Draco followed Flitwick across the snowy grounds. He balked when he realized the Charms professor was leading him towards Hagrid's cottage. Before he could formulate a protest, Hagrid flung open the door and stepped out of cottage, resplendent in crimson dress robes topped off by a holly wreath in his hair. "Ah, Malfoy," he boomed. "Yer late."

Draco reflected that seemed to be the theme of the night.

"Get yer hand on it. We've got a party to go ter." Hagrid held out a pink umbrella.

Ever since Voldemort's demise, Draco had not been one for blindly following orders. "No," he refused. "I wish to return to my own bed and awake from this nightmare."

"Tha's too bad." Hagrid grabbed his upper arm and hoisted him off the ground.

"Wait! May I see Scorpius? Please?" Draco added, forcing out the last word as he dangled.

Hagrid set him down and scratched at his beard. "I dunno."

Flitwick shrugged. "It's your decision, Rubeus."

"Alright, then. Just for a mo', though." Hagrid again grabbed Draco by the arm, still clutching the umbrella in the other, and executed a complicated pirouette.

Just like that, they were standing in a shadowy corner of the Slytherin common room. Draco had a direct line of sight to his son, who was sprawled on a large sofa close to the fireplace with a very distinctive bottle in his hand.

"He nicked my best Firewhisky!" Draco exclaimed in outrage as Scorpius passed the bottle off to the one of the two burly boys flanking him. Draco recognized Vince Goyle and Derek Bole, both Beaters on the current Slytherin team. "And he's sharing it with two Neanderthals who might as well be drinking dragon piss, for all they appreciate fine liquor!"

"Give 'im a break, Malfoy," Hagrid counseled. "Scorp's been havin' a tough time o' it."

Indeed, the boy looked miserable, pale even for a Malfoy and with dark circles under his eyes.

"Oh, please," Draco scoffed, annoyed at the implied rebuke. "So I'm a bit hard on him about his marks. It's not like I'm expecting Scorpius to murder the headmistress."

"An' jus' what was it that Voldy held over you, to make you try an' kill Professor Dumbledore?" Hagrid asked, giving him a penetrating look.

"My mother's life," Draco whispered in shame. The worst thing the Dark Lord ever had threatened him with actually had happened to Scorpius.

Astoria always had been the warm parent, the one comfortable with showing affection, but Scorp needed his father to fill that role once she was gone. Yet Draco had failed. "Merlin, I'm a shite father!"

Hagrid cleared his throat, too polite to agree, but too honest to contradict him.

"Scorpius! Scorp! I'm so sorry!" Draco cried, reaching towards his son to embrace him.

"He can't hear yeh, Malfoy. An' we need to go now," Hagrid said, reaching for his arm. "Mebbe ye can come back tomorrow an' take him out to Hogsmeade," he added by way of consolation.

As he felt the squeeze of Side-Along Apparation, Draco reminded himself this was a dream. No one could Apparate from Hogwarts and Hagrid, so far as he knew, couldn't Apparate at all.

They landed with a metallic crash, upsetting several rubbish bins in an alley. From the ambient noise of the city around them, Draco assumed they were in London.

"Whoops," said Hagrid, stepping off a bin he had flattened into a metal pancake. "C'mon, Malfoy." He dragged him around to a grubby little park across from a row of equally seedy Muggle townhouses.

"Who lives here?" Draco asked, distaste clear in his voice.

"The Potters," Hagrid answered.

"I might have known," Draco sneered out of habit. As an adult, he found Potter tolerable, and actually liked his sassy wife. Ginny even had invited Draco to attend both of her holiday soirées. He had declined, knowing Granger would be there. Their chilly interactions at the office were bad enough.

"Ah, go bleach yer head, Malfoy," Hagrid shot back, settling himself on a bench, leaving a small space for Draco to sit. "Not tha' it needs it."

"Revelio!" With a flourish of Hagrid's umbrella, another townhouse appeared in the middle of the row, its windows glowing with a festive light in the winter darkness. Draco's eyes scanned the partygoers, searching for Granger. He found her in the kitchen, helping Ginny.

Hagrid rummaged in the capacious pockets of his crimson robes, producing an impressive collection that included a flask, a half-eaten fruitcake, several keys, and other bits and bobs. Finally, he pulled out an Extendable Ear. "Now we can hear 'em," he crowed in triumph.

Draco's curiosity overcame any scruples when he realized Hermione and Ginny were speaking about him.

"The wanker refused to give me any time off over the holidays, if you can believe that," Granger grumbled.

"Oh, I can believe it," Ginny commiserated. "I think Malfoy would keep you chained to your desk if he could. Or do I mean tied to your chair?"

"That was only once!" Hermione replied, cheeks flaming.

"You know you loved it," Ginny grinned.

Draco smirked at the recollection. She had loved it.

"It's not as though I'm the only person at the company who can be trusted with experimental potions," Hermione continued her rant. "There are plenty of qualified witches and wizards on staff. Malfoy could even go into the office. His son isn't home for the holidays."

Draco winced at that reminder.

"Oh, I suspect Malfoy will be there. Just the two of you, all alone," Ginny said slyly.

Draco raised an eyebrow at the redhead's excellent notion. He might try that.

"I'm not going to make that mistake again, Gin," Hermione vowed. "I deserve better than to be someone's dirty little secret."

"You do," Ginny agreed, thrusting a laden tray into her friend's hands. "Here, take these. That lot will be howling if we don't feed them soon."

Just outside the kitchen, Hermione was accosted by a bashful wizard in a bow tie. "Er, Hermione, there's a n-new exhibit at the British Museum, on m-magic in the ancient world," he stammered. "I was wondering if you might want to see it with me."

"Who's that?" Draco turned to Hagrid.

"Anthony Goldstein. Yer year, but a Ravenclaw. He's an Unspeakable now," the half-giant responded, placidly munching on fruitcake. "Wanna bite?" He offered a piece to Draco, who shook his head, equally repulsed by the dessert and Goldstein's pathetic approach.

"Sure, Anthony. I'll Owl you to set something up after the holidays?" Hermione smiled at him.

Draco felt something in his chest twist as Goldstein adjusted his bow tie with a little more confidence and relieved her of the tray as he escorted her back to the party.

"Tha's sweet," Hagrid opined, misty-eyed. "Hermione deserves a wizard who'll put her firs' fer once."

"Goldstein won't," Draco snapped. "He's an Unspeakable, which means he's wedded to his work."

"'Mione'll want to hear why yer right fer 'er, not why Goldstein's wrong." Hagrid heaved himself off the park bench and readjusted the wreath in his wiry hair. "C'mon. We can go inside and you can tell her."

"I'm not dressed for it," Draco objected, grasping for an excuse. He was wearing paisley silk pajamas, but they could be Transfigured readily enough.

"I could fix tha' for you," Hagrid offered, brandishing his umbrella.

"No, thank you. I don't wish to attend," Draco said, at his most snobbish. He just couldn't face Hermione, not yet.

"Suit yerself, Malfoy," Hagrid shrugged. "But yeh don' have much time left."

With that warning, the half-giant left him. The front door to Grimmauld Place swung shut behind him. Draco remained behind in the barren little park, shivering and all alone.