"Mummy," a small voice whispered. "I'm scared."

Hermione felt her heart bend and break at his words. "I know, baby," she replied, nuzzling his little frame tighter against her. She felt him shake in fear and kissed his cheek. "It'll all be okay."

The foundation of the cottage rumbled beneath them, feeling the death eater's spells slowly penetrate the walls.

"Scorp, I need you to hide." Hermione suddenly said, setting him down. "Do you remember?"

The little boy nodded with his lip trembling.

Hermione kneeled down to his level, her own hands shaking as the wards shifted. "Do not come out. Do not say a word."

He nodded, trying to be brave, but a few plump tears continued to fall down his face. "I pwomise, Mummy."

Hermione smiled, quickly wiping the tears away. "I love you," she said, throwing the invisibility cloak over her son. "Don't move until I come back."

Was she coming back?

"I wuv you too," she heard him mumble, then saw the toy bin open and shut.

Hermione ran out of the closet and made her way to the other side of the cottage, desperate to put space between them. She knew she only had a few minutes, he was always exceptional at breaking wards– even more at bringing her guards down– and the ones around the cottage were not nearly as strong as they should have been. Her focused wards were around Scorpius' room and the closet–ancient, blood magic– Hermione was sure she lost a piece of her soul in the process of creating them.

She skidded to a halt, this was her punishment she realized, hearing their spells slowly crack the wards. Part of her always hoped he would find her–them, but not like this. Not with his maniacal aunt cackling against the window, not with Goyle surely on his arm, not with her son crying, hiding away from the dangers.

It was never supposed to be this way, she thought again hearing the door smack against the wall. They were here and she was defenseless.

Hermione tried to hold back her screams, her mouth bloodied from biting her tongue, but the pain was too much as Bellatrix's crutiatus coursed through her body in electrifying jolts that sent her body into spasms and she flopped to the ground.

Then Bellatrix let up screeching, signaling Goyle for his turn.

And another (weaker, but just as excruciating) rippled through her body, but the will to be quiet and not let Scorpius hear overtook her, and she choked on her scream.

"You need to put more into it, Goyle." Bellatrix sneered, "Just like your father–weak."

Bellatrix sent another unforgivable curse her way and this time she couldn't help the blood curdling scream that left her throat.

Hermione felt the aftershocks, knives that penetrated her skin in the most agonizing pain all around her body. She felt too limp to react. The most she could do was let her head roll to the side.

She wanted to sigh once she finally opened her eyes, staring up into his own. The universe hated her, didn't it?

Hermione would have let herself dive into them, relishing in the memories she had sealed away- in fact it sounded like the perfect way to die- reliving a time they were happy and things were familiar. When they thought they could make it work despite being on different sides of the war. He would whisper promises into her ear–sweet nothings of reassurance– rolling between the sheets of solitude clinging to each other's security.

And she almost did, so desperately wanting peace, but then she heard the soft sobs on the other side of the cottage. Scorpius. Hermione felt herself unravel, a level of panic that should have failed her heart.

With every being of her soul, she glanced at Draco, this time with the words she never could speak and with the pleas she never thought she needed to make.

"Is that-," Bellatrix spun on her heel. "Is that a child I hear?"

"I'll check," Malfoy said, simply and she heard his heavy boots stomp along the wood towards the sound of her son's cries, which had now begun to cease as he surely heard the man approach.

Bellatrix kneed over her. "Is that where you've been, Mudblood?" She smirked, dragging her nails along her cheek. "Are you a mother now?"

"Let me guess," Bellatrix continued, digging them further into her skin. "It's a bastard–maybe a Weasley?"

Goyle chuckled behind her. "I think it's Potter's, should've seen them back at school."

Bellatrix shot up. "Draco," she screeched. "Have you found the child?"

"They must have left." Draco's voice called out. "There's nothing back here."

"And you checked everything? Every closet, cupboard, and gap for a child to squeeze into?" Bellatrix confirmed.

"Everywhere." Draco shrugged, "You're welcome to check yourself."

Her lips quirked up. "No, I should alert the Dark Lord. He'll be pleased to know we have Potter's mudblood and that she has a spawn."

"Should I go with you?"

"No, Draco- yes, let this oaf practice a few spells, see if she'll sing. Keep her alive and when you're done bring her to the dungeons."

Then poof, and Hermione felt her lungs take a shaky deep breath.

She still laid there, a mess on the floor. Goyle tapped his foot against her hip, "What should we do with her first?"

At the touch, Hermione felt her magic pulse through her body, weaving with some sort of maternal adrenaline. For a moment, she felt powerful. These were chances she liked, where she could tip the scale and get out.

Hermione yelled for her wand, and at the same time, Draco sent a petrifying hex to Goyle. His body rocked, motionless as he eventually tipped over. She didn't care, not with her son across the cottage.

She ran, her body using the last of its strength to hold her baby. The wards warped around her body, and she couldn't help the sob that choked out as she opened the toy bin.

Finite.

"Mummy?" A scared little voice called out. "Mum-my?"

Hermione scooped the little boy into her arms, weaving her fingers between his blonde curls. "I'm here, baby."

"Mummy hurt," Scorpius cried, his stubby hand on her cheek pulling back.

"I'm okay, I promise." Hermione rested her hand on his, "You were such a brave little boy."

Scorpius nodded, his bottom lip quivering.

She glanced behind her hearing the sound of his heavy steps, her wand tightly in hand. Scorpius curled against her, trembling at the sound.

Draco eyed the slight shimmer of the wards. "These are dark." Draco noted, glancing at them now, "Bloodwards?"

"Yes," she answered.

Then he tested it, slowly at first. His hand grazing down the ward, fingers toying with the magical shreds. Draco's jaw locked, and then a foot finally broke the threshold.

Hermione felt her insides shrivel, it was all over now. She didn't need to look, the wards shifting within her own magical core.

"Hermione," he deflated. "Why-"

"I thought I could keep him safe and away from all of this." Hermone whispered, squeezing Scorpius tight against her. "I didn't know what else to do."

Draco sighed, his mask rattling against the ground. "What's his name?"

Hermoine froze, "Scorpius."

A sniffle had Hermione glancing up, seeing Draco fight back tears. "I hate you so much," Draco replied, quietly.

"I wanted him to have a piece of you." Hermione shrugged, feeling her own sob threaten to spill. "Even if you-"

"Obliviate me," he said suddenly.

Hermione snapped her neck towards him. "What?"

"Obliviate me and run. I can't-"

"Draco-"

"Hermione-," Draco groaned. "What else can we do? I can't know this." He looked at the boy, his posture deflating. "Goyle will wake any minute and I still have to obliviate him, but this is why you didn't tell me in the first place, right? It's messy and risky."

"Right," she sighed sadly. Then looked up: "You could always come with us?"

"And then what?" He scoffed, glancing around the closet at their belongings (organized, of course). "So we can play house and pretend everything is normal? Like there's not a mad-man breathing down my neck looking for me?" Draco glanced at her, "News flash, Granger. It didn't work the first time."

"I have papers," she blurted. "We could go to America, start fresh."

"I thought you-"

"I would now," Hermione mumbled, fiddling with Scorpius' curl. "My priorities have changed."

Draco pressed, "And Potter? The Weasley's?"

Hermione shrugged. "Haven't seen them and they all but shunned me in the end."

"Why?"

"I wouldn't tell them the father." She answered, clearing her throat.

Draco gazed at the little boy's silvery hair humorously, then back at her.

"I would change his hair color," Hermione replied to his silent question, then clarified at his narrowing eyes: "Not red."

"Where in America would we even go? I'll be recognized everywhere."

"Charms? Hair dye?" Hermione suggested, rather desperately. "We could live as muggle's. We have eight years-"

Draco kicked the mask, a sneer plastered on his lips. "And after, when the war is over? When they look for me to stand trial for my crimes? A fugitive?"

Hermione blushed, she thought about this too often. "We can send your memories to Harry and everyone else in the Order. Like we used to talk about."

Then it's silent, minus Scorpius' cries that rang out from the emotional turmoil of the day. Hermione stood up (her legs shaking considerably) and rocked Scorpius to a sleep, watching Draco storm out after a last glance.

And then, he returns: "Goyle is taken care of."

Hermione hummed. She doesn't look up, her eyes glued to her son, marvelling in his features. Draco comes up behind her, only now taking Scorpius in.

His hand reaches out, but falls short of his curls. With a mumble, "I want to come with you."

She craned her neck up, her eyebrows scrunched, "Are you sure? Once we do this-"

"I know," Draco replied, a sad smile on his lips. "I can't–not with a baby. I never agreed to our break-up to begin with. I spend my days thinking of you, thinking of this. I want nothing more."

Hermione nodded, scared he would change his mind. "I'll send a patronus to Harry once you extract the memories."

He glanced at Scorpius. "All of them?"

She sighed, "Anything to help the war and clear your name." Her arms felt noodle-y, and she moved toward the bed, leaving the closet. "I need to pack, conjure the vials. There's plenty."

Draco nodded, keeping his eye's on Scorpius' sleeping frame.

Hermione hobbled around–flicking her wand–packing their belongings. When she finished, she checked on Draco. He sat next to Scorpius, just watching, the pile of vials stacked on the desk.

"Are you ready?"

"When's his birthday?" He said suddenly, carefully standing–his gaze still on his son.

"June 6th."

Draco's response is a dramatic sigh, one that creeps into her chest hollowing her. She doesn't blame him.

"I have the port-key ready," Hermione finally hums. "Are you still-"

"Yes."

She lightly touches Scorpius' cheek. "I need you to wake up, baby."

He tosses and turns, ever as dramatic as his father.

"Do you want to see the otter?" Hermione cooed, an attempt at waking her son. He stirs, his grey eye's peeking between his fingers.

Hermione smiled, clearing her throat. She let the memories flow, conjuring an otter.

She leaned into its ear, "Harry, are you there?"

The otter bounces around the room, hopping on Scorpius' head as he giggled and around Draco's shoulders. Then it's gone.

Suddenly, a stag knocks on the window. Harry's panicked voice rushed out, "Hermione? Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, please don't look for me. I need you to retrieve some things, this cliff side tide is retreating. Location name Cassiopeia Cottage."

The moment the words left her mouth and the otter bounced away, the weight set in. It was now or never.

"We need to leave."

Hermione scooped Scorpius up. "Scorp, I need you to touch the button and don't let go, okay?"

"Otay, mummy," the boy mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Hermione glanced, "Ready, Draco?"

He set his hand over their own. "Ready."