharp look. She had some nerve.
"Yes." Unaffected by the glare, her friend was completely unapologetic. "I have the audacity and I'll keep having the audacity."
"You're really bringing this up right now?" Hermione couldn't believe she'd brought up a sore topic just to prove a point.
"Yes."
"Fine." The key to winning any battle was to have a strong defence. "To answer your question, I don't operate off of hypotheticals."
"Try." Ginny gave her a stubborn look. "If it had been someone else, what would you have done? How would you have reacted?"
Hermione tugged at the braid hanging over her shoulder. The arrogant side of her never cared for introspection; it was based on subjective interpretations rather than fact. As a teenager, and even into her twenties, Hermione never understood why people held something so difficult in such high regard. But now, she knew the necessity even though it still didn't necessarily feel great.
Still, if she were being honest with herself, Hermione would be forced to acknowledge that, had it been anyone else, she probably would have at least calculated the potential risk—something she hadn't bothered to do at all with Malfoy.
Because she couldn't.
The variables were all wrong.
The ingredients were there, but mixing them together involved accounting for interactions between more components than she could fathom.
Would the blend be worth it? Would it work or fail? Why even waste the mental energy on something so farfetched and intangible?
It wasn't her way.
Now, whether she would have taken the plunge with anyone else depended on about a dozen factors Hermione didn't have time to detail at length. Her two friends were still staring at her so she figured she needed to draft a suitable response.
"I would be logical and sensible. I don't take risks like that and I would need to carefully think before making any decision like that. It's hard for me to let go and—"
"You clearly did with Draco." Pansy clearly refused to ease off the topic.
Hermione and Ginny gave Pansy a long look that she smiled at in response. Feeling frustrated and raw, still trying to put together the pieces of her own confusing puzzle, Hermione scrubbed her hands over her face a few times.
"Okay, I did, but I'm not the sort that would just throw myself into something because of a—a good feeling."
"A good feeling, eh?" Pansy's mouth twisted into a sly grin. "Tell me more."
"Uh…" Hermione rubbed the side of her neck, still so flustered, something she absolutely despised. "It was…"
Like mixing two ingredients that shouldn't enhance or detract from one another; the environment served as a catalyst for the explosion and chaos that had occurred.
The ensuing fire. The heat. The smoke. The fear. The panic.
She remembered it all.
She couldn't forget it, even if she tried.
"I'm certain you don't want to hear about me snogging—"
"Oh, I absolutely do." Pansy's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I mean, I saw Weasley's memory of it, but—"
Hermione recoiled. "Excuse me?"
"Yes, yes." Pansy waved her off. "Theo happens to have a Pensieve. We all took a look—well, just us and Luna."
"Luna?" Hermione almost screeched.
"I'll be down in a minute!" the witch called from upstairs. "So many Nargles! I know I sprayed last month!"
They all exchanged looks. Ginny nodded along as if Luna's point of aggravation wasn't at all ridiculous.
Pansy's smile shifted from sly to fond then it grew too wide. "Go on."
"I don't see why that's necessary since you've both watched it like a bloody film."
"A snippet." Pansy shrugged. "She was only there a minute or so. You certainly seemed… into it."
Ginny made a mock explosion noise and gestured with her hands.
She had no idea how accurate that was.
"Our reservations were low," Hermione reasoned. "It happens. It could have been that way with anyone."
"But it was him."
"Yes, it was, which makes my argument valid." She frowned at Pansy. "I won't even bother bringing up the point that Malfoy was raised to believe I was nothing because of my blood status; that wouldn't be fair. We're in our thirties, and I can acknowledge he's not that person anymore. The fact of the matter is, we don't make sense on an atomic level. I can't even entertain the thought of calculating that risk—it's ludicrous."
"Nobody said anything about you two making sense," Pansy pointed out with a roll of her eyes. "I just asked about the snog that you clearly and enthusiastically enjoyed."
Hermione internally winced at the truth in Pansy's words.
"But it doesn't surprise me that your academic brain has leapt too far ahead. I find it interesting that you've put so much thought into something you've classified as nothing."
"It's not a classification. I—"
"I spent eight years going through the motions of nothing out of duty in a marriage I didn't want." Pansy's conviction was evident. "I know what nothing looks like. That—"
"Was a moment." Hermione drank her water.
"Can you really classify that as a moment?" A mystified Ginny was still making gestures that alluded to what she'd witnessed. "There were a lot of hands and he walked you back to the—"
"A moment," Hermione repeated with a fierce scowl. "That is exactly how I'll describe it because that's what it was. One single moment. A lapse in good sense I fully blame on the potions dulling."
"I thought the potion lowered your guard," Luna said as she emerged from the entryway, startling them all despite her soft, plumy voice. "Though, I didn't feel any differently."
She shrugged and joined them, sitting next to Ginny with her normal faraway expression. If Hermione had to guess, that likely had to do with the fact that Luna had few reservations to begin with.
"I didn't think it created something that didn't exist," Luna mused.
Pansy threw her arm out as if Luna's statement was the effective end of the discussion. "And this is why I like you."
The blonde just preened with a beaming smile and played with her braid.
"What she said." Between Pansy's narrowed eyes and the manicured brow arched high on her forehead, Hermione knew this discussion was far from over. "Argue that, Granger."
Hermione was poised and ready to do just that when Ginny metaphorically clubbed her over the head with more facts. "Also, no one else snogged like that at the party." Ginny's pointed stare did little to ease Hermione's discomfort. "Harry and Malfoy had an entire conversation earlier in the evening that neither of them appeared to hate. If you're looking for reference, Harry laughed once."
"They've found common ground in the last month or so."
Ginny considered her point. "One could argue that you two have as well."
"It's not a great leap. I'm his mother's Healer, so it makes sense that we have." Hermione had a feeling her arguments fell on deaf ears. "It's important that I'm on the same page as the family, especially in her case."
Malfoy was the only adult family Narcissa had. She needed Malfoy on board to make her life smooth for the extent of her contract. At least, that had been her initial thought process when she'd first started caring for Narcissa.
There was a small part of her that was still on her original quest, because she hadn't had much success. However, that could be blamed on the second—and admittedly larger—part of her that had strayed from her initial course. Natural, given the conversations they'd had, the things she'd learned about him, and the growing list of actions and attributes that felt so at odds. That part of her was looking around lost, stalled out and trying to figure out which direction they needed to go in to find their way back… or ahead to their destination.
Wherever that was.
"My statement stands."
Hermione folded her arms across her chest. As much as she wanted to argue, Ginny wasn't wrong. But that didn't mean anything. Just because there wasn't animosity didn't mean there was room for anything else to inhabit the empty space. And she could definitely speak for Malfoy, who was apparently selective about who he spent time with and maintained his distance from anyone outside his social circle as if they had a contagious disease.
By his logic, any time they had spent together—including their morning tea conversations—had been situationally necessary, at best. And meaningless. She didn't fit any of those qualifications because she was nothing to him.
And he was nothing to her.
Nothing.
Except for that moment when potions had lowered their walls and her emotions had run rampant.
Then…
Well, it did not matter. Because it was not real.
A neuron fired, pushing a single thought from one cell to the next; a thought that made her wonder if maybe…
No.
The logical part of her brain shut down that frail idea like a dangerous carnival ride. It was impossible. She had no room for irrelevant hope, only practicality and facts. And having any sort of emotions in a context where they were wholly unwanted and likely unreturned would cause problems.
Hermione had already dealt with enough emotional problems over the years, especially as they pertained to Ron.
Problems she was still dealing with.
She had no capacity to take on anything else.
"You look deep in thought, Hermione." Ginny rested a patient hand on her shoulder. "We'll touch on it again whenever you'd l—"
At that, Pansy squawked like a bird in vehement disagreement.
"That was an excellent phoenix call, Pansy."
"Thank you." The witch preened. "But I was about to say—"
"She's not ready." Ginny shot a glare at Pansy and wrapped her arm over Hermione's shoulder. Her next words were low, spoken only for Hermione's ears. "But when you're ready to give up your residency in denial, we'll help you."
Hermione didn't know how to feel when Ginny's smile took on a sinister glint.
"Anyway, I think it's time for a subject change," Ginny announced. "There was something else I noticed at the party. You and my brother."
Pansy gasped dramatically. "You traitor."
She merely shrugged while Hermione slowly perked back up now that she wasn't the one on trial. "I am definitely interested to hear this story."
Pansy huffed. "Only to divert attention away from yourself!"
"Perhaps, but I'm certain it's a compelling story. You still owe me after my living room."
"Living room?" Ginny and Luna looked even more interested.
"Well, the night I was summoned to the Ministry, Percy showed up to take me out and he apologised for leaving her at dessert. How was the banoffee pie, Pansy?"
"It was delicious at four in the morning." Pansy's eyes were narrowed in challenge, but then they softened slightly. "Not quite certain how he pulled that one off. But since you're dying to know, we're… taking it slow, I suppose. Figuring it out."
Hermione gave her a long look. "This is a marathon walk from him annoying you with roses."
With a shrug, Pansy checked her nails. "He's as persistent as he is aggravating. Must be a Weasley thing."
She glared at Ginny, who grinned brightly. They did have persistence in spades. Ron was the example that came to mind, no matter the fact that he'd brought Lisa Turpin to the party.
Pansy turned her attention towards the kitchen. "I think a tile will do just—"
Hermione gasped. "You fancy him!"
"Well, fine. He's consistent. I like that he gives me freedom and lets me set the pace. Neither of us are in any rush. We're busy people." A light blush dusted Pansy's cheeks. "Also, he's so bloody fit. I'm fairly certain he's adopted. No way can he be related to you or your unfortunate brother. I mean, have you seen his arse? Could bounce a Gal—"
Ginny covered her ears, visibly distressed. "Okay! That's my brother for fuck's sake!"
"You asked." Pansy's grin was unapologetic and retaliatory
"I will never make that mistake again."
"See that you don't."
Hermione's hair was fluffier than usual by the time she finished brewing Narcissa's potions. She bottled them individually in vials and ventured into the conservatory for the first time all day. She realised something important.
She'd left the cactus.
Yesterday she'd bowed out after delivering it to drawing time with Albus. She'd then gone home to continue working on her recipe for the potion she was inventing for Narcissa. The results had been incredibly frustrating.
Oh well.
She had to deliver the potions anyway, might as well bring them tonight and grab her cactus.
When she stepped out of the Floo, she spotted several things that were out of place.
First, there was no cactus on the coffee table.
But before she could wonder about that, the second thing came into full focus.
Draco Malfoy.
He sat in the armchair adjusting the square frames on his face. Dressed in all black—too formal to be at home—with a book in his hands, it took a moment for him to notice her. When he did, however, he did a double take. Then he cut a critical eye to her attire. Where he looked practically flawless while lounging, Hermione's casual yet practical outfit, consisting of jeans and a stained shirt to match her wild hair, likely left much to be desired.
"Granger."
Her name rolled off his tongue like fine wine: smooth and heady.
The thought made her stomach twist, but Hermione stomped the foreign feeling down as he moved, shutting his book and rising to greet her formally. Hermione blinked at him like he had three heads while trying to determine when he'd started doing that.
Oh, and why she felt so bloody uncomfortable.
She'd spent the afternoon trying to create a potion while sorting her logic about the situation to herself, smoothing down the rough ends that didn't make sense. It wasn't completely necessary, as she would likely only have to defend herself to her Pansy and Ginny, but in case they wanted to further discuss it, Hermione was now ready.
What she wasn't ready for was actually seeing Malfoy.
His hand flexed at his side.
He didn't look prepared to see her either.
"I believe I scheduled our meeting for tomorrow at two, according to the Magi-Scheduler."
"Oh?" Hermione blinked. "I haven't checked it today. I was busy. I brought over your mother's potions." She gestured to the general area of the kitchen then quickly walked in that direction. "I'll just put these away." In no time, Hermione had all the vials arranged in order and shut the cabinet. "All done, I'll just—"
Malfoy was not where she'd last seen him.
No, somehow he'd made it to the kettle without her noticing.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" Without looking, Malfoy waved his wand. The cabinet door opened and two teacups flew out, landing gently on the island behind him. Malfoy placed his wand on the counter before glancing at her, one eyebrow lifted in question. "You didn't answer."
For a moment, Hermione considered declining, but he'd scheduled a meeting with her on a Sunday so it must have been important.
Perhaps about his mother.
"Yes. I suppose we can also discuss the reason for the meeting you've scheduled."
Malfoy nodded and continued on, never asking her what sort of tea she wanted or how she took it. It wasn't that important. He knew what he was doing.
It wasn't long before they were sitting at the outdoor table with tea—for her, oolong, a new addition she'd brought over, with a bit of honey and a twist of lemon. Exactly how she liked it. For him, black tea.
With three sugar cubes.
Nothing at all like the tea she'd made for him before.
It was just after dusk, but before full darkness. The Malfoy's home was situated in the suburbs, in a way, but London's smog didn't allow for many stars. Not like at her cottage. Still, it was quieter outside than expected, just the occasional sounds of the world passing them. Cars. Buses. Distant voices. An aeroplane. Not that they could see anything beyond his high fence. Not that anyone could see them due to his strong wards. It was peaceful in a strange way; the noise served as proof that they weren't alone.
The outdoor lights were on, providing the light that Malfoy needed to continue reading between sips. Time passed and darkness crept in like a mist. Silence was as awkwardly challenging as it was contented.
The moment before he lost himself in his book, his eyes cut to her and it was almost as if he remembered she was there all over again. There was a pause when Malfoy seemed on the edge of speaking before he cleared his throat and returned to his novel.
It felt like having a quiet moment with Theo, a guided silence that only lasted as long as he intended it to. Apparently, that was something they had in common.
On his fourth cycle of read, look, repeat, Malfoy finally shut his book and turned his attention to the garden.
"As adults, I assume we're both mature enough to discuss what happened on the Solstice."
Hermione nearly choked on her tea, but managed to keep silent until she found the words to formulate her question. "Is this what your meeting was about?"
"Yes." He looked at her for the first time. "It's what I wanted to talk about that night."
"Why?" She recoiled in confusion. What could he possibly think they'd have to talk about?
"I beg your pardon?" Malfoy looked thrown by the question, his brows fixed together slightly as he opened his mouth to say something else, then shook his head in distaste. "Actually—"
"I asked why." Hermione placed her teacup on the table, turning to him. "I believe we agreed not to speak about it."
"Actually, you agreed, I—"
She interrupted him with an incredulous snort. At his offended look, Hermione shook her head in apology. "I'm sorry. That was incredibly rude. However, I'm not sure what we have to discuss. It happened. It's over. That's all there is to it."
Malfoy said nothing for several minutes, drumming his fingers on the table. Hermione waited patiently, tapping her foot on the stone. When he finally spoke, his tone was curt and dismissive, hard eyes returning to the distance.
"It appears my assumption about maturity was premature."
Now, it was her turn to draw back in surprise, eyes focusing on him with an intensity that made him return her glare with a levelled one of his own. "Touché. I see you've regressed fifteen years to the boy who hurls insults."
He scoffed. "That wasn't an insult, Granger. It was a statement. A factual one."
"What exactly is there to discuss, Malfoy? We snogged while our inhibitions were low. Just the heat of the moment." Hermione haphazardly waved her hand. "It meant nothing and therefore doesn't warrant the discussion you're trying to have." She shifted in her seat. "And what does a kiss even mean, really? In certain cultures, it's as common as a greeting."
"As common as a greeting," Draco repeated, voice like stone. He picked up his tea with his left hand and took a deep sip. When he finished, he placed it back on the saucer, cutting his eyes over to her. "And this is your decision? Not to discuss what happened?"
"It's not that I don't want to discuss it, there just isn't anything to discuss." She crossed her legs, leaning back, appearing relaxed, even though she was stiffening more and more with each passing second. When she chanced another look in his direction, she noticed Malfoy was stiff, too. "Logically, why should we waste our energy on something that was meaningless to the both of us? Obviously, you have something to say or you wouldn't have scheduled that meeting. Just say it."
"I've quickly realised that it no longer matters. Whatever I say you'll just argue. I'd rather not waste my breath."
"Maybe that's for the best." Despite saying everything she felt she should to assuage the situation, she felt the conditions shifting, changing, ripening for a confrontation that she wasn't keen to have. So, she kept talking to sort it out before it got messy. "We're familiar strangers, at best, childhood enemies, at worst. It's pointless to waste our breath to entertain the idea. I already know what you're going to say and it makes sense."
Malfoy looked incredibly bored… or completely irritated. She couldn't ascertain one from the other, but his next words made her realise it was definitely the latter.
"So, now you're speaking for me." His drawl was as dry as the terrain around them. From her angle, Malfoy's face was partially shrouded in shadows cast from the dim lights around them. "Interesting."
"I'm not speaking for you if it's something you've already said." Uncomfortable, Hermione prattled on as she was sometimes capable of doing when she felt out of sorts. "You're choosy about who you spend your time with. I know you don't want to waste it on something that's nothing."
"You've twisted my words, of course, but ultimately you're correct—in theory." Draco tapped the hardcover of the book twice. "As well as in practice."
Now they were getting somewhere. "Exactly. It's nothing."
"Nothing," Malfoy repeated tightly.
When he sipped his tea again, there was a shift in his demeanour. His eyes took on a weight she had never seen him carry. It was nearly imperceptible, but Hermione noticed all the same. It was odd. Cold. An unease settled within her that made her awkwardly stand up to excuse herself.
The discussion was over.
"I have to go."
"Actually." Malfoy's voice felt like the sharp end of a knife sliding on her skin. Hermione froze in place. "There are other matters I wish to discuss, if you will. Ones that exist beyond the nothing we've already established."
Inexplicably, she took in the sight of the still-seated man whose clothing was beginning to blend in with the darkness. Well, except for his pale face. His hair was parted in such a way that, combined with the dimness of the light and his anger, made his jawline appear sharper. Her gut told her to leave.
Malfoy looked like a cannon ready to let loose.
"Is there a way for us to discuss this tomorrow during our scheduled time?"
"No." Crisp and short, his response left no room for rebuttal. "I'm certain you have better things to do. As do I."
Hermione didn't like that at all.
His tone. His energy. Everything was altered.
Malfoy rarely gave off anything that resembled emotion. Only fleeting moments passed without his facade, but she could find hints when she looked close enough. Now he was practically running on a battery of his own energy fuelled by his growing anger.
"What do your questions pertain to?" It was the most careful question she'd asked all day.
"My mother's care, first and foremost."
That, she hadn't expected. He hardly ever had questions about it, always operating under the guise of apathy she wasn't certain was real.
"I wasn't under the impression that you wanted to involve yourself, but if you would like an update, it'll take longer than I have tonight to discuss it."
"I don't want an update. My questions pertain less to her care, and more about you as her caregiver."
"Me?"
"Yes, you." There was a quality in his tone that made him sound extra posh; it grated her nerves instantly and made her take a defensive stance. "You graduated from Healer Academy and began your career in Poisoning before moving to Alternative Healing. You mainly work with revived patients and those with potions addictions. You specialise in brewing pain potions and Dreamless Sleep."
"That's correct."
That he'd looked at her credentials wasn't a surprise. Malfoy was as paranoid as he was detached.
"How exactly are you qualified to work with neurological disorders?"
First Sachs. Now Malfoy.
She was so sick and tired of having this conversation., tired of having to prove herself to people who didn't know anything about her work or the extent of time, consultations, research, and dedication she'd put into Narcissa's care plan. She'd invested her all into a woman who was intractable at best. Each struggle, each argument, each setback, each progress. The moments Narcissa forgot, the whispers of depression that followed her remembering. By now, Hermione had been through it all. Every step of the way. Even when it was hard. Even when she was tallying in her head how many times and ways she would quit. She never did, though. Instead, Hermione rose to meet each and every challenge.
And she did so again.
"Since you're suddenly curious, I wish you would have read all of my credentials. If you had, you would have seen that I specialise in slowing the progression of certain terminal diseases and recognised that this qualification of mine is why I'm here. Your mother asked for the best. She got me."
"You might be Hermione Granger." For the first time, he said her name as though it were an insult. "But are you so arrogant to believe that you are really the best person to care for my mother?"
She felt her blood boil as grey eyes bore into her. "Theo believes that I am, as does she."
"Ah, yes, but she doesn't know you, now does she." Not a question, but a statement. "It makes me wonder how I can trust my mother's health to someone who—at one point—couldn't take care of their own."
Hermione stepped back, curling her fingers into a fist at her side.
"Yes, I know all about your breakdown. It would seem you collapsed in your office from exhaustion and were found unconscious by Magical Maintenance. I know about the week you spent unconscious in St Mungo's, followed by the month you spent there due to the amnesia surrounding the entire event." Malfoy rose from his chair like a cobra ready to attack. "When you dig deep enough, you can find answers to nearly every question."
"My Ministry file is sealed, how did you—" Realisation dawned on her. "You stole it."
"I have my ways." He shrugged, resting his hand on the book on the table. "Nothing that comes in and out of my house goes unnoticed by me. I have explained this to you, Granger." He leaned in a fraction. "Nothing."
"Wow, you're a real paranoid bastard."
"Yes, I am."
"And that's all you'll ever be," Hermione spat back. She didn't mean it, she was just infuriated by Malfoy's behaviour.
His hand clenched, but then his entire demeanour returned to something near placid. Nevertheless, she could feel the anger rolling off him. Which was fine because she was furious as well.
"You think I care about what you know? I'm not ashamed of what happened to me, but to call my qualifications into question because of that is—"
"Perfectly reasonable, Granger. My mother pays you handsomely to care for her yet there's an entire record attesting to the fact that you can't take care of yourself."
"You have a record as well, exonerated or not, but you won't catch me sniffing around the Ministry for it." Rather than retreat, she stepped towards him, holding his gaze in a fierce grip. "I don't judge you for it."
"Are you absolutely certain about that?" His voice lowered as he stepped close enough that Hermione had to lift her head to keep watch. "Y—"
"I don't owe you an explanation for anything, Malfoy. I was chosen to care for your mother, who's hinted more than once that she knows about my past. What happened to me doesn't negate any of my credentials or the good I've done so far in helping her. Her brain scans show very little change since her diagnosis and her levels are now normal. That is because of me and my care plan. My past doesn't make me incompetent. In fact, the only thing it makes me is human." She felt her heart race and tried to calm herself before she got too worked up. "I would even venture to say that my experience makes me more qualified to take care of your mother."
"Exactly how—"
"I have every certification and qualification needed, and I refuse to explain myself to you. I owe you nothing except to keep your mother's mind and body as intact as possible. I don't tell you how to do your job, so don't you dare tell me how to do mine. Furthermore, since you care enough about her to dig up my supposed secrets, since you have so many concerns, you should probably voice them to your mother because she thinks you hate her!"
Malfoy took a sharp breath. Had he not been so close, she wouldn't have heard it.
"Our relationship is none of your concern, Granger." His response was as dark as the sky. And cloudy as well. A gathering storm. "My mother is your only patient. What I do—"
"Frankly, Malfoy, I don't give a damn what you do, but before you air out my supposed secrets, you should take a hard look at yourself. Perhaps you should redirect the energy you've put into figuring me out towards your own house." They were toe to toe now and she had no idea how that happened. Still, peering up, anger and insolence poured off of her. "There's an old Muggle saying about people who live in glass houses… They shouldn't throw stones."
His gaze sharpened and his jaw clenched just before he raised his head to look out into the distance. "There is also the matter of my son's attachment to a certain cactus in my office."
So, that was where it had gone.
Well, that just angered her more.
"It's a cactus, Malfoy. It's harmless."
"You aren't in any position to decide what is or isn't harmless to my son."
"Fascinating you should mention that because as far as I know, neither are you." Hermione was practically vibrating with rage.
And she knew she'd hit him low—too low. Judging from his quick flinch, he'd felt the blow, but she was so furious she couldn't help it. She didn't care one knut about his feelings because he didn't seem to give a damn about hers.
"You should focus on your actual patient. My son doesn't need your pity in the form of gifts."
"Pity?" Hermione couldn't stop herself from screeching. "That's—"
"I have one rule for my house, Granger. Nothing in or out without my knowledge. You violated the rules with your cactus."
"Are you seriously upset about this?" She stepped back, blinking at him in disbelief. "Are we arguing about a bloody cactus? This is absolutely ridiculous!"
"It's not." His lip curled into a familiar sneer. "This is my home and I have rules about this for the safety of my family—"
"You've been to my house, Malfoy. You've seen the cactus. You knew exactly what it was the moment you saw it, so what are you really upset about?" She put her hands on her hips, peering at him through narrowed eyes, feeling her rage bubble in a dangerous way. "Because I am—" Hermione stopped herself, taking a cleansing breath before she completely lost her composure. "Where is it?"
"In my office."
She was about to storm off, retrieve her cactus, and get the hell away from him when something that was probably a bad idea stopped Hermione in her tracks before she even moved. Something that had been building with each interaction with Scorpius. Especially as of late. Especially today when he kept signing father over and over again.
She had never once thought about speaking her mind to him. Not only was it not her place, but Malfoy had enough to deal with. In her opinion, though, this could no longer sit on the sidelines.
"Do you know why I brought a cactus into your house?"
Malfoy didn't respond, which was absolutely fine because she intended to speak her peace anyway, permission granted or not.
"I brought a cactus because Scorpius is miserable. He's lonely and hurting and that's not something I should have to tell his father, who worries more about protecting him from the non-threat of a damn cactus than he does about spending time with him."
He visibly tensed. "You have no idea what you're talking about, Granger."
"I know exactly what I'm talking about. Just like you're observant, so am I. Your son—"
"He may like you, Granger, but let me be very clear: Scorpius is none of your concern."
"He's not." She bristled at the chilly rage coming off him, but it did nothing to cool hers. "I'm aware, fuck—I am completely aware of this, but I cannot continue to do nothing when a child is so distressed that he refuses to speak!" Hermione ran a hand through her wild hair. The urge to cry rose in her chest. "If I'm being honest, I would have quit, but I refuse to be another person who's abandoned him. And yes, I mean you."
Malfoy moved quickly, crowding her against an invisible wall, not touching, but close. She didn't need to see the fury to feel it thickening around them, choking out the clean air until it was suffocating them both.
"Take it back."
Hermione didn't back down. Never would. Even though she could.
"I won't." Her voice was thick with the same emotions that swelled whenever she saw Scorpius, talked to him, witnessed his victories, and grimaced at his setbacks. She hardened. "I won't quit. I won't be quiet. I refuse. You want to talk about things that don't pertain to you, fine. But so will I."
"Granger—"
"You leave him notes he can't even read, Malfoy, but he doesn't need your notes, he needs you." The wave of emotions hit so fiercely that tears blurred her vision. She found herself yelling at him, not for own benefit, but for Scorpius. "He doesn't need rules and discipline, he doesn't need to bow and learn which fork to use, he doesn't need to know five languages—this is not what his mother wanted for him!"
The stilted rage coming from Malfoy was unlike anything she'd ever seen before.
A twisted shiver snaked down her spine, but Hermione charged on.
"He needs you to close the distance, step in, and be his father! He hides from you because he's scared and he doesn't know you! Set the tone, stop leaving, and put him first! Show some goddamn affection! He's starved for it to the point where he'll befriend a cactus just so neither of them will be alone—"
"That's enough, Grang—"
"I am not finished!" Unexpected tears trailed down her cheeks. "You want me to worry exclusively about my actual patient, fine! Then you need to worry about your son. He's already lost his mother, he will eventually lose his grandmother, and then there will be just you. Notes and hidden affection aside, you don't even know him. He's brilliant, Malfoy. He's kind and compassionate, he's—" Hermione angrily wiped her face, regaining her composure—her ire. "You will all starve the good out of him if he continues on this path. He'll grow up to resent you, and worse, he'll grow up to be you."
"Enough!"
"What's the problem? You don't like hearing the truth." She craned her neck up, almost having to reach out and grab him to keep her balance. "I have been in your home for three months now, Malfoy, and the fact that you have the audacity to criticise me and question my qualifications for nearly working myself to death is unbelievable when you do the same."
Malfoy sneered at her.
"Your family is in chaos. Fractured. And if your head weren't shoved so far up your own arse, if you weren't concerned about the wrong things, you would step in and fix this."
And that statement just pissed him off even more.
"You don't know fuck all of what I have or have not done, Granger. The fact that you dare to bring my dead wife into this is—" He clenched both hands together tight, face flush with fury. "You don't know what I've been through or the measures I've taken to protect him. You don't know the things I have done or what I will do." Malfoy ran a shaky hand through his hair. "I've tried to connect with him, I've not stopped trying. I keep trying. Your perception is fucked—"
"Of course it is! You act aloof, you're not present, you don't ask for the help you clearly need, and the only person it's hurting is Scorpius." Her head and her heart were pounding out of control. "The fact is, whether you think I'm qualified or not, I know enough about your mother's condition to tell you that she hasn't truly begun to decline. But she will and it's not my job to set a plan in place for when this does happen. It's yours. Also, Scorpius sees and hears everything. He knows something is wrong and someone needs to talk to him. This." Hermione pointed to his house. "This needs to be your focus. Not my cactus, my qualifications, and definitely not me."
She started for the door, knocking over her chair in the process, but before Hermione left, she recalled what Daphne had said to her in March while angrily eating rhubarb pie.
She was right.
So, so right.
Hermione didn't look back, dizzy to the point of nausea from the roaring in her mind and the eruption of emotion in her chest. The only thing she could say were three words that cut through the silence and tension.
"Enough is enough."
Knowing is not enough; we must apply. Willing is not enough; we must do.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Disclaimers remain the same
A/N: Happy Friday. So this chapter is titled because there's a lot of grey in their argument and they both were right in places and wrong in others. Human nature at its finest. I know everyone wants to rail on Hermione about her reaction to the kiss, but I've set up her reasons for how she reacts to all this. She's hyper logical, not ready and neither is he. If you think she's gonna dive into something head first, that's just not who she is. Not who she's been after her collapse and the war. They would implode at this point if anything were to start. Draco...let's be real, he lashed out in defensiveness, but this argument has been coming, building. I've been setting it up for a while, especially as it pertains to Scorpius and Hermione getting closer. But this too is a shift in everything. See you all on the 26th. Oh, and Covid recovery is ongoing!
inadaze22
