As soon as I woke up, I felt the same queasiness and unease that had plagued me since Hermione left therapy the previous day. While I'd heard from her before I went to bed, it had done nothing to reassure me.

Rather than letting myself dwell on the potential problem, I tried to move forward with my day. I headed to Astoria's house to watch Scorpius while she went to treatment and, as usual, my son distracted me from all my own problems. His face lit up the second he saw me and lightened my mood considerably.

We spent the hour we had together reading a book and levitating toys around the room. I was honestly amazed at the way Scorpius wielded magic, especially given his age.

"I see you're enjoying yourselves," Astoria said from the doorway, her golden hair tied back in a tight ponytail.

The stuffed dragon he'd been levitating fell to the ground as soon as his concentration broke. As I stood up, I waved a hand and sent all the toys back to their respective places so Astoria wouldn't have to tidy up later.

"Mum!" Scorpius shouted before running over as fast as his little legs could carry him and extending his arms to be picked up.

She obliged, hugging him close and kissing his cheek. "Hi, darling." Focusing her attention on me, she looked me over. "Are you okay, Draco? You look exhausted."

"I'm fine," I answered, even though I knew it wasn't really the truth. "Just feels like a long week already. How did your appointment go?"

She shrugged. "The same as always. Countercurses and several potions. At least I feel like I have a bit more energy now than I did before."

"When will the healers check your progress again?"

"Probably in a month or so," she responded, swivelling Scorpius to her hip. "They're happy with my free magic levels right now, and as long as those stay where they are or improve, they'll try to reduce the spells and potions and check me periodically."

"I'm glad it seems to be working."

My answer was honest — I didn't want Scorpius to lose his mother, and I wished no ill will on Astoria. I knew I'd wronged her terribly from the onset of our betrothal. Nothing I could do would ever make up for that, and I honestly didn't think we would get anywhere discussing it further. Instead of focusing on the past, I knew we both had to move on, to focus on the future and being the best possible parents to our son.

"Me too." She gave me a weak smile. "Do you have time for a cup of coffee or tea before you head into the office?"

Glancing at my watch, I nodded. "Sure. Is there something you wanted to talk about?"

Astoria handed Scorpius off to me and I followed her out of the room, heading down the stairs behind her. She shakily summoned the canister of coffee grounds down from the high shelf in the cabinet and handed them to me. "Your mother came to see me yesterday."

My stomach twisted, knowing what was coming.

"She's upset that she hasn't heard from you, and I'm..." She trailed off with a sigh. "I don't want to be in the middle of you and your parents, Draco. What's going on?"

As the coffee brewed, I retrieved two mugs from the counter, handing one off to Astoria for her tea.

"I'm angry with them," I admitted, meeting her eyes. "Hermione's showed me some memories — things they did or said to her — and I just can't bring myself to see them right now."

Worrying her bottom lip, she poured hot water from the instant boil kettle. "Draco, I know this whole situation is less than ideal, but are you really going to cut off communication with your parents? Indefinitely?"

"With my father? Absolutely," I answered. "He knew what would happen if I found out about the Obliviation, Astoria. I've given him so many chances, and every single time, he's disappointed me. I truly thought he'd changed, but seeing the way he threatened Hermione... It was like being back in the war all over again."

"And your mother?"

That was more complicated. While I knew that she'd kept secrets from me and hadn't stopped the Obliviation once it was underway, I didn't want to cut her out of my life completely.

"I don't know. I just need some time, I think."

"And is she allowed to see Scorpius?" Astoria asked, sitting down at the table.

I looked at my son, walking around the kitchen and chattering to himself, happy as he could possibly be, and then turned my attention back to Astoria.

"I've been thinking about this a lot lately, actually. I'm worried about him spending time around my father, especially as he gets older. I don't want him to be like I was the first handful of years at Hogwarts."

She nodded thoughtfully. "I understand that. I wouldn't want him to behave the way you did, either."

"What do you think?" I asked her. "You're his mother. Are you comfortable with him spending time with my parents?"

"I'm happy to let you decide," she obfuscated, not giving me her true opinion.

Pouring my coffee, I gave her a few more seconds to think about it. "I want to know what you want for him, too."

When I turned to face her, she was wringing her hands and looked more nervous than she had in quite some time.

"I think Scorpius needs a balance. Not all the old ways are bad, and I think it would be good for him to have exposure to both the magical and Muggle worlds. I'm still going to see your mother and I'd like to bring him along when I do."

I nodded. "I'm okay with that, as long as you're there too."

She cleared her throat. "I need you to promise me something."

I didn't immediately agree but I gestured for her to continue, signalling that I was listening.

"If I die," she began, her voice a bit shaky, "I want Scorpius to know his grandparents — my parents and your mother at the very least. And Daphne and Michael. I know you have problems with your father, and I won't force the issue with him, but family is important. You know that."

Astoria had grown up in the same circles that I had, so her request didn't shock me; we'd been taught to honour our elders above all else. Duty to one's family was expected to be the highest priority, and I knew that all too well.

But I didn't want to dismiss her outright, not when it was her last request.

"I will agree to your family," I said, carding my fingers through my hair. "And I will try with mine, but on my own terms."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I need time to think things through and sort out my life, but I don't think I can be around them right now." After a moment, I added, "And I won't force Hermione to see them, no matter the circumstances. I will put her feelings and needs first."

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realised two things. One, I'd truly meant every single syllable. And two, it was likely thoughtless to say these things to Astoria since I'd never shown her that kind of respect.

Hastily, I continued. "And I know that's what I should've done for you, and I'm sorry I didn't—"

"Stop," she said, shaking her head. "I know you didn't say that to be unkind or to rub it in my face. You love her. You always have and you always will. I understand."

Rather than dragging the awkward conversation out, I gave her a curt nod and took another sip of my coffee.

Astoria took the opportunity and spoke up. "We're all at fault in different ways, Draco. Me, your parents, you, Hermione... We were all selfish and didn't think about the effects on everyone else. I'm not going to tell you to forgive your parents, but if you can forgive me and you can forgive Hermione, why not them?"

I felt ill at the very thought of forgiving my father, of giving him yet another chance to be in my life and be the kind of parent I'd always wanted him to be. But I didn't want to argue with Astoria, not right now.

"I'll continue to think about it," I answered, looking down at my watch. "I need to get to the office. Do you need any evening help this week? I'd be happy to take Scorpius if you want."

"Is Hermione still abroad?"

"She is. I'm not sure when exactly she'll be back."

"Can you take him on Friday night?"

"Of course," I responded, happy to have something to look forward to.

"That would be lovely, then. I could use a night to myself."

"And do you need me Friday morning?"

"If you don't mind. Or I could ask your mother."

"I'll be here," I confirmed. "I told you that I can be here every day you're in treatment, and I promise that won't change."

"I'll see you then," she responded. "Thank you."

As soon as I was at my desk in the DMLE, the impulse to check the two-way journal returned full force, but I reminded myself that she said we'd talk next week. I hated that she was retreating and hiding from me, and I couldn't help but imagine every worst-case scenario in my head.

She'd been angry with me about Blaise, but even before she'd confirmed it in her note, I'd known that there was something else bothering her. This realisation, whatever it was, had to be important. I could feel it in my bones. The sensation was similar to the nagging feeling I'd had after the Obliviation, like there was something crucial missing from my life and I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was.

It had taken near Herculean effort to stop myself from responding to her last night, and I didn't think I could maintain that level of control indefinitely. The metaphorical distance between us had shrunk and now it felt like it was growing again, ripping at the stitches and reopening the wounds that had just started to heal.

Bracing my elbows on my desk, I dropped my head into my hands and tangled my fingers in my hair, even though I knew I would end up looking deranged after the fact. I simply couldn't think of any realisation that could stem from our conversation with Penelope and would require a week's worth of time apart and silence.

But I also knew that I had to respect her wishes — there had been so many times that I hadn't in the past, and I didn't want her to think I was the same person I was back then. I'd grown and changed throughout this whole experience, and I was determined to be the man she deserved.

Giving in, I sat up straight and pulled the journal from my bag, my heart in my throat. I opened it slowly, the pages fluttering to either side and revealing our correspondence from yesterday, but nothing new.

I let out a sigh and closed it again, hoping that she was feeling better today and wrapping things up... wherever she was.

For the first time in a long time, I started to employ my Occlumency skills. I sectioned Hermione off into one part of my mind and did my best to block out all connecting thoughts and emotions, but it was extremely difficult when I was working in the office where we'd spent so much time together over the years.

Reaching for some easy, low priority requests, I attempted to bury myself in busy work for the remainder of the morning.

But that wasn't meant to be.

Less than an hour later, Potter knocked on my door and stepped into my office, not even waiting for me to answer him and grant him entry.

"Malfoy," he said, nodding in greeting.

I mentally counted to five. "Potter. Did you need something?"

Closing the door behind him, he made himself comfortable in the chair across from mine. "No, but I thought you might like to know that I saw Hermione last night."

My heart leapt into my throat, which was a good thing since it kept me from asking questions. I waited for him to continue speaking, but he didn't.

Eventually, I cleared my throat and asked, "How was she?"

Innocuous enough that he would answer it.

"She's okay. She's just being Hermione." He shrugged his shoulders. "She's not shutting everyone out, so I'm not worried."

I couldn't help the jealousy that flared up inside of me. "No, she's only shutting me out this time."

"Not indefinitely," Potter answered. "She's going to be home this weekend, and I'm sure that you'll be the first one she contacts. She just needs time to wrap her head around something."

"That's all fine and well," I began, trying to keep my tone level, "but, in the meantime, I'm left wondering what I did to upset her again."

He sighed. "She's not upset with you. She's just taking time to get her head on straight again."

I reshuffled the papers in front of me, needing to do something with my hands. If not, I might reach across the desk and strangle Potter. "Well, it certainly doesn't feel that way."

"Listen, this is what she does. I know you might not remember—"

"Of course I don't bloody remember!" I shouted, losing my cool. "How could I?"

He raised his hands in surrender, but I didn't stop.

"I don't remember what she's like in a relationship because everyone in my life decided to take that from me! And now I don't know how to fix things or make it better for her. All I know is that I love her and I'm trying and she's pushing me away again."

"I swear, Malfoy, she's not—"

"Well, she's speaking to you and to Pansy and probably to bloody Weasley and Blaise—"

"Stop right there," Potter interrupted, his green eyes hardening. "She isn't speaking to Blaise, but she did see Ron when she was with me. You need to get over your jealousy and your issues with her exes, and you need to do it quickly. I can't tell you what's going on with her, but she's doing fine. And she's coming home, and she loves you. What's a few days compared to a lifetime?"

I gritted my teeth. "I'm not bothering her. I wasn't going to come to you for information. You're the one who came to talk to me."

"Because I thought you'd want to know that she was okay and would be home this weekend," Potter said calmly. "I thought you might be worried about her. Hell, when Pansy went off on her own after we'd started seeing each other, I was a wreck."

Rubbing my face with my palms, I leaned back in my chair. I knew I'd likely overreacted and jumped down his throat for no reason. I could vaguely remember helping him track Pansy down years ago, and it seemed he was here to help me as well. Even though an apology was likely in order, I just sat there and tried to breathe in deeply. One by one, I tried to focus on things to ground me — the smell of the old books on my shelves, the lingering taste of coffee on my tongue, the feel of the floor firmly beneath my feet. I pulled my hands away from my face and looked up at the ceiling, wishing it was charmed to resemble the outdoors.

And then my mind replayed the things Potter had said one at a time.

She just needs time to wrap her head around something.

She's not upset with you.

I know you might not remember.

Realising what had prompted most of my anger, I took yet another deep breath and started to count the beats of my heart. After a minute or so, I finally started to calm.

"I'm sorry to have upset you," Potter said, breaking the silence. "Is there anything I can do?"

Sitting up straight, I shook my head. "No. Thank you for letting me know that she's okay." When he stood, I called his name and he met my eyes. "Probably best not to use phrases like 'I know you might not remember' with me just yet. It's still a bit of a sore spot."

He nodded. "Understandably so. I'm sorry again — that was definitely the wrong thing to say."

"Tell Pans I'll stop by for lunch on Friday," I stated, turning my attention back to my papers. "Things have been a little crazy, but I don't want to go a long time without speaking to her again."

"I'm sure she'd like that."

As soon as I heard the door shut behind him, I took another deep breath and started thinking about what Hermione could possibly be trying to wrap her head around.

After another night of silence from Hermione, I found myself back in Healer Clearwater's office for my appointment.

"Good morning," she said, her eyes watching me carefully as I sat down on the sofa.

I nodded in response, not sure how I wanted to begin the appointment. Even though I'd thought of nothing but Hermione since she'd walked out on Tuesday morning, I knew I had to work on myself in general, not just my relationship issues.

"How have you been?" she prompted, reading my stiff posture and reluctance to start.

Shrugging, I said, "It's been a rough couple of days."

"Because of the way Hermione left on Tuesday?"

"Yes," I replied, my voice stiff. "That's definitely a contributing factor."

"Has anything else happened?"

"No. I'm just..." I rubbed my palms over my face. "I don't know how to deal with this. I know she needs time to process, but every time she leaves, I feel like she takes pieces of me with her, and I'm stuck here, anxious and unsure."

"A reversal of your former dynamic."

Of course I hadn't thought of it that way before, but what she said made sense.

I felt a cold sweat start to form on my skin. "Well, that makes me feel like even more of a world-class arse. I can't imagine going through this for over a year."

"I didn't say it to make you feel that way," Penelope replied. "Just to make you think a little."

I nodded. "I understand."

"Have you spoken to your parents at all?"

"I haven't. My mother owled me over the weekend and spoke to Astoria, though."

"And how do you feel about her speaking with Astoria?"

"Do you mind if I move around?"

"By all means," she replied, her hand sweeping out as if she were saying the floor was mine.

"Thanks," I answered, rising to my feet. "I feel bad that she's putting Astoria in the middle. I wish that she'd just come to talk to me, rather than going to my ex-wife."

"Perhaps she felt unwelcome because you didn't answer her owl."

I rolled my eyes. "Like that's ever stopped her before."

"Have you spoken to her since she went to Astoria?"

Pacing to the window and back again, I tried to calm myself. "No. Astoria just told me about it yesterday. I know I have to address it, but I've been so wrapped up in my own head about what's going on with Hermione that I haven't yet."

"I understand you must be concerned about why she left the appointment so suddenly."

"Potter came to my office yesterday to tell me that she's fine. He saw her Tuesday night," I said, and even I could hear the bitterness and jealousy in my voice. "I'm glad that she was talking to someone, really I am, I just wish it had been me."

Healer Clearwater nodded again. "I know that you do. But maybe she needed an outside perspective first. You know as well as I do that your situation is complicated at best."

"But we were here in your office. Couldn't you have served as her outside perspective?"

"Not with you in the room," she reminded me, her voice gentler than normal. "But we're getting off track. I wanted to talk about your parents."

I sighed. "I know. I just... I don't think we have enough time in one appointment to really discuss everything about my parents."

"Well, let's start with your father, then. Tell me anything you want to about him, or about your relationship with him."

Bile rose up in my throat. Other than with Blaise and probably Hermione — I couldn't be sure — I had never really discussed my father with anyone. Even at the best of times, our relationship had been complicated, and letting a total stranger in made me nervous.

But I knew I had to push through the discomfort.

"I was raised to idolise him," I began, trying to remember things from my early childhood. "I remember my grandparents telling me that I should grow up to be just as strong as my father. Just as pure and proud as him. I thought he was perfect for so many years."

Healer Clearwater nodded, signalling that I should continue.

"And he worshipped the ground my mother walked on. If there is one good thing about my upbringing, it's that I saw a loving relationship between my mother and father for most of my life." Even now, when I closed my eyes, I could see my parents walking hand-in-hand through the garden or sitting so close they were practically entwined on any sofa. "Sometimes, even though my mother also doted on me, I almost felt like an outsider looking in. They lived in their own little world."

"And that's how things were between you and Hermione."

"Yes, and I got swept up in that." A few seconds passed, and then I continued. "I didn't really have any other role models, and once I started at Hogwarts, I learned that I'd lived a relatively sheltered life. Even the other Slytherins knew more of the outside world than I did."

"What do you mean? The Muggle world?"

"Not even that. I'd been to Diagon Alley and the wizarding equivalents in other countries, of course. And I'd heard my father talk about poor families like the Weasleys, but I hadn't realised that our kind of wealth was... unusual. The circles we travelled in were filled with more of the same — manor houses and finery and excess…" I trailed off, remembering the insides of the Nott and Parkinson estates. "I'd seen my father intimidate and mock my whole life, so I tried to do the same when I arrived at Hogwarts. That's how I ended up with Crabbe and Goyle as friends first year. Even Blaise and Pansy didn't arrive at Hogwarts with that kind of arrogance." I sighed. "I parroted everything my father said and couldn't really understand why I didn't seem to make friends easily."

"I'm sure you're not the first person to do something like that, Draco," she pointed out. "It's completely natural for children to behave the same way the adults in their lives do."

I nodded. "I know. Really, I do, but looking back… I know it was wrong."

She didn't reply, and I knew she was waiting for me to continue. I decided to move the timeline along.

"By the end of second year, after the Chamber of Secrets, I started to see that my father wasn't always infallible." Something in my brain clicked and I remembered that Penelope Clearwater had been one of the Petrified students. "I know this is almost twenty years too late, but I'm sorry my father's actions hurt you that year. And I'm sure you heard me say foul things, too."

"Thank you, but it's been a long time. There were no lasting effects." She gave me a weak smile. "But I'm curious — since you were so young, what errors or faults of his did you see?"

"Well, he was removed from the Board of Governors, and that had been a position he cherished. I might not have fully understood what had happened at the time, but I knew he wouldn't just be ousted for no reason at all as he claimed. And after Dumbledore was gone, I heard the professors saying that the school would have to be closed... That was the last thing I wanted, and I knew my father had taken credit for finally getting rid of the headmaster."

She nodded. "So little bits and pieces made you start to question things."

"I never questioned anything. I realised that my father had his faults like any other person. Up until then, I'd been rather blind to his shortcomings."

"But your attitude didn't really change after that," Healer Clearwater stated. "You still tried to emulate your father whenever you could and pull him into school business."

"Right," I answered, feeling my cheeks heat. "If anything, I probably got worse, and my father encouraged the way I acted. In third year, I'd only set out to make a fool of Hagrid and act tough in front of everyone. When my father heard what had happened, he slipped me a note that basically praised my 'plan' to get rid of the giant. I was thirteen. I wasn't scheming at that level. But, after he'd praised me, I started to plan like that whenever I could."

"You'd earned his approval and wanted to keep it."

"And, ultimately, the way I learned how to sneak around and scheme saved my life sixth year. I can't regret it. Not completely." Raking a hand through my hair, I tugged at the ends, drifting back to one of the worst times of my life. "Everything just gets jumbled like that in my head when it comes to my father. I know that he encouraged me to do things that no parent should ever be proud of, but at the same time, I can't outright hate him for it because I did need those skills eventually. You could even argue that I needed them once I became an Auror."

"Emotions are complex, especially when they're attached to important situations and people in our lives," she began, carefully choosing her words. "You can be thankful he encouraged your more devious side while knowing it was wrong and manipulative and not something that many parents would do."

I swallowed hard. "I could feel things changing fourth year. There was a certain... heaviness to it. I didn't go home for the Christmas holidays, but I saw the change in Professor Snape. And the students from Durmstrang spent a lot of time with us in the dungeons. They showed us hexes and curses that they were openly taught in classes and then I remembered my father had wanted me to attend that school." Taking a deep breath, I said, "He wanted me to be like them, and I just… I couldn't understand why."

"And how did that make you feel?"

"I honestly tried not to think about it. I directed all my energy into making Potter feel like shit and a fledgling relationship with Pansy. We acted like little celebrities, giving interviews to Rita Skeeter about Potter and Granger's torrid love affair and whatever else we could think of."

And I remembered the way Hermione had looked, gliding around the dance floor with Krum. For once in my life, I hadn't found a single thing to mock her for. Every eye had been on her, unable to believe that she'd transformed from the little know-it-all bookworm into the beautiful girl in the Durmstrang champion's arms.

"Yes, the majority of your hatred and teasing was directed at Harry and Hermione while you were at school. Have you ever thought about why?"

"Countless times," I replied. "I was jealous of Potter. I'm sure that doesn't shock you."

She shook her head. "Not at all."

"My parents made me believe that I'd be beloved at Hogwarts. I'd have so many friends and the professors would favour me. As soon as I was placed in the same classes as Potter and Granger, that all went out the window." I took a deep breath. "And I won't say that I always felt something for Hermione. At first, she genuinely annoyed me. I spent more time than I care to admit trying to figure out why a girl who grew up with Muggles was more talented than most of the kids from the old wizarding families."

"I'm sure that was a shock to you, given your upbringing."

"It was. I thought she must be an anomaly. And then as things started to change in fifth year, I found myself thinking about her more and more. On the train, she told me off for being an arse, and it was obvious she had changed over the summer. She usually didn't approach me about anything first. Well, except for when she punched me in the face." My hand absentmindedly travelled up to my cheek and rubbed over it. "And Blaise — he was the first one who pointed it out to me. He would catch me staring at her in class or in the library and he told me that it was getting really obvious."

"That you were attracted to her?"

I shrugged. "I guess that would probably be the word for it at that age. Pansy noticed too, so I went back to harassing Hermione and calling her a Mudblood, even though it felt wrong every time I said it."

She nodded. "That's the perfect lead-in to my next question. As you got older, how did your relationship with your father change? We were originally supposed to be talking about him."

Taking a few seconds to think back, I turned and stared out the window. "The shift happened at the end of fourth year. When Voldemort returned, my father sat me down and said that I had to grow up and get ready to take my place in his inner circle. There was no other place for a Malfoy." I rolled my eyes, remembering how far our family name had eventually fallen within the Death Eater ranks. "My father — he was told to do everything he could to support Umbridge at Hogwarts, so he asked me to do the same. He worked with Fudge, and I joined the Inquisitorial Squad. I told anyone who would listen that Potter was unstable and should be locked away in St Mungo's."

"And was your father satisfied with that?" Healer Clearwater asked.

I turned to face her again, my hands tucked into my pockets. "I never really got the chance to find out. Before I went home for the summer holidays, he was arrested and locked up in Azkaban."

"So you never got his approval?"

Shaking my head, I said, "No. My whole world turned upside down at the end of fifth year. My father was gone, Voldemort and the other Death Eaters started moving into the Manor, and my mother was barely able to hold herself together, let alone me."

"What was that summer like?"

"Honestly? The only thing I can remember clearly is the fear," I answered. "My mother and I tried to stay out of the fray, but when Voldemort summoned you, you went to him. And he summoned me in July and told me I'd be initiated to take my father's place before I returned to Hogwarts."

"When did that happen?"

"At the beginning of August. A week later, in front of the entire inner circle, he gave me my mission — kill Dumbledore." I paced back over to the sofa and sat down heavily, bracing my elbows on my knees and covering my face with my palms. "He gave me two weeks to come up with a plan and present it to him. I was scared shitless and suffering the after-effects of my initiation. I didn't know it at the time, but my mother was making her own plans, going to Snape and asking him to help me."

Healer Clearwater waited me out.

"But the whole time, I remember thinking that none of this would've happened to me if my father hadn't screwed up." I took another deep breath. "The summer after sixth year, he was home and just kept encouraging me to climb the ranks. It didn't seem like he was worried about the toll everything was taking on me mentally and physically."

"Physically?"

I nodded. "Yes. Every single time I failed in Voldemort's or Bellatrix's eyes, I was tortured. All through sixth year, I avoided going home whenever I could. My mother had to have told him what we'd been through while he was in Azkaban, and it just seemed like he didn't care at all. He just wanted me to become him, and for the first time in my life, I wanted to be his polar opposite." Pausing, I thought for a moment. "But, at the same time, I still craved his approval, even though that sounds contradictory."

"It's natural to want that approval," Healer Clearwater said. "Especially since you'd been groomed to emulate your father for most of your life."

The word nearly made me shudder.

Groomed.

"I suppose that's accurate."

"And what about after the war?"

"Before we were all put on trial, my father apologised and we agreed to start over if we all made it out unscathed. He said I could do what I wanted with my life, and I told him that I'd take on my duties as heir when the time came." Thinking back to that time was painful, but I knew Healer Clearwater would help me sort through my feelings about my father if I gave her the chance. "Potter and Granger spoke on my behalf, and then I ended up getting into the DMLE after a N.E.W.T. correspondence course. My father wasn't happy about it at first, but he kept his opinions to himself most of the time. I thought he'd really changed."

Her attention stayed focused on me.

"For a couple of years, I got to live my own life. Blaise and I worked and travelled and, well, behaved like idiotic men in our early twenties. My father didn't ever say anything about it or tell me to settle down."

"So how did the arranged marriage to Astoria come about?"

I swallowed. "We'd been betrothed for years, but I figured her parents would've broken the contract after the war. About a year after she finished up at Hogwarts, her father approached mine, and we all discussed the possibility of keeping the match. My father was all for it and I... I honestly didn't put up much of an objection. I'd been in the DMLE for over two years, and Hermione had barely spoken to me a handful of times."

"How long did it take you to set a date?"

"Almost two years after they first approached me," I answered hesitantly. "The longer I put it off, the more pressure I got from both Astoria's parents and my own. I can remember an argument with my father — a big one — so clearly. He told me I needed to stop wasting my time gallivanting around Europe with Blaise and get serious about my duties as his heir, the way I'd promised I would."

"Did he tell you that you had to marry Astoria?" she asked, seeming genuinely curious.

"He strongly encouraged it, and I knew how he felt about half-bloods and Muggleborns. I didn't want to..." I trailed off, my mind flooding with memories of that time.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I blocked out my surroundings and tried to focus on the conversation replaying in my mind. I was in a conference room in the DMLE and Blaise was shouting at me, asking me what was wrong with me and reminding me that my father had no real control over my life. Not anymore.

I heard him say that I'd be miserable, that Astoria would be miserable, and then he brought up Granger, and encouraged me to take a chance on her.

And my reply had been firm — "For the love of Merlin, Blaise! Granger deserves more than a former Death Eater with a father who would treat her like she was nothing!"

My blood ran cold as I realised that while everything had changed, somehow nothing had changed — I was still a former Death Eater, and my father had behaved exactly as I'd predicted. He'd treated Hermione like she was nothing at all, simply a minor inconvenience that had to be managed. Granted, I'd created an impossibly bad situation by carrying on the affair, but he hadn't even stopped to consider what she might mean to me. I felt my throat constricting, a tightness in my chest.

If my father was in the picture, everything could turn out exactly the same. He could say or do something when I wasn't around, find a way to insult her or manipulate her...

I could lose her again.

My soul, or our bond, rejected the very thought. I had to do whatever I could to keep her safe, keep her away from him.

"Draco?" Healer Clearwater said, breaking through the hazy panic in my mind. "Draco, are you okay?"

My eyes popped open and I saw her sitting across from me, a look of concern on her face.

"Just remembering," I said, pressing my fingertips against my eyes. "I knew my father wouldn't approve of Hermione, so I married Astoria. I never even tried to be friends with Hermione because I didn't want to have to choose."

"Choose?"

"Between my parents — or at least my father — and Hermione." I growled in frustration. "And now here I am, four bloody years later, making the choice. I've made so many mistakes and wasted so much time."

"No one is forcing you to choose," she pointed out. "Hermione told you that she wouldn't make you. She just doesn't want to be involved with your parents. I think there's a clear difference between making you choose and choosing to stay away from them herself."

I considered her words. There was a difference but I also had to decide how much I wanted them in my life. Or in Scorpius' life.

"This sort of brings us back to the question you asked me in our first meeting. If Hermione and I have children, how would I explain it to them? If my parents see Scorpius and not the others..."

"Right," Healer Clearwater confirmed. "But, in addition to that, I think you need to consider your overall history. You've always made decisions based on what your parents want or would consider acceptable, save for the affair with Hermione, correct?"

I nodded. "That's true, yes."

Carefully, she asked, "Is that a pattern you could see yourself falling back into? Maybe not in regards to Hermione, but in general? Would you still seek their approval?"

"I suppose it's a possibility."

"Sometimes, we feel obligated to put family first. It's something we're taught from a young age, especially in the wizarding world. Respect our elders, learn from them, aspire to be them... I know I don't have to say that to you because you've lived it. This society can sometimes seem a bit like the Muggle society in the Middle Ages, honestly." She paused and took a breath. "But, Draco, it's becoming more and more common for people to forge their own paths outside of familial expectations and obligations. Have you seen examples of this in your own circle?"

I thought of Pansy, of Daphne, of Theo Nott. Of Ginny Weasley. Hell, even of Blaise.

"I think so."

"Give me an example," she prompted.

I looked down at my hands. "Daphne Greengrass, Astoria's sister. After the war, she broke her marriage contract on her own. She was estranged from her family for quite some time."

"And during that time, what did she do? How did she act?"

It had been years ago, but I remembered seeing her around the Ministry, climbing the ranks and building a career.

"She defied all her parents' expectations and flourished."

"Give me another example."

"Pansy Parkinson."

"And how did she change?"

"She married Potter," I began. "Well, before that, she started her own business. I know her mother wasn't a big fan of the idea, but since it involved interior decor, she went along with it as appropriate — a skill that would be seen as beneficial to a potential match."

"How did her family react?"

I sighed. "She told me she hasn't seen her mother in well over two years. They're still in contact, but definitely distant."

"Can you think of others?"

"Of course."

"So, out of all the former classmates or others you can name, are there more people who struggle or lead happy, fulfilling lives?"

Her questions were leading, but I followed her train of thought. My immediate reaction — the reflexive, engrained one — was to tell her that my situation was different, but then I thought about it. Even when my father had promised to let me live my own life and make my own choices, he'd been watching me closely, intervening when he saw fit. Instead of coming to me and asking if I had any interest in keeping the contract, he encouraged Astoria's father to talk to me. At age 20, I hadn't had the spine to tell him I'd never taken an interest in his daughter. And, when I spoke to my father about the contract, he encouraged me to go through with it. There was never a demand, just a subtle influence, a quiet manipulation.

He'd played on my weakness and inexperience, the same way he'd done to others throughout the years.

On top of that, once I'd stopped being the son he wanted — the perfect pureblood heir — he'd stripped me of everything I cared about. Hermione, my job, my friends... My whole post-war identity was obliterated — or Obliviated — in just a few afternoons.

I raked a hand through my hair. "I think I'm struggling more than any of my peers who have cut ties with their families and done what they wanted to."

"This is going to be a hard choice to make."

I shook my head. "It's not. It's probably the easiest choice I've ever had to make in my life when I consider the whole picture and not just parts of it."

While she didn't comment, I could tell Healer Clearwater was proud she'd gotten through to me. All the pieces had been there and she'd help me sort through them logically, disregarding the stronger emotions I usually felt when considering my father.

At the thought of my mother, my throat tightened. While she hadn't overtly threatened Hermione, she'd been cruel, trying to keep her close and available just in case I happened to figure out what was missing from life. Her sins might not have been as great as my father's, but I was starting to see a motive behind her actions. She knew I'd be furious and, at the very least, she'd suspected my feelings for Hermione ran far deeper than a silly little crush.

And she'd let my father's scheme carry on when she clearly could've stopped it.

Slowly, I rose to my feet and straightened my jacket. Healer Clearwater stood too, knowing that my appointment was coming to an end. I held out my hand to shake and she took it with a smile.

"Thank you," I said, the words feeling heavier than usual, weighed down by everything we'd talked about today. She'd managed to draw me out in a way not many people had been able to before.

The more I thought about it, the more I wished I'd spoken to someone like her after the war. Instead, I'd jumped right into a job that I thought would help me find redemption. Instead, it helped me bury all my problems so far down that I never worked through anything at all.

"I'll see you on Tuesday," she replied as she let go. "With Hermione."

"Hopefully," I muttered under my breath as I walked out the door.

All day, I hadn't been able to stop thinking about the appointment I'd had with Healer Clearwater and the warped view of the world I'd ended up with, courtesy of my father.

For years, I'd chosen duty to my family over myself, starting with earning my place in Voldemort's ranks and then continuing after the war by trying to restore honour to the family name and make up for all of our mistakes. It shouldn't have been my burden to bear, but I'd carried it for so long without question. I'd been a teenager trying to atone for my father's mistakes, no matter what stint you looked at — Death Eater or Auror.

I hadn't taken time to heal, and the issues I'd had as a teenager had carried over into my adult life.

And then, after I married Astoria, I'd reverted to the way I'd been before the war — spoiled and selfish, wanting to have my cake and eat it too. I gorged myself on Hermione, filling every bit of free time and empty space inside of myself with her. I'd denied myself over and over again because of the war and because of how my father might treat her.

I hadn't ever stopped to consider just giving in to my desire, breaking the cycle of the Malfoy patriarch pulling all the strings and holding all the cards.

I hadn't ever walked away because family was supposed to be everything.

But, if my father really believed that, why hadn't he protected me? Protected my mother? Why had he let murderers and rapists into our home without moving us out?

My confusion and frustration mixed together, creating a perfect storm inside my mind. As I considered every choice I could've made, everything I might have done differently, I felt myself spiralling and knew I couldn't go home to an empty house. Not tonight. Not when I had no one to lean on.

Instead of Flooing home, I found myself in Diagon Alley, walking down the street and glancing into storefront windows. I wasn't really seeing anything, but I went through the motion anyway. I wandered aimlessly, my brain still replaying conversations and scenarios.

When I walked through the doors of The Leaky Cauldron, Hannah waved me over to the bar and gestured to a stool at the corner. I took my jacket off and slung it over the back of the chair since it was exceptionally warm in the old pub.

I watched as she finished serving a few patrons on the other side of the bar, a ready smile on her face and her baby bump looking much larger than it had the last time I'd seen her, all the way back at the beginning of this tangled mess of memories and emotions. She radiated warmth and made everyone around her comfortable, much like Hermione tended to, and the comparison made my stomach twist.

Hermione's silence was the exact opposite of warm; it was icy and chilled me to the bone.

"Hi, Draco," Hannah greeted, making her way over to me. "How are you?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I've been better."

Raising her eyebrows, she asked, "Firewhisky?"

"Yes," I breathed, wanting to take the edge off. "But don't let me get too pissed."

"I'll try," she said as she reached for a glass. "I know it's busy now, but I'm always willing to listen if you want to talk."

When she slid the drink across the bar top, I stopped it with my hand and picked it up, swirling and sniffing before I raised it to my lips. It warmed me in a way that coffee hadn't been able to all day.

"Thanks, but not right now."

I'd done quite enough talking for one day.

She nodded and went back to serving others, managing the dinner rush with a quiet efficiency and leaving me to my thoughts, which spiralled in the same way they had been for most of the day. Nothing had been able to hold my attention for long.

Even though I hadn't asked for a meal, one appeared in front of me, Hannah winking and sending me a glass of water as well. I ate robotically, knowing that I needed to but barely tasting the savoury food that I would normally love.

As soon as I was done eating, I signalled for another firewhisky and she delivered it. "You're getting this because you finished your meal. Otherwise I would've said no."

"Well, I guess it's a good thing I ate, then." I held the glass up for a second in a gesture of thanks and then took a sip. "How are you faring?"

Her hand settled over her abdomen. "Good. Work's getting a bit harder, so I'll be cutting back my hours behind the bar soon. Can't be on my feet around the clock anymore."

I nodded. "You should definitely be getting more rest."

"Neville tells me the same thing, but I know I won't be working for quite a while after the little one makes his or her grand arrival."

Without thinking, I said, "I'm sure Hermione will want to work as long as she can, too."

Hannah's eyes widened. "She's pregnant?"

Nearly dropping my glass, I quickly corrected myself. "I meant someday. If I know her at all, she won't be the type to take it easy."

"So you're together again?" she asked, leaning closer so we could speak quietly.

"It's complicated, but yes," I answered. "She's working abroad, which I'm sure you know, and it's just..."

"Hard," Hannah said, completing my sentence for me. "I know the feeling. Nev's always busy for the first few weeks of school and barely gets to come home. When will she be back?"

"This weekend."

"Oh! Are the two of you coming to Harry and Pansy's get-together?"

"Hermione hasn't mentioned it," I replied, leaving out that she wasn't currently speaking to me. "And I haven't spoken to Pansy this week, either."

"If Hermione's home this weekend, I'm sure you'll end up there. She always comes."

If she even wants to be seen with me in front of all her friends, I thought to myself as I took another long sip of firewhisky.

"I'm not sure if we're at the public stage quite yet," I admitted, trying to be more open. "We still have a lot of issues to work through."

Hannah gave me an encouraging smile. "Finding some semblance of normalcy might help with that. It's not natural to live in a bubble forever."

Her pointed comment made me think. She was right — Hermione and I had always kept to ourselves, living in our own little fantasy world, completely wrapped up in each other. Perhaps we had to change our definition of normal, make it include more than just the two of us.

I nodded. "I see your point, but I'll follow her lead for now. If she invites me, I'll go with her. If not, that's okay too."

Hannah smiled. "You're still absolutely gone for her."

Tipping back more firewhisky, I enjoyed the slow burn, the way it warmed me from the inside. It melted the careful reserve I usually maintained. "I probably always will be. I just wish I'd done something about it sooner."

Her expression shifted; a bit of sadness had crept in. It wasn't quite pity — just sadness that two of her friends had been hurting for so long.

And then I stopped to wonder if she even considered me a friend. Hermione, yes... But me? I didn't know.

Another customer flagged her down and she stepped away, leaving me to finish my glass of whisky. I turned it between my hands and stared down into its depths. The bartop made it look darker, made it resemble the colour of Hermione's eyes. Or, at least it did in my partially foggy mind. I took another sip and tried to block out everything around me.

It worked for twenty minutes or so, allowing me to finish my drink and spend even more time thinking about Hermione. Even more than before, I was thinking about where she was and what she was doing. And why she wasn't speaking to me.

I flagged Hannah down for another drink, but before she could get to me, someone called my name.

"Malfoy?"

Swivelling on my barstool, I came nearly face to face with Ron Weasley. As much as I wanted to call him Weasel King or something equally snarky and reminiscent of our Hogwarts days, I didn't let myself — I was still sober enough to have a filter. If I was going to be with Hermione, he would be in my life, and I didn't want him to be my adversary.

"Weasley," I answered, giving him a nod.

"What're you doing here?" he asked.

I gestured at my empty whisky glass. "Having a drink, as one does in a bar."

He glanced at the empty seat beside me. "Is that seat taken?"

Shaking my head, I said, "Nope."

"Can I join you?"

Turning back around, I asked, "Aren't you married?"

He rolled his eyes, sat down, and waved to Hannah. She held up her finger, signalling that she needed a minute.

"Very funny, Malfoy."

I held up my empty glass in a mock cheers. "I'm here all night."

"I certainly hope not," Weasley said, raising an eyebrow. "I don't think Hermione would like it."

At the sound of her name, my heart skipped a beat. If Weasley was bringing her up, she must have told him about our relationship.

"Maybe not, but she's not here."

"Are you really lashing out by coming to a bar and getting pissed?"

Facing him, I arched an eyebrow. "And if I were? Are you here to check up on me?"

"I was just passing through and was surprised to see you sitting here, that's all." Hannah slid Weasley a pint of some kind of dark beer before setting another glass of firewhisky in front of me. "Thanks, Hannah."

"And why are you surprised? Am I not supposed to have a drink after work?"

He held up his hands defensively. "Nah, mate—"

"Mate?" I asked sceptically. "Since when are we mates ?"

"You know what I mean. You're allowed to come have a drink after work. I just know you're probably stressed since Hermione... Well, I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Of course he knew about it. Potter had told me as much.

"Glad you've spoken to her," I grumbled, even though I knew I should play it off like I didn't care at all. "I'm fine, Weasley. I just wanted to have a drink and relax."

He nervously cleared his throat. "I just, listen, I know what it's like to love her and lose her. Probably better than anyone else."

"Are you really going to sit here and commiserate with me?"

"No. I'm happily married. No misery here," he said, raising his glass in a cheers. "I'm just going to sit and have a drink too."

I responded with a curt nod and continued gazing into my glass, outwardly ignoring Weasley. But internally, I couldn't stop thinking about what he'd said — he'd loved her and lost her.

A few minutes later, words I hadn't intended to say flew out of my mouth.

"You let her go. Why?"

"We wanted different things at that time. I wanted to get married and start a family, and she wasn't ready for that." He shrugged his shoulders. "And she kissed my sister, right in front of me. That was... Well, it wasn't anything I could forget the sight of. And not in a good way."

I felt my lips twitching into a smirk, remembering what I'd said to Hermione when she'd told me about how she'd kissed Ginny Weasley.

"I loved Hermione, but she didn't love me. Not really. I think she liked the idea of being part of a family like mine after the war. Same with Harry," he continued, meeting my eyes. "But once everything had calmed down, I think both Hermione and Ginny were bored with us. We were never it for them."

"Well, I can't say I blame them," I said, hoping he took it as a joke. "You two have always been too dull for the likes of those women."

He laughed. "I believe Harry is married to your ex-girlfriend."

"Yes, and she's livened him up quite a bit. He's almost tolerable to be around now."

"I suppose that's a good thing if you'll be spending more time around him. Double dates and playdates and all that."

Raising an eyebrow, I said, "Jealous, Weasley?"

"Not in the least," he replied. "After Luna approached me, I knew she was the one and that I'd just been blind to it."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

He smiled and looked down into his pint. "In school, I thought it was strange, the way she looked for what she wanted to see in everything. Whether it was Nargles or Wrackspurts or all the other mad things she said... She really brought it all to life, and she didn't care what anyone else thought."

I wanted to point out that all those things really were just mad ravings — they didn't actually exist — but it looked like she'd made a believer out of him too.

"Luna, she sees things that no one else does because she takes the time to look for them. Auras and creatures and the ties that bind everything together," Weasley continued, keeping his eyes averted. "She can find answers and happiness in everything, even when others can't. She's never been afraid to be completely herself, even when that meant that other people were cruel to her."

My mind kept jumping to the parallels between Lovegood and Hermione, but I didn't interrupt him.

"I've always been quick to anger, but it got worse after the war. When I reconnected with Luna, she... well, she fixed something that was broken inside of me. It was almost like she made everything that got under my skin... bearable. Do you know what I mean?"

I nodded. "I think so. I think I had that with Hermione."

"You think?"

"Well, I can't remember everything. From what I've seen, I was happier with her than I can remember being at any other time in my life." I took a deep breath. "How do I fix this?"

He finally turned and met my eyes. "There's nothing to fix, Malfoy. She's not cross with you. She's just... Hermione. She needs time to come to terms with any sort of change."

"Change? What's changing?"

His ears reddened and he waved his hand, gesturing towards me wildly. "You know, getting back into a relationship with you. Shagging you. Whatever it is the two of you are doing."

I didn't think he was being entirely honest, but I couldn't bring myself to beg for answers. Everyone seemed sure she'd be open and honest with me when she got home, so I knew I just had to pray they were right.

When I didn't say anything else, Weasley offered me a piece of advice. "Malfoy, I'm not going to pretend to be an expert on what Hermione needs. Merlin knows I fucked things up with her, but I do know one thing. She needs reassurance, and she needs it often. She's not as confident as most people think she is, and she overthinks things. Just make sure she knows how you feel. Tell her, show her, whatever... But make sure she knows you're in this with her this time. From what I've gathered, you weren't completely open with her last time around."

"I wasn't," I confirmed, taking another sip of my firewhisky and letting it burn a trail down my throat. "But I've changed. I swear I'm going to be better."

"Then you've got nothing to worry about." Finishing his pint, he set his glass down on the bar and stood, clapping a hand on my shoulder like we'd been friends for years. "I'll see you around, yeah?"

As much as I hated the very thought of it, I nodded. "I suppose you will."

He laughed. "I'm not keen on the idea either, you know. But for Hermione's sake..."

"For Hermione's sake," I agreed. "I'm sure we'll find something to make small talk about."

As he headed for the Floo, he shouted, "Quidditch, mate. Always a safe subject. Just don't insult the Cannons."

I rolled my eyes. "Who doesn't insult the Cannons?"

"Anyone who wants to get on with me," Weasley replied pointedly.

After he vanished through the Floo, I drained my glass and stood up, deciding that I'd call it a night and take part of his advice to heart. I could reassure her, even from afar.

As soon as I got home, the silence closed in around me and I was left with only my own thoughts for company. Pressing my palms against my eyes, I tried to stop the stress headache I knew was already building. Fuck, it had been there on and off all day, filling the empty spaces and gaps that my memories had left behind.

Or that's what it felt like, anyway.

Absence, more specifically Hermione's absence, always equated to a nearly neverending ache. Even when I didn't know what I was missing, the pain was still there. I remembered the sense of longing I'd had when I woke up, the way I'd felt like something was missing in my relationship with Astoria. Without the memories of Hermione, my fractured mind and heart hadn't been able to reconcile the loveless relationship with the loving one I'd once had.

In moments like this one, the way my parents and Astoria had isolated me from friends and the outside world as a whole really became clear; there was no one I could call, save for one of them, to help take my mind off the way I was feeling. I knew that Pansy would likely invite me to her house if I reached out, but I didn't want to put her and Potter even more in the middle than they already were.

With a muttered incantation, the room filled with music and drowned out the unbearable silence. When I sat down, I felt pressure against my leg and remembered I still had the journal shrunk down, tucked safely in my pocket.

I rose again and took it out. When I set the small, nondescript book on the table beside me, I stared at it, willing her to give me something.

Anything.

Until I heard from her, my mind wouldn't quiet. It would keep imagining her simply disappearing, never returning to England because she really couldn't forgive me for what I'd done in the past. And, honestly, I wouldn't have any right to blame her for making that decision.

Opening it to her last response, I read it over again and tried to focus on her sign-off.

I love you.

Written plainly, just like it had been in some of the books in my office.

Even though so much had happened between us, she was still here. She still loved me. Maybe not exactly the same way or as much as she had then, but there was still love, and love could change — grow and flourish, bloom into something beautiful, as long as we both tended to it.

I conjured a blank piece of parchment and started to draft a letter.

Once it was fully written, I looked it over a few more times. It was open — more open than I'd probably ever been — and I was a bit nervous. However, I put my trust in the Weasel and copied it over into the journal, hoping that my feelings would be conveyed.

I didn't wait for her to respond — I knew it wouldn't be healthy to sit there and stare at the pages. Not only that, I wasn't sure what she was up to wherever she was. She might not have the opportunity to read it and write back tonight.

Instead, I went upstairs and settled in with the contents of the trunk, thumbing through the tangible evidence of memories I still didn't quite have... Photos and letters and trinkets that proved we'd been together — had been happy together — and hoped that she'd come home soon.