2.
They arrived at Platform 9 & 3/4s with twenty minutes to spare, thanks to very good luck with the London traffic. Harry and Ginny waved them over to the spot they had claimed as their own, clustered together with the other Weasleys and Andromeda Tonks. Even though they'd just had dinner at the Burrow a week gone, there were hugs all around. While Ron chattered animatedly to Harry about the game today, Hermione crouched down and squeezed Hugo tightly. She pressed her lips to his forehead, and then sat back on her heels and looked up at her youngest – her baby, now seeming so tall and gangly in his Hogwarts uniform. How had he grown up so quickly? She swallowed down a lump in her throat and swiped at her eyes as she stood.
"Mum. You're not crying are you?" Hugo asked with all the embarrassed discomfort of a pre-teen boy, and Hermione sniffled wetly and shook her head, fussing with Hugo's crooked tie and neatening the well-starched collar of his shirt.
"Of course not, darling."
Hugo bumped her arm gently with a loose fist and smiled bravely up at her. "Liar."
"Oh Hugo. I can't believe...it seems like just yesterday you were...well, much littler," Hermione said lamely. "And now look at you. All grown up and off to Hogwarts. And you'll have such fun, but oh I'm going to miss you, darling."
"I'm gonna miss you too, mum. And David and Sanjeet and Skye and the rest of m' mates," he said forlornly, face falling at the thought of his friends from the Muggle school he'd attended since he was five.
"Well, you can owl me, with letters enclosed for me to post on to your friends. And I'll owl you twice a week, promise. And you can see all your friends every holidays. I'll talk to their mums and arrange something in advance."
"Like paintball? Or laser tag? Or –"
"Well I was thinking a trip to the museum, but paintball sounds like much more fun, Hugo," Hermione agreed, and kissed him on the forehead once more, smoothing his messy brown hair with absent fingers. Hugo was an excellent student just like his sister and mother, but unlike either of them he was far more active, and loved sports. Like his father, Hermione supposed, and cringed at the negative tone to her mental voice at the thought of Ron. It made her feel guilty, even as annoyed and hurt as she still was with him. It felt like they were always offside with each other these days.
"Hugo! Come on – I'm taking Lily, Lucy, and Louis to go find an empty carriage before they all get claimed and we can't sit together. If we hurry we might be able to get one on the platform side so we can wave goodbye to everyone," Albus Potter said, appearing from nowhere like a wee ghost, with a shy smile for Hermione. "Hi Aunt 'Mione."
"Hullo, Albus. Excited to be going back?"
"Sort of," Albus shrugged ultra-casually, with all the 'experience' of a newly minted second year, and then elbowed his younger cousin. "Come on, Hugo. The others are waiting."
"Go on, darling. Write to let me know what house you get Sorted into as soon as you get a chance," Hermione said as Hugo hugged her tightly again. Her skinny little boy was headed off to Hogwarts at last, and Merlin her heart felt heavy and full to breaking with the loss of him, and the pride of who he was growing to be.
"I'll cross my fingers for you getting Sorted into Gryffindor," Ron said as he crushed Hugo into his arms. "But anything other than Slytherin is fine by me – I'll have to disown you if it's Slytherin, I'm afraid."
"Ron!"
"He knows I'm only teasing, Hermione," Ron chided, and ruffled up Hugo's just-tidied hair. "Have fun, yeah? And don't get caught making trouble." He dropped a wink at Hugo, and for a moment Hermione saw her husband at eighteen again spark to life in the lopsided grin he gave their son. Her heart flared and warmed, and as Hugo went running off with Albus, she slipped her hand into his. Ron gave a start, and then smiled distractedly down at her, weaving their fingers together.
"Where's Rose gone? Off with her friends?" Hermione began, expecting her daughter to have run off with the relations she got on best with at home – James, Molly, and Roxanne, the three who were closest to her age. But Molly and Roxanne were giggling together with the ever beautiful Fleur, and James was talking animatedly with a boy Hermione didn't know. "I can't see her anywhere. Can you see where she's got to?" Ron looked around the platform for a moment, and then made a choking, furious noise, squeezing Hermione's hand too hard and forcing her to wrench her poor squashed fingers away and stare at him in concern. "Ron?"
"Merlin's fucking balls, our Rosie's over there with Scorpius bloody Malfoy," Ron growled, shoving his hands in his jeans' pockets and slouching as though he were a moody teen, jerking his chin in the direction of the lower end of the platform. Tension made him taut and red faced, teeth gritted together.
"What?" Hermione craned her neck to see, needing to see it with her own eyes to believe it. "No. She can't be." Rose had never mentioned being friends with Scorpius Malfoy, and somehow Hermione couldn't imagine it – a Weasley half-blood, friends with a Malfoy? The Malfoys would never allow it. Then she saw the top of a red head close to pale blond one in the crowd, down the end of the platform Ron had nodded to, and went up on her toes to see better. "Oh my god. Merlin's sake, it is too!" She stayed up on her toes in her sensible court shoes, hand on Ron's arm for balance.
"Everyone'll pitch a fit if Rosie goes out with that little ferret," Ron said darkly, glaring down the platform at the two teens.
"You mean you'll pitch a fit," Hermione retorted, gaze on her daughter. Rose was in her uniform but not her robes, and her face was a far cry from the sulky expression she'd treated her parents to all morning. Instead she was smiling and laughing from what Hermione could see, and young Scorpius was grinning too – as Hermione watched, he reached out and tugged at the end of Rose's plait, saying something that made the girl giggle and blush, and shove at him playfully.
"I don't think that'll be an issue," Hermione said thoughtfully, after watching them a moment longer.
"What do you mean?"
"Never mind." She smiled faintly at Ron. "I'll go give her a hug goodbye – and tell her to come over and say goodbye to you, if you don't want to have to be polite to a Malfoy." She left Ron's side without waiting for his answer – she knew what it would be, and it rather disappointed her that he wasn't willing to make his own assessment of Scorpius Malfoy. Hermione didn't hold the boy's being a Malfoy against him – she would judge him on his own merits. And given that Rose generally had good judgement when it came to people, Scorpius's apparent friendship with her daughter spoke quite favourably of him
"Rose," Hermione smiled at her daughter as the girl spun around to stare at her wide-eyed. Scorpius Malfoy was just as wide-eyed from beneath his long platinum-blond fringe, and nervy too. The pair of them looked as though they'd been caught doing something terrible, rather than just talking and laughing together.
"Mum!" Rose looked around behind Hermione, tense and uncertain. "Where's Dad?"
"With the rest of the family. Why?" she asked, playing innocent.
"Oh, he... Never mind."
"I've just come to say goodbye, my darling, and remind you to go give your father a hug before you get on the train." Hermione was warm and reassuring, snugging an arm around her tall daughter's shoulders in a hug, and kissing her temple. Then she let go and smiled at Scorpius. "And who is this?"
"This is, um, Scorpius, Mum." Rose bit her lip.
"Scorpius Malfoy," the boy said unapologetically, pointed chin held high, as he put out a hand with painful formality. Hermione took it and shook, noting his firm grip, direct, honest gaze, and dark-blue nail polish. Scorpius looked startlingly like his father in features, and yet nothing like him at all. He seemed fey and somehow slight despite his obvious height, his pale grey eyeliner-smudged eyes bright and brittle, and his mouth shaped into a tentative, guarded smile.
"It's lovely to meet you, Scorpius," Hermione said honestly. It was immediately clear that the boy was nothing like his father had been at the same age; she wondered idly if that was because or in spite of his father. Draco Malfoy certainly seemed like he was still a nasty, arrogant git from what little Hermione saw of him at the Ministry during trial hearings. "I didn't know you and Rose were friends." She smiled at him warmly again, and he began to thaw, smiling back and looking very sweet with it.
"I –" Rose flushed and looked down, scuffing her toes on the ground. "We've been friends since the end of first year, but...I thought you and dad might be mad. You know..."
"I do, Rose." Hermione felt a rush of sympathy for her daughter. "I do, unfortunately. I'm sorry if I gave you that impression. And while I can't speak for your father, I am not at all in the slightest upset that you've made friends with Scorpius."
"How very magnanimous of you, Granger," a voice drawled from behind her, and Hermione's shoulders stiffened as her stomach sank.
"Father..." Scorpius protested in a near whisper, his mouth tightening, the sweet smile giving way to a guarded, tense expression. Hermione noticed the way, before she turned to face Malfoy, that Rose's hand slipped into Scorpius's and held on tightly, the two of them standing together. And then she was facing Draco Malfoy. He wore a dark grey vintage Muggle-style suit, with silver cufflinks at his sleeves and his striped tie tugged loose, top button of his shirt undone, a waistcoat over it. It had been a very long time since Hermione had been so close to him for so long, and she noted that his hair was shorter now than she'd ever seen it and rumpled as though he'd been shoving his hands through it. His pointed face had become less so with the encroachment of middle age, and he had new lines at the corners of his eyes that rather suited him, oddly enough, as did the faint stubble that dusted his jaw, a shade darker than his hair.
"Granger-Weasley, actually," Hermione forced a smile to her lips, glad that she was wearing one of her work outfits rather than her around-the-house mum jeans and t-shirt. She could stand up to his careful scrutiny in a well-tailored plain black pencil skirt, with a brand new orange-red blouse with a draping pussy bow that Rose had assured her didn't look stupid. It was clothing that flattered her breasts and hips, and mostly disguised the encroaching middle-aged spread that made her middle softer and bum a little more generous than they had been two decades ago. Even if her hair was a flyaway mess. "Or Hermione, if you'd rather." She refused to rise to any of Malfoy's baiting, and upset her daughter or Scorpius. She held out her hand to Malfoy, half expecting him to rebuff her. But instead he reached out and took her hand, a smile tugging lopsided at his mouth as though he knew exactly what she was playing at, and would match her move for move.
"I still find myself preferring Granger," Draco said smoothly as he shifted his grip on Hermione's hand and raised it to his lips, touching them soft to the back of her fingers. Her heart stumbled in its beat in bewildered shock, and her forced smile wavered hopelessly. She jerked her hand back too quickly, and Malfoy's face flickered through a complicated array of emotions, before settling on what looked to her like amused superiority.
"I was just making the acquaintance of your son," Hermione said swiftly, moving the conversation toward safer ground, instead of the quicksand she'd found herself in. "You must be very proud of him." And this, she thought, was when she would discover if Scorpius was a lovely young man because, or in spite of, his father. And Malfoy smiled at his son with an echo of the same sweet expression Scorpius had, and reached forward to cup his son's cheek gently in his hand.
"Very," was all he said, the one quiet word nearly lost to the noise of the crowd, as he stared down at his son with unguarded, unmistakeable love and pride. Hermione felt suddenly like an intruder, to be seeing that expression on Malfoy's face.
"Father," Scorpius whined in embarrassment, despite his obvious pleasure at the affection, pushing his father's hand down and hunching his shoulders, cheeks pinking. Then Malfoy turned his eyes on Rose, who still clutched Scorpius's hand.
"And I presume then that this is the lovely Miss Weasley that I hear so much about from Scorpius?" Malfoy asked expectantly, eyebrow arching.
"Y-yes. It's nice to meet to meet you, Mister Malfoy," Rose said, ducking her head shyly, and Malfoy smiled – not the oddly sweet expression that he'd given his son, but nonetheless a genuine-seeming expression, which looked almost as unnatural on Malfoy's face. It was altogether too warm and kind to be on Malfoy's face.
"And you, Miss Weasley. A pleasure. You're just as lovely as your mother," Malfoy said, and Hermione tensed in confusion. That had to be an insult. And yet...it didn't seem he meant it that way. There was none of the scathing undertone that would have been there had he meant to be insulting. Hermione saw Rose flick a curious glance toward her, and avoided her daughter's questioning look, staring instead at her own hands. What the hell was Malfoy playing at?
Malfoy cleared his throat then, changing his tone. "Scorpius, your mother actually dispatched me over here because she wishes to say goodbye to you. You can catch up with Miss Weasley on the train, but your mother will apparently be utterly devastated should you not farewell her." There was an edge to Malfoy's voice that was unmistakeable as he spoke of his wife – it reminded Hermione uncomfortably of the way she sometimes spoke of Ron. Scorpius rolled his eyes and sighed.
"Yes, father. It was good to meet you, Ms Granger-Weasley."
"You too, Scorpius," Hermione answered, watching the polite young boy disappear into the crowd with a wave of one slim hand to Rose. "Come on, Rose, we'd better go find your dad," she said. "Erm, it was," she tried hesitantly as she took a step back, feeling awkward and off-balance again. Malfoy's pale grey eyes were too steady on hers. "...good to see you, Malfoy," she fumbled, thoughts scattering like frightened birds under his calm gaze.
"And you, Granger," he said, and unlike her, he meant it, in a way that shook her to the ground and made her mind go blank and stupid. He tilted a corner of his mouth up in a faint hint of a smile and nodded politely to Hermione and Rose, before heading off in the direction that Scorpius had gone. Hermione blinked dazedly, and then spun on her heel and headed briskly toward Ron and the rest of the extended family.
"What was that about, Mum?" Rose ventured curiously as she followed in Hermione's wake through the crowd.
"What was what?" Hermione played dumb, glancing back at her daughter with a meaningless, blank sort of smile.
"With Mister Malfoy," Rose said meaningfully, raising her eyebrows at her mother, and Hermione shrugged, feeling horribly uncomfortable and breaking out in a flush of sweaty heat for reasons she didn't understand, but attributed entirely to Malfoy's strange behaviour. It had flustered her. And since when was Rose old enough to notice things like the honey-dark tone to Malfoy's voice?
"I have no idea, Rose. I would have been less surprised if he'd called me a mudblood and spat in my face," she told her daughter rather too bluntly, and then sighed. "I suppose he's...changed, since I last spoke to him. He certainly seemed more polite. And that's an understatement."
"When did you last speak to him?" Rose prodded, hooking her arm through Hermione's and falling in stride with her, and Hermione remembered. Was it really so long ago? Twenty-one years; after the war, but before the trials. Speaking to him through bars, wanting to understand and not reaching any understanding at all, because all he'd had was rage and fear and all she'd had was rage and righteousness, and he'd said terrible things, and so had she, and Ron had said "I told you so" and she'd slapped him for it.
But she'd never spoken to Malfoy again. Not even when he passed her in the hallways at the Ministry every few weeks or so these past few years, and greeted her with a politeness she had thought was spite, but perhaps hadn't been after all. She had avoided him at the few official parties she and Ron had attended over the years, and happily, despite his minor position on the Wizengamot, she'd never had to interact with him. Today was the first time she had spoken to him since she'd told him that she would never forgive him for what he'd done, no matter what the result of the trial. He had disappeared for a long time after that trial; excused of his crimes but hiding from the public eye completely, until nearly a decade ago, when he'd taken the seat on the Wizengamot that he was entitled to by virtue of his blood.
"A very, very long time ago," Hermione said simply, and then heaved a sigh and nudged her daughter in the side as they wended their way through the crowd. "So...Scorpius Malfoy, hmm?"
"Ew, Mum! It's not like that!"
"Oh, I know that, Rose. I'm not stupid, my darling." A pause. "He seems nice. I'm sorry I made you feel you couldn't tell me about being friends with him." Rose shrugged.
"Doesn't matter, Mum. I'm glad you like him, though."
"Me too, Rose." Hermione stopped as they reached the edge of the Weasley-Potter conglomeration, and pulled Rose into her arms, wondering where this beautiful young woman nearly as tall now as Hermione herself had sprouted up from. She'd grown up too much over the summer holidays. "I love you, sweetheart."