Matching a Malfoy

by LittleSixx

As a prominent war reporter and news anchor with political ambition, Hermione Granger needs to make significant changes to her public persona. Her publicist signs her up for Malfoy Matchmaking, known equally for their success and discretion. At the same time, Narcissa Malfoy has finally acquired the biggest client of her career: her widowed son.

29. Protect Our Girl

🚨READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS 🚨

🚩TW: Minor Character Death
TW: Violence
TW: Medical Procedure

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Tea was meant to end at two-thirty.

Draco scheduled a half hour in his Tuesday for this. He lingered outside his mother's office for a moment, but the room was still occupied by her friends. They'd all gathered around the table to discuss whatever women in their fifties discuss over tea. Draco walked into the adjacent room and stood in the corner, at just the perfect angle to hear the conversation. This guestroom was rarely used, and he began eavesdropping in this location sometime around age eleven. It hadn't failed him yet. He leaned into the corner and heard one woman ask,

"Do you plan to attend the gala Saturday?"

"Yes," his mother answered. "I have selected a dress, and my date seems rather taken with it."

There were several curious mumbles. Another woman asked,

"You have a date?"

"I do."

"Whom?"

Draco heard his mother's signature pause and could see in his head the way she absentmindedly spun the teacup on its saucer.

"I'm not certain I should reveal that information."

"Narcissa, come now," said yet another voice, "you mustn't leave us in suspense."

"It is your judgment I hope to avoid."

"Is he hideous?" came the first voice.

Draco decided that woman was his least favourite of them all. Their tones were all varying degrees of superiority, as though his mother's lack of title provided them with a platform upon which to look down at her. His mother laughed and said,

"No, he is quite handsome."

The second voice asked, "Oh, it's a man, now?"

"If you are referring to Miss Clearwater, I am no longer her mentor. She is happily on her own."

A fourth voice asked, "Who is it?"

"If you must know," Narcissa's sigh was heavy even through the wall, "Lancelot has agreed to accompany me."

The mumbles were louder then, and far more negative. The first woman offered,

"He's not even middle-class. He's working class, Narcissa. You are— were, I suppose—a lady. You cannot disrespect your husband by lowering yourself to such depths."

"Did he even attend university?"

Narcissa sounded rather bored when she replied, "His parents were literary scholars and his son has a master's degree in neuropharmacology. Lance comes from a highly educated family, and I do not look down upon tradespeople, Catriona. My gardeners have a higher wage than your son."

Catriona snapped, "My son is a bank executive!"

"As I said," Narcissa repeated, "my gardeners earn more than your son. Now, I know you all are thinking I've gone a bit mad. That I am so devastated by the loss of my husband that I cannot think properly and am blinded by the constancy of his companionship. You are correct. All I can see is a man who has been by my side for twenty-five years, a man who has cared for my son, a man who makes me feel feminine for the first time in more years than I care to admit."

The third woman replied, "That doesn't make him worthy of high society."

"In your eyes?" asked Narcissa. "Perhaps not. In my view, any man I prefer to have sex with while the lights are on is worthy of being on my arm at a gala. A privilege I know none of you enjoy." Before they could respond, she said, "You may leave. Lewin will show you out. I will see you on Saturday."

Draco slowly made his way into his mother's office after the rather bemused women began their journey downstairs. She looked nice, rather casual, as though some of the weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She was in a blouse from Prada with a floral print, underneath a navy sweater. It was the first time in years Draco could remember seeing his mother in jeans. He plopped into one of the available chairs and asked,

"Are you truly sleeping with Bastien's father?"

Narcissa glared at him and said, "Good afternoon, my son. We begin, as always, with good afternoon."

"Right." Draco huffed, "Good afternoon, mother. Are you shagging my best mate's dad?"

"Yes." Narcissa wondered, "Does this upset you?"

Draco frowned. Was he upset about it? Not really. He was confused, more than anything. Bastien's dad was a good person, unequivocally. On its own, that relationship might even be a good one.

"I suppose what upsets me is your love for my father, and his love for you, is the most constant thing in my world. There was never any question that you loved each other. Even when I hated him, my father showed true commitment to you and I admired that. He accepted me because he loved you. He taught me how to love, and seeing you with someone else feels like a betrayal of him. Much less with Mr. Queensbury. You always seemed rather reluctantly friendly with him. I had no idea your relationship was so deep."

Narcissa laughed aloud, she tossed her head back and squeezed her eyes shut. She pressed her hand to her chest when her breaths finally steadied.

"Oh, Draco, you know nothing of what Lancelot has always been to me. It is rare to find a good man, and even more rare for a good man to have just as good a son. I know Bastien hates me and do not begrudge him those feelings because your father did terrible things to you and I still loved him. Lance raised a good son, and he was a father figure to all of you, as well. Lucius and I saw value in having a good man around our son, because we couldn't be that for you. That is why Lucius paid for Bastien's education. We mediated Lancelot's divorce. I've also set aside assets which will be transferred to Lance upon my death."

Draco wondered, "Assets?"

"He mentioned, once, that he likes the painting here in the sitting area, just there."

It was in the corner of the office furthest from the window. The painting was of three poplar trees, the thin, vertical focus contrasted against the horizon above the meadow. There was a pinkish light emanating from the lower-left corner, as though the sun was setting. It cast a glow upon the landscape in contrast to the blue daylight of the uppermost sky. Three sketches of the painting were on display at the Musée Marmottan Monet in Paris. This painting had been gifted to Cygnus Black by the estate in 1963. The two chairs and settees beneath it were a similar mixture of blues, with an orangeish-pink blanket draped over one to emanate the sunset glow.

"It is bequeathed to him in my will."

Draco felt his jaw drop.

"You're giving Bas's dad a Monet?"

"Yes, it is the least I can do for him. Lucius has left him a Cartier bracelet which belonged to your grandfather sixty years ago. It is properly masculine, 18 karat gold and platinum. It was appraised at twelve thousand pounds or so. And, finally, I have left him my Aston Martin with the expectation the Malfoy estate will assist him with taxes."

"I don't understand this at all, mum. He flirted with you and you almost never reciprocated."

"I never reciprocated in front of you." Narcissa insisted, "You spent much of the years away at boarding school and subsequently university. Without you, while your father was incarcerated, I had no one as constant as Lance. He is and will remain my best friend."

"So you had an affair with Penelope and now are in love with another man? It feels so different to what I thought your relationship was with my father."

"It wasn't an affair, Draco. Perhaps you require assistance piecing it together, but your father and I shared Penelope."

Oh.

Oh.

"Oh," Draco grimaced, "God, that's gross."

"Is it?" asked Narcissa. "I mentored that young woman, and in return she gave my husband a renewed connection to me as his life was stolen from us. Taken. Penelope is not a lesbian, she is not bisexual, she is a woman who fell into this family in a very unconventional way."

"But you said you loved my father—"

"Love is a child's emotion. When I met Lucius I found someone who saw me as I wished to be seen. He was a man who craved the darkest parts of me. Lucius saw me as a woman who could uphold the difficult parts of this family's legacy. Lucius and I are devoted to each other in this life and through the next. I feel the pull of your father every day. Come to me, Cissa. Be with me." She anxiously tucked her hair behind her ear. "When you ask whether I loved your father, you ask the wrong question. You should ask how much of my soul he took with him when he died."

"How much?"

Narcissa grimaced. Her voice wavered when she said,

"More than half." She sniffled and pressed the side of her wrist against her nose. "I wish I could say otherwise, my son. I wish so deeply I could be here for you the way I was before. If your father's death taught me anything, it is how strong you were to keep going after Astoria died. Every morning I forced my eyes open even though I wanted nothing more than to be with my husband. And—" Narcissa hiccupped. "You managed to create a nice family for your son even without your wife. When you finally tried to commit suicide—"

"Mum, it wasn't—"

"Don't lie to me," she snapped. "I am your mother, Draco Lucius Malfoy. You may lie to your friends, to your girlfriend, and to your son years from now when you finally tell him about driving yourself into a tree."

Draco lamely insisted, "It was raining. It was an accident."

"Sit in your lies, then. When I finally allowed Penelope to leave, I lost my last connection to your father. That is why these past several weeks have weakened me as they have. Then," tears rolled down her face, "I went to Lance for comfort. When I missed Lucius, he was always there to hold me. To be my friend as I cried when the ache was too much to bear. Twenty years and he never put his hands on me. He never made a single advance, not even when I was at my lowest."

"I …" Draco shook his head. "I'm a bit lost for words."

"Lance has been in my life for a long time and I just …" Narcissa wiped her eyes, but the tears continued to flow. "Needed something different from my best friend. These past two weeks, Draco, your father's call has quieted. I am at ease in Lance's arms. I open my eyes in the morning and am happy to see the sun."

That was heavy. Draco sat back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling. He was beginning to see how little he knew of his mother. To him, she had always been a firm, grounding presence in a chaotic world. Then again, Lancelot Queensbury had always been a firm, grounding presence in his life. Draco knew his mother was struggling without his father, but he didn't know … couldn't know how hard she worked to keep going as she had while Draco drowned in his own grief. He hadn't afforded her the same privilege.

"I am sorry I never saw how deeply you are suffering. I don't want you to have pain in this life, mum. That hardly seems like what you deserve."

"I must stay alive, Draco, no matter the pain. I must. I cannot leave until this family is in safe hands. When your father died, you were not ready to become the patriarch of this family. Still, to this day, you are not ready to take on the responsibility."

"I am ready," Draco insisted. His protestations sounded petulant even to his own ears. "I can be the head of this family."

"No," his mother chuckled darkly, "you can't. If the Granger girl dropped dead, you would not be able to handle it. You would crawl right back to all the familiar comforts of alcohol and cocaine to deal with your grief, and this family would be second place to you once again."

"That's not fair."

"It isn't fair, Draco, it is the truth." Narcissa huffed and rolled her eyes, like Draco was incapable of seeing something obvious. "Until this family is your top priority, you are not ready. My heart has only allowed me to continue without your father because this family is his legacy. I care for his legacy, Draco, I hold it in my hands. I do not feel safe handing it off to you."

"I am stronger now, mum. I promise, I can handle—"

"And if your son died?"

Draco sat straight up in the chair. Every muscle in his body tensed, like he needed to grab the words out of the air and shove them back into the void. Even the idea something of that nature could happen to Scorpius … It should not be permitted to enter the universe of reality.

"I—"

"It would be your responsibility, Draco, your duty to have another child, do you understand me?" Narcissa snapped, "You are incapable of doing it. You cannot continue the line as you are now; you don't have the countenance for it. I have given you six years to find it and still I wait." She stood from her chair and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Still I wait."

"I think you're wrong."

"My son," Narcissa rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers, "if you were ready to take on the role of patriarch, you would not sit in my office and tell me. You would, quite simply, be doing it. The only thing stopping you is the Astoria-shaped wall preventing you from accessing the darkest parts of yourself."

"I don't believe Hermione would say that part of me makes for a successful family."

"Draco, she craves the darkness. Hermione Granger will stare into anyone's eyes and challenge them. She lives for it. The only reason she likes you is because you challenge her in a way no one ever has. Her first husband couldn't handle it. The footballer, Scrum—"

"Krum, mother. Viktor Krum."

"Whomever, likes to taste the darkness in her but he does not wish to live in it. Hermione Granger wants to see the darkness in you as your father saw it in me. You are my son, Draco Malfoy. Mine. I know the capacity for great things is inside of you because I have done great things. My blood is in your veins and my essence is in your soul. You may be a Malfoy but you are descended from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black." She pressed her hand to her chest and repeated, " My son."

Draco swallowed thickly and parsed exactly what his mother had said. Hermione Granger wants to see the darkness in you. That was true in more ways than he would ever admit to his mother. Hermione loved it, she got off on it. Perhaps Hermione was working to pull that out of him, even as he kept playing to Astoria's expectations.

Tori wanted him to be a good man, to show kindness, to have a properly soft, happy family. Those were all the parts of him Astoria took when she died. Hermione had fallen in love with what was left. The darkness that came from The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Draco had been so concerned he couldn't live up to the Malfoy legacy, he'd forgotten his other half. He said,

"I see what you're saying. I accept it."

"Good."

Draco stood to leave and waited for his mother to stand as well. While she made for her desk, Draco stepped in the way and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She hugged him around the waist and Draco felt at peace. He understood his mother better and understood himself more as a result. He'd hugged her more in the five months since Hermione Granger had come into his life than throughout the five-and-a-half years prior. He stepped back and placed his hands on his mother's shoulders.

"You said my father saw the darkness inside of you. I understand, now, that Bastien's dad must see all the good things which have gone unappreciated by the rest of us. If he makes you happy, mum, then I cannot think of a better man for you to have in your life."

"Lance sits at the front."

Draco raised his eyebrows, a bit slow piecing her meaning together. Narcissa confirmed,

"At my funeral, Penelope sits where there is room. Lancelot sits at the front."

.oOo.

Thursday morning, after breakfast, Draco walked his son to the French tutor in the gardens. They were meant to be practicing words for plants. Draco wondered whether he ought to use French more often in conversation with his son. Hermione spoke four languages, none of them French. Perhaps Scorpius could learn Portuguese. Hell, two weeks with Parvati and Scorp could be speaking Mandarin. As they walked down the hall, Draco said,

"I need to tell you something that will make you sad."

"Oh." Scorpius shook his head and said, "I think sad things are for after lunch."

"Not this time, my son." My son. He really ought to stop doing that. Draco found it hard to keep the phrase out of his mouth, given the thirty-four years he had been referred to as 'my son' by his own parents.

Scorpius reached up for Draco's hand and said, "You can tell me now."

"We need to discuss how you hug your maman. On Monday, you pushed her left arm and it hurt her. You can't do that again, Scorp. Only hug Hermione on the one side. She can hug you with both arms, but you can only touch the one."

There was a long pause before Scorpius said, "I never want to hurt maman."

"I know, my son. I know."

Dammit.

"I'll be careful."

"I believe you."

Scorpius squeezed his hand, and they walked to the garden in amicable silence. Before allowing Scorpius to run off to his tutor, standing next to the fountain, Draco scooped him into a hug. He said,

"I want you to know how proud I am of you."

"Why?" Scorpius wrapped his arms around Draco's neck and said, "I didn't do anything."

"When you do something wrong and then you fix it? That's what makes a good person. You are very, very good, Scorp. Your mum would have been exceptionally proud of you, too."

"I know!" He smiled. "I feel her in the air when I'm happy."

Draco admitted, "I feel her in the air, too." He patted his son on the back and said, "I know you will be careful with Hermione's shoulder now. I trust you."

"Thanks!" Scorpius asked, "Can I go down, now?"

"Because you want to play in the fountain?"

"Only a little."

"Alright." Draco placed his son on the ground, and he was off like a shot. "Try not to fall, Scorp!"

"Okay dad! Love y—" Scorpius tripped and fell forward onto the grass. He rolled onto his back and giggled. "I'm okay!"

Draco sighed.

"I love you, too."

Then he headed back to the manor for a full day of work. His heart was more full than it had ever been, knowing his son was in the garden, Astoria was in the air, and Hermione Granger was here at home with him. What an amazing life this could turn out to be.

.oOo.

Saturday's surprise stop in Chelsea had gone even better than Draco imagined. He stared at his son, spread out in the centre of the darkest room of the house like he owned it. From his spot on the floor, Scorpius asked,

"Can we paint it green?"

"Green?" asked Draco.

"Like trees."

"Yes, Draco," teased Hermione, " obviously. Like trees."

"Ms. Buttermere, if you wouldn't mind explaining to my son the dimensions of this room and wherever else, I'd like to speak with my partner in the reception."

"Take your time. I can walk him through the brochure."

"Excellent."

Draco took Hermione's hand and led her out of Scorpius's potential playroom and onto the large reception sofa. Before he said a word, Hermione asked,

"How much had you intended to pay for a home in London?"

"The first home Sotheby's sent was a thirty million gated home with nine bedrooms and separate staff quarters. It felt rather like the manor to me, in a way. If we're here in London, I want it to feel like our space. The second home they sent was twenty-seven million, five bedrooms in a gated house with a large, lush garden. I already have some of the best gardens in the country, I don't need to pay ten million pounds for something I already own. Finally, the third home they sent was twenty-four million pounds for a home very near Hampstead, which is not the location I am after. Besides, the tiling in the kitchen was hideous and if I'm paying twenty-four million pounds, I want everything to be incredible."

Hermione said, "I agree."

"When Sotheby's sent me this, they called it my 'coupon listing.' They kept sending me mansions, when all I really want is a place where you and Scorp will be comfortable. I want you to feel like part of the city."

"What of you? Shouldn't you be comfortable?"

"I am comfortable at the manor. That is my home, Hermione. It is difficult to explain, but the house is part of me—"

"The walls whisper to you."

Draco frowned and asked, "How do you mean?"

"Your mum said that to me once." Hermione grimaced, as if an unpleasant memory had resurfaced. "She said the walls whisper to her."

"Yes," Draco confirmed, "in a way, they do. Any other home I purchase cannot be home for me in the same way. I like this house. I find it rather charming. It's normalcy for my son, for you. My opinion does not matter nearly as much as yours. When you think of your home in London, does it look like this?"

"I …" Hermione shook her head. "I thought someday I'd have the opportunity to have a rowhouse, perhaps. Somewhere nice, somewhere I am not concerned about my Jaguar. A house like this was never in reach for me, and now that it is, I don't quite know what to make of it. I feel incredible here. Would I feel incredible somewhere else? Most likely."

Right. Wealth was new to Hermione so this must be overwhelming. BBC gave her four million pounds as part of the NDA, so she would have to get blown up all over again just to cover the base price of this home. That gave Draco pause. He wondered,

"Am I doing too much too quickly?"

"No!" Hermione insisted, "Not at all. I'm happy you are so committed to our family that you want to move forward with a home in a place we can all be together consistently. Parvati and Cedric live a five minute walk from here." She frowned and amended, "I suppose it's just Parvati, now. Or just Cedric. I'm not quite certain who owns it."

"You and me, golden girl, I think we could be happy here."

Hermione leaned forward to steal a quick kiss before saying, "I know we could be happy here, if this is where you want us to be."

"I'll consider it, and we'll discuss it this evening."

"Is Scorpius staying the night with Blaise and Dean?"

"Yes, because I intend to have you making very loud, inappropriate noises much of the evening." Draco wrapped his arm around her waist and pressed a lingering, teasing kiss to her lips. "Something I suppose we'll have to work around in such a small space as this house. I'll ask the real estate agent about the soundproofing."

Hermione laughed and pulled away, telling him, "You need to behave."

"I rather think not." He kissed her again and pulled her close, because this felt like home. "But I suppose my insatiable desire for you can wait until this evening."

Hermione blushed and said, "This was a truly wonderful surprise."

Trisha Buttermere bid them goodbye soon after, apparently the late-afternoon tour had run a bit over. Draco fastened Scorpius into his car seat then plopped into the driver's seat. He backed out of the drive and made for Westminster. He continued on the B302 and asked,

"Run through the plan again for me?"

"Dinner with Parvati, Padma, and Ginny. We're having a girls' night because Parvati needs one desperately."

"Diggory told me what happened."

"Oh." Hermione grimaced. "Well, Ti needs some normalcy and I need to tell my friends my partner might buy a house for me."

"I like it."

"The house?"

" Partner." Draco grinned and said, "I did feel at peace there. The manor feels like home, but that house we saw just now felt like a bridge between our lives."

"After dinner, would you like to meet me at the penthouse?"

"How will you get there?"

"Oh! I haven't mentioned," Hermione smiled softly, "Colin is doing a photoshoot nearby with a footballer. It should end about seven-thirty and he's agreed to drive me home. Sort of a halfway point, you know, before I return to work in seven weeks."

"Is it only seven weeks?"

"Afraid so."

"Bloody hell, I've really got to find us a place then."

"No rush from me," said Hermione.

Draco considered that timeline carefully as they rode along. Scorpius chattered away in the back seat, and Hermione was all too happy to indulge him. Right as he pulled up to Lisson Grove, he noted a small group of photographers across the street from the restaurant where Hermione was meant to be eating. Ginny, Parvati, and Padma were already waiting outside.

" Shit." Hermione mumbled, "Gin's here, and someone must've tipped them off."

That was right about the time they noticed Draco in the car with Hermione. He put the car in park, opened the glove box, and tossed one of the masks back toward Scorpius.

"Put it on, now."

Scorpius knew better than to protest. He pulled the mask loops over his ears and asked,

"Can I wave to the camera people?"

Draco sighed. It had worked rather well when he took Hermione out in London weeks earlier. The papers called it 'charming.' He conceded,

"You may wave, but only with the mask on. Do not take it off. Do you understand me, Scorpius Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes, father."

"Good, then. You may wave."

Draco stepped out of the car and walked around to open the door for Hermione. The cameras snapped immediately in his direction and he rolled his eyes, never quite used to that. Opening the car door for his girlfriend hardly merited a photograph in the Daily Mail. Hermione stepped out and quite literally ran toward her friends. Ginny was first to embrace her, with the Patil twins quick to follow. Draco slowly walked toward the restaurant entrance and shouted,

"OI! No goodbye for me?"

Hermione turned and looked up, expecting a goodbye kiss. He obliged her, quickly, as the camera shutters could be heard across the street. He whispered,

"Be safe, Hermione."

"I'll be fine without you." She teased, "I know it's difficult for you to imagine, as I have hardly left your side over the past three weeks."

"One very rough week followed by two rather incredible weeks." Draco nodded to the group of paparazzi across the street. "I trust you, but I'm wary of them."

"I will be careful."

Draco nodded to the girls and said, "Good to see all of you. Send her back to me in one piece, yeah?"

"Stuffed with fish and chips," replied Ginny.

Draco left them with a salute and returned to the car to find Scorpius waving to the paparazzi with both hands. He shook his head in fond exasperation. Draco slid into the driver's seat and rolled down Scorpius's window. He teased,

"Why don't you blow them a kiss, then?"

Only for Scorpius to immediately press the palm of his hand to the centre of his mask and blow a kiss toward the paparazzi. Draco laughed, along with several of the paps. He rolled up the window and drove by, taking care to watch Hermione enter the restaurant. The street seemed rather deserted save for some delivery driver on a bike and a man in a blue hoodie leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. Draco made for Blaise's house, and hoped he wouldn't have to rely on him for a home in London much longer.

.oOo.

Draco spent the next few hours cooped up in the makeshift office in Blaise's house. Dean Thomas had taken over the space, with Luna Lovegood's sketches scattered about between unfinished rhyming couplets. Draco only just managed to find enough uncluttered bits of the desk for his laptop and mouse.

He stashed away the resumes he'd been sifting through and pulled out the Sotheby's pamphlet Trisha Buttermere put together. Sotheby's had sent him the listing Thursday evening, and forty-eight hours later he was ready to buy the house. Something about the way Hermione had looked in the dining room solidified it for him. She was imagining her friends in the space. Draco was imagining her friends in the space. The suite downstairs was perfect for a live-in chef, and every other service could be contracted out. Housekeeping every-other day, most likely. Gardeners weekly. French tutor twice weekly.

Scorp couldn't be on a floor with a door to the outside. That meant Scorpius's bedroom would be on the second floor, while Hermione and Draco's bedroom would be on the first floor. The primary bedroom had that bathtub Hermione seemed fond of. It was so much smaller than his bedroom at Malfoy Manor, he might need to convert one of the other bedrooms into a closet. Scorpius would need to descend two flights of stairs to get to breakfast, and that posed its own risk. The Malfoy line was dependent upon Scorpius not falling downstairs every morning.

Draco dialed Trisha Buttermere's direct line as listed in the brochure. She picked up three rings in with a direct,

"Hello?"

"This is Draco Malfoy, calling about the house my family and I toured with you earlier today."

"Yes! The home in Chelsea, it's quite something. I confess I thought it a bit small for your budget, but if you don't need more than the house offers, then I suppose you needn't spend more either."

"Exactly. How firm is the list price?"

There was a long pause before Trisha asked, "Are you already making an offer?"

"Not quite," replied Draco, "I need to speak with Hermione before I finalize the decision, but I quite liked it. It is the location, more than anything, I am charmed by. Hermione and my son seemed rather taken with the house, but I am not inclined to offer eight million for it."

"I see."

"Can you do seven-two if it is all-cash?"

"In this market?" Trisha's tone was skeptical. "If we are going to get something done, I would go in seven-seven, all-cash."

Draco shrugged and said, "I'll keep looking, then."

"Wait! Wait, perhaps … If we go in at seven-three, perhaps I can talk the owner through what Malfoy money really means."

"Exactly. Seven-three from the Malfoys is worth far more than it would be from another buyer. My goodwill comes attached."

"Understood. Would you like me to draft an offer for you to see Monday morning?"

"That would be incredible."

"Consider it done."

Trisha ended the call and Draco smiled down at his phone. He was buying the first-ever Malfoy home in London. The screen had gone black, so he tapped it with the pad of his thumb. His lockscreen was the photograph he'd taken of Hermione and Scorpius on their little picnic weeks earlier. Technically his and Hermione's first date. His mother said Hermione was attracted to the darkness inside of him, but she had brought so much light and clarity into his life. She had brought him back to his son, and there was nothing more important than Scorpius.

Draco fell back into the chair and checked his watch. Eight-thirty, which meant Hermione was finished with dinner and back at the penthouse. Draco wanted to give her time to herself at home before he arrived and fucked her on every piece of available furniture. He shifted his attention to the resumes once again, just as Blaise flung open the office door.

"You need to go to hospital."

Draco frowned, shook his head, and said, "There's nothing wrong with me."

"Hermione has been hurt and she's in hospital."

Draco scoffed, "They have the wrong person. I drove Hermione to dinner with the girls and she was seeing Colin afterward." He looked down at his watch again and said, "I should leave for her flat in ten minutes or so."

"Draco."

"Come off it," he said. "I am nearly leaving—"

"Colin's dead."

"Colin's not dead, Colin can't die, he's too … Colin. Someone's confused and I'll have a laugh about this with Hermione tomorrow."

"Draco." Blaise's voice was low and firm. "Colin Creevey died at hospital ten minutes ago. Dean is on the phone with Ginny because Harry Potter is listed as Hermione's next of kin. She has just entered surgery and it appears her friends have a rather well-established protocol. Padma is nearly at hospital and Bastien is on his way. Harry and Ginny are there. Parvati was with her when it happened, so she accompanied Hermione to hospital. Dean's just been notified, which means Ron Weasley has also been told and is on the way."

The world stopped turning. Colin was the person Draco trusted to keep Hermione safe above all else. If Colin Creevey was dead, who was left to protect Hermione? Draco's voice was barely above a whisper when he asked,

"What's happened?"

"It is best if I show you." Blaise pulled up a video on his phone. He faced the screen toward Draco and said, "This is from TMZ."

This video was taken from across the street, some paparazzi waiting for celebrities to exit. They must have been expecting someone else because there was an excited muttering behind the camera. The outside of the restaurant looked busier than when Draco left Hermione there hours earlier. The video began as Hermione left the restaurant, arm-in-arm with Parvati. They waved goodbye to Padma and Ginny, then stood outside chatting.

Hermione looked nice; he hadn't noticed much earlier in the day. She left her hair down and wore a beautiful blouse Draco hadn't seen before. It was cotton, he remembered the much from touching her. It had blue and white stripes, a stand/frill collar, and those elegant full length sleeves. The contrast binding and ball buttons were those special, tiny touches that made it seem so much more expensive.

The video jumped forward in time approximately three minutes, when Hermione turned toward her right. Draco barely made out Colin's shout of, "Hermione!" So far, so good, everything was proceeding as it should have.

Parvati patted Hermione on the back and walked to the right, Hermione's left, until she disappeared from the frame. Hermione took three steps toward Colin, then everything went to shit. Two people, a woman on the left and a man on the right, stepped out of the flow of the crowd at that precise moment. Draco had been on the wrong end of this more than once when he was younger, he knew the signs all too well. That man in the blue hoodie he'd spotted earlier followed Hermione from behind. A woman in a black shirt and striped trousers came at her from the front—

"Oh my God, she's wearing the watch." His heart broke cleanly in two as he realized what was about to unfold in front of him. "This is my fault, she didn't know …" Hermione didn't know she was walking around London with a forty-thousand-pound target on the most vulnerable part of her body. "I never told her how much it's worth. We were meant to be going to her flat; I never thought to tell her to take it off."

The woman rammed her shoulder into the upper part of Hermione's chest with far more force than Graham had all those months earlier. Hermione crumpled to the ground, crying out in pain. She pressed her right palm against the plate holding her clavicle together, while the woman stood over her. She appeared surprised that her target had fallen to the ground like little more than paper, but the man in the hoodie wasted no time. He grabbed Hermione's wrist and pulled her arm upward as far as it would go.

Hermione's screams of agony were loud even coming from Blaise's iPhone speaker. Draco winced and looked away as chaotic mumbling began behind the camera. Strangled sounds of What's happening over there? That's Hermione Granger, what's going on? Oh, that's her arm that got blown up, i'nnit? That was the woman he loved, writhing in pain on the dirty streets of London, no better than a stray cat with a forty thousand pound collar.

Hermione kept screaming and the sounds were torment. Draco looked at the screen once more to see Colin Creevey enter the frame. The man in the blue hoodie seemed frustrated Hermione's arm wouldn't move any further. Couldn't move further. Hermione's head was on the ground; she'd turned to the side to vomit, the pain too much to bear. Her body jolted each time her arm was tugged upward. The man in the hoodie had just gotten the watch off her wrist when Colin pushed him away, shouting,

"GET OFF HER!"

Everything happened so fast. The woman assailant pulled a small knife from the pocket of her trousers and stabbed Colin twice in the abdomen. He let out what looked like a small whoosh of air before looking down at his stomach, appearing equal parts surprised and annoyed. He pulled the camera bag off his shoulder and threw it at her shouting,

"Take it and go! Just leave her alone!"

The woman made to attack Colin again, but the man pulled her away. He nodded toward the camera pool across the street and they took off running. Parvati entered the frame just as they exited. She fell to her knees and lifted Hermione's head off the ground, cradling it in her hands. She waved down someone nearby and shouted,

"CALL AN AMBULANCE NOW!"

Colin sat on the ground and pressed his hand against his stomach. He took Hermione's good hand in his free one. His words were faint, but audible.

"Help is on the way, Hermione. Don't worry—"

Hermione's reply was too faint for the cameras to hear. Colin reassured her,

"I'm here, Hermione. We're going to get you right, I promise."

Hermione seemed to pass out from the pain. A small bit of mercy from a cruel, unrelenting universe. Parvati nodded to Colin's shirt, stained red.

"You're hurt."

"It's nothing," he brushed it off. "She got fat, mostly. All that hanging 'round the pubs might've been just the thing I needed." He laughed. He looked fine. He was joking.

And he was dead.

Draco had seen this play before: internal bleeding gone unnoticed until it was too late. Draco knelt on the floor, grabbed the bin from beneath the desk, and vomited. His mind was speeding in three separate directions, each path heading to its own terrible end. It was every fear Hermione had coupled with every fear Draco had for her.

"This isn't happening." Draco shook his head and repeated, "This isn't happening," before vomiting again into the bin.

"I will stay here with Scorpius and meet you once you know more of what has occurred. Dean says her rotator cuff has been torn, but that's all they know. You need to be on your way to hospital now."

Mr. Queensbury's words from weeks earlier flashed through Draco's mind. That's not an injury you repair a second time. Hermione's arm would never be the same after this. Draco took a deep breath and stared down at his trembling hands. He did not want to be this man again, the devastated husband who suddenly had more responsibilities than he could handle. Only to shove it off onto everyone else in his life while he crumbled inside.

No.

Not again.

Hermione needed him and there was no other option available. He balled his hands into fists and pushed himself into a standing position. He made for the nearest bathroom and brushed his teeth, nearly running into Dean Thomas in the hall. Draco scrubbed the vomit residue from his mouth while Dean relayed information as he received it.

"They expect to know more in twenty minutes, and surgery should take about three hours after that."

Draco rushed downstairs and found Scorpius, bum on the countertop, churning the wheel of the pasta maker. In these moments it really was like looking at a younger version of himself. Astoria was right, Scorpius had his eyes. Before the world tried to make him into something he wasn't, he must've looked at the world with the same wide-grey-eyed enthusiasm. Draco stood in front of his son and said,

"I have to tell you something that will make you sad."

Scorpius stopped pressing out the pasta and said, "Okay. Sad things are okay after lunch."

If only that was true.

"Hermione has been hurt, and it is very bad. They are doing surgery on her shoulder and we don't know what will happen. I am going to hospital to be with her, and Blaise will bring you to hospital when Hermione is awake."

Scorpius looked down at his hands and asked in the softest, tiniest voice, "Is she going to die?"

"No, my son, I don't think so." Draco hugged him and said, again, "I don't think she will die, but her friend is dead and she doesn't know that quite yet. She will be very sad when she wakes up and it is our responsibility to keep her heart together."

Scorpius repeated, "Heart together."

"That is the only thing you need to worry about."

Scorpius pulled out of the hug and asked, "What are you worried for?"

"You know what, Scorp?" Draco admitted, "I'm not much worried at all. This is something I know how to do. If you think very hard about what you want to do for your maman when she wakes up, you will find that you know exactly what to do, too."

Scorpius nodded.

"Good. That's my boy." Draco pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head and said, "I love you."

"I love you. And maman."

Draco quickly pulled Blaise into the entryway. He said,

"I know you've just gone back to church, so whatever Catholic prayer things you do, you can teach my son. I don't know how, so I trust you to—"

Blaise made a face like he'd been insulted, but confirmed, "I understand what you are trying to say. Dean will drive you to hospital and I will care for my godson until we are needed."

"Thank you." Draco gripped Blaise's shoulder and tried to find the proper words to say. Thank you for being here for me. Thank you for being here for my son. You've taught me, more than anyone, how to care for my son. All he said aloud was, "I am stronger this time, I promise."

"I believe you. Now, get in the car and I will call your mum. Hermione is part of the Malfoy family now and that means—"

"I can handle it, Blaise."

"I know you can handle it." He insisted, "You don't have to handle it entirely on your own."

.oOo.

Draco stepped off the lift at St. Mary's Hospital Emergency Department twenty-five minutes later. The white walls had a garish blue strip on the lower half, and the fluorescent lights reflected off the white tile floors. Draco rushed through the doors on the left with Dean Thomas close behind. The waiting room was filled with people in Hermione's circle. Penelope Clearwater was closest to the door, typing on a laptop which she'd sat on another chair in front of her. She was whispering into a Bluetooth earpiece, no doubt sending tips from an "anonymous source" to various media outlets. Her voice was firm, but there was a pile of used tissues beneath her laptop.

Along the far wall was Harry Potter, looking like he might find the tallest building and take a jump off the roof. Ginny was next to him, looking at her phone, continuing whatever contact protocol they'd established. Next to her was Parvati, who was in as close to the fetal position as she could get in the tiny hospital chair. Then sat Padma, who was scrolling through her phone, as though monitoring social media for information. Next to her was Bastien, who leapt up from his chair and rushed to grab Draco in a hug.

Bas didn't say anything. There was nothing that could be said, no new information to deliver. Over his shoulder, Draco noted Ron Weasley was on Potter's right. Draco patted Bastien on the back and stepped out of the hug, toward Weasley. Just then, the bright blue doors opened to reveal a hallway and a pair of mint-coloured doors further down which led to the surgery. A doctor walked through and asked,

"Who is here for Hermione Granger?"

Eight hands shot into the air, and the doctor seemed a bit overwhelmed. He cleared his throat and said,

"Harry Potter is listed as next of kin, so I need to speak with him."

Weasley and Potter stood up simultaneously, and Draco made to follow. Weasley turned toward him and asked,

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

"Hermione's my partner. I want to know what's happening to her."

"You're not on the form, so you can take a seat with everyone else."

Draco raged, "I'm not sitting down—"

"You hardly fucking know her!"

" You hardly know her!" Draco screamed back. "She's my girlfriend and I am going to hear what is happening to her. Like it or not, Weasley, I'm the one touching her now. I'm the one seeing her now." Draco knew he shouldn't say it, shouldn't add on, but the only thing better than being scared was being angry, so— "I'm the one fucking her now, not you!"

There was fear in Weasley's eyes. Not fear of Draco, but the fear for Hermione. Draco could almost see the thought racing through his mind. Days, weeks, months of Hermione going into surgery and coming out. The surgeries which essentially ended their marriage. What if, this time, the doors don't open again? They were feeling the same sort of terror for the same woman.

"She's not your wife anymore!"

"She's not yours, either!" shouted Weasley.

Before Draco could reply, someone grabbed him by the collar and pulled him away from the conversation. He looked up to see Mr. Queensbury just before his body was slammed into a wall. Draco winced, then opened his eyes to see his mother hovering by the door. She was in a beautiful gold dress and Bastien's dad was in a very nice suit. Right, they must've come from the gala. Narcissa had her hand on Penelope's shoulder, looking at Draco like he might turn to dust at any moment.

"I get here and walk in to see this? What the fuck do you think you're doing, son?"

Draco said, rather lamely, "They're pushing me out—"

"No, they're not. You're not going to let them. You're Granger's partner, now. You're a grown man, Draco Malfoy. Your father taught you better than this, and I showed you better than this."

He insisted, "Weasley shouldn't be here."

Draco tilted his head back as Mr. Queensbury leaned down into his space, more menacing than Draco had ever seen him. Draco felt so out of place, out of his head, worried he wasn't ready to meet this moment. The way Mr. Queensbury was looking at him, he felt like a boy.

"This isn't about you or her ex-husband. You want to be upper-class? You want to be a man? Then go over there and advocate for your woman."

Mr. Queensbury let go of his collar and pushed him toward Weasley and Potter. Draco stumbled then righted himself. He took a deep breath, and even Ron Weasley seemed to have calmed down. Most likely because he enjoyed seeing someone toss Draco around a bit. The doctor waved his hands around a bit and said,

"Look, I'll talk to the three of you. Mr. Potter here makes the final decision, but if you want a group discussion, that's fine. We've performed the initial examination of Ms. Granger's shoulder, and it's not good." The doctor made a face and admitted, "She's got the worst rotator cuff tear I've ever seen. When they repaired her rotator cuff the tendon was screwed onto the bone. This evening the tendon was pulled free of one of the screws."

Draco winced. His stomach turned over and tightened. What sort of pain would that cause? The doctor said,

"Normally, for someone with Ms. Granger's condition we would perform a total shoulder replacement."

Draco said, "She explained that to me. Something about a ball and socket joint being screwed into her—"

"Yes. In a standard procedure, we would attach a metal ball to the upper part of the humerus." The doctor made a fist with one hand. "It would be complemented by a plastic socket attached to the shoulder blade." He made a C-shape with his other hand and brought them together, then rotated his fist. "The shoulder would be able to move and rotate very nearly as it had originally by replicating these mechanics."

Weasley said, "That sounds great. Why does it sound like you can't do that?"

"The prosthesis relies quite heavily on muscles and tendons around the shoulder joint. As Ms. Granger's rotator cuff tendon toward the front of her chest has been torn …" The doctor made the face again. "I hate to say it has been torn beyond repair because we will attempt to repair it, but I am not hopeful."

"What is the other option?" asked Potter. He seemed perplexed by this in a way Draco and Ron Weasley weren't. Draco imagined it was because the final decision for Hermione's health was in his hands. " Is there another option?"

"Yes. A reverse shoulder replacement is exactly as it sounds, reversing the ball and socket joints. The ball is placed on the socket side of the joint while the socket is placed on the arm, supported by the metal stem we will place in the humerus."

Draco's head was spinning. He asked,

"Why is that better?"

"This option will enable the deltoid muscle, here," the doctor pointed toward a muscle on the outside of his arm, "to shoulder—pun intended—some of the load normally placed on those tendons. This is what we will do for Ms. Granger's arm, but we have two options: standard and 'alternative.'"

Weasley groaned, "This sounds like a critical decision that Hermione should make herself."

"Which is why it is up to Mr. Potter."

Harry Potter looked like he might break down in tears. God, he'd been through hell and had just begun to feel like he was making progress. Then he'd been yanked right back to hospital and expected to advocate for his best friend. Making a decision that could impact the rest of her life. Draco tried to step in rather gently.

"Will you explain the difference?"

"The prosthesis itself cannot exactly replicate the biomechanical functions of her shoulder. We are quite literally moving the bone of her arm into a different angle against the clavicle. One standard design of the ball-and-socket elongates the deltoid muscle which shortens the rotator cuff. This would limit the rotation of the shoulder while increasing the lateral movement of her arm. The other standard option decreases the length of the deltoid and elevates the risk for stress fractures. This will limit her lateral movement and require increased rehabilitation and monitoring throughout the life of the prosthesis."

Potter summarized, "Both of those sound like shit."

"Which is why I believe," said the doctor, "the alternative may work best. It's a medium between the two, which minimizes torque on the bone, increases the length of the deltoid, and can prevent strain on the tendons themselves. Essentially, it uses the same stem as a regular shoulder replacement and places the humeral liner constraint—sorry, you don't need to know that. It's just innovating to replicate the natural function and get the angle of the socket closer to what it was originally."

"One of Hermione's concerns is the length of time before she needs to repair whatever you do to her arm now." Draco added, "She's only thirty-four, so which of these options is best for the length of life she has remaining?"

"The alternative, in my opinion, is best because it minimizes the potential for bones to rub against each other. It doesn't over-rely on the deltoid or the tendons. It will also allow for both lateral and rotational movement of the arm."

Draco said, "That sounds best to me."

Potter looked like he might be ill. He stared down at the ground and placed his hands behind his back. Draco knew this decision couldn't wait, as did Potter.

"Ron, you did this for her last time. What would you do this time?"

Weasley took his time answering. He took a long, slow deep breath and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He looked at Draco and then turned toward Harry to say,

"Hermione has never been normal, it follows that her injury wouldn't be either. The only thing she really wants to do is hold a microphone. Over and over, that's what she's said for eight years, now. It seems, in my view, the alternative procedure is the best way to accomplish that. In this case, I agree with Malfoy."

Draco gave him a quick nod of thanks. It was received with indifference. Potter still looked a bit unsure, so Draco placed his hands on Potter's shoulders and said,

"Look at me."

Potter obliged.

"Hermione is my responsibility now. It may not say as much on those forms, but I care for her now. I am telling you this is the proper course. This is the decision I would make for her, and it is the decision I am making for her. It is completely out of your hands. If Weasley and I agree on something related to Hermione, you know it must be right."

"You can say that," replied Potter, "but it doesn't feel like it is any less my responsibility."

"It may not feel that way, but when she wakes up that is how it will be. I take the blame for whatever consequences arise from this decision. Me. Not you."

Potter turned to the doctor and said, "Do the alternate procedure."

Then it became a game of wait. Draco sat in of the uncomfortable hospital chairs, far more calm than he would have expected. Hermione would pull through, without question. She was stronger than anyone else in this room, the question was how well she could handle the grief. Draco could help her with that better than nearly anyone. He quickly texted Blaise.

Draco: Bring Scorpius to hospital in three hours.

Draco: I want him to be the second person she sees when she wakes up.

Blaise: Who is first?

Draco called over, "Weasley! Do you have Oliver's phone number?"

They wordlessly agreed he was the best option for a first face. If nothing else, he'd been on the receiving end of Hermione's rage more than anyone. He could cope appropriately.

Draco's mother walked over and placed a hand on his cheek.

"If you are well, I will leave you to this."

He replied, "I am well enough. Thank you for coming, I know Hermione would appreciate it."

"It seems she has more than enough people here who care for her. I will take my leave and change into something more suited to the moment. I am at your call, my son."

He nodded and watched her walk out the door.

The minutes ticked by slowly, and Draco forced himself not to look at the door to the operating area. That did him no good the last time. The waiting room itself was becoming rapidly more morose. Mr. Queensbury was down on a knee, whispering to Parvati. She was only just holding in tears, her elbows rested on her knees, and she stared at her hands. Weasley had been through this before, stoic, continuing whatever phone tree was necessary via text. Penelope continued to mumble into her Bluetooth earpiece while typing. Potter was holding Ginny's hand tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Bastien was keeping visual tabs on Parvati. Padma had leaned her head back on the wall and closed her eyes, as if trying to connect to her sister telepathically.

Mr. Queensbury squeezed into the chair beside Draco. He leaned over to say,

"This is a place for Hermione Granger and her family, now. My concern was for those three," he nodded toward the Patil twins and Bastien, "and they're handling it best they can. I'm not the person Pavi needs right now; I phoned the man for that job. Now, I'm going to take your mother where she will be most impactful unless you need me somewhere else."

"Why are you asking me?"

"That's your woman in there." He nodded toward those garish blue doors. "You're handling the situation, aren't you?"

"I suppose I am."

"Good, then. Call when you need me."

"Thank you for handling the situation earlier," said Draco. "I have things yet to learn, still."

"You lost your head for a moment; I don't blame you." Mr. Queensbury pointed at him. "Keep your head on your shoulders and out of your arse."

Then he was gone.

Another half hour passed exactly the same. No one moved from the blue chairs. Everyone behind the desk proceeded as if this was any other day. For them it was any other day. Draco refused to let his thoughts continue down that path; resentment and grief were decidedly unhelpful. Instead, he focused on what needed to be done: holding the two people who did this accountable.

This was his parents' area. Protecting this family outside of those means legally prescribed. He needed to find out whom those people were, where they'd run off to, how to make them pay, and how not to get caught. Draco found himself at a loss when Cedric Diggory came bursting through the doors with multiple security guards behind him, as though he'd outrun them. He shouted,

"I'm here! I'm here!" He looked around the room and asked, "Where is she?"

Potter offered, "Hermione's in surgery—"

" Pavi!"

He half-ran to Parvati, pulled her out of the chair, and gripped her in the tightest hug he could manage. The floodgates opened and Parvati muffled a scream in the shoulder of his jacket.

"Pavi, it's okay, I'm here now. You can let it out, I'm here. I won't let you go through this alone."

"I h-heard her scr-scream. Halfway down the block." Parvati's chest stuttered up and down as she tried to form words. "I sh-should-should've stayed with her."

"No, my love, no." Cedric shook his head and said, "It's not your fault."

Diggory held her close as Parvati sobbed into his blazer. He looked rather disheveled, like he'd run halfway across London. Or at least a few blocks to avoid waiting through Paddington's Saturday night traffic.

"I had her head in my—my hands. I didn't know which part of her I could touch. Her face was sc-scratched from the pavement. Her hair was dirty. She never has dirty hair, she cares about her hair." Parvati sobbed, "All I thought about was my friend. She reached out for Colin, she said, 'Colin, I can't feel my fingers. Colin I can't feel my fingers.' And Colin said, 'It's going to be alright. You'll be alright.' And now he's dead. I didn't think about him and he's dead."

Diggory froze. Several emotions flew across his face, as he hadn't heard Colin died. There was shock, anger, grief, and then the realization none of that mattered. He tightened his hold even more around Parvati and said,

"I'm here for you."

"I k-keep failing. You. Hermione. Colin—"

"No, my love, you failed no one. Most certainly not me."

Draco's phone vibrated in his hand. He was receiving a call from Romilda, so he left the waiting area to answer. He needn't be surrounded by so many functional couples while his own partner was having her insides torn apart and forced back together. He asked,

"Romilda?"

"Draco, I've got the names of the people who did this."

Shocked, he asked, "How the bloody hell did you manage that?"

"Your mum, obviously." Romilda revealed, "I looked for petty theft reports in that neighborhood. It's a brother/sister pair, staying under the radar here in London. I went into Scotland Yard's database and didn't see anything serious on them. Then I went to Interpol and it seems they have been rather naughty abroad. They've got some terrible things in their background. Mostly accusations, nothing proven, but when this many accusations pile up you begin to think there's a truth to it."

"Sorry, how the hell did you get into Interpol's records?"

"Your mother, Draco, keep up. At any rate, they're not murderers, but they have had a habit of torturing some of their robbery victims. Home invasions and the like, I'll spare you the details, but it's not good."

"Give me names."

"Amycus and Alecto Carrow."

Draco burned those names into his brain.

"Thank you, Romi. If my mother ever parts with you, the Malfoy estate will happily help you stand up your own private investigations business."

"Funny, your mum said something similar to me not twenty minutes ago."

"This is incredibly helpful. I will put this information to use immediately."

Draco shot off a quick text to one of his most loyal, well-paid associates. He ducked into the waiting room and nodded for Potter to join him outside. Potter also seemed more than happy to escape the waiting area. He bolted out the door and asked,

"What do you need?"

Draco lowered his voice to a near-whisper and said, "I've got the names."

Potter nodded and wondered, "Have you also got a plan?"

"Half-formed." Draco stepped a bit closer. "Dean mentioned to me months ago that you have a gun."

"I do. It's kept locked away, as it's only meant to be used for protection. I'm not yet where I can trust myself around it freely."

"My family have access to weapons, but I fear a misstep may occur and something may be traced back to me. The English government will take any opportunity to throw me in prison, and I would rather avoid that."

Potter replied in a whisper, "Fame and goodwill afford me certain leniencies in the legal system. Hermione is my closest friend of twenty-three years. If bullets are traced back to my gun, the country will look the other way." He paused before asking, "Will you get the bastards who did this?"

"Unquestionably."

"Then I will loan you my gun, just say when and where."

Draco nodded and looked down to see was receiving a call from his associate. He answered,

"Malfoy."

A reedy, female voice said, "Front door, one hour and fifteen minutes from now. Twenty minutes in the cafe. Front door will be locked ninety minutes from now. I won't see you."

"One thousand quid to you now, two thousand additional once I leave unseen."

"Understood."

Draco ended the call. Potter didn't ask what that was about and Draco wouldn't have said.

"Blaise will be here with my son before I return. I want Scorpius to be here for her, but her physical therapist is the first person she speaks to. Oliver will be able to explain what's happened to her arm and how he intends to fix it. Once she knows that, I think she will see a positive future for herself."

"Right."

"Diggory, Blaise, and my son will be second to see her. I want Diggory to be the one to tell her about Colin. My son will be there to comfort her, as he does best. Blaise is there solely to escort my son; he and Hermione are a team in that regard."

"And if she asks for something different?"

"She's going to be high on painkillers, I don't much care whom she asks to see after those two sets of people. It matters how she wakes up. The first thing she hears is how her arm will move. The second thing she hears is that Colin Creevey died protecting her. The third thing she hears is her son saying he loves her. That is the order of events and I trust you to make that happen."

Potter nodded. Draco walked back with him into the waiting room and stopped in front of Weasley. Hermione's ex-husband stood up to his full height, as though asserting some sort of superiority once again. Draco reminded himself to be the bigger man for Hermione. He said,

"I must leave to dispose of the people who did this."

Weasley raised his eyebrows.

"You've already—"

"I think it's best you don't know. If something happens in the next two hours, I won't be here to advocate for Hermione. When Potter needs advice on what to do, I trust you to steer him on the proper course."

Draco offered his hand, which Weasley accepted. The handshake was brief, to the point, we will protect our girl. It was up to Draco to do the dirty work, and he was ready to fulfill that obligation.

.oOo.

An hour and fifteen minutes later, Draco opened the visitor's door to HMP Bronzefield. The walls were a horrid off-white colour, covered in childlike art and school-like motivational posters. The route to the café was deserted, and the café itself was dark save for one row of lights. Beneath them was a woman with thick, unruly black curls Draco had always envied. Her dark eyes sparkled, as she always was more awake in the night. Her voice cracked the silence—

" Blondie came to visit!"

She smiled and reached out her hands, unable to move any further as she was chained to the chair by her ankles. She grinned that unsettling smile, her gums blackened by something Draco didn't even wish to think about. There was a single guard in the far corner of the café, out of audible distance, and they were otherwise alone. Draco walked to her table and bent low to give her a hug. She felt so thin in his arms, wasting away in here. He sent her fifty pounds a week, the prison's maximum, and yet she felt like she'd hardly eaten in days. Draco moved to the chair across from her and smiled at the only family member who had always accepted him as he was.

"Aunty Bella, I've come to you for help."