A/N: Someone on tumblr asked a dramione blog if this was abandoned. My answer is: NEVER. I'm a Huffleclaw. Don't think I can leave anything I've committed to half finished. Ask me directly next time, charlotte-bird on tumblr. Thanks again to Delancey654 for beta reading!

Draco whipped up and down the knife edge of the pavement, sidestepping Muggles, his entire attention fixed on the gates to the school. Any second now, Hermione would come through those gates with Scorp.

Or she wouldn't.

He spun on his heels, took a step and held himself still, suddenly aware how it would look if she caught him pacing. Too keen, but more than that, too intense. He had a flash of their argument, the weaknesses he revealed smashed through his mind, his loss of his temper, his sensitivity, all replayed in hindsight even more shameful, devastating - a victim -

But - she had kissed him. Caught by the feel of her lips, he leant back against a lamppost and relived it, forgetting their row. With the traffic rumbling and hissing behind him, Draco's fingers twitched with the memory of her skin. He smiled. She would come.

All of his questions and doubts over her feelings had an answer. He had not been going mad, inventing ridiculous scenarios where she fancied him. Here was his proof. Perhaps not proof of her overall intentions, but he had the patience to work on getting that. And if all she thought she wanted was a distraction from work - well, he could work to change that, too.

Draco caught up with his thoughts and held them down, as was his habit when he felt himself getting carried away. These were the same thoughts that he had fought with earlier: that he had things to offer and that Hermione wanted what was on offer. That he had the power to act and make decisions and get what he wanted. And why shouldn't he?

She had kissed him. Draco could have laughed. He let that thought soak through his fingers and into his skin.

Draco looked at the Muggles who rushed along the pavement towards the Tube station down the road. Each with their own tiny blue glowing world contained in their palm, index fingers tapping and swiping, none sparing a glance at the sky. The sun had broken through the clouds, its reflection blinding on the wet pavement, its thin September heat warming Draco's face and seeping through his jumper to his skin as anticipation and giddy euphoria leapt in his chest with such excitement he felt like a brand new person.

Gilded in sunshine, in this sudden confidence of who he was, he felt closer to the Muggles than he ever had before. He wondered who they were, what they did all day, who they were going home to. He saw the birth of a man's private smile as he glanced at his phone and he wondered what it said. Families muddled past, worn-out mums with impossibly electric kids, so like Scorpius in their wrinkled afternoon school uniforms, the dizzying flash of a woman's expression from laughter to outrage and then back again as she listened to the phone clutched to her ear.

She glanced up to meet Draco's eyes as she passed. As she returned his smile, he realised he needed to calm down, or at least appear to.

Moments later, Scorpius slunk through the gates, anxious eyes searching for his father. Draco called out, sprung forward off the lamppost and walked over. The very moment their eyes met, a devastating scowl burgeoned on his son's face. He was obviously trying very hard to let Draco to know that he was furious with how his afternoon was unfolding. In that moment, Draco couldn't have loved him any harder.

"Put this on, Scorpius," Draco said, holding out his Muggle jacket, abandoning his mission to not appear mad. His son forcefully rejected his resultant smile with an even deeper frown.

"A coat? Do I have to?" Scorp sneered. "It's not even raining any more."

Hermione appeared at the gate and Draco's chest exploded. He grinned down at Scorp, who thrust out his bottom lip. "Stop complaining and just put it on," he told him.

Scorpius huffed and snatched the coat from Draco's hands. Draco let it slip, glanced up, catching Hermione's eye. She gave him a strange, unsure smile, she looked at the floor, back up at him, she -

Nearly collided with a large woman on a mission with a baby in a pushchair.

Draco lurched forward, though of course Hermione was fine, grinning in an embarrassed sort of way, her hands up, apologising profusely to the Muggle. She shook her head at Draco, rolling her eyes at herself, stepped from the building's shadow and into the sun and - lit up. And Draco wasn't being poetic. She actually lit up. Her plain, non-descript red cardigan suddenly seemed to be buzzing, absorbing the light in such a way that it glowed with the matte vibrancy of a geranium.

Hermione laughed at his expression, but her hands pulled nervously at her sleeves. He guessed he looked offended, as he should be; the charmed fabric was an outrageous choice. But he wasn't at all. It suited her, the spreading embarrassed flush on her neck and cheeks bathed scarlet by its glow and the messy pile of curls he'd made, still in place despite the odds, auburn in its scarlet reflection.

Draco pulled a cork-stoppered potion bottle from his pocket and presented it to Hermione as she reached him.

Her fingers brushed his as she plucked it from his hand and she held it up to the light, the green shadow of the glass flitting across her frown like a darting fish as she turned it back and forth. "What's this for?"

This was it. The first moment. She had come and he could be whoever he wanted. "Something to enhance spatial awareness," he drawled.

Hermione dropped it to her side and gave him a scathing look. He tried not to laugh and said, "Headache potion. Though I think I need it after at that." He wrinkled his nose, nodding at her cardigan.

"I knew you'd like it. Gryffindor red, obviously," she said, mildly. "Thank you." She touched the back of his hand. "You remembered."

"My pleasure -" he paused, running his tongue over the back of his teeth, daring himself. He felt limitless. He leant in and murmured to her ear, "-Headmistress."

Hermione was biting her lip as he pulled away, her eyes narrowed. "Headmistress?" she whispered, prying the stopper off.

Draco shrugged. "That is your title, isn't it?"

She gave him a sort of unattractive, snorting laugh and tipped her head back, the potion bottle at her lips. The sunshine hit her throat and Draco noticed a small mole beneath her jawbone. He had a sudden desire to touch it, to stroke his finger beneath her jaw from ear to ear. To feel her throat bob up and down beneath his lips right there in the street.

"Where are we going?" Scorp interrupted, in his whiniest voice, attaching himself to Draco's arm, yanking him down and back to reality.

Draco wrenched his eyes from Hermione. "This way," he announced, dragging Scorpius around and striding purposefully with the flow of commuter traffic heading north.

"What's this way?" Scorp asked.

"Plenty of things." He received another glare from Scorp that he ignored.

Hermione fell into step on Draco's other side, dabbing at her lips with the back of her fingers. "Do you have any idea where we're going, Malfoy?" she murmured.

He didn't. He had absolutely no idea. But what did it matter? She had come and the Muggles would provide. They usually did. "Of course I do. Do you think I'd endanger my son by dragging him off into the uncharted depths of Muggle London?"

Hermione snorted again.

They walked on, Draco longing to speak to her, but with Scorp as a witness he couldn't find the words. So he settled for nothing and tried to ignore the way it chafed against the balloon of energy pressed against the sides of his chest, desperate for release.

Thankfully, capricious as ever, Scorpius seemed to get over his mood and began to drip into the silence rumours he had heard about the school's current Quidditch stars. Draco was nodding and humming along, not listening, praying Hermione wasn't thinking about their row, trying not to let her catch him slanting looks at her every now and again. She looked fidgety, nervous.

They soon reached the large traffic junction that Draco remembered from when he brought Scorp to the open day. Draco looked around, spotting the Tube station and grimacing as he recalled the last time he had taken it. He caught sight of Hermione restlessly shifting to and fro on her feet out of the corner of his eye and the balloon in his chest was suddenly unpleasant, blown up too hard and ready to burst and lacerate this throat at any moment.

Draco's search for a destination became urgent. He stiffly led them past fried chicken shops and betting shops and over a rising walkway with dwindling confidence and a growing sense this had been a mistake. Beneath them was some sort of pathetic outdoor market, a ragtag collection of tents and fabrics hung over poles and from under which Muggles were selling plastic tat and bruised fruit. The pungent smell of fried fat hung in the air. Not food, just fat. Draco's lip curled. He caught Hermione watching him, but before he could school his expression she broke out into a wide grin.

"Are you okay, Draco?" She whispered. "If your nose gets any higher you might crick your neck. And I won't be able to heal it this time. For some reason we seem to be in Muggle London." She winced. "No magic you see."

She was finding this funny! She had stopped looking like she was running through a mental list of why leaving the school with him was a bad idea. Relief poured over Draco.

"How long had you been thinking up that one, Granger?" he asked mildly. "Since we left school? Is that why you've been watching me? Waiting for me to slip up?" He leant in towards her. "Well, Headmistress, I've lived in Muggle London for two years now. I know that a little aerial browse over a street market isn't going to do me much damage."

"Dad! They've got bowling! Look! Look! Jake went the other day, can we go, please? Please?" Draco looked down to see Scorp pointing to a fluorescent sign that read Superbowl in one of the windows of a squat, dirty concrete building across the road. Two red elephants bearing miniature castles on their backs stood sentry on the roof, above large, rusty metal letters that spelled Shopping Centre. An exhausted tent-like awning decorated with pigeon shit and green mold sheltered the entrance.

Thank fuck. Draco could have kissed his son. With a bland, insincere smile, he turned back to Hermione. "Only if Headmistress Granger wants to."

"Headmistress Granger would love to go bowling," she said to Draco, and the smile she shot back at him was so hard and sweet, not even Scorp's much-heralded toothpaste would have helped the decay of her teeth. Draco was alarmed.

And he soon found out why. The Superbowl involved everything Muggle he abhorred, combined. Two years had not been enough time to introduce him to this particular Muggle environment; not that he wanted to reveal that willingly to Hermione, but she seemed to have guessed anyway. It was like their moods were inverting. The more uncomfortable Draco became, the happier she seemed. She was obviously a sadist with an inhumane threashold for Muggle tat. This was a world of constant beeping and flashing lights, neon games pumping out electronic heat that stuck his hair to his forehead and his shirt to his back within minutes, décor that was as tacky as the stained, lurid carpets, terrible Muggle music - of the type Potter seemed partial to, a queue of Muggles waiting for a single man on a desk with a broken computer to pay; and after Draco waited with them and paid, Hermione led him over to a desk lined with ugly two-toned shoes and told him he needed to swap his own in for a pair.

"At least you've remembered your socks this time," she had whispered, having the grace to look at least a little guilty at taking such a low blow.

At least I could finally buy some new ones, he had not answered, his smile acidic, longing to wipe the sweat off his upper lip, holding a vibrating Scorpius away from the arcade, shrieking with a bloodthirsty delight at the shooting games.

A few minutes later Draco found himself steered to a ball rack and forced into selecting a ball. He felt as if he were in some bizarre ritual that everyone except for him knew the rules for. Even Scorpius seemed to know what to do, which was impossible but totally expected given his track record with unfamiliar Muggle activities. Draco watched him examining the balls fondly. It was like going back in time to immediately after his release. Traversing the supermarket while pushing a trolley with a spinning wheel and a boy in tow, shy, sulky, a stranger but so familiar, so little but so grown-up, jumping each time the tannoy sounded, each time his son tugged a little on his sleeve, pointing to something they needed, able to decipher the rows upon rows of plastic packets in a way that Draco just couldn't.

But now the little boy was not so little, and was nodding at him encouragingly, moaning, laughing at him to, "hurry up and choose," and giving Draco his usual refrain of: "stop looking at me like that, Father." Scorp's frustration got the better of him, he clasped Draco's hand and guided it towards a ball decorated with ugly green marbled plastic and a big number ten. Draco dutifully slid his fingers and thumb into the holes, where millions of greasy Muggle fingers had been before him. He tried to keep his shudder inside. A controlled, underground explosion.

"That's it. How does it feel?" Hermione asked from behind him, kindly, as if she had detected his battle but been too kind this time to poke fun. Weakness. He would remember that.

He hoisted it out of the rack. "Heavy enough to destroy someone's flying career. How should it feel?" He turned to face her, bouncing it slightly in his other hand.

Hermione hummed a little in thought. "About half as heavy as a Bludger I think."

"It's a bit light in that case," he fibbed.

"Try the next number up then."

This one did feel a bit too heavy. Draco had a premonition of an aching arm in the morning. "Yeah, this one's good."

They looked at each other for a moment. Hermione grinned, awkwardly, "I'm just going to pop to the loo," she said, and reached up to her hair. "Someone thought they had what it takes to fix this. I have to - er - undo the damage."

"Whoever it was, I'm impressed with his ambition," Draco smirked. "I hadn't seen it in such a mess since school."

Hermione looked startled - for a split second Draco panicked that he had gone too far - but then she laughed. She started to reply but glanced down behind Draco and stopped abruptly. Draco followed her gaze, turning to see Scorpius look quickly away. He desperately hoped his son had not been pulling some offensive expression just as she had started to relax.

"Right. Well, loo. Then bowling." Hermione clapped her hands, looking flustered and walked away, skirting ball racks and excited little Muggles, back straight, lithe and hips weaving. Moments ago that waist had been between his hands. Draco gripped the bowling ball hard.

After a second watching her, Draco wearily turned towards his son, waiting for the confrontation. Scorpius was studying the computer before their lane with abject concentration. Draco sighed, plucking his shirt off his lower back and fanning it against his skin.

The sound seemed to give Scorp permission to speak. "What's she doing with us?" he spat, glaring at the screen.

And the clouds have finally broken.

"Which ball are you using?" Draco asked.

Scorp jerked his head up and shot Draco a glare that could kill. "I'm not an oblivious retard you know."

"Do not speak to me like that. Which ball?"

"Stop ignoring me!"

"I'm not ignoring you. Which ball, Scorpius?"

Scorp reached with his foot over to the rack and kicked sloppily at a pink number six, nearly falling off his stool in the process. Draco pretended not to notice. Instead, he bent over the ball, drew his wand from his sleeve so only the tip poked out and cast a cleaning charm. He then did the same for Hermione's and his own. He eyed the cracked faux leather of the bench for a moment before sitting down and facing Scorp.

"Shoes," he demanded.

"Father. Stop being so prejudiced."

"Scorpius, this is not about Muggles, this is about people's dirty feet. Shoes off, now."

Scorpius glared at the floor, muttering words that sounded a lot like, fucking Muggles.

"What did you say?" Draco said, sharply. "I've warned you, you will not swear-"

"I said," Scorp interrupted, shrilly, "that I didn't even think you were being prejudiced about Muggles! I know you're not like that anymore!" He kicked his shoes off into Draco's shins. "I just thought you were being a big snob!"

Draco gazed at the shoes, lost for a moment, unsure if Scorp was lying out of spite or telling the truth. Regardless, Draco would not have gotten away with far less at eleven, never mind the kicking. "Headmistress Granger is here because she's my friend," he enunciated, slowly.

"Girlfri-"

"Scorpius!" Draco raised his voice before he could stop it, looking wildly over Scorpius's head as if Hermione had made it back from the lavatory without him noticing. He took a deep breath. "Friend," he corrected, under control once more.

This time Scorp had the sense not to argue. "But she was my headmistress first."

"That's not true. I've known her for a lot longer than a week."

"Yeah, but you weren't friends. You were rude to her in the holidays. And Al told me you hated her at school."

Draco pursed his lips. "Well she's my friend now. Scorpius, for Merlin's sake, be polite. She's your headmistress apart from anything else, don't tell me you've forgotten?" Scorpius opened his mouth, as if to argue the very good point that: Headmistresses don't go bowling with their students, so Draco quickly added, "Don't you remember how embarrassed you were because of me after your interview? I'm going to say this once and not again, you will behave. You're the one being incredibly rude. Think about how that felt when it was me. Now I'm having to endure it."

Scorp let out a put-upon sigh and kicked off the floor to spin his seat. "Fine," he said, rolling his eyes again. The chair ground to a halt. Scorpius looked up at Draco through his lashes. "Fine," he repeated. And then when Draco still did not react he pouted a little and made to spin the chair, but at the last moment seemed to think better of it.

Draco allowed the silence to stretch, even enhancing it, as his father had often done with him. It had always seemed like a spell to Draco as a child, who had found the cold anger in his father's eyes impossible to meet. But now Draco knew all it took was height and direct eye contact to weed out and spotlight the guilt. Unfailingly it would rise to the surface, flailing like a worm after heavy rainfall.

"Sorry," Scorpius whispered, finally contrite, lips puckered, hands a fidgeting bundle, eyes failing to hold Draco's gaze, but heartily trying none the less, looking just like his mother. Draco's composure cracked as guilt of his own pushed up and flailed. Shit. He was a shit dad. What was he doing? This was meant to be their night. Of course Scorp was upset. He had every right to be.

"Now. Do you want me to clean these?" Draco asked, picking up a shoe and swinging it like a pendulum, his finger in the heel.

Scorp shook his head and looked away.

"Really?"

"No," he grunted.

"So you're telling me, this shoe," Draco waved the shoe a bit, "after having the pleasure of cradling thousands of sweaty toes, not all of which would have been wrapped in socks, and been given only a cursory spritz of the blue soap every now and then, is clean enough for the great Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy?"

Scorp's lips twitched. "Maybe."

"Even though, as wizards, we have this great thing at our disposal - magic - which we can use to vanish away all of those millions of crawling, creeping germs the soap missed, bugs that will nestle their way in beneath your toenails, nibbling your skin, laying their eggs-"

"Dad!" He held his hands over his face, and groaned. "Shut up!"

"Well, if you say it's clean enough, and I'm not allowed to use magic, I guess I'll just have to quality check this the old fashioned way." Draco clasped the toe of the shoe between his index finger and thumb, sticking his pinky out, trying to look as elegant and ridiculous as possible, as if he were at a wine tasting. He brought it slowly to his face, glanced at Scorp to see him watching through his fingers. "Only the best for the Malfoy heir," he intoned and shutting his eyes, buried his face into the sole. He gave a deep, sinus rasping sniff.

"Dad!"

Vinegar, Stilton and cleaning chemicals filled his nose. He thought about kissing Hermione. He imagined his nose pressed against a grimy coating of old sweat and dead skin. He tried to think about fucking Hermione. Smelly little unwashed boys, verrucas, crusty, piss flecked socks. A huge shudder threatened to rip up his spine. Just make him laugh again. Draco breathed out hard, and sniffed again, filling his lungs.

"Father! Stop it, you're being so embarrassing! People are looking!"

Draco held out his other hand, sticking his finger up in the air. "Give me a moment, Scorp," he said, voice muffled. "I'm still not totally sure you're right."

He sniffed again and suddenly Scorpius was dragging the shoe away from his face, his words broken by laughter. "Stop it! Just stop! Clean the shoe!"

Draco pretended to pull it back, scowling. "But I hadn't finished, Scorpius! One more sniff and I'll know!"

"Magic it! Magic the germs away, please!"

Draco suddenly let go of the shoe and Scorpius fell backwards, but Draco whipped out his arms and caught him, twisted him round, and pulled him into his lap. He pushed his face into Scorp's neck and rubbed his nose into his skin, blowing raspberries into his shoulder hard enough to make up for all the times he had not been able to do it.

Scorpius squealed and bucked tried to push his shoulder into Draco's face, but of course Draco was stronger and soon Scorp was gasping with laughter, too worn out to carry on complaining that he was eleven and too old to be treated like this.

When Scorp no longer had the strength to hold up his own head, Draco relented. He knew what he needed to do. Distractions only worked so far. Hermione would leave, if Scorp wanted her to. He would give him the option. Draco reached down, picked up the sweaty little shoe and presented it on the flat of his palm. "Shall I?"

Scorpius drew back a little and looked at him sideways, regaining his composure enough to throw one of Draco's own smirks back at him and said, "I don't think you need to, Father. Most of the germs got sucked up there." He rubbed the bridge of Draco's nose with his finger. "Ew! You're all sweaty!" Scorp snatched his finger away and giggled.

Draco hugged Scorpius tightly, rehearsing words of compromise, of apology, shaping them with his lips.

But then Scorpius's eyes focused on something behind Draco, his body stiffening. He darted a look back at his father and then away again, and Draco turned his head to see a waitress carrying a tray of drinks.

"Do you want me to get you a Coke?" Draco asked, the moment to be a responsible father slipping away, leaving him feeling both incredibly relieved and completely inept.

Scorpius's face split into a grin and he nodded frantically. He was Astoria completely. Draco knew he would do anything for him. The moment he complained again about Hermione, he would listen. At least for now, he would compensate with filling his son with as much sugar as he wanted.

"This is all very surreal, Malfoy."

"I was sure you would have left by now."

"Well, maybe I just saw something that convinced me to stay."

Draco looked at her. Hermione sniffed a few times, wrinkling her nose like a rat, tapping on the tip, her eyes alive.

"Dad! Dad! Are you watching?" Draco shook his head at her, mortified, and looked back towards the lane. Scorp was bouncing on his toes, pointing towards his ball heading straight for the centre of the pins.

Draco leant towards Hermione. "Do you enjoy taking the piss or something?" he muttered.

"Just with you."

Draco nodded. "I thought so. I must say, I'm honoured." Hermione snorted loudly through her nose and took a drink of her beer. "Has anyone ever told you you have a beautiful laugh?" He asked pleasantly, turning back to watch his son. "Scorpius! A spare!" He smiled as Hermione started choking. "Well done! Headmistress, you're up. Do try not to aim for the gutter this time?"

"Fuck you," Hermione whispered as she brushed past him.

Hermione had shed the red cardigan. Scorpius had shed most of his clothes too. Draco was desperate to nip to the lavatory to cast a cooling charm over himself, but it would mean missing those few seconds spent alone with Hermione while Scorp bowled. He wiped his forehead on his shoulder, blew his hair from his eyes and brought the ball to his face to line it up to the pins, swung it down past his knees, stepped forward once, twice, swung forward and released. A strike! He couldn't help but grin as he turned around to Scorpius's applause.

"It runs in our family you know, we just have a natural aptitude for sports." Scorpius was telling Hermione as Draco reached them.

"Oh, is that right?" She asked, sparing a glance up at Draco, eyebrow pointedly raised.

"Yeah, well, my dad was Seeker for Slytherin, you know."

"Was he?"

"Come on you," Draco pulled Scorpius to his feet. "Half way through, still time to catch up to me."

"He's okay, isn't he?" Hermione said as Scorpius bounced away and Draco took a seat next to her.

"Yeah, he's fine."

"With me being here, I mean." She looked into the swirling dregs of her beer. "It's just earlier, I kind of thought maybe, well, he definitely wasn't."

"Well -"

"What am I doing here, Malfoy?" She glanced up at him.

"I asked you to come."

"Why?"

Draco rocked forward. "Merlin, Granger, because I knew giving you ample opportunity to laugh at how shit I am at Muggle living would cheer you up? Why do you think?"

"Malfoy, what are we doing? Why did you even - I was horrible earlier. I feel awful about it - hey! M-"

Draco had leant in and kissed her before he could think about it. A grunt of surprise died at the back of her throat, her lips opened with his, and her skin was so cool against his pulling away was painful. "That's why I asked you," he said gruffly. "Now stop feeling awful, the aim of this evening is to have fun. Both of you need to be distracted. We don't need to talk about it."

"Ugh! I only got two," Scorpius announced, stomping back to the rack and picking up a new ball.

"So much for natural aptitude," Draco called to his retreating back.

"So much for natural aptitude," he heard Scorp mimicking squeakily.

"We don't need to talk about what we said? Really?" Hermione said as Draco turned back to her, grinning as he imagined Scorp's face.

"No, we don't. We both went too far, I was -" pathetic - "an idiot. You were-"

"A bitch," she interjected.

"Hey, don't. It's over. Although -" he thought for a moment and began to frown. "Although - that's not to say - you know, that whole walking on eggshells thing-"

"Oh so we can talk about things, as long as they're on your terms can we?"

"Wait, please, just listen. I want - I need you to be able to say what you want to me."

"I do, Malfoy," she let out a short, bitter laugh. "And look how terribly it turned out today-"

"No, I want you to. That's one of the reasons why I like - well, I just need to grow the fuck up and deal with it. Merlin, Hermione, it's about time this - this bullshit with me - I want it to end."

She was smiling at him strangely.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh - oh, it's nothing. And by the way, I've been thinking how well you're negotiating this place. I don't think I've ever seen anyone look more uncomfortable in my life. But - here you are." She tucked a loose curl behind her ear, picked up her glass and looked up at him through her lashes. "You don't think I'd be laughing if i thought the opposite, do you?"

"I-"

"Seven!" Scorpius announced, flinging himself down next to his father. "Respectable. Your turn, Headmistress Granger!"

"You're up, Scorp," Draco called, walking back to the bench.

"Wait a sec," Scorpius stood with his drink and started to gulp it down.

Draco realised with alarm that he was downing it. "Scorpius! That's your second Coke! You're not having another one." Draco held his son's gaze over the rim until it was lowered.

The glass was almost empty. Scorp slammed it down on the table and gave them an enormous burp. "Oops!" He clapped his hands to his mouth.

Draco shut his eyes for a moment, half in mock despair, half in very real. "Headmistress Granger," he said, turning to Hermione. "I'm so sorry, I don't know who this boy is, he certainly isn't a Malfoy."

"Father! You're so cruel!" Scorpius exclaimed, attempting to shove into Draco's stomach with his shoulder as he passed.

"You really have done an excellent job with him, Malfoy." Hermione was resting her arm along the back of the bench, one thigh crossed over the other, smirking up at him. "What a polite child."

He shook his head, grinning widely and sat down next to her. She kept her arm draped behind the back of his neck.

"Excellent manners," she murmured.

"Please don't."

Hermione looked away, smiling. She licked her lips, seeming suddenly nervous. She brought her fist to her mouth and coughed, "Silver cauldrons."

She glanced back, caught Draco's eye and they both burst out laughing. Draco felt so alive he could have picked her up and thrown her in the air. "Do you want to know a secret?"

"He isn't really yours?"

A huge, bark of a laugh erupted out of him. Hermione shook her head, grinning into her glass and took a sip of her drink. "Worse," he breathed. "Much worse. That would explain things, after all. The thing is -" he paused for dramatic effect, leant in closer and whispered, "I don't think Scorpius is a Slytherin."

"Ah hah! Finally, the real reason he's coming to my school. What then, a-" she glanced over to Scorpius, who was currently making a big deal out of weighing up the different balls. She looked back at Draco, eyebrows raised. "Ravenclaw?"

Draco snorted. "Don't be polite."

Hermione rested her hand on his arm and gave it a brief squeeze. "I'm sorry, Malfoy. That must be - tough."

"Well, he would have gone into Slytherin, of course. He can be incredibly convincing, secretive, manipulative."

"All good, solid Slytherin qualities."

"And he's worryingly good at lying, especially with that face. Have you noticed he looks just like Astoria?"

Hermione shook her head. "Draco, I'm sorry. I don't remember what she looked like."

"Oh. Well, like Scorpius." He smiled. "You would have gotten on."

Hermione smiled back. "I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to know her."

"Me too."

An easy silence settled between them. Draco sat back up straight.

Scorp returned seconds later to fetch a new ball. "Split," he told them, rolling his eyes.

"So -" Hermione inclined her head back towards Draco. "You've convinced me why he would make a good Slytherin, so why do you think-"

"Right, I was getting to that. I mean, those things pale in comparison to how impulsive he is, how he puts other's needs over his own - I mean, he just doesn't seem to care about his own safety at all, he's just - he's so kind."

"I'm sorry, Draco."

Draco was silent for a moment. Of course Hermione knew that 'other's needs,' were referring to Draco's own. But he didn't know why she was apologising for it. "For?"

She reached behind them to put down her glass on the table before laying both of her hands on her lap, looking suddenly serious. Draco waited in silence for her to find the words. "I'm sorry about what I said."

"We don't need to-"

"I know, I know - we don't need to talk about it, but, I need to apologise for this. Yeah, okay, you want to deal with things better, but I don't need to be so - well - I need to learn how to deal with stress better. I shouldn't have take it out on you. I didn't need to bring up yours and Scorp's - your stuff. I'm sorry."

Draco nodded. "Okay."

"And -" now her hands were fussing nervously at the hem of her cardigan, "I'll stop with the - with the letters and excuses. They were stupid, childish - you should just come -" she trailed off and shrugged and Draco realised how suddenly uncomfortable she was. "Well, we need to arrange, of course, but - oh for God's sake, Malfoy, can you just say something?"

Draco bit his lips to stop them from smiling. He cocked his head. "Well, I don't know, Headmistress. I quite enjoyed your letters. Why stop?"

Hermione did her best to keep her reaction to merely raising an eyebrow. But the way Draco could see her biting her cheeks ruined any impression of cool. Draco grinned at her at the very moment Scorp arranged himself on his shoulders, lolling his head down so his chin rested on Draco's chest.

"Ugh, the ball went straight through the middle. My arm is so tired! Bowling is so hard."

Draco had to perform the cooling charm. He couldn't take it any longer. But as Scorp passed him to the lane and left Hermione sitting alone, the whole bench open next to her, Draco was pulled back in. If hell turned out to exist, Draco knew it would take the form of the Elephant and Castle Shopping Centre Superbowl.

"Oh, for goodness sake, give me your hands," Hermione said.

"Okay," Draco said, nonplussed, quickly attempting to soak up the sweat on his palms by gripping the denim on his thighs. He sat down on her left, held out his right hand, and she rested it in her lap, his palm up.

"How are your hands freezing?" he said, trying to work out what she was doing. And they were so small next to his!

"Bad circulation. I can tell how hot you are," Hermione murmured, and began pushing up his sleeve. "This place is like a furnace. You should have done this a while ago."

Draco's entire body tensed.

Hermione reached over his lap, grabbed his left hand and tried to pull it towards her.

What are you doing?" Draco hissed, locking his arm in place.

"No eggshells, remember? Relax."

Draco breathed out, looked up, met her gaze and let her take his hand.

But he couldn't help but clasp her fingers as he saw the tip of the Dark Mark revealed. "Don't," he croaked.

"I know you're not hiding your Dark Mark from yourself or Scorp. You don't cover it up at home."

Draco drew in a sharp breath. "Fuck, you're blunt."

Her thumb stroked against the surface of the hair growing at his wrist. It sent a tingle crawling across his skin, right across the Mark and up his neck. "I think you almost just told me you liked me for that." She began to ease up the sleeve. Draco kept his eyes squarely on Hermione's. "You must be doing this for me," she whispered. "You don't need to."

"Strike!" Came Scorp's voice. "Did you see Father? I got seventy-five overall! That's not bad is it?"

Draco swallowed thickly and turned towards his son, his pulse racing, feeling as if they'd been caught doing something far more intimate than kissing.

"No! Not bad at all. Here, Scorp-" Draco stood abruptly and fumbled in his pocket for some money. "Do you want another Coke? A go on one of the shooting games?"

Scorpius's eyes bugged. "Really? Er, duh! I mean, yes, yes please!"

"Good, off you go." He handed Scorpius the change, looked at Hermione and grimaced. "I'm a terrible father, aren't I?"

Hermione shrugged. "That depends on your motivation."

Draco looked around. He looked at all of the families, the couples, the girls dancing, the men playing pool, all the laughter and disappointment and tears and all of the lives he had once claimed had less worth than a house-elf. It was such a long time ago. He pulled off his jumper, flung it to the seat and stared down at his bare arms, flexing his hands. He breathed out deeply. He looked back down at Hermione and held out his hand.

"Okay, Granger, it's your last go and enough is enough. I'm going to show you how to do this properly."

Hermione blinked up at him and smiled. She took his hand and let him pull her up.

"And you'll soon understand why I needed to send Scorpius away," he added with a wink.

Hermione snorted with laughter, shaking her head, letting him lead her to the lane. The Mark brushed against the back of her arm as he selected her a new, lighter ball. Draco froze, Hermione didn't. He could have kissed her for it, so he did, right there over the bowling balls.