Draco walked into the kitchen, grabbed the entire dish of lemon tarte, and dug in.

What had he done wrong? They laughed, Draco thought his reaction to her arm was solid, all things considered, and they had even been comfortable enough to talk about sex. Draco thought they were friends. Blaise was processing what appeared to be the best kiss of his entire life, and instead of congratulating him, Draco was stuffing his face with tarte. Four forkfuls later, Bastien came in and pulled the dish off to one side. Draco groaned,

"Oi, I wasn't done!"

"You need to get your shit together or Padma's going to have my balls in a jar."

Draco swallowed the last bit of tarte then tossed the fork onto the counter. He shrugged and said,

"I don't know what you mean."

"Fuck off, Draco. I love you, you know that, but don't be an idiot. You're making heart eyes at Hermione the entire night. It's one thing, you telling me you like her over the phone. It's another to see it. To see how badly you want Hermione, and she's all but begging you to ask her out."

"She's not."

"Oi!" Bastien shouted. "Cedric!"

Hermione's partner rushed into the kitchen from the dining area. He was in a button-down that fit him perfectly, though it was a bit wrinkled. As if it had been thrown aside for a brief while then put back on. Draco chuckled softly to himself as he realized exactly why Diggory had been so late to the party. Of course, his blazer was upstairs on the bathroom floor where Hermione had left it. Diggory slid in next to Bastien and asked,

"What's up?"

"In the time you've known her, has Hermione ever dated anyone?"

Cedric frowned and asked, "Define date."

"Someone she'd introduce as her boyfriend."

"No."

"When you walked in tonight, did you think Draco was her boyfriend?"

"Yes, but I thought that before, too, because of the call in the loo."

Draco frowned.

"What?"

"I was in one of the stalls when Hermione called you from the toilets. She was doing her best to hold the emotion in, but I could tell she was basically sobbing into the sink. Then she called you and you talked her 'round. I've never heard anyone handle Hermione the way you did, so I figured you must've been dating awhile."

Bastien asked, "Has Hermione ever looked at anybody the way she looks at him?"

"Not as long as I've known her, no. She sure as hell never lets anybody near her arm, but you seem to be an exception to all the rules."

Draco insisted, "I'm her friend. She trusts me."

"She trusts me," replied Cedric. "I'm her partner. I care for her. She doesn't look at me the way she's looking at you. We've shared a desk for four years now, so I know when she puts on her 'broadcast face' and her 'broadcast voice.' She is who she is around you, and I like that for her, but you need serious reputation management if you want to make this happen."

Draco grimaced and asked, "Why the hell are either of you talking like this could happen?"

"Because—"

"It can't happen. The words 'Malfoy' and 'politics' go together about as well as 'nuclear' and 'bomb.' Besides," Draco grabbed his fork and the half-finished tarte dish. He stabbed the tarte and grumbled, "I'm still trying to move on from my wife, like Hermione said. I can talk to her about Astoria, who died six years ago and still has a firm grip on my heart. Then Hermione talks about being an embedded reporter in Afghanistan, getting blown up so bad she nearly lost her arm, and, oh, right, her summer fling with Viktor fucking Krum. I am far too boring for her to be interested in me."

Draco pulled the fork out of the tarte then stabbed it again. And again. And again, until Bastien wrenched the fork from his hand. Draco huffed,

"What?!" He half-shouted, "You don't think I know she finds me attractive? The first time we met she was staring at my arse, but that's all this is. I am a liability to her, as she stated quite plainly just now when she wouldn't even hug me goodbye."

"You," replied Bastien, "need to make a decision. Either focus on putting Astoria behind you, or you stop leading Hermione on. Plain terms for you, Padma cares for Hermione as one of her best friends. Unlike you, Hermione actually attended my elopement—"

"I am sorry for that."

"I told you it was fine, and I meant it. I am only pointing it out to say that if whatever is happening between you and Hermione ends poorly, Padma will blame you. If she was angry enough and asked me to leave your family, Draco, I would do it."

Oh, no. Draco welcomed Hermione's friendship, but Bastien implied it could fracture his entire family.

He paused on that thought, though. That wasn't really what Bastien said, was it? It was Draco's reticence to let go of Astoria that had put Hermione in this position. What if they had met and he wasn't wearing the ring? Would she have flirted with him? Would she have asked him out? If she had … would he have been comfortable saying yes?

No.

While he had made peace with his role in Astoria's death, he hadn't made peace with her absence. He hadn't filled the void Blaise said would always be there, the void Astoria would want to be there. If Draco could move forward, though … Perhaps Hermione would continue to give him opportunities to be a better man and a better father. Draco conceded,

"I haven't been much family to you the past five-plus years, so I understand." He turned to Diggory and asked, "What would it take for me to date Hermione and it not cost her entire career?"

Without hesitation, he replied, "A damn good publicist."

"Funny," Draco grinned, "I already have one in mind."

.oOo.

Leaving Scorpius on Sunday afternoon was easier than usual. Blaise was happier, and that made Scorpius happier. By the time Draco woke up on the morning after the party, Blaise had been baking for hours. The smile never left his face, and it was the happiest Draco could remember seeing him in nearly ten years. Love had finally found Blaise, and Draco conceded he'd like to feel that way again, too.

It was never easy knowing he would be away from his son, but Scorpius could not be part of the plans Draco had for the week. Instead of driving straight back to Malfoy Manor, Draco made the seemingly backward trip up to Stoke-on-Trent. He parked in the same space, walked past the same fountain, turned at row four stopped at headstone number six, and blurted out,

"I'm going to pursue Hermione." He sighed heavily and asked himself, "Why do I think you can hear me? I hope you can hear me. Somehow, some way, and I want you to know that I'm finding myself again, after you. It's taken years but I think I can finally start to see myself as a father, as the head of our family. Because you are still part of this family.

"There is an Astoria-shaped gap in my life, but I want the void to stay because no one will ever make me happy the way you did. Life was easy with you. I miss that the most, how easily you understood me. You gave me the opportunity to change and become a better man, and I like to think I did. Matured a lot while I was with you. The thing is, I have to do that just to have a shot with Hermione. That's what makes this different. I miss you and will never stop missing you, but I must allow myself to be happy again. Given time, I think Hermione could make me happy."

Draco sighed heavily and stared at the headstone.

Astoria Greengrass.

"I need to say, you are the only woman who will ever have my name. It belongs to you, and I hate that your parents took it from us. I wish there was a place where I could see your name as we both knew it." Draco felt his face scrunch up as he fought back tears. "I never wanted them to feel like they didn't have claim to you, because they did. I wanted them in your life, and I wanted them in our son's life. Tell me, babe, where did I go wrong?" Draco's voice cracked as he asked, "What did I do to them? They erased our whole relationship, they erased our marriage, our son, Tori. The only breathing bits of you they have left and they want nothing to do with him. I ache over it."

Draco pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"Blaise is smitten over a new bloke. I know he loved me, but he never loved me like that. I'm jealous of everyone in my family because they have love and I don't, but I am expected to give it all the time. Love my son, my friends, my mother, my whole family that I worked so hard to build. I thought I was holding my family together by the grace of God after you died, but I wasn't holding on to them, I held on to you. I have to let you go, now."

Draco turned to walk away, but turned on one heel once he got to the end of the row. He walked back to Astoria's grave and insisted,

"Not to forget about you, just … I just have to hold onto you a little less tight. Maybe hold onto someone else a bit more. I can do both."

Draco left the cemetery with both hands stuffed into his pockets, shoulders slumped, feeling like he'd let his wife down. Astoria gave him the best years of his life—but how could Draco be a good father knowing the best years of his life were behind him? He opened the driver door. The best years of his life happened without his son? There had to be something better ahead, because if there wasn't then what was the point?

He closed the door, started the car, and drove away before he could think twice about it. A few miles down the road, the car speakers announced he was getting a call. He wouldn't normally accept from an unknown number, but something about it felt a bit too timely. The universe wanted him to answer.

"Hello?"

"Malfoy?"

"Why does your voice sound familiar?"

"It's Dean Thomas, we met on Friday."

"Oh." Draco smiled slightly, eyes trained on the road ahead. "Yes, how are you?"

"I am doing rather well. Ginny gave me your number. Thank you for answering."

"Of course."

"I felt the need to call because Blaise asked me out for dinner this Friday. I want to say yes, but from the few hours I spent with him and you, and everyone else in that circle, I can tell how close you are. I don't want to mess that up."

"Thank you. I am sure he will be thrilled if you say yes."

"He cares for your son."

"Better than I do sometimes, if I am honest."

"I doubt that, but it seems to me he is only one voice in the family situation you created. I'm calling to ask if it is okay that I go out with him."

Draco frowned and asked, "Why are you asking me?"

"Because if I had a son who had a co-parent, as you said, in that situation I would want to know the man coming into my kid's life is a good person. Someone that will bring in far more happiness than darkness. I want you to be happy with what is happening in your son's life. It sounds like if things go the way I want them to go with Blaise, then I will be part of that. What would you have me do?"

Draco stared at the road ahead, confused. What sort of man even thought to ask about the wellbeing of a child who wasn't technically Blaise's son?

"That you thought to ask me before going out with Blaise, in deference to my son, is proof enough that you deserve a chance. My son is the most important thing in my life, and the only part of my wife that I still have. Now, I have only known Hermione for a couple weeks, but she is not the sort of woman who will fuck around with me. She says you are one of the best people that could be around my son. Hermione has been around the worst people in the world, so if she says there is no darkness in you, then that is a good enough endorsement for me."

"Okay."

"I will say, I have seen Blaise bring home a number of men. Not a single one of them ever made him smile the way I saw him smile after you left. He is my best friend; he keeps me and my family above water. I have been overwhelmed by my own grief for so long, and my son deserves to have one parent who can bring him happiness. If you can do that for Blaise, you are family."

"Speaking of family, may I ask you a question?"

"Yes."

"What are your feelings toward Hermione?"

Draco sighed heavily and tightened his grip on the wheel. He didn't have an answer to that question for himself, let alone one he was ready to say aloud. Dean added,

"I only ask because she is someone I care about. Her ex-husband is very protective, as we all are, in a way. They have a great relationship, and everyone in our circle takes extra care around Hermione because of her limited mobility."

"You mean her arm."

"Sort of." Dean offered, "It's her shoulder, which connects to her neck and her back. Even if she simply turns her neck too quickly to the right, she could tweak something and be in a sling for a month."

Draco paused for a moment before admitting, "She didn't tell me that."

"I imagine she would leave it out. Hermione doesn't want people to know how limited she really is. The most important thing to Hermione, and therefore to us, is her career. Anything that could take it away, or anything that is a risk is treated with hostility. You are a smart enough man to know you come with risks. Ginny, myself, and everyone else we knew at that party won't mention the two of you to Ron, and they won't mention it to Harry. If you are interested in her the way you appeared to be, you need to grease the wheels before you start travelling down that road."

"Thank you for telling me."

"Man to man, Malfoy, I see the way you look at her. You seem guilty about it, which is the only thing Hermione sees, and I hate that she doesn't understand what's happening. She feels like it's inappropriate to think of you romantically because you are committed to your wife. My advice is to figure out what the hell you want, then which outcomes you are and are not okay with. Hermione always finds what she needs, and if she's decided she needs a boyfriend then she will find one. If you can't stand to watch her with another man, then you have to be that man. And you need to be it soon."

Draco admitted, "I'm going to try, but it will take a lot of work to get to a place where my reputation doesn't hurt her."

"Hermione won't care about that—"

"Which is why I have to."

"I respect that. She's different around you," said Dean. "In a good way. Since she and Ron divorced, she hasn't had as much life in her. I could see it when she was talking to you, and I know all of us want her to feel that way again."

Could that be true? Did Hermione see the world a bit brighter through him, the way he began to see it through her? Draco couldn't know, so he deflected.

"Complete opposite of Blaise; I've never seen him so desperate to please someone. He has always been confident and quiet, but the moment you walked through the door he couldn't stop talking. He might've launched into a soliloquy if you didn't like the tarte."

Dean's voice was noticeably softer when he replied, "Watching him in the chaos of his kitchen, I understood him so clearly. I was worried he wouldn't be interested in me because I'm divorced and not nearly as beautiful as the people he usually dates—"

"The men he usually dates are pretty faces and appropriately-sized cocks. Candidly, most of them are quite vapid. He did bring home a professor once, but Blaise kicked him out after he criticized the gnocchi. Blaise fell onto the floor after you snogged him, so I find it rather safe to say you've exceeded everyone he's been with."

There was a brief pause before Dean asked, "He really likes me?"

"He spent this morning baking heart-shaped biscuits." Draco glanced quickly over to the bag in the passenger seat then back toward the road. "I've got two dozen in my car."

"Wow." Dean laughed and admitted, "When I saw him, I knew who he was straightaway. I thought I was about to embarrass myself, bringing such a simple gift to someone who could buy an entire country. When I left, I was holding him and the only thing I could think about was that I liked how he smelled like basil. It was so odd. God, I like him so much. As a public figure he's so put together and jaw-droppingly beautiful, but then I watched him get into a row with an oven and I knew he was the man for me."

Draco laughed. Perhaps Dean Thomas saw Blaise the way Blaise had always hoped to be seen.

"Blaise is a complicated man, but you've come along and now he's making heart-shaped biscuits. Very sexy of him."

"I absolutely love a man in an apron," Dean shot back.

Draco laughed a bit louder and admitted, "I like you for him. I really do."

"I like you for Hermione," replied Dean. "I really do."

.oOo.

Draco greeted Penelope Clearwater at the door on Tuesday morning.

She was insanely attractive. Tall enough to nearly look Draco directly in the eyes, thin, blonde, the sort of woman who would've been his type at twenty-three. She was wearing a pair of simple black trousers and a white blouse with a high collar. She had a thirty thousand Pound watch on her left wrist that left Draco feeling a bit cheap with his. He said,

"You look exactly like the sort of woman I imagine would handle Hermione's career."

Penelope challenged him immediately with, "How?"

"You would murder me and bury me in my own backyard without the grounds crew suspecting a thing."

She grinned at him.

"Well sussed, Malfoy."

They walked to his office in silence. Malfoy Manor had that chilling effect on people. Penelope was better at hiding it than most, but without Scorpius the walls were lifeless. It was as if they reached out to destroy the small bits of joy visitors entered with. Nobody left the manor with their good mood intact. Draco pulled out the chair in front of his desk and gestured for her to sit before taking his place in the chair on the other side.

"I can guess why you called me here, but if you prefer to make small talk first then I have five minutes to spare."

Draco asked, "How did you meet Hermione?"

"We were at the University of Amsterdam at the same time. I was taking a class on political communication. An incredible frizzy haired girl outperformed everyone by so far I couldn't even measure it. Her skill at dissecting communication is unparalleled, and that is why she has always been able to eviscerate people in interviews. I saw it from the first time she spoke up in class. I knew she would be a massive talent, so I took her on as my first client, got her a gig at BBC, and she has been my best client ever since."

"She is amazing."

"Correct." Penelope asked, "What do you want me to do for you?"

"It is rather apparent, isn't it? I share a name and a face with my father. I cannot do anything about my appearance—"

"Why should you? You're gorgeous."

"Thank you. As I am unwilling to give up my name, I need to make it less toxic in the public arena."

"Mhmm."

Draco teased, "Something on your mind?"

"Your business has been doing quite well since your father went to prison."

"Yes. Nobody said he was an astute businessman. We have the sort of wealth where even losing money makes money. My father made quite a lot of use of that safety net."

"Public perception hasn't mattered much to you before. Why now?"

"Because I care about someone whose career will suffer if they are seen with me."

"Right, so you called Hermione's publicist because you don't want to fuck over Hermione's life. I respect that. The public perception of you seems rather muted on a large scale."

"It is not outwardly antagonistic. I think people can generally distinguish between me and my father; and as I slept my way through a decent portion of the country's gay community in my early twenties, they know I'm not afraid of a good time. However, I own a third of the residential buildings in the country; people tend to shut up when they know you can raise their rents without consequence. That doesn't mean they don't hate me."

Penelope offered, "Perhaps I think they should."

"Ah." Draco nodded and replied, "I see. You're one of—"

"However you finish that sentence will end up very poorly for you."

"You are one of the best publicists in the country, so perhaps it doesn't matter what you think of me so much as what you are capable of doing."

"Let me guess, for the proper price?"

"Yes."

Penelope leaned forward, placed a well-manicured hand on the desk, and paused until Draco looked her in the eyes. If he hadn't grown up with someone even more terrifying as a mother, he might've been intimidated. As it stood, Penelope's tactics amounted to little more than the average Malfoy family breakfast.

"Something you should understand, Malfoy, is that I work with your mother because she does good things for my clients. She helps me, so I don't need to like her. I don't like you, your family, or the fact that you're ruining Hermione's chances at being chosen as our next ambassador to the United Nations by dating her."

Draco frowned and insisted, "I'm not dating her. I can't date her because of exactly what you identified just now. Which is why I phoned you in the first place."

In lieu of a reply, Penelope pulled up a photo of himself and Hermione on their double-date after Cormac and Lavender had departed. Draco had his arm around the back of Hermione's chair, his head on her good shoulder, and he was laughing harder than he even remembered. His heart sank as he realized,

"God, am I really so obvious?"

"Yes, and the worst part is that you look guilty for something. Like you know what you're doing to her career and are dating her anyway. That is why I don't like people like you."

"Of course I care. The only thing I am guilty of is knowing I have feelings for her when I still haven't let go of my wife. Of course I care for Hermione's career. She phoned me right after she lost the spot on BBC Breakfast and it wrecked her. I could hear the pain in her voice, somebody who can challenge a dictator without batting an eye and she was crying to me on the phone because she couldn't sit on that fucking sofa."

Penelope looked at him like she'd only just realized something.

"You were the person she sobbed to in the loo?"

"Yes."

"She called you."

"Yes."

"Not her parents, not Harry Potter or Ginny Potter or Dean Thomas or Padma or Parvati … She phoned you. Draco Malfoy."

"As I said."

Penelope grimaced and let out a garbled, "Fuck."

"Dean Thomas phoned me and said that if I'm going to be in Hermione's life, I need to make that decision. I've made it, and I want her to be part of my family." He noted Penelope's expression of disbelief and hastened to add, "Not because of any romance, but because she is a good influence for my son and our friends already have significant overlap. If she will be seen with me, I don't want to be a hinderance."

"Fine. Tell me what you do, then? Really, what do you do?"

"I run Malfoy Holdings, which designs, builds, promotes, sells, and finances both residential and commercial properties here and in France."

"I didn't ask for the bloody brochure."

Draco continued, "Under that umbrella is Thunderbolt Cement, a net-zero carbon concrete manufacturer. That is where I spend most of my time. I bought the company in its development stage about six years ago, gave them a fuckton of money and let them roam free until they had a viable product. That took about two years, and now we're the only company in the world mass producing cement without carbon emissions. Since I build high rises, it makes sense to bring down cost by producing my own cement."

"Now that," Penelope clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, "is interesting. Sustainability is a gold mine for positive press. Tell me more about what that means."

"About what, exactly?"

"I know shit about concrete. Why the hell would I care about concrete?"

Draco laughed and asked, "Are you serious?"

"Deadly."

"Right," Draco sobered up and said, "cement production, and therefore concrete, is one of the largest producers of carbon emissions in the world. How much of a nerd would you like me to be?"

"As much as you like."

Draco couldn't help but smile. Nobody ever asked about this part of the business.

"It's actually really fucking cool. See, concrete is made by heating up calcium carbonate at more than 1400 degrees, a process which uses a lot of fossil fuel. Within that process you break up the molecules so instead of CaCO3, you end up with CaO + CO2 or calcium oxide and—"

"Carbon dioxide," Penelope finished for him.

"Yes!" Draco scooted forward in his chair. "The calcium oxide clinker is a result of limestone and clay being mashed into tiny bits and heated up at the fourteen hundred fifty degree mark in a massive kiln. The carbon dioxide is a byproduct of that firing, a process which is responsible for eight percent of carbon emissions across the globe."

"Eight percent?"

"Yes, so—"

"You're telling me if we stopped cement production across the globe, that one thing would decrease worldwide carbon emissions by nearly ten percent?"

"That is a gross oversimplification—"

"I'm a publicist; 'gross oversimplification' is half of my job description. Concrete is a problem, is what you're saying."

"Yes."

"How have you made it less of a problem, then?"

"Once you've got the clinker, it is ground into powder and mixed. Cement is then combined with aggregate, mainly gravel and sand, and those incredibly fine grains form together to make concrete. This would not have mattered except I had the incentive to tie my businesses together. When we demolish a building, we recycle the steel. Somehow that steel from Malfoy Holdings made its way over to Thunderbolt Cement."

Penelope noted, "Somewhere the wires were crossed between your businesses."

"Correct. When recycling steel, we use a lime flux to remove impurities from the metal and it, ultimately, ends up as a waste product. A waste product that is filled with calcium oxide."

Penelope frowned and said, "You've lost me a bit."

"Right, okay, the whole purpose of kiln firing is to produce calcium oxide. Recycling the steel from buildings that my company demolishes produces a slag that is normally thrown out. Chucked in the industrial wastebin. While people previously dismissed it as chemical rubbish, it is full of the primary ingredient in cement: calcium oxide. If you grind up that waste product, which I am already producing in the course of regular business, you essentially get clinker. I'm already recycling steel to save money, and in that process I am creating the basis for cement. That cement creates new buildings; all I have to do is utilize the existing steel in the old buildings I own and plan to tear down. I created a sustainable cement cycle because it's cheaper and therefore better business."

"Allow me to put this in publicist terms. You take steel from old buildings and recycle it, then use the byproduct of that process to create cement, completely cutting carbon dioxide out of the process."

"Nailed it in one!" Draco replied.

"That sounds too good to be true." Penelope began to put the pieces together as she said, "If what you're saying is accurate, you would be first-to-market with net-zero carbon concrete. Which would, potentially, become industry standard."

"Correct."

"Is there an association of concrete manufacturers?"

"Yes."

"My guess is they have thoughts about this. Overhauling the entire industry would cost loads of money."

"Yes, it will cost the Global Cement and Concrete Association's members trillions of dollars to shift their business models. But do you know where they are headquartered?"

"No."

"London. And do you know who owns the building?"

Penelope laughed.

"Don't tell me that you bowled over a global organization because you own the building where they've got their offices. Don't you dare tell me that you are shifting the world economy because you're a boy with massive toys and you like to set metal on fire."

"When Thunderbolt Cement made the discovery, I was twenty-nine, my wife had died, and I was angry at the entire world. In a way, with that discovery I got to fuck over the people who literally build the world. I had a broken heart so I wanted to break their banks. That's where all those pricks keep their hearts locked up anyway."

"That is a good line, Malfoy." Penelope shrugged. "Maybe you won't be as difficult of a client as I believed. Though, I still don't like you."

"That's fine."

"Why haven't you done publicity around the sustainability of your business?"

"Nobody asked."

"My first step will be to perform a reputation analysis so we can gauge—"

"I can do that for you right now," Draco replied. "It will just be the little shit pile emoji."

"Right." Penelope pulled out her phone and began to type. "If you're serious about dating Hermione—"

"I am not dating her."

"But you want to be."

"No."

"You want to be."

"I mean—"

Without looking up from her phone, Penelope insisted, "That was not a question either time I said it. You need to understand I am only doing this out of respect for your mother and a dedication to Hermione's happiness. Your mother is terrifying; Hermione is ferocious and I love her—"

"You are also quite an intimidating woman," added Draco.

"Thank you." She paused her typing, pointed toward him, and said, "Bonus point for that." She resumed typing then asked, "Is there anything I need to know about your businesses or your family that will make this more difficult than I already know?"

"Well, my aunt runs a cult inside a women's prison."

"I don't know how that would tie in, but appreciate you telling me. Anything else?"

"That's everything I know to say that the press hasn't gotten hold of."

They both stood, wordlessly agreeing the meeting was over. Draco insisted,

"I will walk you out."

Penelope placed her phone in her purse and looked at Draco to say, "I will do the reputation analysis. It is probably less shitty than you believe it to be. The public forgives men for a lot of things they shame women for, especially for being an asshole. Hermione mentioned offhand in one interview that she didn't like Bakeoff and I thought the network would have her assassinated."

"Does she watch television?"

"Not really, no. A couple shows here and there online, but she reads a lot. A disturbing amount, actually. She has a three bedroom flat which includes a guest room, her bedroom, and then a bedroom she's converted to a library. No telly."

"Oh."

"My best guess, Malfoy, is people believe you are an aloof billionaire asshole who owns a bunch of buildings. Your father is the problem, and if we can distance you from him—"

"I've been trying to do that for nearly twenty fucking years."

"If we can distance you from him, make you a bit softer around the edges …" Penelope shrugged. "It may not be as difficult as you or I would've guessed."

Draco insisted, "My son stays out of it."

"If you like. I think—"

"Nothing is more important to me than my son. I was launched into the zeitgeist at sixteen, I sure as hell won't put my own son through it at six."

"Understood."

"When should I hear from you?"

Penelope replied, "Around a week, since you're a priority."

"Oh, I'm a priority now?"

"Hermione is my most loyal client and therefore my top priority. If you're tied to her, that makes you a priority."

"Right, well, if that is all …?"

"Does Hermione know?" asked Penelope. "About your interest. Does she know you're starting this process for her?"

"No! Absolutely not. I'm not going to limit her ability to date other men simply because she knows I am hoping to …" Draco frowned. "I don't know what I'm hoping for. All I know is that I like being around her."

Penelope stopped at the front door and offered her hand. Draco accepted it, shook it once, then opened the door. As Penelope left, she said,

"I still don't like you."

"I'd be heartbroken if you did."

"Please tell your mum I said hello."

"Absolutely."

Penelope Clearwater left, and Draco watched her car pull out of the drive. He closed the front door and nodded to the head of staff. Before walking away, he said,

"Never leave me alone with that woman."

As Draco made his way upstairs, something Penelope said hit him a bit differently. You look guilty. Dean Thomas said the same thing on the phone. Instead of heading to his office, Draco made for his bedroom. If he truly wanted to loosen his hold on Astoria as promised, he had to make a significant change. One visible to the rest of the world.

He didn't want to. It broke his heart to consider that Astoria was entirely behind him, but she had to be. Scorpius was the future and Draco had to be present for it. He simply had to be. Draco opened his door and walked over to his bedside table. Draco looked down at the framed wedding photo. Thirty of their friends and family attended, and it was a perfect wedding. Just like everything with Astoria seemed to be: easy, beautiful, and perfect. It was an amazing day at a villa in Luberon: a sunrise ceremony in the gardens, lunch reception, and they snuck out for sex in a pool under the stars that evening. (Alone.) Of all their wedding photos, this had been Draco's favourite. Astoria preferred the traditional ceremony photograph, had it as her lockscreen until …

Until.

On their wedding day, they took some photos at an old windmill on the property. Astoria stepped on the hem of her dress, fell onto Draco, and they both fell into a heap on the ground. The photographer captured this shot of them sitting on the ground, laughing, the lower half of Astoria's dress covered in dirt. Draco looked at it and felt the ease of their relationship, how timeless that day remained.

He pulled the wedding ring off his finger and placed it in front of the photograph. That love would always have its place.

.oOo.

Friday afternoon, Draco found himself staring at his wardrobe. A single text ninety minutes earlier had upended the entire day.

Scorpius asked if I am staying for dinner, but I don't want to drive back late. Colin is off today, so I'm driving to Wiltshire myself. Do you have a guestroom?

Of course he had a guestroom. Malfoy Manor had seven guestrooms and four more rooms that could be used in a pinch. So he said yes, like an idiot. Hermione Granger would be sleeping in his house. Hermione Granger was coming to spend the night and he wanted to wear something she would like. Not because he was ready to hop into bed with another woman, but if he would do that at some point, it would probably be with Hermione. He'd known her less than a month, but … He liked her. Damn, he liked her a lot. In a way, he was beginning a competition with her memory of twenty-one-year-old Viktor Krum. "Best sex I've ever had," she said.

Draco grabbed his phone and called Blaise, who answered on the first ring. Draco launched right in with,

"When we were together, what did I look best in?"

Blaise said nothing. Draco waited, and waited, and after ten seconds he recognized Blaise didn't feel he had enough context to respond. Draco huffed,

"Hermione Granger is spending the night at the manor. She is only visiting, but I want to look dateable. I am not sure I remember how to do that."

"Take off your wedding ring."

"I did."

Blaise, once again, said nothing in response.

"Tuesday." Draco thumbed at the spot where he'd spun the ring around for seven years. "It wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be."

"That is quite a big step to take."

"Is it?" asked Draco. "Perhaps it would have been four years ago, now it feels like I'm behind. I've forgotten how to do the mechanics of dating. I've been married and widowed for seven years. Hermione told me she doesn't like when blokes are too much taller than her, so I am already working at a disadvantage."

Blaise asked, "May I speak from her perspective?"

"Of course."

"I don't know anything about Dean's life, certainly not his first marriage. I won't ask because it isn't proper. The marriage is a ghost hanging over everything which I am afraid to acknowledge, and I don't know if Dean could even see that. This is worse for you, because Astoria is not tangible. Your marriage is a ghost that will continue to follow you. Even if you have made peace with it, you have to allow Hermione that same opportunity."

"You're right." Draco conceded, "I seem to be saying that rather often as of late."

"Perhaps, but I am struggling to help myself the same. Tonight will be my second date with Dean."

"Technically."

"I usually have sex on the second date." Blaise admitted, "I don't want to have sex with him tonight, and I am afraid to tell him as much because he will think it's because I do not want to have sex with him."

"You've lost me."

"There is a rhythm to my dates, and that refrain is weighing on me. I do not want to treat Dean like everyone else."

Draco paused for a moment before replying, "Then don't."

"But—"

"Blaise, he understands you better than you give him credit for. If he asks you to come upstairs at the end of the date, then he wants you to fuck him. Do it if you're ready, don't do it if you aren't. But—"

"I'm going to fall in love with him." Blaise sighed heavily and amended, "I am in love with him. From the moment I read Scorpius his first book I connected to those words. Now I am connecting to him, and I don't know if he will ever feel the same way about me."

"He told me the same thing when he was speaking about you. The two of you are half in love already, so play into that. Feed him, fuck him, love him. Don't make it more complicated than it needs to be."

Blaise laughed.

"When I marry him, I will put that in our vows. Feed you, fuck you, and love you for as long as we both shall live."

"Already an improvement on his first nuptials."

Blaise was quiet again for several seconds, so long that Draco took to shuffling through dresser drawers. He wondered why this was so difficult. The first day he met Hermione he was in a simple button-down and black trousers, and Hermione had been looking in all the places women usually looked: hair, bum, oh, he's tall. He wanted to keep her interest, but how?

"To your question, everyone gets to see you look professional. Everyone gets to see the sex appeal, and the privilege of being your boyfriend was seeing you relaxed. I liked knowing you felt good enough around me to wear jeans."

"I should wear jeans."

"No," Blaise insisted, "you need to relax. Granger is driving Scorpius to you, so allow her to see you as you would be on the average Friday afternoon."

"Oh." Draco frowned and admitted, "I feel like an idiot for not seeing that before. I am quite lost in my own wardrobe."

"It's not so much a wardrobe as a second bedroom with clothes in it." Blaise sighed heavily then asked, "Do you want my opinion as your friend or as your ex-boyfriend?"

"Friend?"

"Wear something you feel comfortable in."

Draco scoffed, "That's fucking useless, the other option?"

"Tight trousers. Your bum is phenomenal."

"You would know."

Blaise confirmed, "I speak from vast experience."

Draco could almost see his smile. He teased,

"Better than Dean Thomas's bum?"

"I don't know." Blaise admitted, "When he kissed me I held onto him and felt how thin he is. His jeans were hideous so I don't have enough data points to determine how I feel about his backside."

"Where are you going?"

"Montague's place in Marylebone, The Balcony. It's Italian, so he knows I won't withhold criticism. I told him I am bringing a date who is more of a long-term situation, and he fell off his chair."

Draco smiled and said, "We're all a bit surprised, but after seeing the two of you together I think it is the most sensible thing in the world."

"Thank you."

"You've got this."

"Yes."

Blaise ended the call, and Draco looked around his closet. Casual. More importantly, casual with tight trousers. He grabbed a light brown wool cardigan, chocolate "velvet" jeans, and a light brown knit shirt to throw underneath. "Velvet" was just upscale corduroy that allowed them to charge an extra ten percent markup, but it was as casual as he could get,

Hair. What the bloody hell was he meant to do about his hair? Draco grabbed everything and rushed into his bathroom. He tossed it all onto the counter next to the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked good, but he'd been in meetings all day. Blazer, button-down, overpriced trousers … People traipsing in and out, virtual meetings with people whose names he couldn't remember.

When the hell had he become this person? Draco had become his father. He shuddered at the thought and shrugged off the blazer. He unbuttoned the top, took off the trousers, undressed until he was standing there in nothing but pants. Draco couldn't look at himself until he'd finished putting on the other outfit. In the mirror, he supposed he looked a bit like a praline biscuit up top and chocolate on the bottom. Draco laughed because it was quite the departure from how Hermione had seen him previously. More importantly, he didn't want Scorpius to look at him and see a businessman. Draco wanted Scorpius to look at him and see his dad.

Which is exactly how Draco felt when Hermione pulled into the drive twenty minutes later. His phone vibrated with the notification from security, but he was already on the steps out front. He could see Scorpius talking animatedly from his seat in the back of Hermione's ... Jaguar? Draco shook his head and watched as Hermione parked the car then went back to unbuckle Scorpius without so much as looking his direction.

Scorpius grabbed his rucksack off the seat and threw it on his back before hopping out of the car. He rushed over to the front of the steps and Draco met him halfway. He scooped Scorpius up into a hug and spun around once before placing him back on the ground. He pulled the rucksack from Scorp's back and asked,

"Did you have a nice drive with Hermione?"

"Yes!" He grinned up at Draco and said, "She's so cool. She knows Luna. She does 'strations for my favorite books!"

"Illustrations?" Draco confirmed.

Scorpius nodded. Draco looked up at Hermione, who had grabbed an overnight bag from the back of her car, and holy shit. Hermione was in a green blouse with a high collar, but the sleeves only came down to her elbows. The lower half of her left arm was completely exposed. Truthfully, he didn't think her skin looked awful. It wasn't great, had a purplish tint not dissimilar to wine-stained fabric, but it was fine. Noticeable, textured like a painter's palette in a way, but fine. Draco didn't react outwardly, kept his eyes on her face, but she looked good. Hermione was smiling like a weight had been lifted off her, and Draco was flattered that Hermione felt good enough around him to wear shorter sleeves.

"Granger."

"Malfoy."

"I am genuinely excited to have you here." Draco added, "I believe this is the first time we've met that has been intentional."

Hermione thought about it then conceded, "I suppose you're right."

"Thank you for bringing my son home."

"For Dean," she insisted. "I like seeing him happy. Besides, Scorpius and I spent the drive planning our shoe shopping trip."

"It requires plans?"

"Of course. We discussed route efficiency, average time spent per location, and whether we should get pedicures before or after. Does your son have a budget?"

Draco turned to glance back toward the manor, then faced Hermione with what he hoped was a skeptical enough expression. She nodded to herself and said,

"Right."

"I do have a question."

Hermione grimaced and asked, "Is it about my car?"

Draco teased, "I only wonder why you were so judgmental about Blaise driving the Jaguar to and from Wiltshire when you also drive a Jaguar. Hmm?"

"I like my car."

"You rent a car from the network and are driven around in that car—"

"Colin drives me five days per week. Monday through Thursday and usually Saturday, but sometimes Friday, or Sunday if I'm on The World This Weekend. I have my car for the other days. I hate driving in London."

"On that, we agree." Draco looked at Scorpius and asked, "Are you planning to show Hermione to the library?"

"Yes, please!"

"Say hello to mémère first, then find us in the blue guestroom."

They watched Scorpius run up the steps and through the doors without sparing so much as a look for the staff. Then he ran back, said, hello, waited for the nod, then rushed up toward the staircase. Draco couldn't help but laugh because he hadn't raised his son to be so polite. He came by it naturally. Or, more accurately, he got that from his mother.

Draco turned to face Hermione as she gave him the once-over. She did it at Blaise's party as well, without subtlety. Draco wondered if she realized she was doing it. He couldn't tell whether she liked what she found, though. Hermione's verbal observation was,

"Do you always wear such tight trousers?"

"Should I not be?"

"No, no, you look good."

Draco teased, "Where have you been looking?"

Hermione's cheeks were bright red and she averted her gaze as she insisted, "I wasn't looking with intent."

"Front or back, was all I meant."

Hermione glanced up toward the sky and sighed. She conceded,

"Both."

"And that is why I wore them." He winked and added, "You look good today."

"Are you going to hug me?" she asked.

The mood soured immediately. Draco replied,

"The last time I saw you, the hug was deemed inappropriate, as I recall."

"Only because people were watching."

"That distinction is not an improvement."

"I am sorry." Hermione insisted, "I only wanted for people to stop believing we're together romantically—"

"Would it be so bad if we were?" Draco asked.

He desperately hoped for a time machine. Some way to grab the words out of the air, wipe the confused expression off Hermione's face. He hastened to add,

"Whether they believe it or not, are you truly so worried by me? That you will come to my house, explore my library, but if one person traipsing through the halls looks at the two of us and says the wrong thing, will I be watching you rush out to your car, only to hope you've got enough care for our friendship to give me yet another weekend?" Draco asked, "Is that what this is? Am I your weekend friend, Hermione? Your good time Saturday because you've got nothing better to do?"

"No!" She insisted, "No, I want to be here."

"In my library."

"I want to be here with my friend. Why are you being such a … a …" Hermione placed her hands on her hips and huffed, "I didn't know what to do. You'd been so perfect the whole night that even I would have thought we were dating. It was only the third time I'd met you, but I haven't felt nearly as happy in years. Then you saw my arm and didn't seem to be put off by it."

Draco confirmed, "I wasn't."

"We're friends, and I don't want other people's expectations or assumptions to ruin this friendship."

"You nearly let them."

"I see that now."

"Do you understand why I am offended?"

"Of course—"

"I want to make it clear to you that our friendship is not a way for me to garner good publicity. I want to be in your life, Hermione, because …" Draco trailed off. How could he explain the way Hermione had opened him to the world again? He asked, "Have you ever been to a violin performance?"

He watched the confusion resurface on Hermione's face.

"No?"

"You should go to one, it's quite—anyhow. The violin builds and builds, in tempo and in volume, you become so enraptured in the music, in the sound, that when the violinist pulls the bow completely off for a rest, just a second, it jolts you completely out of time. All you hear is the quiet and the smallest background noises echoing in the silence. Everyone is terrified to move for fear they'll disturb the moment. The entire audience is stone-still until the performer plays the next note. The past six years, for me, have felt like that pause. Listening to everything happening around me, focusing on the external world, afraid to move. Since I met you …" Draco shrugged. "I can hear the music again."

Several emotions flitted across Hermione's face. Draco saw hope in her eyes. Hope for what? He couldn't say. Then Hermione pulled his blue sweater from her overnight bag.

"I did bring this back for you." She hesitated then asked, "Can I keep it, though?"

Can I keep it?

Why? Because the sweater was incredibly soft, clung to her curves, and made her tits look fantastic? Or, was it because it was his sweater? Draco hoped it was the second. Seeing Hermione in his clothes … That did something to him. Not in his heart, but somewhere low in his gut. Something primal he hadn't felt in longer than he cared to admit. Draco found his voice again and said,

"Of course."

"Thanks." Hermione blushed. "I, um, I wore it to Broadcasting House on Tuesday and it was quite a hit."

"You wore my sweater to work?"

"I—"

She was interrupted by the clacking of heels on the steps behind Draco. He turned toward the manor again just as—

"HERMIONE GRANGER!"

Romilda came running down the steps, shouting at Hermione.

"I have to talk to you!" She came to a stop in front of them and tried to catch her breath. She bent at the middle, one hand on a knee as she said, "I—I just, just got—got off the phone with a client. Your date—date number two, he's a bit of a nudist. He disclosed that to his first date, it's not a question we ask, though one would think he would have filed that under 'hobbies.' Anyway, is that a dealbreaker for you?"

"I cover ninety percent of my body at all times. We would have differences in opinion over, as McLaggen termed them, my 'nun clothes.'"

Romilda glanced quickly over to Draco then pointed out, "Today excepted, it seems?"

Hermione hedged a bit before saying, "Draco's already seen my arm and didn't seem to care."

"That's nice. Unfortunately this new set of circumstances means date number three will become date number two …" Romilda grimaced. "I was saving the best for last."

"Oh?" Hermione asked. She perked up a bit. "Is it a serious thing, or more of a hope for the best situation?"

Draco's heart sank. She was so excited for a potential match while he stood right in front of her. Maybe he was already out of time.

"Banging." Romilda replied, a massive grin on her face. "He's great, he's perfect for you, literally knew I would set you two up the moment his agent called."

"His agent?"

"No, no more details. You can show up and be surprised."

"Okay." Hermione shrugged. "Do I get a new third as well?"

"Of course. As soon as I find one."

"Sounds perfect."

Romilda scurried off, up the steps, leaving Draco feeling too many things to parse. He gently took the overnight bag from Hermione's hand and nodded toward the manor.

"After you?"

"Thank you for letting me stay." Hermione nodded her thanks to the staff as she walked through the door. "I wouldn't have asked except it made Scorpius happy, and I'm happy to be out of my penthouse for a night."

Draco listened to the doors close behind them and kept his breaths as even as he could. Hermione Granger was officially spending the night at the manor. No turning back, she was here and had been staring at the crotch of his trousers. Just as he'd been doing his best not to stare at her chest. He'd thought about her tits several times over the past week, filing them far out of reach of the wank material in his head. It seemed they were dancing around each other, neither sure enough to take that first step toward middle ground.

"Draco?"

"Hmm?" He shook himself from his thoughts. "Yes?"

"I don't know where to go."

"Oh. Right, up this way. I've put you in the closest room we have to the library. Shorter commute."

"I appreciate it."

As they ascended the stairs, Draco asked,

"Did you say penthouse?"

"I did."

"Do news anchors make that sort of salary?"

Hermione laughed and said, "No, we certainly don't."

"Then how—"

"Penelope negotiated my NDA with the network. I don't tell anyone where I got blown up or whom I was meant to interview, and they gave me four million Pounds."

Draco froze on the steps.

"What the bloody hell did they have you doing?"

Hermione shrugged and insisted, "Again, I don't blame either party involved. The intended interviewee had provided me with their own security as a gesture of good faith. The bomber was performing an act of protest. I chose not to judge either of those people; I was in the right place at the worst possible time. I kept my arm and got a penthouse out of it, so life could be a hell of a lot worse."

That answer seemed well-practised. Something Hermione said bothered Draco rather acutely. He asked,

"What sort of place were you where BBC would consider another person's security detail more effective than their own?"

"It wasn't the place, Draco. It was the person."

"You were interviewing the head of a terrorist organization, is what you're saying?"

"I would say, if I was telling you, which I am not, the answer to that question depends on whom you ask, and your definition of terrorism. Part of my job as a journalist is not to cast judgment until I have the facts."

Draco conceded, "You're a better person than me." He continued up the stairs and said, "Passing judgment upon others is a Malfoy family pastime."

"Oh, I judge, but not for politics. I left a date once because he was rude to our waiter. I ask questions and whether or not the answers are satisfactory is not for me to say on camera. With Ambassador Umbridge, I could ask questions like, 'Do you believe in the sovereignty of indigenous people?' Her answer allowed me to ask, 'Do you believe in the personhood of indigenous people?' Then, once she answered, I challenged her with, 'If indigenous people are equal in worth, then why do they not have the right to self-determination?' A bit more pulling on that thread, and I didn't need to ask her about racism. She exposed herself in that regard. It is far more effective when someone brings the world's judgment upon themselves than when I do it for them."

"Is it alright if I disagree with you?"

Hermione followed Draco down the hall and he slowed his pace so she wouldn't need to jog to keep up.

"Of course. I love that you are opinionated. Most of my friends treat me like I am the English-speaking world's foremost authority on journalism. They're afraid to challenge my assertions because they are either afraid I'll run circles around them or they don't want to offend the journalist who got blown up for the trouble of being a goddamn journalist."

Hermione stopped walking. Draco turned to see her standing there with a very pronounced frown.

"I didn't realize I was so bitter."

Draco nodded toward the other end of the hall and asked, "Are you ready to see your room?"

"Yes." As they began to walk, Hermione added, "Thank you for letting me stay here."

"Again, you are quite welcome. The house could use some more life in it." Draco opened the door to the blue guestroom and stepped back so Hermione could enter first. "It's a bit small, but—"

"It's wonderful."

Draco grinned. It had been so long since he'd had a guest who wasn't family. Draco followed her in and placed the overnight bag on the bed. He teased,

"You're welcome to stay tomorrow night as well, if the room has truly captured your fancy."

"I'm tempted. I brought enough clothes for at least three days because you never know when I'll get called on assignment." Hermione began rustling through the bag. She unzipped the top and pulled out shirts and trousers. She walked over to the wardrobe and said, "The fireplace is nice."

She kept talking, but Draco wasn't listening. He was staring at the top of a very familiar red metallic package peeking out from one of the side pockets in Hermione's bag. Durex. Hermione hadn't had sex in years, so who was she planning to sleep with? Where was she going after the manor? What man had captured her fancy over the past week—

Oh.

Draco hadn't done the math. He was too excited to see Hermione again to understand how it must look to her. He was a single, attractive man who had asked her to stay the night in his house. He thought back to the photographs of the way he looked at her, like the sky had opened up for the first time in years. He said,

"All the guest rooms have them, and this is actually the smallest. Room's a bit snug, but—"

"It's only me." Hermione smiled at Draco from across the room and asked, "It seems happier in here, somehow. Give me a pile of books and I might as well be on holiday."

"When did you last take a vacation?"

She shot back, "When did you?"

Draco couldn't remember, but he worked nearly seven days a week while Hermione only worked four. He crossed his arms and teased,

"Probably when I took off for Bastien's elopement. Didn't end up going, but I did step away for a few days."

"It's been about the same for me, actually. I took off then, and I anchor the desk while Cedric is on holiday for Christmas and New Year's."

Draco laughed and said, "We work too much."

"Perhaps we should go on holiday together, then," teased Hermione. "Hold ourselves accountable."

"Perhaps."

"Where would—"

Hermione stopped abruptly, staring at Draco's left hand. Before either of them could mention it, Draco was pummeled from behind as Scorpius grabbed hold of his leg.

"DAD!"

"SON!" Draco laughed and asked, "Hermione's asked to go on holiday. Where do you want to go?"

"Narnia!" Scorpius shouted back. "For snow!"

"Well," Draco glanced up to Hermione and said, "I'm sure Hermione will be happy to cover the White Witch's next coup d'état."

She didn't laugh. Draco frowned and wondered why the mood of these first fifteen minutes was so mercurial. Every meeting between them had been so easy, nearly effortless. What changed?

"Can we go to the library now?" asked Scorpius.

"Yes, please," replied Hermione. "I would like the full tour."

Scorpius rushed out of the room shouting, "THIS WAY!"

Hermione pulled out her phone and typed a quick text before locking the screen. She followed after Scorpius, not sparing Draco a look. He followed quickly behind, not bothering to speak to Hermione as she did not seem to be in the mood to speak to him. Scorpius led them down the hall, to the left, and pushed open one of the library doors.

Watching Hermione enter the library was an experience. Every negative emotion seemed to float away as she looked at the rows of bookshelves in front of her. Her voice was just a bit higher than usual when she asked,

"How are they sorted?"

Scorpius shrugged and led Hermione over to the bottom shelf of one bookcase where his favourite books lived. (Many by Dean Thomas.) Hermione pulled her phone from her pocket and placed it on the table before kneeling down to listen to Scorpius prattle on about each story. Hermione seemed enraptured by him, though. Scorp's enthusiasm had that effect on people, but Hermione spoke to him like he was on a level that merited an elevated type of conversation. Her voice didn't get higher, she wasn't nodding at everything, and in turn Scorpius felt he needed to meet her expectations. Like it was a challenge.

That primal feeling in Draco's gut returned as he watched Hermione with his son. It wasn't that Hermione looked like a mum; she didn't. That wasn't the sort of woman she was. No, she was the sort of woman who pushed people, even five-year-olds, to consider the world in new ways. There was something rather marvelous about the ease with which she did it. Draco stood back, allowing them their moment. He'd learned better than to hover. Scorpius would ask for him when he was needed.

Hermione's phone vibrated with a new text. Draco glanced downward to see it was from Parvati. He shouldn't have read it. He really shouldn't have, and he knew as much, so he looked away. But then a second text came and he didn't have the willpower to resist.

He took off the ring a week after you tell him you're looking for a boyfriend?

That boy's got a thing for you.

Good to know Hermione's friends could see it. Draco's own friends could see it. The only person who couldn't see Draco's continent-sized crush on Hermione was Hermione herself. Her phone vibrated with yet another text.

He's a decent man. Good dad. Ron and Harry will hate him, which makes me like him even more.

"Why is your arm purple?"

That question pulled Draco right out of his thoughts. He insisted,

"Scorp, that question is not appropriate. Not a nice question."

"But—"

"It's okay." Hermione looked up at Draco from where she was seated on the floor and repeated, "It's okay. I can answer the question."

Draco insisted, "You shouldn't have to."

"I was burned," she said. "My skin didn't heal all the way, and the doctors can't figure out a way to fix it."

Scorpius asked, "Can I touch it?"

"No." Draco frowned and waited until Scorpius looked up at him, ashamed. "Not kind."

"But—"

"You are being very rude to our guest."

Scorpius had the most earnest, confused look on his face. He insisted,

"You told me ask questions. Uncle Blaise says ask questions. What's bad about questions?"

"Nothing." Hermione interjected, "There is nothing wrong with your questions. Yes, you can touch it."

Scorpius didn't move, waiting for Draco to nod his approval.

"If Hermione says you can, then it is fine with me."

Scorpius placed his hand on Hermione's arm and frowned.

"It's scratchy." He moved his hand up and down Hermione's arm. "I don't like it."

Hermione laughed and admitted, "I don't care for it much, either."

"Does it hurt?"

"Sometimes."

"Does it change colour?"

Hermione laughed and answered, "No, it is always purple."

"What happened?"

Draco insisted, "Scorp, you already asked her that question. She answered."

"Not entirely," replied Hermione. "My arm doesn't work properly anymore. When you lift your shoulder this way," Hermione shrugged her right shoulder upward then moved her elbow up and down, "There is a muscle that connects the bones right here, called the rotator cuff. It's like a rubber band that expands and contracts. The explosion tore that muscle right off the outer bone. In surgery they had to drill holes into my bone right here, thread some stuff through, and sew it back to the outer bone then screw the thread down into my shoulder."

Scorpius's face scrunched up as he asked, "Does it hurt?"

"Sometimes. This one," she patted the upper part of her chest, "the collarbone hurts more. It broke apart into three pieces, a couple of bones were poking through my skin—"

"Gross."

Draco nodded in agreement. Except when Scorpius said "gross," what he really meant was "cool."

"I suppose it was gross. I don't remember much except being worried I would lose my arm."

Hermione got a far-off look on her face just then. It only lasted a few seconds, and if Draco hadn't been getting to know her for nearly a month he wouldn't have picked up on it. She'd been transported right back to that moment so Draco asked,

"Do you want to tell Scorpius how your arm healed?"

"Oh." Hermione pulled herself out of whatever trail of thought she'd been heading down. "Right, well, they put the bones back into place then screwed them into a metal plate. Sometimes I feel my arm is more metal than it is Hermione."

"But you have a metal arm?" asked Scorpius. "COOL!"

Hermione laughed and turned to Draco to say, "Why is your son handling this better than any of my friends?"

"He's a kid. Blowing stuff up is cool, a metal arm is cool, you know his favourite artist, I'm fairly certain he's about to ask you to move in."

Hermione smiled softly and Draco's heart melted. Oh, God, he was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble. At that moment, Scorpius decided to continue his escapades in ill-timed questions.

"Did you know my mum?"

Draco didn't know what to do with that question, but, as with everything else, Hermione took it in stride.

"No. In fact, I've only known your dad a few weeks and I met you first." She leaned closer and pretended to whisper, "I began with the best."

"Oh."

"I like learning about her, though," added Hermione. "Your dad loved her quite a lot, and talking about her makes him happy."

"It does," Draco confirmed.

Scorpius didn't have much information about Astoria. Draco had tried to thread the needle between keeping Astoria's memory alive and not making Scorpius feel like her absence was his doing. After their talk last Saturday, they hadn't had much time together. Overtaken by the sudden convergence of past and—hopefully—future, Draco said,

"Actually, Scorp, I have something to show you."