Chapter 7:

The afternoon light plays in the swirls of dust that billows behind the car as Harry and Ginny drive away. Scorpius waves his arms in big arcs as their visitors fade into the countryside.

"Come, young man, we have goats and chickens to tend… and you need supper." Hermione leads him toward the barn, his face still lit with happiness from their impromptu day with her friends.

The second time performing the chores feels smoother, not effortless, but not foreign. After the excitement of the day Scorpius sticks close and talks about spending time with Harry Potter. She hopes Malfoy isn't going to be severely irritated when he finds out what a big Harry Potter fan his son just became.

Tucking him into bed that night feels somehow significant. He hugs her and tells her what a great day he had, even though she didn't do the voices as good as his dad when she read his book. Then Hermione pulls the blankets up to his chin and he falls asleep almost immediately, Ollie curled in his side.

Hermione tucks herself into the sofa again and stares at the ceiling for long minutes or maybe it's hours, she doesn't know. That the wonderful child slumbering upstairs puts his trust in her so easily fills her with a sense of responsibility and protection she's not carried since becoming Harry's friend.

Another day as Scorpius' caretaker goes well enough. Chores are done, meals prepared, and the house is in a reasonable state of order. Scorpius is playing with Ollie in the front room, the cat meowing in response to Scorpius's questions and directions, but a sudden silence puts her on alert.

She turns suddenly and Scorpius is there behind her, his little hands twisting in front of him and his feet shuffling beneath him. She bends to be at his eye level, "Scorp, is everything alright?"

His eyes drop to the floor and his voice is thick. "I miss my dad."

A hug is the only remedy she has at the moment so she pulls him close and wraps him in her arms. "He'll be home tomorrow." He nods, but his body shakes with emotion. He has every right to miss his father—sometimes Hermione wants to cry because she misses hers—but maybe they can find some comfort in distraction. "Scorp, do you want to go outside and watch for fireflies?"

He peeks up from beneath moist lashes, wipes his nose on his sleeve, and nods with a little smile, "Me and dad do that sometimes." Then he rushes off calling behind him, "I'll get the blanket."

Blanket in hand and Scorpius and Ollie in tow, the trio head out to the field. Scorpius takes the lead and shows Hermione the small cleared area, just big enough for the blanket to spread out. The ground is warm below them, lavender heavy on the breeze around them; and above them the sky is a kaleidoscope of pink, purple, and orange that bleeds into the deep blue of night.

They're quiet at first, letting the rhythm of dusk settle around them. It's Scoprius that breaks the silence, "I wish dad was here."

"I know. He's coming back."

There's a long pause before he speaks again, "My mum can't come back though."

Tears blur her vision and her throat feels tight. She can only hug him. It's another thing they have in common, missing their mums.

He doesn't cry this time, and no tears escape from Hermione's eyes, but melancholy builds a cloud around them.

When she feels more in control of her voice and emotions, Hermione dares to speak. "I'm sorry that you have to miss your mum."

"But, Hermione, I don't really know what it's like to have a mum." There's a long pause and what he says next is a whisper, "Maybe you could be my mum?"

The tears fall then, and she holds him tighter. "Oh, sweetheart, I would be thrilled to be your mum, but… "

"I know it doesn't work that way." He's so defeated and he sounds so small.

Hermione sits up and looks at him earnestly in the dim light, "I might not be able to be your mum, but I will be your friend. And you can talk to me about anything… anytime." It's an absolutely crushing hug that he gives her, and she returns it just as fiercely before he pulls away, swiping his eyes as Hermione does the same.

When they lay back again the sky is a deeper hue and stars are beginning to twinkle into existence; and from the lavender, fireflies swirl around them in a dance of blinking, winking lights.

Hermione blinks back into consciousness as the comfortable, solid warmth is removed from her side. Malfoy pauses above her as his son curls into his larger frame, "Sorry to wake you, Granger. Go back to sleep." He disappears up the stairs, and she sits up on the sofa pushing her unruly hair off her face.

Mugs of partially finished hot chocolate sit on the coffee table, and books lay open and discarded amid the toys. It had been a fun game, Scorpius likely making it up as he went along, but they'd laughed so hard. And when he lost his battle with sleep on her shoulder as she attempted to 'do the voices' in his favorite book, Hermione didn't move him. Apparently sleep was a victor over her as well.

That leaving is not her first instinct should give her pause, but she ignores her want to stay and begins to bustle around the sitting room tidying up. She tells herself it's to let Malfoy know that her time with Scorpius went without incident. She does not need to know if Malfoy is alright. He probably won't talk to her anyway.

"You don't have to clean up." She jumps, the arm load of toys falls, and she just manages not to scream. Malfoy bends to pick up the dropped toys. They continue together, silently reshelving books and tossing loose blocks into a basket.

When there is nothing left to pick up, the silence becomes heavy and awkward. "I'll just be going," Hermione mumbles, but as her hand touches the doorknob he calls out, "Stay for a drink?"

She steps back toward the sofa as Malfoy disappears into the adjoining room. He returns with two Firewhiskys. The silence is only interrupted by the clink of ice on the sides of the glasses.

"Malfoy… Are you alright?"

He leans forward to set his glass on the coffee table, then rubs his hands over his face. "Yes? No… I don't know."

The impulse to help is so strong in Hermione that her mouth works before her brain can stop her, "Do you want to talk about it?"

He huffs a humorless laugh and digs his palms deeper into his eye sockets. "Do I have to talk about it?"

"No."

The whisky is in his hand again and he gulps the burning liquid down his throat in one swallow.

Hermione sips hers delicately. But they both recline back into the sofa, eyes staring at the ceiling as the alcohol dissolves the thick air around them and a comfortable silence settles.

"He's my father." Her heavy eyelids peel open and her head rolls to the side to look at him. He's still staring upward, but he continues, seemingly lost in his thoughts. "I just never thought I'd have such conflicting feelings about my father."

A hum is all she can offer. She doesn't have much for Lucius Malfoy, but Draco Malfoy is becoming… her friend? Yes, she decides, he's enigmatic and snarky… she's just cared for his son for three days for crying out loud; they are, at the very least, casual friends at this point.

"I'm so aware of his shortcomings as a member of society, but…" the struggle to put word to his feelings is evident, "He was the man who put me on his shoulders so I could watch the peacocks on the other side of the hedges, the one who taught me to fly my broom in the spring gardens of the Manor. Now… now he's just a shell, and my mother is struggling, and I don't know how to help either of them."

She doesn't know either and a platitude is empty solace.

Words cease as they both sit, listening to the melody of the country just outside the walls of the house. The crickets chirp in time with a lone tree frog that croaks from somewhere in the garden; and Hermione allows herself to sink into the comfort of the sofa and the quiet of the moment.

When the fresh morning sun breaks through the gap in the curtains and Hermione wakes, it's to find herself tucked into the solid, warm side of Draco Malfoy. His arm is slung gently over her shoulder and her head is tucked in the crook of his arm. His face is peaceful with sleep, a gentle reminder of the effort he puts into his walls that keep others at a distance.

She slides out from beneath his hold and mercifully he remains asleep. Socked feet pad across the floor to her discarded shoes without a sound and she slips from the house. Not unnoticed, because she's halfway across the field as sleep bleary grey eyes watch her retreat back to the solitude of her cottage.

Thank you so much to all the lovely readers and reviewers! And to those of you who have followed and favorited as well! It's a pleasure to share this story with you! Thank you also to my girl, Mcal for all her work alpha and beta'ing and for just being a lovely friend!