Author's Note: Thank you all so, so much for the love and support you have given this story so far! I am truly overwhelmed and overjoyed by all your reactions :) Additional thank you to mcal for tolerating my frantic texting this weekend as I pieced together this next chapter. Hope you all enjoy!

The stuffed dragon padded its plush feet across Scorpius' stomach, eliciting giggle after giggle as Scorpius wiggled in bed.

"Daddy!" he said through little laughs. "It tickles!"

Draco grinned and continued to move his wand to direct the enchanted toy. It had started as a prop while Draco read the dinosaur book they had bought earlier that day but had spiralled into a tool for delightful torment. More laughter erupted from Scorpius. To Draco, there was no better sound than his son's amusement and no better sight than his son's crinkled eyes and baby-toothed smile.

The game continued for several more minutes until Scorpius seemed properly worn out. By the time Draco had him tucked under the covers, his eyelids were already drooping.

"Did you have a good day?"

Scorpius nodded. "I like my new books."

Draco leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. "I'm glad."

He was about to blow out the flame inside the lantern when Scorpius spoke again.

"I liked the book lady. She was pretty."

Draco froze, eyes still oriented towards the lantern. He didn't know how to react in an appropriate way without lying.

"She asked about my mummy."

The twist in Draco's stomach tightened.

"Your mummy would have loved you very much," Draco said, feeling the pang of guilt rip through him. "Just as much as I do."

Scorpius' eyes were bright, like they always were whenever someone mentioned his mother. "I know."

Scorpius snuggled deeper under his sheets and rested his eyes. When Scorpius was settled, Draco took a few more minutes to admire his son. So young and so optimistic — in a way Draco never had been. He swept his fingers through Scorpius' hair, not as white blond as his. A softer blond. Just like his mother's.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Draco's lips. The universe may not be fair, but at least they had each other.

Draco reached across the bed and placed the stuffed dragon under one of Scorpius' arms. Even on the precipice of sleep, Scorpius gave it a squeeze then rolled gently to the side. He let out a precious, contented sigh, and Draco felt a moment of peace.

"I'll see you in the morning," he whispered before blowing out the lantern's flicker and starting towards the door.

A small, sleepy voice stopped his tracks. "Goodnight, Daddy."

His heart clenched. "Goodnight, Scorp."

The door closed behind Draco, and he leaned his head against the ebony to stare at the decorative scrollwork that lined the ceiling. It was never easy when Scorpius brought up Astoria. The occurrences were rare, but Draco was never certain how to respond without divulging more than Scorpius was ready to hear.

Draco's thoughts didn't stay on Astoria long when dormant irritation resurfaced. Somehow, Granger had managed to tarnish his day more than he originally thought.

Dim lighting guided Draco's path as he strode down the corridor and up the stairs towards the second floor. Cushioned footsteps on top of hand-knotted, centuries-old Persian rugs were the sole sound in the otherwise silent townhouse. Such was the usual whenever it was time for Scorpius to go to bed, leaving Draco to spend the rest of his night in solitude. Yet, as he entered his study, satisfaction overpowered any animosity that had tainted his thoughts only seconds earlier.

There, in the centre of his desk, was a folded parchment aeroplane.

Draco paced forward, swishing his wand to simultaneously close the window he had left ajar and remove the ward charmed to grant only letters entry. He didn't wait to sit before reading her latest message.

My dear friend,

You must know that your logic is flawed if you already believe me inclined to disagree. My reasoning is based on centuries of research by respected witches and wizards, not just Greheimer. If you have one published researcher who agrees with you, I would like to see it. In the meantime, I will get started on my rebuttal. You can expect it by next Saturday. I would have started it tonight, except I'm still in an agitated state after someone upset me at work today. Don't ask. I'd rather not think any more about it. Just writing you makes me feel better.

I hope, for you and your son's sake, that your day was better than mine. Shopping in the fall always reminds me of preparing to go back to Hogwarts, even if I typically did that in August. There's something about the turn of the leaves that makes me want to buy a dozen new quills. It just feels fitting, don't you think? Though, if I'm being honest (which you know I always am), an entirely different question has consumed my thoughts today...

Do you think we've crossed paths and don't even know it? I thought about that earlier, while I was on Diagon and Knockturn. Every little boy and wizard I saw, a part of me wondered if it was you and your son. So I did the maths. Provided a population of around 2.9 million living in inner London, not counting tourists, in a crowded location with a pedestrian passing rate of 20 people a minute for two hours, the chances of running into one specific person you know is about 0.083%. But the population of wizarding Britain is significantly smaller. Taking into account a decreased overall population while also decreasing the pedestrian passing rate to consider the traffic on Diagon and Knockturn, I estimate that the chances we passed each other today is 5.354% — assuming, of course, that's where you and your son went shopping.

The hint of a grin found its way across Draco's lips. Minutes prior, he would have argued that his day was more sour than hers, but after reading her letter, the events from earlier no longer felt relevant. She never failed to make his day brighter.

He imagined her sitting somewhere at home — at work? — doing these calculations. Was she a Ministry member who handled population numbers, having stopped by the office to wrap up some paperwork before shopping? She seemed the type to do that. Or maybe she was a Gringotts employee. Then, his pen pal would have been at work and on Diagon.

Had he seen her?

The question tumbled through Draco's mind as his eyelids closed and he tried to imagine his pen pal. He'd always pictured her as brunette. It just felt right. Or maybe that was his subconscious trying to separate her from his guilt about Astoria. Anything other than her hair colour, though, was a vague blur.

The thoughts promptly vanished. He couldn't let those fantasies consume him. Not again. He'd let himself get too close, too attached the first time. His reasoning may be different than it had been four and a half years ago, but the fact remained that Draco couldn't afford to think of her as anything more than she presently was. It wasn't fair to Scorpius.

Everything Draco had ever done had been for his family — even if that meant making significant sacrifices for himself. Nowadays, that was only more true.

Setting aside her letter, Draco pulled back his top left desk drawer. Inside laid a single item. It was worn from years of rereading, but the enchantment-preserved ink remained as dark as it had been the day it arrived. The old parchment was familiar in Draco's hands, yet not as familiar as her handwriting. Or her words forever etched in his heart and memory.

"I don't think anyone's incapable of change. Sometimes they just need the right motivator to help them get on that path."

Nearly six years had passed since he'd first read those words. Six years since his pen pal had been the first person to suggest that Draco didn't have to live the rest of his life as nothing more than a disgraced former Death Eater. Six years since he began his search for that motivation, only to one day find it in his own child.

People like Granger could still assume the worst of him. Of his business. As if six years couldn't change a man.

But Draco's perspective had changed. All because of Scorpius.

And his pen pal.

The old letter remained on Draco's desk as he pulled out the master parchment and cast a Duplication Charm on it. Words flowed easily from the quill's tip as Draco responded to her letter, expressing his sympathy about her rough day at work before volunteering to hex the person if they dared upset her again. Certainly, they'd deserve it. Or, if she'd rather handle it on her own, he recommended a strongly worded letter. He quite trusted her ability to cut someone down with that method, even if he, himself, had never been her victim.

He then tried to cheer her up with the story of how Scorpius had nearly knocked Draco in the eye with a boxing telescope at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He wanted to share that he bought a Happy Bubble Box as a surprise for Scorpius' birthday next week, but the parchment absorbed that detail. Apparently, that was too personal.

When he was finished, Draco returned the quill to its inkpot, full-well knowing that there was a major portion of her letter he hadn't addressed. Maybe they had crossed paths. Maybe she was just as beautiful physically as she was internally. But his feelings towards her would never change his instinct to prioritise his family's needs over his personal desires.

So Draco poured himself a glass of whiskey, then stared at the dark night sky into which the folded letter had just disappeared. As usual, he spent the remainder of his evening alone.

...

Draco tossed his copy of the Daily Prophet across the dining room table. How bloody dare she!

His chair legs screeched against the wooden floorboards as Draco pushed himself to standing and began to pace. The outrage in his chest sprouted from a kernel to a full-grown oak tree. Even if she hadn't explicitly named him or his business, the sheer audacity of that witch to make such bold, presumptive claims was infuriating. Now, the entirety of wizarding Britain would read Granger's op-ed about the importance of preserving small business charm and protesting "corporate involvement" disguised as doing good for the community.

She knew nothing about him and his business deals.

Temptation boiled to Floo directly to Knockturn Alley and barge into her stupid bookshop before it opened. Sharp words and cruel sneers teased his tongue and lips. If she had a problem with him, she could say it to his face, not hide behind words in a newspaper article.

And of all the days on the calendar, she had to choose today.

Draco listened in the direction of the staircase for signs of Scorpius nearing. He had insisted that he could get ready on his own this morning. After all, he was a big boy now.

By the time the sound of Scorpius' scurried footsteps pounded down the stairs, Draco had already sent half a dozen missives to various associates directing them with how to squash concerns from their partnered small business owners. He vanished his quill and parchment before Scorpius was in sight, vowing to forget about work for the rest of the day.

Scorpius ran into the dining room, directly into Draco's arms. Draco lifted him off the ground, letting Scorpius' legs fly through the air as his giggles flooded the space.

"Who's my big birthday boy?" Draco asked once Scorpius had his arms latched around Draco's neck.

"Me!" Scorpius beamed.

Draco smiled while still trying to comprehend how his son was already so old. He gave Scorpius a bounce. "Grandma and Grandpa are coming for dinner, but the rest of the day until then is ours. So what do you say? Would you like to be in control of whatever we do today?"

The strands of sandy hair on top of his head shook as Scorpius eagerly nodded.

Draco chuckled. "I thought you might like that. What do you want to do first?"

"Can we go zoo?"

"If that's what you want."

"Then park?"

"As I said, whatever you want today." He gave Scorpius a short kiss on the forehead then returned him to the ground. "But only after you've eaten your breakfast."

Scorpius' feet had barely reached the ground before he scampered to his chair. He tried to push himself up, but when he couldn't lift himself onto the seat, Scorpius waited for Draco to help. It was only then that Draco noticed how Scorpius' pants were unbuttoned and his jumper was inside out. A small smile stretched Draco's lips. Let Scorpius revel in the satisfaction of dressing himself for at least a few minutes. Someday far too soon, Draco would miss little moments like these.

...

"What sound did the tigers make?"

"Roar!"

"And the monkeys?"

"Ooo ooo ooo."

"The giraffes?"

Giggles poured out of Scorpius. "Giraffes make no sound!"

Scorpius tightly grasped the chains of the swing as Draco held a coffee in one hand and pushed his son with the other. Despite the way it had started, it was turning out to be a blissful day.

Scorpius pumped his legs back and forth as he glided through the air. "Why no dragons at zoo?" he asked, looking back at Draco.

"Muggles don't know about dragons," he answered. "We keep those protected in sanctuaries."

Scorpius' eyes were wide with youthful curiosity. "Have you seen dragon?"

"Yes."

"Are they big?"

"Yes."

"Scary?"

"They can be."

"Like dinosaurs?"

A snorted laugh perked Draco's lips. "If dinosaurs were still around, then yes."

The heat of the sun's rays on the nice fall day warmed the air as Draco continued to push Scorpius on the swing. It was a peaceful, perfect way to spend the afternoon, until Scorpius let out a sudden squeal and it all came crashing down.

"Look, Daddy! Book lady. Pretty book lady!"

At the swing's peak, Scorpius jumped from the seat, and Draco's heart stalled. Dropping his coffee, Draco whipped out his wand with barely enough time to conjure a pillow right where Scorpius landed on his bottom. Scorpius — entirely oblivious to his father's panic — got straight to his feet and wandered to a nearby bench where, sure enough, Hermione Granger was reading a book with a half-eaten sandwich by her side.

Draco cursed beneath his breath. He'd successfully gone over six years without seeing or hearing from her, and now he and Scorpius had run into her two Saturdays in a row. What curse had he been hit with to afflict him with such terrible luck?

From a distance, Draco watched as Scorpius tugged on Granger's skirt. She lifted her gaze from the open pages of her book and smiled when she recognised Scorpius. Her levity faded when she looked past Scorpius and saw Draco standing a few dozen feet away.

It was like the ground had been transfigured into knee-high muck as Draco trudged his way towards the bench and stopped behind Scorpius. With a dour gaze, Draco scanned Granger up and down. To his son's credit, Granger really was pretty, even if that pained Draco to admit. At some point during the past half-decade, she seemed to have finally figured out how to style her hair and wear clothes that were flattering to her figure. If only she could also fix her judgmental outlook.

A firm tug on Draco's trousers pulled his attention downward.

"Sit, Daddy."

Draco stiffened, as did Granger. With one more quick inspection, he caught a glimpse of her bookstore name tag pinned to her blouse and the transfiguration theory textbook closed in her lap with her current page saved by her thumb between the pages.

"We shouldn't disturb her, Scorpius," Draco tried to calmly rationalise. "Miss Granger looks busy."

Scorpius turned to Granger. "Are you busy?"

She and Draco exchanged cursory, sour glares.

"I only have a few minutes left in my lunch break," she said, lacking the cheerfulness with which she typically addressed Scorpius.

Scorpius looked at them both, eyes wide and bright. "Okay. Few minutes. I go play now."

A knife stabbed at Draco's chest. Clearly, Scorpius didn't understand what he and Granger were hinting at.

Draco caught hold of Scorpius' hand before he could run off.

"What Miss Granger and I are saying is that we don't think it's a good idea for us to sit together," Draco tried to explain, somehow making it through the sentence without letting his resentment towards the witch become apparent.

Scorpius' face fell. His gaze flickered from Granger, then up at Draco. He pouted. "But I want it."

At those four simple words, Granger frowned and Draco's spine straightened. It was one thing for Granger to make false assumptions about him, but he wouldn't allow her to think Scorpius a spoiled brat.

"It's his birthday," Draco begrudgingly revealed, voice curt as he spoke. "I told him we would do whatever he wanted today. And today only."

"Oh." Granger blinked, and her whole body softened again. "And how old are you today?"

Scorpius lifted one finger, then another. "Three."

Despite his overall annoyance for the situation, a smile somehow found its way across Draco's face. "One more finger, Scorpius."

Scorpius raised a third finger, then held them out for both adults to see. "Three!"

Surprise etched the lines of Granger's face and a burst of pride swelled inside Draco's chest. The present situation wasn't an entire disaster if it granted a moment for his son to render Granger speechless.

During those few seconds of distraction, Scorpius pushed against Draco's legs and even managed to make Draco stumble a step backwards.

"Now you sit. I go play."

Scorpius didn't leave enough time for Draco to protest. Seconds later, he was already running around the playset with the other young witches and wizards.

"Your son is quite precocious."

The balloon of pride promptly burst into tiny pieces.

"Don't try to make small talk," he sharply hissed, no longer in the mood to entertain feigned niceties now that Scorpius was out of earshot. "I read your op-ed."

They both stared forward.

"If I had known it was your son's birthday, I would have requested they push back its publishing," Granger said after several silent seconds.

"How considerate," Draco returned with a huff. "Nevermind that the actual decent thing to do would have been to warn me it was coming out."

Granger dropped her book on the bench and turned towards him. "Draco Malfoy telling me the decent thing to do?" She let out a mock laugh. "I see no reason why I needed to warn you. I merely sent a letter to the Daily Prophet expressing my opinion on a matter I thought relevant to public interest. They decided if it was newsworthy or not."

"Potter could sneeze and they'd find it newsworthy," Draco retorted with a contemptuous sneer. "You know right well that they'd publish anything you send them."

Granger puffed out her chest. "Then consider this me taking advantage of a small privilege I have for helping win a war you fought against," she said with a firm fold of her arms. "At least I'm not flouncing around with vaults full of Galleons and a corporation that was handed to me. I had to start my business from nothing, while you and your family disappeared to France scot-free."

Draco felt his eyes blaze with anger as a surge of fury pulsed through him. "You sure do think you still know it all," he seethed through shallow breaths. His lips twitched into a scowl. "You think you know better than everyone else, when really, you stay adamant against what you don't want to believe."

Granger pressed her fingers against the fabric of her blouse. "I do not."

"Oh?" Draco lifted an eyebrow. "I remember quite the famed tale of Hermione Granger storming out of Divination because she refused to believe it was a real course of magic."

A deep crimson coloured Granger's face. "That's not why I left class," Hermione retorted, bitterness caking her words. "I left because I realised I would learn nothing from Trelawney. Not because Divination is an illegitimate subject."

"Ah, my mistake," Draco conceded with mock remorse. "In that case, will you admit that the stories we hear about people may not be accurate representations about what really happened?"

Granger's lips went flat. He took her lack of response as reluctant acceptance.

"Good," he settled with a grimace. "Then let's make one thing clear. My family did not get off without retribution. We just know how to keep things out of the public eye when we don't want something known. But if you're so smart, then where do you think the Ministry got all those Galleons to renovate Knockturn Alley into the quaint row of businesses your shop now presides? I'll give you a hint. It cost more Galleons than you and your little bookstore could ever imagine."

Granger opened her lips, but nothing came out.

His gaze continued to pierce into her, even as Draco stood up. "Not everything happens by magic. Sometimes, what a business needs is money, and I happen to have it," he slowly voiced, making sure that Granger could hear every syllable of every word. "What do you expect me to do? Donate tens of thousands of Galleons each time a business is struggling?" Draco scoffed. "I'm a businessman. That's how business works. You think I'm a horrible person, therefore I have no choice but to be horrible. But I am not the monster you perceive me to be."

Having said all he cared to say, Draco marched towards the playground, leaving the still speechless Granger alone on the bench. Scorpius would just have to cope with one of his birthday desires not happening that year. He was done letting Granger sully his son's birthday.

...

Draco pinched his brow. "I distinctly recall asking you and Father not to give Scorpius so many gifts this year."

He watched with resignation as Scorpius zipped through the informal sitting room on his brand new toy broomstick while Lucius chased after him. Draco twisted his wand, and the lamps, end tables, and empty chairs moved to the perimeter of the room allowing Scorpius more space.

Narcissa picked up her teacup and gently blew at the nonexistent wisps of steam. "We must have forgotten," she said with the touch of a smile. "It's just a couple dozen presents. Nothing exorbitant."

Draco canted his head, but Narcissa continued to feign innocence. Regardless of how many times he told his parents that he didn't want to raise Scorpius in a bubble of opulence, they insisted on showering him with presents every time they visited. At least it was a rare occasion. Draco would mind infinitely more if his parents made the Portkey journey from France more frequently.

When the clock struck half past six, Draco rose from his chair. Before long, it would already be time for Scorpius to go to bed, and they hadn't even had cake yet. The birthday boy had been a bit too distracted by the toy broomstick, shooting star wand, and everything else his grandparents had gotten him.

Dismissing himself from his mother's company, Draco left the sitting room and made his way to the kitchen. He was in the middle of placing the candles on the cake when the pound of tapping against the front window caught his attention. Then another. And another.

Outside the window floated three identical folded parchment aeroplanes, all awaiting entry. Draco dropped the candles on the counter and pushed open the pane. One after the other, they soared inside. As Draco unfolded the three letters, amusement delighted his senses. Each one was paginated in the top right corner, denoting their order in her essay advocating for four branches of transfiguration.

Draco didn't mind that she hadn't included anything personal in her letters this time. He relished any word from her, even if it was an analytical essay trying to prove his theory wrong. He laid the parchments flat on the counter and began to dissect her thinking line by line.

"I thought you were getting the cake."

Draco was halfway through with the third page when his mother's voice interrupted his reading. He snatched the parchments into his grasp and folded them into his pocket.

"Apologies," he said after clearing his throat. "I received some post I thought was time sensitive."

Draco placed the final two candles in the cake as Narcissa stepped into the kitchen with an unconvinced expression. He watched as her gaze switched from the cake to his pocket.

"I was unaware that you had resumed correspondence with your pen pal."

Draco startled, stomach lurching into his throat. "Pen pal? What pen pal?"

Narcissa lightly laughed. "Oh, dear, did you really think your father and I didn't know you participated in that program?" She rounded the corner of the counter and joined Draco's side. "You couldn't hide all those aeroplanes zipping in and out the chateau's windows multiple times a day. The distinct sheen of those parchments under any form of light make them near impossible not to recognise."

Possible ways that Draco could combat his mother's statement flashed through his mind, but there was no point. For years, he had kept his correspondence with her secret, dreading what his parents would say if they knew he was engaging in a program specifically designed to prove that anyone of any blood status could form relationships. He never intended for it to continue for so long, even if he was responsible for cutting their communication off for three years in the middle. Now, it turned out, his parents already knew.

Draco straightened the candles. "It was lonely in France," came his muttered admission. "She got me through that first year."

Narcissa sighed, then swept her fingers through a few strands of Draco's hair. "It wasn't an easy transition for any of us. If the Greengrasses hadn't fled to France after the Ministry fell, giving us some connection to our old social circles and into new ones, I don't know what we would have done."

A beat of silence passed through the room.

"You were smart to stop writing her when you did."

Draco frowned, heart constricting. "I didn't see any other option once the agreement was signed for me to marry Astoria."

"An agreement you supported," she needlessly reminded him.

Narcissa took a step closer, but Draco backed out of his mother's reach. "It's what was best for the family at the time."

He turned and retrieved four forks from the drawer.

"Even if you never loved her?"

The forks fell onto the ground in a clamour of clinks.

Draco whipped around, and a guilt he felt too often washed over him. "I cared very deeply for Astoria."

Narcissa tilted her head. "That's not the same thing." She bent to the floor to pick up the fallen forks and placed them in the sink before pulling out four clean ones. "I know you both hoped to one day love each other, but that's not what the universe had in store for you two. You've raised Scorpius almost entirely on your own, putting your life on pause for over a year after Astoria passed. Our family has changed since we signed that agreement with the Greengrasses. You deserve something for yourself now."

A storm of uncertainty churned inside Draco. "What are you suggesting, Mother?"

She pressed her hands together, taking a moment, it seemed, to choose her next words carefully. "From what I can infer, you care for your pen pal, yes?"

"That's a fair assumption."

"Do you more than care for her?"

It was like a blow directly to Draco's chest. He reached into the cabinets and brought down four plates.

"That's irrelevant," he tightly stated.

"Why's that?"

Draco closed his eyes, letting his lungs inflate with a slow, steady breath. When he returned his vision, Narcissa's motherly eyes were directed his way.

He released a short sigh. "Scorpius doesn't remember Astoria," Draco said, his mouth growing dry as his heart hammered behind his ribs. "All he's ever known is just me and him. He's content with that. I can't imagine introducing someone else into his life, getting his hopes up, and then it not working out."

Draco dipped his head to shake it, but the lift of his mother's fingers brought his eyes back to hers.

"Scorpius is a strong little boy, just like his father was. You needn't introduce her, or anyone else, into his life until you're ready. I'll Portkey over whenever you need someone to watch him."

Some of his concerns crumbled, but Draco still wasn't convinced.

"What if this is just insanity, though?" he asked, voicing the latent fear he'd been too apprehensive to admit even to himself. "I don't know her age. Her job. Not even her name."

Narcissa offered a faint smile. "But you know how she makes you feel."

Draco looked away. "Doesn't mean she feels the same."

A different fear formed inside his chest: one he knew his answer to but not Narcissa's.

He swallowed. "And what if she isn't pureblood? How would you feel then?"

Narcissa glanced down at the birthday cake, smiled, then looked back at Draco. "You and Astoria already gave your father a pureblood heir, so that should keep him satisfied. As for me, as much as I love my grandson, first and foremost, I want my son to be happy, too."

...

Draco stared at the blank parchment while his parents put Scorpius to bed. The quill quivered in his grip as he contemplated what to write. After nearly twenty minutes of thinking, he found the nerves to compose a single line.

Do you think we should meet?

He sent it before he could second guess himself.