30.
"I said, where's dad?" Rose glared at Hermione, hands on her hips, cheeks flushing red. She was wrapped up in a cosy stripy green, blue and brown parka, with grey gloves and hat, as well as a Ravenclaw scarf, with leggings and warm boots. Scorpius stood beside her, also bundled up cosily but looking thinner than before, his grey eyes huge in his face as he watched Rose vibrate on the edge of exploding. He'd said hello very politely, but then Rose had gone off like a scalded cat.
"He got mixed up, Rose. He thought he didn't have practice this Sunday, but he did," Hermione said tiredly, unwilling to cover for him fully. "You know what he's like. He never remembers anything unless I tell him five minutes before." She sighed. "I was hoping I could take you out instead.
Rose relented, although she still looked furious. "I know it's not your fault," she allowed, tone resentful and expression shifting toward hurt as it sank in that her father hadn't prioritised her. "I was just looking forward to seeing dad."
"I know, darling. I'm sorry."
"Oh well. I guess we may as well go. Do – do you think Scorp could come?" Rose glanced at Scorpius, red waves of her hair ruffling in the breeze, hopeful as she looked to her mother. Scorpius just looked miserable. And frail. He didn't wear gloves, and when he pushed his floppy fringe back off his forehead, Hermione could see a thin purplish scar at his bony wrist. She had the sudden urge to feed him half of Madam Puddifoot's. Although she didn't plan on going there for lunch; The Three Broomsticks was less nauseating decor-wise, although perhaps they could stop by Madam Puddifoot's and get some cakes for Rose to take back to school to share with her friends.
"I can't, Rose," Scorpius said, explaining his miserable look. "I'm not allowed to leave Hogwarts without my dad's permission, remember? In case I –" He held his wrists up and waggled them. Rose blanched and Scorpius looked apologetic and guilty for bringing it up, and shockingly like his father. Hermione immediately felt protective of him even as she felt a hint of worry at the effect Scorpius's issues might be having on Rose. She wondered if Scorpius might benefit from a psychologist aware of the wizarding world; maybe one with a magical sibling or partner, or a squib who lived in the Muggle world. Surely one had to exist.
"Oh. Right," Rose mumbled, mouth twisting. "That sucks."
"I'm sorry, Rose, Scorpius. Maybe next time?"
"That would be lovely, Ms Granger-Weasley," Scorpius said very politely, with a small, brittle smile. "I'm just going to head back to the castle I think, Rose."
"I'm sorry, Scorp." Rose hugged him; all colour and vitality, shorter than him but sturdier, her amber brown eyes empathetic as she drew back. "I'll bring you back something."
They walked in to Hogsmeade; the air was cold but the sun was bright and the sky clear, and walking made Hermione remember school. She grinned as they crossed the bridge and passed near the standing stones, pointing to them. "I hit Scorpius's father there, smack in the face, when we were both third years."
"I know," Rose said, shooting her mother an odd look. "Scorpius said his dad tells him that story all the time too, since he started Hogwarts. He said it seemed like his dad had a crush on you."
"Oh no. He definitely hated me back then." Hermione laughed quietly, the sound snatched away by the breeze. She began to wish she'd worn a hat – she had the feeling this wind would defeat Malfoy's charm, and her hair would go everywhere.
"He doesn't now though." Rose's expression was archly knowing as she glanced at her mother, and Hermione fixed her own expression to be deliberately neutral.
"Well no, he doesn't hate me." She saw Hagrid's hut off in the distance down the slope, and pointed that out. "Oh wow, Hagrid's hut looks just the same. I'll have to stop in and say hello to him later. Do you ever stop by and see him, Rose?"
"Sometimes," Rose said, obviously well aware of what Hermione was doing from the dry look on her face. "He's good fun, but I hate his rock cakes, and he seems to think I must love them, because you pretended to." She smiled then. "He's always nice to Scorp though."
"Maybe we can bring something back from Madam Puddifoot's, to have at Hagrid's with Scorpius this afternoon," Hermione offered, and Rose brightened.
"That sounds nice, mum. Thanks."
They chatted lightly as they strolled through the autumn morning. Hermione found out that aside from Scorpius, Rose was still friends with what seemed like a dozen students, but was particularly close to Albus, and Percy and Audrey's youngest, Lucy, who was a fourth year Gryffindor. That was a relief; Hermione had been worried that Rose had gotten so wrapped up in Scorpius that she'd lost her other friends, which wouldn't have been ideal for her at all. Rose gave her news on Hugo – "He's fine. He's loving school. He ate a gobstone last week on a dare though, did he tell you?" – and told Hermione about her favourite classes, and how she wanted a kneazle, and how frustrated she was that she'd miss Quidditch because of what had happened with James.
"You still won't tell me why James picked on Scorpius?"
"Muuuumm." Rose dragged the one syllable word out into at least three, giving her mother a long-suffering look. "No. It's not my business. It's up to them – him to say." Hermione noticed the slip of course, but it wasn't very useful. She imagined Rose was just talking about James and Scorpius, most likely. It was Rose's turn to change the subject then, awkward and flushing, chattering on about the Halloween ball, and how she needed to go dress shopping with Hermione soon, and she wanted a Muggle dress. It seemed she was hoping to impress a boy, and as she talked on about her classes, and friends, and other students, the name Michel Galloway popped up fairly often. He was the same year as Rose, and if Hermione remembered right, he was Gabrielle Delacour's eldest son.
Hermione smiled to herself as they walked through Hogsmeade's streets. She wouldn't pry about Rose's crush; she'd let Rose tell her about it when she was ready. Suddenly Hermione felt glad that Ron had fallen through with lunch. If he hadn't, she wouldn't have had the joy of this relaxed, easy chat, finding out more than she had about Rose's life in a while – one-on-one, in no hurry to get anywhere, with no pressure.
The Three Broomsticks was bustling but not without several available tables still. Hermione greeted Madam Rosmerta with a smile and a quick word when she ordered – the pub was too busy for a proper chat – while Rose picked their table, tucked away in a cosy corner. Rosmerta brought over their butterbeers herself within minutes, and said the Sunday roasts they'd ordered would be a short wait. The butterbeer was delicious as always, and Rose was busy trying to convince Hermione to get her a kneazle, when suddenly Madam Rosmerta's voice rang out quavering and loud, and a horrified hush fell over The Three Broomsticks.
"Get out of my establishment! Get out!" Rosmerta shrieked, full of distraught fury. "You're not welcome!"
"Oh no, mum..." Rose half stood, looking over toward the door, "look," and Hermione twisted in her seat. Malfoy stood there just inside the doorway, with Scorpius at his side. Malfoy was paler than usual, his expression blank except for the way his jaw was clenched, and Hermione could read him well enough to see the self-loathing building up, and the hatred that this was happening in front of his son. His hands were raised in surrender as he spoke quietly. Then Hermione saw that Madam Rosmerta had her wand levelled at him, and she shot to her feet.
"Stay here," she told Rose sharply, and then she was across the pub in a flash, standing between Rosmerta and Malfoy, who was trying to apologise as Scorpius stared up at him, wounded. She shot Malfoy a wide-eyed look that was meant to communicate 'what on earth are you doing here?' and then looked to Madam Rosmerta. "He's with me, Madam Rosmerta," she said carefully. "But we'll leave if you like." She'd expected Rosmerta to relent after a moment's prevarication, but clearly she'd been naive.
"Yes, I would like. You're welcome but he isn't. Get out," Madam Rosmerta said viciously, and Hermione nodded, stomach sinking as she saw Malfoy's face twist fleetingly with self-hatred and misery, and Scorpius edged away from him as students and other customers stared curiously. Trying to distance himself from his father, and Malfoy's expression tightened further, filled with pain. Whispers rose amongst a cluster of students seated nearby, and their looks were accusatory. Hermione caught a few of the words; Death Eater – the wrong side – should be in Azkaban. A strange, aimless anger boiled under her skin as Malfoy turned and left the pub, features stark and frozen.
"Rose? We're going." She beckoned to her daughter and Rose came trotting over, and then all four of them were standing on the cobbled street as Rosmerta slammed the door behind them.
"Scorpius! You came!" Rose exclaimed excitedly, as if the last few minutes hadn't happened, grinning broadly at him. "Mum! Can we go to Madam Puddifoot's?"
"That depends, Rose." Hermione looked over at Malfoy. Merlin, he looked fantastic, even standing there looking stiffly defensive and self-hating at once. He clearly hadn't shaved since yesterday morning, and he was in dress trousers and a white shirt, with the same jumper as yesterday. She smiled wryly, wishing they were alone so she could kiss his mouth. "Did you do anything to Madam Puddifoot that I'm not aware of?" Hermione meant it to lighten the mood, but he flinched as they moved across the street, further away from Rosmerta.
"No," he said shortly. And then added, "I'm sorry. I should've thought. Stupid of me. "
"What did you do to her, father?" Scorpius asked, and Malfoy groaned quietly, rubbing his forehead as he tried to formulate an answer.
"He had a nasty run in with Madam Rosmerta in 6th year," Hermione said brisk, matter-of-fact sort of cheer. "It wasn't a great year for your father overall, really. Madam Puddifoot's sounds good though, decor aside. Rose, why don't you and Scorpius take this and go stop by Honeydukes on the way, and Malfoy and I will meet you there."
Scorpius was quite happy to give up on his line of questioning in exchange for the 2Ģ Hermione passed Rose, and the two teenagers went hurrying off whispering together, leaving Hermione and Malfoy standing on the side of the street, alone save for the passers-by, who mostly ignored them. "Hi, Malfoy," Hermione said at last, and he huffed a laugh.
"Hi Granger." His eyes were bright and hungry despite his run in with Rosmerta, and when he took her hand and kissed her knuckles, he lingered a beat longer than the usual. She knew he noted her lack of rings. "I've never heard my 6th year described as 'not a great year' before," he said with a disbelieving sort of amusement. "And is 'nasty run in' really what we're calling using Unforgivables now?"
"Only when talking to your son, Malfoy," Hermione said tartly. "He didn't need to hear about that."
"Thank you," he said on a relieved sigh. "I had no idea how to handle that one. Usually I'm prepared, but he sprang this outing on me, owling me urgently, and I was thinking about seeing you, and –" Malfoy broke off, and eyed her. "You look beautiful, by the way. And the charm's still holding. I find myself missing your wild hair, suddenly." He reached out and his fingers slid through the hair at her temple, a smile flickering at his lips.
"Don't worry, it'll be back," Hermione assured him with the knowledge of long experience as they started toward Madam Puddifoot's. The children were no longer in sight. "Nothing tames it for long."
"How are you? Things are alright at your father's? You've got wards up? No flowers?" Malfoy was a barrage of concerned questions as they walked along side by side, close enough that occasionally their arms bumped together. His eyes were intent, his attention entirely focused on her as if she were everything that mattered in the world now that the children had gone off happily, and it felt lovely. Almost like an actual, ordinary date. Hermione felt buoyant; contented and warm under the sun, the breeze sharp and biting but not unpleasant. A perfect autumn day.
"Everything's fine," she began, and Malfoy took her hand then and tucked it around his arm, old-fashioned and sweet but very blatant in the middle of the day. His jumper was soft, and his arm firm beneath. Hermione glanced down at where they were linked, not pulling her hand away just yet. "Is this –?"
"I'd escort my mother like this, Granger," he said smoothly, and Hermione smiled to herself. He was right. He probably would. Unfortunately it would still look incredibly incriminating in pictures, whether or not he'd do it with his mother. But Rose and Scorpius were here – or nearby at least – as chaperones, and Hermione honestly just couldn't be bothered. She held his arm a little tighter and took a deep breath.
"Very good point," she agreed, and he made a pleased sound. "My dad knows, by the way. I hope that's okay." He shot her a startled look.
"About us? You told him?" He didn't seem annoyed, just surprised, and Hermione shrugged. She could see Madam Puddifoot's now, just up ahead. The children were nowhere in sight yet though.
"Sort of. He was starting to put it together anyway."
"Does he know who I am?" Malfoy asked and Hermione grimaced, shifting her grip on Malfoy's arm as they ambled along.
"He remembered you from school. It took him a minute to put together that the little prat from school –" Malfoy snorted self-deprecatingly "– was also the one from the Manor." The colour that the wind had put into Malfoy's cheeks drained away, and Hermione nearly regretted saying it.
"He knows about that?"
"Ron told my parents about the torture years ago," Hermione said, annoyance seeping into her voice. "I'd wanted to keep it from them, honestly. I didn't see the point in telling them; what were they going to do about it? They had enough to deal with. But Ron let it slip one Christmas when he'd had too much to drink."
"Shit," Malfoy commiserated.
"Yeah, that made for a fun Christmas Day," Hermione said dryly, remembering. "It was the year after the War. My mother was in floods of tears, my father was furious. And I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to think about it, let alone talk to my parents about it."
"I'm sorry." There was a weird sound to his voice, but the sun was behind him and Hermione couldn't see his features properly against the glare. He sounded as though he was remembering. He sounded guilty. Hermione remembered her dream, then. Seeing him in Azkaban, in that small stone room with the table fixed to the floor, the chains around his wrists. His anger and his terror all aimed at her. The fire and the fall, the flowers. The dream and the memory overlaid and muddled in her head.
"I can't imagine he was pleased then, when you told him we were...seeing each other," Malfoy said delicately. Awkwardly.
"No. Not particularly. He had some hard questions. But he wasn't angry. Just concerned. He already knew Rose and Scorpius are friends."
"Mm. I suppose I'd be concerned too in his place." He sighed. "You know, the reaction I got from Rosmerta is more extreme than the average, but that kind of thing isn't uncommon. If we're out together, that will happen at times." He looked uncomfortable as they stopped on the footpath outside Madam Puddifoot's, as if he were making a confession. "I was a Death Eater. I can't undo that. And a lot of people have long memories."
Hermione laughed, letting go of his arm and tucking her hair behind her ears as the wind caught at it. "You think I care? Malfoy, the world is so much bigger than the wizarding world. If a restaurant won't serve us, there are a thousand Muggle ones that will. More. And that's just in Britain." She smiled, meeting his eyes. Worried and grave, grey as stones, framed by thick, dark blond lashes that cast shadows on his cheekbones in just the right light. "I can show you a whole new world, if you want me to." She repressed a grin that he wouldn't understand as she thought of Aladdin, and wondered what he'd think of Disney movies.
"I do." Malfoy plucked a wayward lock of hair away from her face, expression still and serious, the words a promise that made Hermione think of things she perhaps shouldn't. She resisted the urge to sway into him, face turned up to him like a flower to the sun, lips parted to his. They were standing so close that if she went up on her tiptoes and leaned forward just a scant few inches her lips would meet his. From the way he was looking at her, Hermione suspected he was thinking the same thing. Instead she pressed her lips together hard and then spoke, not knowing what she was going to say until it came out.
"I dreamt about that day in Azkaban, last night."
"Oh," he said, cautious now.
"It was the past, but all mixed up with the present. That note with the rabbit – part of it was on my arm. And you said I shouldn't be there. And that – that you loved me." She whispered that part, the wind taking the words from her mouth, and Malfoy met her gaze with silver-glazed eyes, solemn.
"I do," he said once more, his eyes burning, and Hermione felt her insides quiver and her voice was unsteady as she went on, not sure why she was even telling him her stupid dream, but it was too late to stop now.
"And then we were burning at a stake, and you were chained to it, but you pushed me out of the flames and I fell into a giant pensieve, and there were these pale pink hibiscus flowers raining down on me," she finished in one long rush, aware of how stupid and jumbled it sounded, Malfoy's brow wrinkled as he tried to make sense of it. And then a hint of a wry smile crossed his face.
"One type of pale pink hibiscus is Syrian Mallow – it means 'consumed by love'," he said softly, and somehow that sounded right. "I remember that one well," he added. He looked down at his feet, hands in his pockets. "I've looked at the love flower meanings a lot recently," he admitted, shooting her a shadowed glance, corner of his mouth slanted into a smile. A shiver slid down Hermione's spine, prompted more by his words than that meaningful look, although the look contributed. They were standing very close now, and she imagined she could nearly feel his body heat.
"Oh. That's weird... Because I'm sure I didn't know that." Hermione vaguely thought she might remember having seen Syrian Mallow in the floriography book, but she hadn't paid any attention to it. How on earth had she dreamed it? She said that last part aloud, and Malfoy shrugged helplessly, his fingers twitching out as though he wanted to take her hand.
"Dreams are –" But he broke off and took a quick step back from her as the children came running up, breathless and pink-cheeked, each holding a large paper bag that was presumably stuffed with sweets. They both looked younger than their thirteen years, bundled up in their coats and clutching their Honeydukes bags. Hermione smiled, seeing echoes of herself and Malfoy in the pair of them.
"Do I get any change, or did you spend it all?"
"No!" Rose said indignantly and then beamed, grinning brightly, holding out a handful of coins. "Two sickles and five knuts."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You may as well keep it, darling. I hope you thought to get something to bring back to school for Hugo, because I forgot to tell you."
"Ugh. Can't we just get him something from Madam Puddifoot's?" Rose whined, and Scorpius elbowed her lightly.
"We can each give him some of our chocolate frogs. He collects the cards, doesn't he?" Scorpius asked tentatively with the generosity of an only child who saw sharing as a novelty, and Rose sighed dramatically.
"No, no – he's not your brother. He's my responsibility," she said as though Hermione had asked her to donate a kidney and not just give her little brother a few handfuls of her horde of sweets.
"Yes, he is. But after lunch you can always pop back to Honeydukes and spend the last of the change on Hugo as well, if you like. Now come on, then. I'm hungry," Hermione said, and Malfoy automatically moved to open the tea shop door for her as their children watched on, and Hermione could tell exactly what they both were thinking. Malfoy's attempt at a neutral expression wasn't hiding as much as he thought it was, and Hermione was fairly certain both thirteen year olds were mature enough to recognise the heat in his eyes, and the way it made Hermione's cheeks warm in response.
"I'm paying," he said as Hermione brushed past him, and oh, the smell of his cologne reached her faintly and she felt the sudden urge to grab him by the collar and kiss him hard against the garish pink door. Merlin. Rose whispered something to Scorpius and giggled.
Hermione would never in her life have guessed that she would ever, ever sit in Madam Puddifoot's tea shop, across the table from Malfoy, nestled amongst garish pink lace and gold accents. He looked as contented as she'd ever seen him as their two children chattered about who they thought the band might be for the Halloween ball, Scorpius grinning and laughing. It was the best Sunday she'd had since the school holidays, when both Rose and Hugo had been home and they'd gone to the Warner Bros. Studio Tour in London with her dad. Her eyes met Malfoy's and he smiled, fond and wanting at once. It was perfect, frankly.
"I was telling Rose about how I hit you, there," Hermione said with a grin, as she and Malfoy strolled along the path near the standing circle. They'd just dropped the children back at Hogwarts, and he'd offered to walk her to the gates, pointing out discreetly that there was no wizarding press allowed on the grounds. The likelihood of anyone photographing them was low, unless there was another budding Colin Creevy at Hogwarts. Most of the students were back at the castle now though; it was getting close to dinnertime.
"Hah. I've told Scorpius that story too." Malfoy stopped on the path looking over at the stones, highlighted in a golden light as he shoved his hands in his pockets and squinted against the lowering sun. "Come on. Let's go over. Re-live old memories." He headed toward the stones and Hermione followed. "I despised you for it at the time, of course, but looking back at it now..." He smirked. "You were like a wildcat. If I'd had any sense at all, I would've tried to win you over instead of being horrible. You were smart, determined, and fearless – if I hadn't been such a nasty little bigot, you would've been an obvious catch."
"Not pretty?"
"Well..." He smirked again as they reached the edge of the stone circle. "You grew into your looks, Granger."
"Hey! I'll hit you again," Hermione teased him laughingly, spinning her wand in her fingers as she turned in a circle, looking around. "It was that stone, wasn't it?" She pointed with her wand.
"I'm not re-enacting it, Granger," Malfoy said, amused as she prodded him lightly in the belly with her wand tip, backing up as she'd planned as he went on explaining. "You were a cute kid in hindsight, but whether it was prejudice or not, I never thought you were pretty until Azkaban." He said the last reluctantly, and Hermione grinned, a bright, wild sort of glee seizing her as she prodded him back, his eyes luminous in the light.
"That's so messed up, Malfoy." His shoulder blades hit the stone then, and they were alone with the sun sinking low on the horizon; just the two of them in the stone circle, the world gilded and glinting. Hermione's eyes were fixed to his, and it felt like she was breathless – in a space between heartbeats, She raised her wand and pressed the tip of it under his chin, into that soft hollow of the lower palate. Malfoy swallowed hard, lifting his chin slightly.
"I said I wouldn't re-enact it," he said quietly.
"And yet here we are," Hermione taunted, seeing the dangerous gleam in his eyes and the tension running through him even as he stood there obediently passive.
"Here we are," he murmured low and rough, like an invitation.
The moment hung between them, Hermione frozen between following her own rules and giving in to her desires, both of them cradled in the circle of the stones as if they'd gone back in time. Her wand drifted away from his chin, her face turned up to his, waiting. Hermione wouldn't do it, but if he... Malfoy licked his lips and looked down at her, his expression unreadable. They stood like stones themselves for several long breaths. And then the moment broke. Malfoy cradled the side of her face and jaw and his mouth dipped to meet hers rough and urgent, and Hermione moaned as his tongue slid over hers, hot, electric. The world spun dizzyingly as his other hand went to her waist, spinning her and pinning her up against the stone, his hand slipping behind her head to make sure it was protected as she hit.
"My turn," he mumbled against her lips, and then his tongue teased over hers again and everything fell out of her head except the sensations he sent searing through her. Hermione's hands fisted in his jersey at the shoulders, yanking him hard against her, and he made a low mmph of surprise and want. His hips pushed out and he was hard, pressing into her belly, and she squeaked and rolled her own hips out. They lost a few long moments kissing there; snogging like teenagers in the newly setting sun, the stones throwing slanting shadows over them, alone with the wind whipping against their clothes and the occasional hoot of owls as they flew to and from the Owlery.
Hermione's body was thrumming and hot when Malfoy finally broke the kiss, pulling away and burying his face against her hair, breathing hot over the top of her ear. His breath came unsteady, his chest expanding and caving raggedly, and Hermione felt wobbly and breathless herself, and so, so frustrated.
"If you mention my mother right now I swear I'll kill you, Granger," he said in her ear, and she snickered slightly hysterically, light-headed from arousal and reduced oxygen intake, her arms looped up around his neck. He was so warm, and a buffer against the wind. So Hermione just breathed for a while, her face buried into his collar and his hands soothing through her hair – an unsalvageable birds nest of tangles at this point, she was sure. When she finally peeked above his shoulder the sky was blazing oranges and pinks, and she made a small sound of appreciation.
"What?" he asked lazily, his hands currently under her jersey and shirt, sliding warm and smooth on her sides and the small of her back as though he were luxuriating in her. Hermione knew she shouldn't have done any of this, but then she thought of what Ron was probably doing with Chastity right now and her brief pang of guilt dissipated. Just this once was okay. She could bend the rules; she'd made them, after all. And there had been no nosy press photographers around to take photos and cause scandal. Just the two of them in the eerie light and shadow of the stones.
"The sunset," she said softly in answer. "It's beautiful." Wordlessly, Malfoy rearranged them so that he had his back to the stone with her tucked up close into his side, pulling his wand and casting a warming charm that sent heat melting through her core deliciously. A comfortable silence fell between them, and they lost time leaning there together watching the sky as the last rays of the sun spiked up above the horizon. "That was worth breaking the rules for," Hermione said at last.
"Good," he said quietly. "I wouldn't want you to regret it."
"I don't. Not a bit of it. Today was magical," she said, a descriptor that wasn't often used figuratively in the wizarding world, but she thought Malfoy understood. He made a sound of agreement that vibrated in his chest, and his arm tightened around her.
"Yeah. It was. It –" He stopped suddenly, and it took him a moment to try again, his voice thick and tight, and Hermione realised with a shock that he was choked up. She slid her fingers beneath his jumper, thumb rubbing circles on his abdomen, empathy making her chest ache. "Scorpius was so happy. I never get to see him like that anymore. He was just – free. Laughing with Rose, and whispering, and talking about the ball. Normal kid stuff." Malfoy fell silent again, staring at the darkening blue twilight sky for a long moment before looking down at Hermione. "And you were there too. Perfect. Smiling at me, with those firewhiskey eyes and that kissable mouth." He dragged his thumb over her lower lip.
"My eyes are just brown," she protested, but she was flattered.
"Mm. Firewhiskey brown," he said and dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. She didn't argue.