"You never told me he would be here," her voice hissed. It was other worldly. A demonic dimension opened, violence and fear spilled from within its confines.
Her eyes glared openly across the kitchen into an open dining room with a collection of coworkers and old friends from their Hogwarts days. Apparently, Harry and Ron had overcome their issues with the blonde Slytherin wizard for all his shiftiness. The moment she'd heard his voice, her blood went to a rolling simmer.
She was busy in the kitchen with both hands working with a knife. Her thoughts went to what she might be able to do with its blade.
An opening, perhaps, to abandon this ridiculous shindig with her dignity intact from having hobnobbed with him.
"Since when are Harry and Ron the sense of maturity? Why let their childhood grudges die?"
A red head witch blinked from behind a tea kettle. "I think they took a lesson out of your book."
Her face blared red. "Well tell them to put it back!"
All her Gryffindor strength was waning. Her body fell against the back edge of the work top. She felt pressure. The other dimension was full, brimming, and ready to spill. Bitter tears fought their way against her typical disposition.
When she saw red, all her sense left. It was an impossible thing.
Still, she tried to find control.
A slow breath shuddered from her lips with a distinct edge that earned her a cursory glance from her best friend. The witch frowned. She tossed aside a dish towel and approached. Blue eyes glanced through the opened doors of the room where all their friends, family and acquaintances were.
"Hermione." Her soft voice hummed. "The war is over. Hogwarts is over. I thought we let all that die…"
That was a different time. Right after the war when things had been so broken and blistered that they had to come together or else the world would fall apart. There was no choice.
Now, it was all construed and messy. Things overlapped that shouldn't.
"I did." She swallowed resolutely. Her will pushed back the tears and changed her voice back to a dulcet tone. "You're right." A false smile overcame her lips. "Just seeing him brought back things."
"I understand, Hermione. Blimey, we all do," Ginny said. "It's instinctual, isn't it?"
They each leaned their lower back against the work top of the kitchen. The only solace of quiet within the townhouse. Elsewhere was filled with laughter or murmuring or work discussions. Kids stomped all over their heads on the upper levels. Their voices were shrill over the others.
Hermione listened to their distinct voices. Each one, a dear sound to her heart.
"Even I had reservations when they first started working together. I'd hardly look at the chap. But," she sighed absently, "time wore on. I got accustomed to the prat."
A crude wrinkle changed Hermione's nose. "Accustomed to Malfoy. Who'd have thought Ginny Weasley was such a softie?"
They shared a chuckle before they returned to the task of slicing cheese, gathering an array of sliced fruits and vegetables, spreads and jams all set in their own jars, rows of every kind of cracker known to man, and edible flowers throughout a lovely wooden board. Ginny spoke of her work. All Harpy business. Hermione listened (only half-listened) to the rambling about Quidditch while she attuned herself to the wizard in the other room.
The last thing she wanted was to be seen by him tonight.
An escape was not an easy one as there was no excuse for her to leave. There was the excuse of muggle related traumas like car accidents or medical emergencies, but there were so few muggles she knew that she'd willingly sacrifice to avoid an evening. If she said her parents had an accident on the tube, Ginny and Harry would want to be apart of the effort to help them, as was their nature as good friends. Bloody bastards made it impossible to leave.
Hermione was released into the wilds of the party after kitchen duty. She circulated rooms he did not. If he entered a room, she made sure to avoid his gaze and duck out quickly.
Ron noticed her slinking up the stairs not long after. "You alright there, Hermione?"
She jumped in shock and recoiled in irritation that it was only him.
"You're acting a bit dodgy."
"I'm just distracted," she answered quickly. Her grip held tight on the railing. "The children have been awful quiet. I think I'll pop off and check."
"They're fine. James is up there. He keeps a close eye."
"Still I think I should - ."
"Don't be daft. This is a party. Let them have some fun. You, too. Get on down here." It was clear he'd taken a swig or few of some stout. "Lavender started up a game of charades."
Wizard charades were like regular ones, except it used charms. The charm was used to give hints as to what their assigned word or saying was. It required a great knowledge of many charms to enable the game to be competitive and fair. Hermione quite enjoyed it because no one's knowledge of charms was as vast as hers.
She thought to say that Lavender was too easy a conquest to warrant playing.
It required a delicate dance to convince Ron that Hermione should not play his sensitive wife in a game she was sure to lose. In the end, her words got the better of him. He nodded in agreement at whatever she'd said and was released back to the party.
Molly and Arthur started to gather up their belongings.
"Got a full day with the nippers tomorrow," Arthur announced as he slipped on his sweater. "Best get an early night."
A gaggle of children stormed down the staircase into the main room to send off the beloved Weasley grandparents. There were the two dark haired boys of Harry and Ginny: James and Albus. Bill's children stood a full head taller with heads of beautiful shades of sandy blonde. There was a small red headed girl whom might have been Ginny's twin, named Lilac, whom was Lavender and Ron's only child. There was a pair of children, one with luscious curly black hair and the other with a head of brilliant copper red. George's two.
One child stood out from the crowd with his brilliant blonde hair and slender body. His limbs were long. Awkward for his age, but there was confidence he'd grow into his length as he aged. The deep brown of his eyes was blinding compared to the pale of his skin. He wore a pale blue button-down shirt with a pair of tan trousers.
Hermione's heart raced with panic. A clench held at the back of her throat making it hard to breathe.
"I can't believe they're taking them all on," Angelina Weasley muttered behind her pint. "I'd never have all them tearin' through my house."
It took all the effort to tear her eyes from the scene. "They're only doing it so we can all enjoy the match tomorrow."
Ginny and Angelina were both professional Quidditch players. Their teams were poised to play against one another. It was the night prior and the idea of child free the next day had all the Weasley siblings in a roar. There were seldom times left to be without a brood. It was second nature to have them all around when they gathered.
Molly and Arthur were kind enough to abstain from the match to allow their grown children some freedom. A freedom, by the sound of it, they planned to take full advantage of.
"Can you imagine the noise? That house echoes."
Hermione grimaced. The Burrow was nothing but a sound tunnel for everything to ricochet.
"Lucky Arthur's half deaf." She agreed.
"George wants to leave them the night, too, to celebrate after," Angelina stated. She took a long, innocent sip off her pint. A little tint of foam paled her lips. "Poor kids will never forgive us for that. They get nervous out there in the dark. Frederick hates it."
"Alistair likes his own space," Hermione added. "I'll probably bring him home with me." Angelina gave her a curious look, disappointment and question. The witch shrugged. "It's not like I'll be pissed. He'll be more comfortable at home anyhow."
"Would you mind taking Fred with you?"
Hermione shook her head. "Not at all. Ali will like the company."
"You're a godsend."
A line of kids stampeded upward to the second floor again. Harry and Ginny had ensured there was space for them with games and things to keep them occupied so that both levels of the party enjoyed their time.
Ginny announced that the table was set. The dining room table flourished with pastas and roast chickens. A collection of sides boasted in their ceramic dishes. It was beautiful and bountiful. It was much like the Weasley family dinners where no one ate the same thing so Molly was forced to prepare multiple main courses to please everyone.
The adults filtered in. Their glasses topped off with foamy ale or whiskey. Hermione plucked a crystal glass from the cupboard. She preferred a fruit taste. A deep crimson filled the glass half way before she returned to the dining table.
People were still lost in conversations. It gave her choice of seat. She took one nearer the corner of the table. It was frustrating being trapped between people with no escape without their own shuffling.
Her wine danced against the sides of her glass.
A short amber filled glass set across her. She paid it no mind. Her fingers grasped a plump green grape smeared with a bit of creamy Brie.
"Granger."
Her jaw snapped closed.
Above her stood a tall blonde wizard with a silver chain across his lightly exposed chest thanks to a top button undone in his black blouse. Multiple rings sat upon his pale fingers. They clinked gently against his firewhiskey glass.
His vertical labret piercing glinted in the light above their heads. It was a simple silver ring through his full pink lips.
"Malfoy." The name hollowly fell out.
"What a surprise. The recluse found outside her office."
Her gaze turned to glare with sharpened edges. "Not all of us are granted the ability to philander on family fortune."
A pale brow lowered subtly. It went away on the sudden emergence of their host.
Harry was lost in the daze of butterbeer, it seemed. There were literal stars in his eyes. The short trim of his dark hair already showed a fleeting hairline. There were wrinkles in what was once taut, young skin. War had not been good to him. A job at the Ministry, either.
She'd begged him not to take the offer. It abandoned the completion of his education just for an overworked, underpaid position at the ministry. That was not the life he needed after Voldemort. All it did was steal away what little life there had been left.
It showed in the man's face, gaunt and sunken in from the weight lost.
"Hermione, you remember Draco," the wizard said. His knuckles turned white against the chair arm. She guessed it was the only thing keeping him standing.
"How could I forget?" She replied sharply.
Draco's ice grey eyes narrowed from behind his glass. His tongue too busy in the warm burn of cinnamon whiskey to be bothered to reply.
"Oi. Now, Hermione. I don't want you to get the wrong idea." He swayed a minute. Words lost to his mind, like he'd forgotten what he'd been saying halfway through. "We're mates. I-i-i-I love this guy."
He grabbed Draco's shoulder and fell into the wizard. It ruffled the prat's self of personal space.
It brought a genuine smile to her face to watch Draco unravel himself from Harry's drunken jumble, half embrace, half loss of balance. Even the infamous whiskey glass attached to the wizard's hand had to be set down to handle Harry.
"You're not a prat at all. He's brilliant. Hear that, aye, Hermione?"
She rolled her eyes. "Oh yes. Brilliance."
Draco fixed her a wicked glare.
"You know, the pair of you are quite a lot alike."
Oh, Godric. The man was beyond drunk.
"Cheers, Potter."
It was the last thing he needed. Her palms pressed flat against the table to stop him before Harry really went too far, when she noticed the contents of his glass were not murky brown, but clear. Water. Still, Harry chugged from the glass like his life depended on it.
It did not lessen his buzz, but it'd serve him well later when it all resurfaced.
They all sat at the table. Ginny forced them all down to eat the food she'd made. Draco stayed across from Hermione. A fact she hated. Every time she looked up, the smug face was right there. Dumb, smug, and overly confident of his charm.
She refused to acknowledge him, even as it grew obvious, he was trying to capture her attention.
The entire meal grew tense on their side of the table. How could anyone not notice their battle of wills with it leeching onto everything.
Hermione grew more panicked as time paced on. More than anything, she wanted to vanish from the house. Hell, from that part of London!
Ginny was focused on Harry. Her irritation at his all-too-soon drunk state detracted from the effort she'd made in the party. She kept reining in the man in the middle of rambles that were going to places no one expected and it felt like she was seconds away from wrenching his jaws apart and pouring a Sobering potion down his throat.
Her other best friend was preoccupied with his wife. The man was as obsessed with her since the day they started dating. A gleam overtook his blue eyes. They turned to glass as she, the peppy strawberry blonde witch, recounted topics of a boring degree. Still, Ron didn't mind.
It was not of the courageous Gryffindor to take advantage of a distraction to slip away, but that was exactly what she did. The entire table was distracted with their own. She was forgotten in the corner. Her chair was silent in its retreat from the table. As were the footsteps to the kitchen where no one thankfully lingered now.
"Sneaking away unnoticed," a voice chided. Its slippery forked tongue licked through her well-trained restraints. Her palms braced her against the island worktop. "One would think you're up to something."
"I am an adult capable of choosing where I go, when I do."
"Oh, I know that." Malfoy set his glass down. "Curious that you don't want Potter and Weasel to see. Like they might suspect something."
Her body went cold. Ice poured over every dimension of herself.
The sleeve of his right arm was rolled to his elbow. It showed deep black images burned into the flesh. One tiny tattoo she recognized from a time long ago. The small black image was a collection of stars, nothing different than the other astral themes of his forearm. It blended well with the duality of his centered tattoo. Two ethereal faces mirrored, looking back at their reflection of deep black curls and poised full lips. A crown of snakes topped both their heads. The eyes a sullen green to the dark of the ink.
She released a pent-up breath slow through her nose. The wizard was too observant to disregard a sigh.
Instead, she gripped a bottle of wine and poured more into her glass. "Haven't the foggiest what you mean. Just slipped in for a bit more wine."
A pink tongue ran along the bottom of his lip. It brushed gently against the metal hoop through its center before continuing along.
"Perhaps Potter's right," he stated so clearly. It was a test that she forgot to ignore. Her eyes narrowed in question, a fact that his eyes ate with glee. Their dancing swirl of ice and metal in his sockets was sickening. "We may be quite alike. You've a knack for lying convincingly."
"Years of practice," she replied flatly.
So, so many years.
The hollowness of her throat captured his attention. His head tilted as he quickly examined her. It brought a small trickle of joy that he yearned to know what kind of lie she kept so well. A wizard as controlling as him was not accustomed to being unaware of information.
The small victory in it all, she supposed, was that she held the fact high above her head.
"Uh, Hermione? Has anyone seen Hermione?" Ginny's voice split through the still of the kitchen. "Mione?"
She fled the kitchen, forgetting all about Malfoy by the tone of her friend's voice, and reemerged to find a little hand clutched between Ron's hands. Tears ran down little Lilac's cheeks. Her mother was much in the same state. Harry was reclined in his seat, all too out of it to know what was going on.
Hermione rushed up. "What happened?"
The kids had trampled down after Lilac's accident. They all swarmed the dining room table. Why hadn't she heard that?
"She found this old doll up in the attic," James explained.
Her mother crossed her arms. "We've told you all to stay out of that place. It's full of things we don't need disturbed." Really, it was just the old junk of the Black's family that they were too guilty to get rid of and couldn't not find the energy to relocate. It was a room packed to the rafters and then some.
"It broke. She tried grabbing the pieces," he added.
"I tried to stop her, maman. Honest." Victoire looked at her parents with pleading eyes, very upset. "She was too far away."
"We all did," Alistair chided in.
His voice burned his mother's face, but she was too occupied by the dripping blood from the little chubby palm to concern herself with it now.
"She wandered too far in. It took ages to find her." James tried to reason. "She didn't understand. She kept trying to put back the doll, cutting herself more."
It sent another horrified gasp from the girl's mother's lips. Which only made Lilac more scared.
"You're the best at healing spells, Hermione." Ron held his little girl close. He whispered sweet nothings in her ears in attempt to calm her. Lavender held onto both of them, crying, rubbing her cheek against the top of Ron's head. "I've got to hold her. Lav's too upset, and Harry is not even here."
"Only in body," Ginny grumpily added.
The commotion must have drawn Malfoy from the shadows. He stood at the edge of her eyesight.
Hermione fumbled with the little girl's hand and Ron's tight grip on the flesh to reveal many bleeding cuts in her pale skin. Along her little palm and in between her fingers.
It took a while. Lilac's constant want to pull away her hand slowed progress. Who could blame her? It was confusing. A precious little toy she wanted to play with just kept hurting her, and she didn't know why. She just wanted to play.
Her fingers started to wiggle. Hermione was forced to stop until they stopped moving.
Ron spoke gently. "Lilac. Auntie Mione is helping you. Sit still. Just a bit longer. She's making it all better. No more ouchies."
Finally the healing was done. The little girl's hand was restored to perfect condition apart from tiny white lines where the spell was still in effect.
Lavender inspected every inch. She touched and roamed every piece of the girl until she was satisfied there were no other injuries elsewhere. It brought relief to the witch's chest. She clutched the babe to her chest like it'd been torn from there.
"Thank you," Ron said.
Hermione nodded.
"Yes. Thank you, thank you, thank you." Lavender reached over and grasped Hermione's hand. "You did better than that Healer who healed up Ron's old war wound. It still looks horrid."
The ginger wizard blushed. His chest was a mess, thanks to taking on a fight with a werewolf he had no business doing, but it'd been in defense of poor Lavender in the battle of Hogwarts. It was explained that the scar would never fully heal like it should because of Greyback's curse, but Lavender remained dissatisfied with the lasting scar.
Ginny disliked the mention of it. Her brother saved a girl from being murdered by a werewolf. His wounds were nothing to complain about, especially since it was his own wife that he scarred himself for.
The fiery redhead let her eyes widen to fire balls in her skull. Hermione had to place a hand on her to keep the witch from truly saying something in front of their entire social group and inciting a heated argument. Weasley's, after all, were a very prideful bunch. They fought for their blood very seriously.
Quietly, Hermione understood Lavender's disgust with the scar. Every day she looked at a reminder of what had happened, or possibly, what could have happened to her. It was a scar Ron bore, but Lavender suffered it just as much.
"She's going to be okay?" A small voice asked from behind her back.
She put on a small smile of reassurance. "It was nothing serious."
"There was so much blood," Alistair revealed.
Hermione wrapped her arm around the boy. She hoped it would calm his own fear.
It was easier for Ginny, who always made incidents seem miniscule. "Ah. That's fingers for you. They're bleeders. See it out on the Pitch all the time."
Kids dispersed to their parents. The injury was a damper on the night. They developed some clingy attitudes regarding being out of sight, so they filtered through the downstairs for snacks and reassurance.
Alistair admitted he hadn't eaten yet. Hermione guided him to the kitchen where a spread of things were displayed on trays and boards for his selection.
It was difficult to blame him. The boy was rather picky with his food. He probably hadn't liked the foods Ginny had upstairs for the children despite them all being child friendly.
The mood of the night prior was totally forgotten. The blood totally wiped it from her mind. She only wanted to be close to her son for her own reassurance.
Of course, her mind used to be sharper. Sharper before Alistair.
It appeared that it was slower than Draco Malfoy's because he entered the room a moment later with a flared look. "You've got a kid, Granger?"
The boy looked up from his plate of fruits and cheeses.
"A blonde kid." Draco took a staggered step back. It was the first close glance he got at Alistair and the thoughts in his mind were clearly flying. "Funny. I thought you had a thing for the red-haired lot."
Poking, prodding, searching for information.
Hermione reeled. Her heart did not slow. She delicately placed a small hold on her son's wrist.
"A brunette and a red head can make that color, you know," she retorted.
"Uh-uh. Not that particular color." He examined it closer. "That's a special brand. It doesn't come from a red head. That comes from -." Malfoy again took a long look at Alistair who blankly looked back. "You a Delacour, kid?"
"Delacour," she gasped. "That's ridic-."
"No," Alistair answered. "My dad's dead."
Her hand instinctively went to cover her son's mouth, but it was all too late.
That was the final nail in her coffin.
"Dead. Now that's interesting." Malfoy meant everything but that. His eyes were blown full of suspicion and tension. "You're too young to have a dead dad. I'd have remembered a pregnant Golden Princess, now wouldn't I?"
All the air sucked from the room. There was nowhere to run.
"Alistair." Her lips betrayed her fear. "Go on into the other room, please."
"But I'm hungry."
"Take it with you."
Please, just go before this idiot ruins your childhood forever.
The boy was hesitant to leave his mother's side. He lingered, almost coming closer.
She tore her eyes away from Malfoy, blinked away the fast risen tears and forced a smile. "He's an old friend. He gets confused about the war. We've not seen each other in a long time."
It was the best she could come up with. Not gracefully.
"I'm not the one confused this time, am I?" It stabbed a dagger through her heart.
She ignored Malfoy's spiteful comment and ushered her son away to the fun.
It was a small grace that Malfoy waited until he was absent to descend toward Hermione, a very real edge in his tone. "How old is that boy?"
Denial was moot.
"He's nearly nine."
"That puts him around our 8th year, doesn't it?" There was no need to confirm. They both knew math well enough to know it was the truth. "You got pregnant at Hogwarts?"
She nodded. "It isn't what you think."
"Oh. Brilliant. Because it isn't that you got pregnant, hid him from the world and lied about his father, right?"
He'd brought himself close. His gaze penetrated hers with frigid spines that refused to let go. It broke the logical parts of her. They splintered through the rational, reasonable part of her stowed away from emotion. Instead, flood gates released. All for him to be washed away.
"I knew you wouldn't understand," she murmured.
"Understand?" A tone of betrayal ripped through his throat. "You had my son. He is mine, is he not?" When she did not deny, he became angrier. "My son that I stumble upon at a Potter Weasley convention. What is the understanding that I am missing?"
Hermione let a breath escape. Her sadness welled. "It was not easy doing that."
"Really!" He exclaimed. There was the loss of control he disliked. He needed control. Not once had he considered that he'd have an unclaimed child somewhere with Hermione after their brief affair in Hogwarts. The collected air that was Draco Malfoy was gone in the wind at the shock. "Because it seems bloody easy to me. Having a whole nother family raise him -."
"They didn't raise him! And keep your voice down." She looked out the open walkways in search of prying eyes.
"Oh." He chuckled harshly. "I see. You never told them the truth either. That story isn't just for him. It's for everyone. No one asks questions with a dead man, do they?"
It stung her pride to have him poke fun at her. It wasn't like he bore the responsibility. No. He got away scot-free while she was the one left to figure it all out.
She shoved her hands against his chest. The wizard was nothing but a brick wall against her.
"Don't you dare insinuate that. Ever." Hermione knew it was too loud and strong for what she needed. But she didn't care. "It wasn't like you were out there, keen to advertise you were fucking a muggleborn, now were you? If I recall, it was you who wanted it to be kept quiet."
The wizard went silent.
It was too late for her. "It was I who held the evidence, who was met with questions every bloody day. It might have been my mistake for ever sleeping with a man who'd have to be put under an Unforgiveable to admit he'd been with me, but I refuse to let my son be a piece of shame to anyone. Especially you. A shame for you to sneer at in the streets or denounce in the papers." Emotions ran wild within her. She was overcome with those same raw, rejected feelings as when she discovered of Alistair's existence. Her lips parted for a small breath. "So, I did what any reasonable person would. I lied. I lied to protect my son."
The ringing in her ears blared over everything else.
Things had spilled from her lips that she'd pondered those eight and a half years like they were still fresh anew in her soul. The fears of birthing a Malfoy child, out of wedlock, as a muggleborn, were too much to bear.
What refuge she found in Draco Malfoy was lost to the millions of reminders that the world, however changed, was not meant for them together. Besides, they argued constantly, where at each other's ends, needing release often, and finding their rhythm of happy never came easy. It was struggle. All done outside the eye of anyone, in private, secret struggles that neither could share.
She held her face in her hands. Hot burning flesh met each of her fingertips.
"Hermione." Ron's voice rumbled through the room. He stood in the walkway with both hands shoved into his pockets. "Is everything alright in here?"
Her head perked. A lying smile on her face. "Yes," she blurted quickly. "I've just had too much wine. Malfoy got me on a topic I can't stop on."
It burned to hold that false expression for so long as her friend debated whether to believe her. She chose a lie he'd believe. More than once, she'd gotten on a wine fueled rant about something and it took a complete hour to change the subject.
Cracks started to show. Her muscles refused to hold onto the lie.
Ronald looked over at the Slytherin. "Sorry 'bout that. You know Mione. She's got so many causes."
Malfoy said nothing. His eyes turned back to her, unwaivered in their emotion.
He wasn't the only one.
"Perhaps it's time I pop off," she announced. Her hands clapped together.
"You sure?" Ron asked.
She nodded. Her heels clicked against the wooden floorboards as she crossed the room. "Oh yes."
"Grange -."
"Alistair! Your mum says it's time to go," a small child's voice called in the other room.
The boy appeared not long after. His eyes kept dashing over her shoulder into the kitchen.
She collected him by his shoulder and held him close as they stepped toward the Floo. Her hands rustled his hair to settle his nerves. There was tension in him. He resisted, however slight, against leaving.
Questions were sure to have filled his mind. He was a child. Not stupid.
Malfoy had said enough to throw Alistair's entire life in a twister.
"Come, love. Let's get to bed. I say we've both had a long day."
He nodded.
They were given a noble farewell. Every one of the party wished them good night. All the Weasley children were there to excitedly remind Alistair of their day at the Burrow. It raised his fallen face to a grin as they stepped through.
One face amongst them tore her heart in two. She ducked inside and did not look back as dust filled their lungs and sent them away, away from a night she wished never happened.
Neither rose early the next morning. It was late when they landed in their fireplace that night. Hermione was drained. She instructed him up to bed with the confidence he'd ready himself without reminding.
The small flat across the city boasted two bedrooms, a study, an open living area with a cozy kitchen, lounge area and a small nook where a booth sat underneath an old stained-glass window. The exposed brick walls were pieces of magical London that she liked reminded of.
It was not in magical London; rather a historic building with lots of charm and drafty windows.
Simple urban living gave Hermione a breath of relief. She loved the independence of her own spot in a piece of the city uninhabited by any other Hogwarts alumni. It was a piece of home. A spot away from war and ruin and magic and history.
Alistair's entire childhood was inside that very flat. It was the home she found right after leaving Hogwarts grounds before her parents even arrived back from Australia. They'd wanted her in the family home in Hampstead. So much time apart left them all searching for connection again. An expectant mother living with her parents set a shameful taste in her mouth. The whole world had high hopes for her. Hampstead was a choice, but not really, as who would ever take her seriously again?
Her hands just set down the kettle on the hob when Alistair emerged from his room. The grogginess of his eyes was an unwelcome sight. He hadn't slept.
The boy sat in the nook silent as death. The beating of her heart went primal to witness her son's affected so.
"Would you like a cuppa, lovey?"
Blonde hairs bobbed as he nodded.
She poured two steaming cups of tea in the hopes that it might warm their weary souls. The cup slid over to him as she sat opposite.
They sipped in silence. Maddening silence.
It near brought her to her knees before he finally spoke up. "Mum?"
"Hmmm."
"That man last night. The man you said you knew from the war."
Her fingers carefully lowered the teacup in its saucer before it dropped from her hold. "Yes."
"I've heard of him."
She blinked. "Oh."
"Draco Malfoy. James said he went to Hogwarts, same year as his dad. You, too. He was a school mate of yours."
Mate. Ha. "Not exactly."
"You told him that brown and red can make blonde, right?" His question was jarring. Still, she was forced to remain truthful. She nodded. "Then brown and blonde can make blonde, too."
"More likely than brown and red, yes."
"And my hair is like his."
Her lips sucked in. "It is. Quite."
There were many things built up inside the boy just waiting to spill out. She saw the building tension inside him. The quick moving glances as he searched his mind for the connections to what she told him, or maybe the question of how it all fit together.
Godric Gryffindor would have been shamed to know that she bore his title so cowardly.
She sighed. "Alistair, there is something you should know about that man, Draco Malfoy." It captured his full attention. He was pulled out of his thoughts and onto her words. "Remember how I told you that two people were needed to make a baby. An egg and a sperm had to come together. Draco is half of your creation. It is his sperm and my egg that made you."
"He's my father."
It was stated. So simply. From her own son's lips.
"Yes, love," she replied with a breathy gulp, "And I'm sorry it took so long for the truth to come out."
Brown eyes – her own – turned on her. "Why didn't you tell me? Didn't he want me?"
There was quaking in her demeanor. Did she dare reveal the truth? What if Alistair never wanted to speak to her again?
Fear was gulped down. "I don't know," she admitted softly. "I never told him. He never knew you existed before last night."
The little boy blinked as his head tilted to the side. "Didn't you think he'd be a good husband?"
She frowned. "A lot more goes into marriage than just a child, love. Malfoy and I were not compatible. The lives we wanted to lead differed greatly. I never thought a child would fit into his life. It never has been his fault, I just want to make that clear, don't I? He's not a bad man. We were just bad together."
Bad together. What an understatement.
There were so many examples that she imagined within her head over the years that she avoided by never telling Malfoy the truth. So many awful situations with purist family members or stuffy acquaintances too old fashioned to even know what trainers were. Her son being given a muggle education was sure to go off well. Especially since it addressed real life issues outside the magical world.
Godric, Malfoy's head would pop off! All the purist, elitist rubbish they brand into their heirs would be so hypocritical that he'd know it was a lie to even try.
Her son's lineage was a mixed-up thing that was never meant to be, and yet, here he was. A beautiful child with a gracious heart and a calculating mind. It was righteous relief to see how he experienced and handled his emotions rather than her brash way of exploding with them or Malfoy's lack of them.
Pieces of him were Malfoy, clearly. The colour of his hair, his physique, and some mannerisms that appeared one day that really took her by surprise were all Malfoy. It felt wrong to experience them in a personal setting. They used to bother her. The way he'd move his hands when he spoke or how his eyes narrowed when he was angry. It took every piece of strength to not demand him to stop.
But Alistair. She would not pick and choose things about him. He was perfect.
His father was part of that deal. It was illogical to hate him for it when they created a wonderful child.
Regret filled her thoughts. Had she given Malfoy the impression she detested his part in creating Alistair? Her stomach wrapped in knots as the idea mulled.
Alistair and her prepared for their day: he to the Burrow and she to the Quidditch match. They packed their bags with extension charms. He packed books and schoolwork and quills and a broom. She prepped herself with Sobering potions, Tylenol for the headache that was bound to happen with the loud cheering in the stands, and another change of clothes in case hers were no longer what she wanted.
It was quiet in the flat. Both too lost in their own minds to live in their reality just yet.
Hermione was in her study to write herself a few reminders for the next work week when her son's voice emerged through the silence. "Mum. There's an Owl here."
"An Owl?" She perked up curiously.
Owls from work were occasional. Anyone else knew to contact through Floo call.
Except one. She sighed. "It must be Molly and Arthur."
Maybe they'd seen sense and rescinded their offer for watching every single Weasley grandchild in favor of sanity.
"It isn't their owl," Alistair replied. "This has a white face and like a golden tan body. Strange, too. It's just sitting there."
Hermione went to the window. Her hurried clicks echoed within the flat.
"Oh." Her throat betrayed.
A Ministry Owl.
She allowed the creature inside. It dropped the letter as it was directed and flew off without any want of payment. The Ministry Owls were prompt and professional. They were given all the necessary treats back in their own Owlery.
Her fingers grasped the letter off the floor. Its weight, startling.
"Who sent it?" Alistair peered from behind her back, curiously.
She freed the letter from its envelope. "I haven't the foggiest -."
Formal Filing Notice of Marriage Application
Her eyes scanned through the entire length of parchment, staggered and shocked with each word.
At the bottom the dreadful line read: Application Granted to Petitioner.
She dragged her son through the Floo without a thought. Her teeth nearly cracked from clenching so hard as she said the name of a place she went so many times. Alistair's little voice tried to trickle through on calm waves, but she pushed it away.
"Harry. Ginny!" She practically screeched through Grimmauld Place.
A lazy eyed Harry emerged. His hair was matted on one side. "Uh, Hermione?"
"Can I leave Alistair here with you? I'm not sure how long I'll be."
He nodded. "Yeah, sure." His finger pointed upward. "The boys are just upstairs, Ali."
The blonde looked up with sad eyes. It could have broken her heart any other time.
"Go on." She ushered him away.
"Something wrong?" Harry asked.
"Something urgent has come up," she explained shortly. Her body stepped back inside the Floo. "If I don't come back before the match, take Alistair to the Burrow. I'll find you at the match."
"Alright, Hermione. Whatever you need."
Whoosh. She was away before he finished his sentence.
The Floo hit a ward as it moved onto its destination. She expected it to deflect to a front door. However, when the Floo stopped, she was still inside a fireplace.
She emerged from the hearth and stepped into what could only be described as a royal library. It was filled floor to ceiling with shelves of warm cherry wood. The distinct perfume of old books filled her nostrils with each flared breath. The room was stories high and as wide as her entire flat building.
Little candles flickered from places on shelves. It painted each aisle in a hazy glow.
Her footsteps were lonely through the serene.
"I take it you received notice," a voice ensnared her mind.
It echoed throughout the room, circled above her head, all around like a bad dream.
"What have you done, Malfoy?"
Again, sounds echoed. A harsh chuckle. "I've done what should have been done all those years ago."
She did not know where to turn in those winding aisles of books. It was chemical warfare, to have sent her to this place, knowing what a library – and its smell – did to her. Calm washed through her tissues despite her brimming rage at the audacity of the wizard.
She spoke through gritted teeth just to remind her of the anger. "It does not work like that. You cannot just kidnap us."
"Oh, but I can."
Draco materialized out of shadows. His back lit with fire of a glowing fireplace. Even if the shadows did not coat his face, she knew it well enough to see it still. His lip piercing shiny and black against his pink lips. The dark ink of his upper chest in a loosely buttoned short sleeve button-up showed tattoos she'd memorized with her fingers. She used to trace them for hours.
That blinding light hit the bare forearm just right. It ignited, almost aglow, that star constellation of thick black ink.
Memories of that tattoo – and the one marked on her own flesh – revisited an unwelcoming conscious.
Her rage simmered, boiling harder at the sight of him. She stomped hard through his warm wood floors.
He did not flinch in her stormy approach. A fact that stole away a sliver of power.
"We are not married," she hissed.
"The Ministry says different." The firelight caught against the silver of his rings as he displayed a similar Ministry parchment. "Your arse is mine."
His arm swung around and gripped her bottom. It gave a hard squeeze.
She gasped and stuck her two arms out to braced herself at contact. It jolted against his solid chest.
"Draco!" She yelped. "A lot has changed." She tried to pull out of his hold. "It isn't the same as it was then We're different people now."
"Doesn't matter. We're married now. We have a son," he said. "And last I heard we're expected at a match."
Her eyes grew twice their size. "No. Draco. You cannot be serious. This- this- this is beyond ridiculous."
Just then, his mouth pressed a ragged kiss into hers with the amount of untamed passion that had her struggling to feel anything other than the emotion poured in through his lips. One hand gripped the side of her face, holding her in place, as he pressed deeper and harder, forcing his tongue inside her mouth until she relented to his power and allowed him entrance.
He revoked his lips with a hearty breath. He brushed the long blonde hairs out of his eyes. "Alright, love. Off to the Pitch, are we?"
The emotional whiplash of the man rendered her unreactive to his bold chaos. She was in fact shell shocked.
Draco Malfoy dragged them into a Floo. His hand very much gripped her side until it was certain marks of his fingers would remain when he released her.
They arrived at a secluded, quiet entrance of the Pitch. It was smooth, painless. The security was less invasive than the standard entrances for the usual attendees. Draco held onto her, holding her hand with his fingers interlocked between hers as she was scanned by the official before she was waved forward.
He pulled a pair of narrow slit sunglasses out of his pocket. They were dainty. Unlike the silver chain hanging around his neck. It was fitted with diamonds, thick as her pinky, simple but classic.
"Where are we?" She marveled at the isolation.
Never in a Quidditch pitch was she so calm and collected. It was a noisy hectic place that overwhelmed her to the point of sipping a pint to calm down.
"Private box." A short glass of amber liquid already rested in his hand. Her eyes narrowed at the liquor. He shrugged. "That's the point of this day, isn't it? Weasel day out and all that."
She crossed her arms. "My son happens to adore those weasels."
"Our son," he corrected sharply.
Hermione pulled her arms tighter against herself. "Can we talk about this rationally?"
Malfoy removed a hand from his trouser pocket. It boasted a thick silver watch on his bare forearm. He glanced at the time. "Rational would have been telling me you were pregnant with my heir years ago." His pale eyes were sharp when they found hers. A fact that did not escape her notice and had her shiver in guilt. "My hand was forced to be so extreme when I discovered you unwed, a single mother with my child, after years of silence."
Her tongue went dry.
She fidgeted with the necklace charm at her neck. "How do you know I'm single?"
He sucked his teeth. His finger rose from the side of his glass to point at her.
"Don't toy with me, Granger."
The emergence of his fire only ignited hers. It had her remember of what true rage was.
"Wizards have crawled on hot coals to get the chance at me." The venom in her voice was precise, skilled and sharp at his ego. "You can't just come in and claim something that isn't yours."
Draco's hot breath was on her face in a minute. The firewhiskey glass forgotten somewhere, she did not see. His hand gripped her face so that she was unable to look away. He drilled his pale stare right into her soul. It penetrated deep. The haunted creeping crawl all over her insides, from below her skin out into the pores.
Her heart pounded hard in her chest.
Intensity grew. It tingled at the base of her palms.
"Crawled on coals. Crawled? I've consumed those coals for you, Granger. I've burned from the inside for you." His breath was so hot and hard against her face. "You were mine the second you ran your fingers through my hair and face fucked me with that aching pussy of yours. You were mine when you sucked my fingers with all your own juices just to set me alight. Those teeth marks on my shoulder? I had them tattooed there. Each a reminder of the pain and pleasure you experienced with me. You were mine when you gave birth to my child and you were mine when I refused to let you slip away again." There was strength on his voice. He refused to let her focus leave his. "My wife. Do you understand? I'll cut any wizard who tries and fuck you until you don't remember their name. Mine."
She swallowed. Her head slowly nodded. It burned her flesh against his touch, but she did it anyway.
It appeased him.
His hand released her gently. The other stayed perched on her hip.
Hermione kept her eyes locked on his. He remained close. The scent of the cinnamon on his breath returned her mind to a time when they still roamed castle corridors in the hopes they weren't caught together.
His lips caressed the length of her lips. "Don't fight me on this."
"Since when have you seen me back down from a fight," she breathed.
Draco's hand moved from the perch on her hip down the front of her pants to the center seam of her trousers. It dug the arch of the seam against her sensitive flesh, excited from the altercation and the length of time since she'd been so close to a wizard with a skill to arouse her without effort, and she felt its heat grow at the pressure of his touch.
He knew what his touch was capable of. The slight hitch in her breath encouraged a sly smirk to cross his face. His pace quickened.
The words came to her tongue to beg him to keep going – oh Godric, it'd been so long – but there was the chime of the lift.
His hand dropped away his touch. It subtly slipped down her arm to her wrist, anchoring her to him, smirking the whole way, as he turned to the lift doors.
The metal doors parted. An entire lift full of her friends spilled out. They were adorned in their jerseys and painted faces. Harry had green and gold stripes painted down his cheeks and neck. The matching Molly-knitted sweater was a mock of Ginny's actual jersey for the team.
Lavendar sported an entire outfit of green and gold. Gold bangles, with green half sleeves. Her tights were blinding green with a gold skirt over top. It was much the witch's style of support. Ron wore a floppy Holyhead Harpies hat and put his arm lazily around his wife's shoulders. Quite the pair they looked.
Bill and Fleur sported the opposing colors. Sky blue, for the Tornadoes. Bill had charmed his bright red hair a lovely hue of blue, whilst Fleur wore robes similar to that of her school uniform of Beauxbatons. There was a pair of 'T' painted across her cheeks. Percy even wore a pin that had the Tutshill logo on it – the largest declaration of association by his standards.
Hermione kept her breath steady. If Harry or Ron suspected what Draco was doing, they'd have him under their wands in a heartbeat. Newfound friendship only went so far. She was more important than Malfoy in their eyes.
"Oi. Draco. Thanks for the invite," Harry said. "Our tickets were good, but they weren't this good." Lazy green eyes moved over and noticed Hermione. The joined hands were impossible to miss. Draco made a point to hold her tight and close.
Sweat coated her hands. She felt tension coil around her throat.
"Alright there, Mione? Gave me a fright the way you barged in the house like that."
She blinked. The fact he just ignored Draco's hold on her…
"She came to see me, Potter," Draco said.
The glass of firewhiskey was back in his hand. From somewhere. She scanned around the room for table or secret place it could be set. But it was all open. The seating was out along the sides of the Pitch and further back inside with a couple telly screens.
"Oh, aye? Took the news well, did she?"
Cold drenched her. The shock, never sunk so deep.
He knew?
"As well as you'd expect." Draco shrugged. "Can't stand a change in the plans, can she?"
Her mouth found its strength. "You knew?"
Harry gave a pitiful look. "I'm sorry. I really am. But this box is loads better than our measly tickets. You hate when it gets loud and crowded. We figured this would be best for everyone. Look. If you wanna be raging at anyone, it should be me." He put his two hands to his chest. "I'm the one who thought it'd be a good idea."
She looked at Draco hesitantly. So he hadn't told her friends just what he planned to do. It was possible he knew the risk of exposing it. Harry and Ron would have him backed in a corner in an instant. If Harry wasn't pissed by that point, and Ron removed his face from Lavendar's. She shivered.
No, it was her fight alone.
"Hey. Hot stuff." George shouted. His voice interjected the conversation.
Harry looked over his shoulder lazily. He gave a half smile as the redheaded twin bounded up. It was obvious he was talking to Hermione as no one else acknowledged the name expect her.
"Heard you've got an extra visitor tonight," George said.
Strength gripped her hand tighter in Draco's; her hand was crushed to the point of pain.
"What?" How did he find out?
The smile half shrank away. "Angelina told me Fred's going with you tonight. Oi. Don't tell me you've changed your mind. I've got plans that don't include no wains."
Her heart thundered to beating once more. "Oh. Right. Yeah, Alistair will be happy to have Fred stay with us."
"Thank Godric." He exhaled in relief. "I don't know what the wizards problem is. It's not scary at the Burrow. I've already told him the boggarts won't come inside."
"Ignore him, pleaze." Fleur fluttered her hand at him. "He toys."
George laughed. Neither witch was impressed. He cheered dissipated.
"Wait. You'll still take him, won't you?"
Hermione forced a polite chuckle as if she was full of anything but tension. "Of course. I don't mind."
Her friends shuffled away to admire the view. Their 'oohs' radiated throughout the space. The Pitch was right there. The action of the plays so close to their eyes while they were spread out amongst the cushioned chairs.
The pop of elves filled the air as they took drink orders. They held up dark trays laden with mugs of butterbeer. Foam of the beer sloshed over the sides as rowdy hands grabbed them up, already laughing and cheering as the first players took to the pitch for their warmup.
Draco and Hermione held back in the covered section of the box. Out of earshot of their friends.
"We'll have to wait to move you into the Manor until tomorrow then," he said.
"Pardon?"
He gave a tired glance. "You must realize as husband and wife we will live in the same house. In the same room, even."
The sarcasm, she let slide.
There was time to set it right before it ruined Alistair's stable home. It was hard enough for him to realize his father was alive and well, never knowing of his existence, rather than a man whom was dead. There was need of counseling already.
She sighed. "Draco. Have you even thought this through? How will Alistair feel about being dragged to a new home with a new man? He has friends where we live. A life. I have a life. Besides, you'd have me brought back to that place? After all that happened there…"
"I'd have been apart of that life if not for you."
"Me?" She snapped angrily.
"Now I've resorted to this." He swallowed a tense mouthful of whiskey. "You will introduce me to our son. The pair of you will be fetched promptly tomorrow morning after your guest has gone. You'll be brought back to Wiltshire where we will live." She shook her head. Draco brought himself close enough that the smell of cinnamon tainted each breath dragged through her nose. "All activities of his life shall not be interrupted. I'll personally see that every ounce of his life is continued and happy as it was in my absence."
A small flicker ignited her heart. In pain. The heat of every beat roared her guilt to a boiling cauldron of every ounce of self-doubt, obsessive overthinking, and loathing. It took years to rid herself of the want to contact Draco. It took longer still to feel okay finding romance without him part.
She'd started to hate him. His absence left a noticeable void in her soul that she despised was missing. He, the source of her frustrations.
All this time she believed he'd hate being a father and punish their son for it.
"And us, Draco?" Her voice was weak. "No amount of forcing can make us a happy couple for him. He's much too smart to believe a facade."
His pale brow arched while his vision stayed attached to the faraway action of the Pitch. The molten metal of his eyes followed the players through the sky. A roar of cheers erupted from their friends. Shouts of 'Ginny' rang clear. The witch must have flown by.
His hand still held her one wrist. The other swirled the amber liquid in his glass.
The rest of the match was much like all the others before it. Draco released her to join the group without being anchored to his person. He spoke with Ron and Harry, all smiles. Fleur and George chatted her up enough to have her forget the tension. Almost. Action in the game got intense enough for their eyes to focus on the Pitch. On Ginny's jersey flapping in the wind as she flew. They cheered.
"That's my wife!" George screamed. His hands beat against the railing in a vibrating sound loud enough to be heard clear across the Pitch. Angelina was a star Chaser of the tornadoes. She stole the Quaffle away from the Harpies and tossed it into the hoops before the Harpies could recover in the confusion of the offense. "Get it, Angel! Throttle those Harpies!"
Hermione's head ached from all the constant noise. She tossed a pain potion in her glass at the distraction of her friend's attentions, just to have Draco pull the glass from her lips at the last minute and taste it himself. He nodded his head and gave it back.
She ripped the glass from his hold with a pointed glare. The glass was tipped back into her open throat.
It did well to sober the headache. The lifting of pain gave her a slight enjoyment of the moment.
All her friends were huddled together. Arms laced around one another in a large crowd as they screamed and cheered and drank to their friends success on the Pitch. The action was as intense as real life. They were absorbed into the trials as if they lived it themselves.
Ron had his arms lazily looped around Lavendar's middle as she hanged over the balcony rails to scream Ginny's name. Harry had his arm along Ron's shoulders, jumping and toasting his butterbeer mug to his wife. His round glasses bounced precariously with each motion.
Fleur and Audrey waved the banner for the tornadoes. Their delicate voices barely split the thunder of the entire Pitch.
George and Bill sang the Tutshill Tornados song whilst Harry and Ron sang the Harpies song in competing volumes.
Hermione caught a glance of Draco at the railing, one arm holding the metal rail, the other holding his glass with his just fingertips. He looked out across the Pitch. The light caught his silver chain. A rain of camera flashes erupted every other minute. Each, highlighted him in a lovely silver outline. The pale of his hair and the sharp point of his nose, down to the even sharper edge of his jaw, and slender throat. The black of his short sleeve shirt, button loosely with the topmost button left open, moved with the flow of air. So breathy.
That moment she remembered what it was like to want the wizard.
The love of a wizard who she did so many firsts with – the father of her child – was something she'd forgotten about. For so long, she aggressively pushed the idea of him away. To the point of real hate in her heart.
But it was not hate.
Not truly.
She marched up, pulled his chin away from the Pitch and brought her lips against his. The cool of his piercing pressed into the boiling heat of her kiss, the only memory of what the temperature felt like, as Draco's heat only answered hers with more.
He pressed into their kiss, holding tight to her bottom, breathing greedily to make it last longer.
A sharp gasp pulled their attention away. It echoed throughout the balcony.
Lavendar held her hands to her mouth. "Hermione!"
She lowered her brow, confused, as the game still played on without a score. Only when Lavendar pointed to the screen for the other stadium seats, she saw what she meant.
Plastered over the screens where gameplay was supposed to be cast was Draco and Hermione's kiss.
The attention did not lessen at the conclusion of the game. While her friends were supportive yet confused at how the hell it happened, the rest of the wizarding world stormed to catch a glance at the pair. Cameras pulled from the pitch onto the balcony and private box. The once quiet private entrance was full of echoing voices as crowds formed.
Officials kept a strict line that allowed no one to pass, but their eyes were not blocked from seeing Draco Malfoy hold onto the witch possessively as they entered the Floo together.
The Weasley's loved a pub to celebrate at in wait of Ginny and Angelina. They would eat and drink and be merry in a forgotten small place with nothing more than a table and a few tables.
The pub was not abandoned. It was not forgotten. The place was so overfilled that it spilled into the streets. Cameras snapped freely of Draco and Hermione.
She put up her hand to avoid being captured on their film. It was all a lost effort when the devious wizard pulled her into a taut hot kiss on the step of the pub. The shower of flashes captured the moment just in time to make the morning paper if they tried hard enough. He flashed a smile and gave a slight wave to the paparazzi before he pulled her inside.
"Blocking your face," he hummed in her ear over the noise of the crowded pub. "Is there a someone you don't want to see?"
She swallowed. "Not all of us need the same amount of attention as you."
He growled and bit her ear gently. It filled the side of her face with bubbling tingles.
The hour stretched late enough. She kept a close eye on the clock until it became unavoidable.
"I've got to go," she declared.
A chorus of 'Noooo' replied back. Their eyes were all hazed with alcohol and greasy pub food. Their greedy want of her to continue their reckless night as unresponsible parties was endearing, but she knew all the same that she would not enjoy a second of it if she knew that her son was expecting her.
She gave her quick hugs and pecks on the cheek to Angelina, George, Lavendar, Fleur, Ron and Harry. Percy settled on a wave. Bill offered to see her back to the Burrow as his farewell. She knew if he went home, he'd never return either.
Ginny gave the most exuberant goodbye. The adrenaline from the match still had to dissipate. As did the thrill of the win. She stood on the table in a true Holyhead Harpie victor – and made an entire ordeal of it.
Draco accompanied her to the Floo fireplace at the other end of the pub. It had mostly died down from the gossip seekers. Cameras tired of images of them drinking and celebrating as a group. His hand stayed latched in the back of her pocket.
"Tomorrow then."
He nodded. "Tomorrow."
His eyes were rimmed red. The lax of his face showed a small hint of drunk only made worse by the softening of his otherwise molten metal eyes. The haughty jolt of his Adam's apple was an effort to appear as the same.
"There's no way to change your mind?" She bit her lip.
He was silent as he shook his head. Confident, dazed, a little – shockingly – cheerful in his appearance.
"I beg of you to think of Alistair in all this," she said softly. As much of the night she'd allowed herself to believe him and her were possible as they were in Hogwarts as two healing war veterans in need of release from all the trauma they carried. Shagging appeased their rage, their hurt, their destruction from the other. Soon enough, they made peace with their past. "If you bombard him, it may destroy him. He's not so easily rebuilt."
The wizard was silent. He gave a nod. His hand helped her step inside the cool stone Floo. She held herself in a tight hug. It prevented touching the sides covered in centuries of grit.
Their eyes stayed level until the last moment where she slipped through the magic of the Floo away to the Burrow.
Alistair and Frederick waited for her. They were quick to say their goodbyes to Molly and Arthur with short responses and a shuffling of feet into the fireplace. Hermione barely poked her head out before the pair pushed her back inside with a need to leave.
Arriving home was a breath of fresh air she desperately needed.
Reality crashed back down in an unexpected moment. As she pulled the covers over her son in his bed, the thought hit her with a stunner: it was the last night she would do so just as they had years before. Malfoy Manor waited for them in the morning. A change to their life in who knew what ways Draco Malfoy imagined.
The show of sadness must have rung clear through her face. Her son rose to his elbows.
"Mum."
Her eyes raised to his. They were the same pair of caramel browns that she looked in the mirror every morning. Her little son with the blondest hair and the darkest eyes. The battle of wills to make him. The battle of the world – light and dark – inside the little body as a reminder of all what came to pass for his emergence.
She gave a sad smile. "Just thinking about how much you've grown. You won't be here forever."
"I am going to see my father tomorrow." It was said in a quivering voice on the verge of staying strong, just not enough to convince her.
She leaned forward and gave his forehead a kiss. "We both are, lovey. He's come for the both of us."
Frederick emerged from the loo carrying his stuffed spider, a special gift from his father. He held it under his arm. "Did Aunt Ginny win?"
Hermione nodded. "She did. Holyhead is undefeated."
"Mum said I could go to the World Cup if they make it this year," the boy declared proudly.
"Wow, really?" Alistair gawked.
Fred nodded. "I'm old enough to watch a whole game now."
The future, the World Cup. Where would they be then?
Hermione Granger slipped into bed without a thought of picking up her novel. A full night's rest was needed to embrace the new terrifying day that was on the horizon. She slipped into her cotton sheets. They were a welcome comfort any other night, but they were hot and suffocating. Her legs scratched endless against them. The weight of her blankets was too much, tossed aside in the middle of the night, still the heat was thick on her flesh.
She awoke sweaty and exhausted. The size of her hair was doubled from the frizz.
Two full kettles of tea were hers before Angelina even appeared to grab Fred. The witch was quiet. She wore a pair of loose-fitting lounge pants and a stained t shirt. A pair of pixie house slippers covered the woman's feet as she told her son to fetch his things.
With the two boys focused on sorting their toys, Angelina tucked a crimped section of hair behind her ear. "Godric, my head is ajust poundin'. We went mad last night."
"Cuppa?"
"Please."
She pushed the teacup to her guest. Two hands gripped the cup of her own as she raised it to her lips.
"Last night was eventful," Hermione finally agreed. Her breath pulled in the perfumed steam of the tea.
The dark witch smirked. "I'll say. The whole world is feral about that kiss."
Hermione blushed. "Yes. Well. I wasn't thinking."
The witch shrugged. "Well, you were. Just not with the thoughts you're used to using."
Back in the day, Angelina was explosive and emotional. A statement about any Gryffindor fraternizing with a Slytherin would have earned them a good ribbing from her mouth first.
The fact that the kiss was largely unaddressed had Hermione so tense.
"No one else seemed to mind it," she mumbled.
"What can we say? We want you happy. If a blonde headed prat like him does it, so be it."
The cup lowered. "Sounds like it was a topic of discussion."
Angelina groaned as the noise of her son filled the flat. She shouted back at him to hurry up. Her fingers went to her temples, rubbing the skin there in hopes it might remedy the wicked ache. "Don't be daft. Of course we spoke of it. Every witch and wizard approached us to ask if it was true."
Fred emerged before much more could be said. The pair waved goodbyes. The weary look in Angelina's eye made Hermione all the more aware of how she possibly sported the same kind of energy after a fitful night in bed.
She touched Alistair's arm. "Pack a weekend bag. Just for a few days. Clothes, toys, books, whatever you like. I'm going to pack my own."
The first thing she did was toss a load of Sleekeazy's in her hair. It was combed through, scrunched and laid into place with large voluptuous curls at her shoulders. Next, she rectified the discoloring of her face. Mainly, the purple bags beneath her eyes.
A vibration went through the air. A hollow sensation in the chest fumbled the beating of her heart, as someone hit the ward of the house. It deflected them toward the door to the flat.
Her hands tossed things into a nearby bag. Quickly. There was too much to consider about what to bring into a newly wed bed as a bride. Would there be toothbrushes there? She stuffed four inside her pack.
"Mum!" Alistair shouted. "Someone's here."
The tone of his voice was one of excitement. He jittered around with his hands as he waited outside her bedroom. A small tote bag hung off his shoulder. It was topped with a small, folded blanket.
It gave her pause.
"Lovey. Why don't we keep your blankie here? That way it's safe." She forced her voice calm.
The fluttering in her heart was wild. Draco stood outside their flat door. She was flustered and overwhelmed by it all.
Perhaps she had not resisted the idea enough. Alistair only just learned his father was living. It was too much, too soon. He needed time.
"I need it," Alistair replied.
Her lips formed an 'o' as she exhaled. "Al-alright." Her voice shook.
The little boy looked up at his mother with a wide stare. He observed the motion of her throat as she swallowed and kept swallowing her anxiety down.
"I will behave, Mum. And I won't be cheeky."
The corners of her mouth fell. She knelt to his level. Her hands collected his to hold tight.
"Oh. Oh, I know that." She reassured him. "You are a good boy, Alistair. You are smart and kind and compassionate. No matter what happens, nothing will change how I feel about you. Do you understand me?"
His head bobbed.
"Mum's just got loads more cause for worry." She ran her hand along her hair. "It's been a long time since your father has known me. I-I'm not the same witch I once was."
Little fingers curled around hers. "You're better."
Alistair gave her confidence to approach the flat door. He lingered behind her back as she turned the knob and held it open for the wizard to enter.
On this day, he'd chosen a similar fit to the day before. A linen button-down with short sleeves to show off his armload of tattoos. His slacks were black, creased in the center. The bowler shoes were shiny, unblemished, perfect. He'd probably tended to them himself.
She heard her son stop breathing as Draco entered the room.
"Draco," she greeted with a slim smile. Her anxiety still had her in a tight grip.
His eyes traveled the length of the flat for all he could see. "Rather modern for you, innit?"
"This is a historic style of flats by muggle standards," she replied. "And it is rather dashing, I think."
Draco's eyes landed on her. They crinkled in the corners, ever so slight, like he'd been tempted to smile.
They flickered back to Alistair who was silent. He remained glued to his place on the floor as he observed the pair with wide eyes.
She cleared her throat. "Ali." He startled. His eyes turned to his mother. She gave a reassuring smile. "This is Draco Malfoy. Do you remember him from Uncle Harry's house?"
Her son nodded.
Draco was low on humility. He instead survived on confidence and an impeccable ability to read people. The wizard strode up to her son and offered his hand out in a shake. "Pleased to meet you. Do you know who I am?"
Again, Ali nodded. "You're my father."
"I'm sure you're wondering why we haven't met before now -."
"Mum didn't tell you about me," the small boy said. His eyes went back to his mother, who held her breath at the interaction. "I know. She told me."
Draco looked at her with an ounce of surprise. "Yes, well. She was right to do so."
"What matters is what is now," she supplied to the conversation. It was her fault, in her own mind that it made sense. He did not need to ruin his standing with his newfound son to reinforce an idea that he wouldn't have supported. She knew the consequences. Her heart bore that. "Draco wants to show you his world, Alistair. His life, and where we may be part of it."
The blonde headed boy nodded without hesitation. His excitement startled her. She pictured anxiety and fear and distrust in the moment – as she pictured it a million times through the years – when the pair met as father and son.
"Shall we?" Draco gestured toward the fireplace.
"When is your birthday?"
Hermione and Draco both stopped. Their eyes curiously looked down at the small boy. He remained in place, two feet on the floor, with a bag slung over his shoulder, chin level with the floor.
She dragged her palms down her dress. It appeased the sweat surfaced there.
A hand was replaced in Draco's pocket. "June 5th."
It was accepted without a word. Alistair then moved toward the fireplace, climbed inside, and waited for his parents to join him. Draco flexed his brow upward. She felt a climbing heat travel up the sides of her face.
The wizard bridged the gap between them, grasped the side of her face, and placed a tender kiss on her lips. Soft mint filled the air. Whether it was from her mouth or his, she was not certain. All she knew was the softening edge of his eye as they stayed on hers.
She placed a single hand on his arm as he held her. A wave of anxiety forgotten to the trembling of her pulse.
"Sleep well?" He asked with a small smile.
Her mouth released a sardonic chuckle. "Not a wink."
His thumb reached the center of her bottom lip. It caressed it as it dipped down her chin and back to his side. "Tonight will be different."