Chapter 2:

The yowling at the back door is ear piercing. Hermione finds herself rushing to gather the wicker carrier, the few cat toys she brought, and the bag of Magikitten Kibble Bits when she trips over the legs of the cocktail table, catching her balance before she faceplants in the sitting room. One deep cleansing breath later and her hands are planted firmly on her hips, her right foot cocked out, tapping rhythmically as she glares at Ollie.

His insistent yowling stops, but those big green eyes stare up at her as he sits on his haunches, his flicking tail the only movement. "Listen, you. I am getting your things together. We will take our leave back to that darling boy as soon as I have it all gathered. You can just sit quietly until I'm done." Ollie blinks up at her in answer then begins to lick his paw.

A roll of her eyes and a quick wand swish later and Hermione is finally ready to set out. The door is no sooner cracked than Ollie is halfway across the yard. It stings really; to think that the cat prefers the Malfoys to her, but the trip through the woods is as good a time as any for reflection, and she knows Ollie was not happy in her flat. She wasn't happy in her flat. Though her cat abandoning her was not exactly the change she anticipated by coming to the country. For that matter, being Draco Malfoy's neighbor wasn't either.

Emerging on the other side of the thicket, she's once more taken by the picturesque field; the high grass swaying in the gentle breeze, a striking juxtaposition to the gale that battered her shutters the previous night. Approaching the house she spends a moment taking it in. She's been to Malfoy Manor all of one time; arguably the worst day of her life, and the aesthetic was not her focus. But she knows what grandeur is and Malfoy Manor was most certainly that—grand. This cottage, with its ivy covered stones in varied shades of brown, the vibrant colors of the garden bursting all around with the path leading to the gleaming white door is anything but grand. But it might be the most glorious house she's ever seen, because her breath catches as the scent of lavender and peppermint waft into her and the mid-morning sun glints off the upper story windows in a way that can only be described as perfect.

"What are you doing back?" Malfoy's voice shocks her out of her appraisal and dims the whole atmosphere.

But the world shines bright again as that sweet little blond boy runs around the side of the garden, "Hermione!" He runs up to her, a streak of black fur hot on his heels. "Did Ollie stay with you last night?"

Ignoring her ire at Malfoy, she bends to be at Scorpius's level. "He did," Hermione tells him with a smile and a scrunch of her nose, just barely keeping her hand out of his fluttering mop of hair. "The storm was a little scary, so it was sweet of him to snuggle with me. I'm sorry he wasn't there to snuggle with you though." Malfoy rolls his eyes, but Hermione ignores him in favor of a much more pleasant member of the revered House of Malfoy.

Scorpius smiles, she notices that he's missing one of his front teeth and her heart melts a little more for this dear boy, "That's alright," he tells her looking over his shoulder at his father who is turning red with his effort to suppress a scowl, "my dad is the best snuggler there is." He is so proud and Hermione glances past him to see the elder Malfoy whose jaw is so tight his teeth may crack at any moment. And Scorpius doesn't stop there, "If you need someone to snuggle with you can come over anytime." The earnest nod of his head tells her that he's entirely sincere in his care for her and she feels bereft that the history between herself and his father—history he likely has no knowledge of—will restrict the possibly precious friendship she could have with this child.

She pushes away the unbidden images of Scorpius as a baby being cuddled on his father's chest and of her being held in the strong arms of a man with whom she shares a child, she came for a purpose and this conversation is going in the wrong direction. "I'm sure I'd be a terrible snuggler," she leans in, her hand by her mouth to share a secret, but she knows the whisper carries to Malfoy, "I flail in my sleep… I'd surely punch someone."

Scorpius giggles and Hermione gives in to the need to tousle his hair. Malfoy clears his throat and raises his eyebrows in question reminding her that she actually had an objective in coming here today. Straightening she pulls the shrunken cat things from her pocket and enlarges them.

"I brought you Ollie's things. There's his carrier, toys, a blanket, some…"

"Yes, yes, he has accoutrement. Thank you, Granger." Malfoy flicks his wrist sending the cat fodder in to the house, "Come Scorpius, we have chores." Malfoy turns on his heel and walks toward the corner of the house, Scorpius and Ollie trailing after him.

Scorpius waves at her as he runs to his father, but stops before they disappear around the corner, "Will you come over again, Hermione?" She can see Malfoy is outdone with his son's interest in her, but she can't be rude to a child.

"I'm sure we'll see each other around."

Scorpius smiles a mile wide and scurries off around the house. Malfoy gives her a pursed lip glare, "Off you go then, Granger." Giving her a haughty little shooing motion with his hands.

Her walk home is lovely. She resolutely does not think of Draco Malfoy, but allows herself to bask in the pure joy that radiates from his son.

A few weeks go by with a quiet rhythm. Cool days and the occasional rain bring life and color to the garden around Hermione's cottage and leave the hanging baskets and window boxes of the high street heavy with early blooms.

Tucked in a narrow storefront she finds a quiet tea shop. The interior bursting with the tannic aroma of their daily offering mixed with a hint of cinnamon from the warm scones being stacked on a platter. There are low tables with plush chairs dotted about the perimeter; a tempting place to sit and sip and read and just be, but she craves the outdoors right now.

Wandering along the cobbled street finds her in a shaded park, gentle knolls rising and falling off into the countryside as families entertain their children on the play structures and couples recline on the grass. She ignores the pang in her heart that reminds her she is lonely, telling herself she needs the solitude to refresh and reset.

She settles on a bench tucked behind a short hedge and pulls three letters from her bag, the ones she couldn't read a week ago. The guilt had niggled at her then, telling her she'd abandoned her friends and that they needed her; she was sure the letters would only reinforce that notion, and she needed to care for herself for once.

Seeing Harry's neat penmanship she breaks the seal on his letter first. Her eyes scan down the page and she feels a mixture of relief and sadness. He thanks her for being there for Ginny, apologizing for not seeing how his wife was struggling. He's already begun cultivating a replacement because, just as Hermione had predicted, he's quitting to stay home with James and the new baby; another boy they will name Albus.

She reads Ginny's next, the sentiments are similar. Ginny is feeling energized about the new baby, and leaning into the coaching role she's assuming while pregnant, but the trainers have assured her she'll be ready to take to the skies as soon as she's cleared by her healer after baby Albus is born. Hermione is so happy for her. Some people really get to live their dreams.

Ron's letter is the last in the stack. She takes a moment to brush her fingers along the page before reading, caressing the carefree scrawl and noticing a splotch of what she assumes is mustard, but who knows, that man is always eating. His letter is sweet and encouraging making her laugh at his disappointment for not being witness to the spectacle of her resignation. He's never been particularly ambitious, but to call him a sidekick seems derogatory to the solid brotherhood he has with Harry and herself. She's not even surprised to read that he will also be leaving the Ministry to work with George at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

Now, if she could find some direction in her own life.

Staring across the field, a laugh draws her attention to the swings just beyond the end of the path. That it's Scorpius's gleeful noises does not surprise her at all. What does, however, is the happiness on his father's face as he pushes his son higher and higher.

The Malfoy of her memory, both distant and recent, is scowling and cold, especially to her. But his man, this wizard, this father; he's anything but. His features are softer with both corners of his mouth pulled high in a genuine smile and his perfectly coiffed hair mussed from the breeze. It sends a catch to her chest to hear him laugh, a deep reverberation across the space that puts her in mind of her own father, and other important fathers in her life—Arthur Weasley, Harry, and she's sure in the not so distant future, Ron as he frolics with his future children. Did Lucius Malfoy play as Draco is doing now? Did Draco know joy as a child before their lives were hijacked by a mad man?

Hidden as she is on her little bench, she watches Malfoy and Scorpius. The swing goes higher and higher, Scorpius shouting words of encouragement and motivation for his father and suddenly, Malfoy runs beneath the swing as his son reaches the pinnacle of the swing's limit. Hermione startles at the game, but everyone is left unscathed, and she's left more than a little intrigued as she watches them leave the swings to meander off, Scorpius perched on his father's back

The coast clear of Malfoys, Hermione walks to the swings. She eases into the sling and grasps the chains, testing the feeling. She pushes back with her feet and allows gravity to pull her forward. Then she does it again; this time with more gumption, swinging higher and higher with each pump of her legs and push and pull of her arms on the chains. Maybe this is what she's missed for so long in her life—innocent joy.

She lets the sensation take her away for a moment. Back and forth in smooth arcs, pushing herself higher and higher, relishing in the moment where gravity releases you.

When she was a child the other children on the playground would swing as high as they could and jump. Hermione was a cautious child; she's always felt her defining moment of courage had been asking the sorting hat to put her in Gryffindor, but before that, she'd clung fast to the illusion of safety one has when they don't actively take risks. Making up her mind, Hermione adjusts her grip on the chains and then when she feels gravity let her go once more, she jumps.

She doesn't float gracefully to the ground, but lands with a thud. Her hair is a disaster and her rear aches, her knee might be a bit jammed as well, but her heart is light and the breath she takes in smells sweeter.

Thank you to all of you who have read/reviewed/followed/favorited! I love hearing from you! Another shout out to my lovely alpha/beta, Mcal, she's a gem and has been wonderfully supportive throughout the writing of this story.