Chapter 10

The sitting room of Gimmauld is blessedly dark and empty, giving Hermione a moment to collect herself and wipe the wetness from her cheeks. For it's only a moment later that Ginny pops into view, her belly gently swollen beneath her night shirt and a spoonful of cake frosting in her hand.

"Hermione? What are you doing here?"

A watery half smile graces her face and her shoulders rise in a pitiful shrug. Ginny motions for her to follow and they enter the dim kitchen of the old Black townhouse. The rattle of flatware rings about the room and a matching spoonful of cake frosting finds its way in front of Hermione.

Her head is tossed back in laughter and she licks the creamy confection as Ginny bustles about preparing tea.

With steaming cups of tea before them they sip in silence for a several long moments when Ginny raises an eyebrow, an unspoken reiteration of her previous question.

Hermione pushes her hair off her face and looks into the dregs of her teacup instead of at Ginny. "I was just missing you guys." She knows it sounds like a weak excuse, but she's not ready to deal with any emerging feelings for a certain blond, brooding wizard, not to mention his precious son.

Ginny pats her hand. "We'll get you settled in the guest room then, shall we?"

With a relieved sigh, Hermione follows her from the kitchen and finds herself ensconced in the bedroom she occupied once as an idealistic teenager.

Sleep is fitful, but adequate, she supposes, but the energy of the Grimmauld kitchen the next morning is infectious. Baby James watches as his father, with his chaotic hair and worn Hogwarts Quidditch t-shirt, levitates fruit around the kitchen to the beat of muggle hip hop music, and Ginny shakes her hips in time. James doubles down on his noise making when he spots her and Harry directs the conga line of apples and oranges into a bowl on the bench top.

Ginny shoots her a warm smile over her shoulder as she tends her pan of eggs and Harry pulls her into a familiar hug while ushering her into a seat and proffering a cup of her preferred morning coffee.

It's not just the coffee that warms Hermione; it's everything about this little family. The way Harry smiles at his wife, the way Ginny cups James' rosy cheek as he pinches bites of egg in his fingers, the easy rhythm that hums around them as they enjoy a simple breakfast on a Sunday morning. Draco and Scorpius have this too. She tells herself that she has no business wanting to be part of it.

With breakfast finished, Harry scoops up a boisterous James. He bends to leave a kiss on Hermione's cheek, James grabbing a handful of curls as Harry pulls away. Ginny eases the tresses from her son's grip and shoos Harry from the room with a swat to his bum.

"Not in front of the company, woman." He teases as he shimmies from the room.

Ginny collapses in the chair beside Hermione with an amused smile. "So..." She pats Hermione on the leg. "Want to tell me what's going on?"

"Draco Malfoy has a dead wife." She just blurts it out.

Ginny nods. "I actually knew that." Hermione cuts her eyes toward her friend. "His son told me," she says with a shrug. "What's really going on, Hermione?"

The coffee cooling in her mug is the most interesting thing she's ever seen, especially since she has zero desire to think about, let alone discuss, Draco Malfoy. She settles for a shrug, but Ginny just rolls her eyes and sips her tea.

"I fear for your children. They will not be able to keep any secrets," Hermione sighs.

"I did learn from the best," Ginny preens. "Molly Weasley is a master interrogator."

Then there is quiet. Ginny sips from her cup, an unaffected air surrounding her as she basks in the silence of the kitchen. Observing Ginny gives Hermione an excuse not to think about Draco. But the longer the silence extends to more her thoughts turn toward the mercurial wizard. When does he get a chance to sip a cup of tea or coffee in quiet? Does he purposefully stay up after Scorpius goes to sleep to enjoy a few minutes of solitude? How often does he wish that Astoria was still here and that he'd fallen madly in love with her? Does he want to take a chance on loving someone else?

Her thoughts begin to grow louder so Hermione relents, but what comes out of her mouth is unexpected at best. "Draco Malfoy has goats."

Ginny nods and takes an easy sip of tea. "Does he use these goats for ritual sacrifice?"

An offended noise issues from the back of her throat as Hermione attempts not to choke on her coffee. "Of course not! I can't believe you would suggest that about Esmerelda!"

Ginny sits back in her chair, the corner of her mouth threatening to curl into a triumphant smirk as Hermione carries on, "Those goats are darling and they trust him to milk them and care for them. And the soap he makes, Gin… it's the most luxurious soap you've ever used. And he cooks! And he has chickens… And a motorbike…" Her voice begins to quiet, "And the way he is with his son." Hermione's eyes begin to water.

"Hermione…" Ginny reaches up to grasp her hand.

"I like Draco Malfoy." It's no more than a whisper.

Ginny considers her for a moment. "It's not the craziest thing I've ever heard"

"But, Gin… " she whines.

"No, Hermione." She's cut off before she can continue. "You are allowed to be interested in Draco Malfoy."

Hermione's lips purse and curl into themselves as she fights an internal battle over the feelings she has for Draco Malfoy and what it means to try and be part of his—and Scorpius'—life.

The thunk of Ginny's mug on the table draws her back to the present, and patting the back of Hermione's hand as she rises from the table Ginny announces, "We're going for a walk."

There is scarcely time to protest as the fiery witch summons their trainers and is halfway up the stairs to the first level before Hermione can tie one shoe.

"Going for a walk" was, as it turns out, Ginny-speak for shopping.

As soon as Hermione steps out onto the front stoop of Grimmauld Place, still thankfully hidden from muggle eyes, Ginny whisks them away to Diagon Alley.

Subversive measures aside, Hermione is glad for the bustle of the Alley all around them as they drift from shop to shop. Hermione can feel Ginny's excitement for the new baby as she watches her run her fingers over the stitching in the soft babygrows they find, her face gentle with longing as she caresses the embroidered stars and dragons.

Thoughts of Draco Malfoy and his precious, precious son fade to the back of her mind as they enjoy the day together.

That evening finds Hermione doubled over in laughter as George and Ron join them for dinner. It seems that Ron working with George at the joke shop ignited the dormant creative and mischievous spirit in the remaining twin.

Ron regales them with a story of his day spent engaging with customers, all the while, unbeknownst to him, his hair changed colors and styles. Seems he figured it out only when another wizard asked him how he achieved such a clean line between the colors of the rainbow hued confection atop his head.

Hermione wasn't sure who was more pleased at Ron's retaliation that occurred later that same week, because George's eyes glowed with pride as Ron described the writhing dance George performed around that shop after Ron imbued his jacket with itching powder.

She has really missed this; time with friends, tears that streak her cheeks with happiness instead of loneliness—a feeling of being right where she's supposed to be.

The back garden of Gimmauld is an oddity in the city, small, of course, but unnaturally quiet. London's boisterous melody, that she knows is just beyond the walls, doesn't leak into the space, only the accompaniment of nocturnal insects can be heard, but the stars are not privy to the treachery of whatever charm is cast here, because they pale in comparison to the celestial light show that peppers the fields around her little country home… around Draco's little country home.

Just that quickly, he's on her mind again. The teasing laughter and easy camaraderie of her friends fades as she thinks of the way Draco smiles at his son while he plays, the gentle touch of his hand as he taught her to milk the goats and make soap, the solid warmth of his body as she clung to him on his motorbike. There is no doubt that he's a changed man and the glimpse into his life—into him—calls her back to that sweet little cottage surrounded by fields of lavender.

The evening winds down as Harry and Ginny disappear into the house to put James to bed and George excuses himself claiming a late-night meeting with a "lady friend".

Ron remains by her side on the garden bench, his presence warm and familiar as she lets her eyes wander far away into the sky, to find the constellations that shine so bright in the country.

"So, I hear you've got Malfoy as a neighbor."

She shrugs and nods her head.

"His kid is pretty cool, huh?"

She cuts her eyes to him. "Harry told you about his son?"

He has that smug look on his face, the one he always sports after a particularly daring Quidditch save. "Harry tells me everything..." His voice gets quiet and his face implores her, "You used to tell me everything too."

Her arms fly around his shoulders and she buries her face in his neck. He smells of gunpowder, faded cologne, and the same laundry soap Molly always uses, even though he doesn't live at the Burrow any longer and she knows he does his own wash. It's wonderful and familiar, but it lacks that crisp musk with a hint of lavender she recalls from her time tucked into Draco's side as she slept on the sofa, or when she was wrapped around him on his motorbike as they traversed the undulating hills. How could those small, seemingly insignificant events, leave their etch on her soul and lead her here, to a place where she misses the man that bullied her as a child?

"Oh, Ron, I feel so lost."

The rhythmic pressure of his hand rubbing up and down her back is grounding, but it stops too soon and Ron pushes her at arm's length. "Have you ever thought that maybe, you're not lost, but you're just on a path you didn't plan?"

She purses her lips to fight the fond smile threatening to break free. "When did you get so philosophical?"

"So few appreciate my true wisdom." He says brushing invisible dust from his shoulders and giving her a wink.

She gives him a little shove as they laugh. It feels good to laugh… to be with friends.

"Hermione?" He's serious again. "What about that job offer you got?"

She shrugs, "I sent a response, but never heard back, maybe they changed their minds?"

Shaking his head he disagrees, "Nah, they'd be crazy not to hire you. You're brilliant!"

"Thanks, Ron." Hermione nudges his shoulder with hers, "I guess something will happen when the time is right."

At this, Ron stands, his hands shoved into his pockets. "And as for Malfoy…"

"Listen, Ron…"

"No… you listen, Hermione. He may not be my favorite person, but if he makes you happy, who am I to say that you can't have feelings for the bloke."

She can't meet his eyes, "What if he's the one that doesn't have feelings for me?" Her voice is a mere whisper.

"Then he's a fool."

AN: Thank you everyone for your reviews! I'm sorry for not keeping up with responding to each one, but know that I appreciate them so much! Also thank you to everyone who has followed or favorited! As always, a big thank you to Mcal for alpha'ing, beta'ing, and being a wonderful friend!

Hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'd love to hear your thoughts on it!