CW: Strong Language
TW: Minor Violence
The love you can't give me.
Draco watched Hermione close the door to her flat, then fell backward against the wall. He pressed one hand against his chest and closed his eyes, trying to quell the heartbreak. Letting her go was the proper thing to do, but that didn't make the blow hurt any less. She was right on the other side of that door, but Draco was too far in the past to reach her. The worst part of it all?
He'd done this to himself.
Hermione wanted him the same way he wanted her. Draco could picture it, taking her out, holding her hand, watching Scorpius at one of the tot football matches … Being in love with her. His phone buzzed with a text from Blaise.
Three minutes out.
Draco made his way to the front of Hermione's building. He needed distance from that failure of his own making. She was everything he could've asked for in a second love, she'd offered herself up, yet he couldn't bring himself to accept. Astoria was a weight that was lighter when Hermione was around, but a weight nonetheless. He had nowhere to place her memory, nowhere to truly let it rest.
Draco ignored the first car to pull up because it wasn't Blaise. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and wondered, would Astoria would want this for him? Did she want to become this wall between Draco and the rest of the world? It certainly didn't feel as easy and soft as life had been with her—
Draco reeled sideways as a fist collided with his left cheek.
"Fucking hell!" Draco worked his jaw around and winced. "Who the hell are—" Draco got a good look at the man. Red hair, inches taller than him, and far too eager to defend Hermione's honour. "The ex-husband. Right."
"How do you know who I am?"
"Because Hermione was all too happy to show me her wedding photos. I'd say it is good to meet you, but present circumstances …"
"All I see here is a rich bastard leaving Hermione's flat. Would you like to fill in the rest of the picture?"
Draco knew he shouldn't say, "It's fairly simple, paint-by-numbers sort of information, really. Even you should be able to figure it out." But he did.
Hermione's ex-husband moved to hit Draco again, but his passenger shouted,
"Ron!"
The anger didn't leave his eyes, but he stepped back. Draco glared right back until the passenger stepped to Weasley's side, far shorter than both of them, and—
"Potter?"
He was greeted with a cool, "Malfoy."
"What are you doing here?"
"Hermione's been my best friend since secondary school, so what the hell are you doing here?"
The ex-husband said, "Hermione texted us from hospital, she called me last night from Wiltshire, and the only thing connecting those bits of information is him."
Draco shot back, "Wonderfully impressive reasoning."
Potter asked again, "Why are you here?"
"I drove Hermione home, and I am waiting on my car." The truth was best in this situation, right? "We said goodbye and I'd been here all of ninety seconds when Hermione's ex-husband here decided to punch me in the face without cause."
"I told Hermione if you were sleeping together that I'd punch you in the face."
"We're not sleeping together."
"She called me last night from your bloody house, absolutely broken up over you rejecting her."
"Yes," Draco confirmed, "which I did. We considered giving it a go, I hesitated, and Hermione knows she is worth more than that. The only reason she stayed the night was because she couldn't drive herself home in the dark. She intended to leave at breakfast when some … Unresolved family issues resurfaced."
The ex-husband asked, "What does that mean?"
"Does it matter what it means? My father-in-law fucked up Hermione's shoulder, and if my son hadn't been standing right there I would've strangled him for it."
"She was a guest in your home, didn't want to be there, and got hurt for it? Excellent work, Malfoy."
"You think I don't know that?" Draco shouted back, "You think I don't know it's my responsibility to keep my family safe?! Do you think I wanted Hermione to have to do it for me?"
Hermione's ex stepped toward Draco and raised his voice to say,
"Isn't that what blokes like you do best? Farm out the hard work to the rest of us?"
"Oh, fuck off with that. If you've got something to say about my father—"
He stepped closer so they were nearly nose-to-nose and insisted, "I have plenty to say about your father."
"Well he's dead, so feel free to follow in his footsteps if you'd like to lodge a complaint."
"Lead the way."
Before Draco could respond, he felt a hand on his shoulder pull him back a full step. Draco turned and was surprised to see Dean Thomas. He leaned past Draco to whisper something to Hermione's ex-husband. It was rare that Draco felt short, but as the lowest point of this suddenly very tense triangle, he felt closer to Potter's level than his own. Hostility heightened as that ginger arsehole nodded to whatever Dean Thomas had asked. Dean didn't look at Draco when he said,
"Get in the car."
"I—"
"Backseat."
Draco finally noticed that Blaise had arrived, child seat still in the back of the Jaguar. Blaise was calmly looking between the four of them, but Draco could read the worry in his shoulders. Draco walked away, opened the rear door, and half-fell onto the seat. He slammed the door closed and said,
"I hope your date had a better ending than mine."
"Would you like to tell me why that man hit you?"
"That is Hermione's ex-husband, who saw me outside her flat and believed we must be shagging."
"You're not?"
"No."
"Did you wear tight trousers?"
"Regrettably."
"Right. We can talk about this at home."
"There is nothing to discuss." Draco watched Dean Thomas walk toward the car as Potter and Weasley walked toward the building's front door. "Hermione and I wanted to, but I wasn't ready."
"I feel just the opposite. I have never felt more ready for love." Blaise nodded to Dean and said, "I am going to marry that man."
"You know after a date and a half?"
"Didn't you?"
Draco confirmed, "Yes, I did."
Dean opened the passenger door, took his seat, belted up, and told Blaise to, "Drive."
"Would you like to add some context to that interaction?" asked Draco.
Dean sighed heavily and leaned back to rest his head against the seat.
"The past year, I'd put the number of times Harry has left the house for anything that's not therapy or medical at about seven. Back in school, all of us were close. Me, Neville, Shea, Ron, Harry, Hermione, the Patil twins. The three of them, though, Ron and Harry and Hermione, they were the golden trio. They were always getting into trouble, but made things better in the process. The three of them remain incredibly close. I knew Ron and Harry were already tense because, to them, Hermione was hurt because of you."
"They are not alone in that assessment." Draco glared out the window to watch the power station shrink into the distance. He admitted, "I agree with them."
"I asked Ron if Harry had his gun in the car, and he said yes. Things could have gone very poorly for all of you if that conversation continued down the path it seemed to be going."
Draco admitted, "I don't think Potter would actually hurt me."
"You're wrong."
"I trust your judgment."
"They won't mention this to Hermione, and I suggest you don't either."
"Is that normal for you lot?" asked Draco. "To keep things from her?"
Dean laughed.
"We've always kept things from Hermione; she's quite vindictive. She and Parvati offered to murder my ex-husband before the divorce was finalized so I could keep my house."
"Your ex kept the house?" asked Blaise.
"Seamus kept everything. He got the house, my car, his car, our watch collection—every part of the life we built together, he kept."
As gently as he could, Draco said …
"That doesn't sound like much of a negotiation."
Dean Thomas hedged a bit before saying, "It was fine."
"Did you keep anything?"
"I did."
They were quiet for awhile after that, nothing but the sound of the GPS telling Blaise which way to turn. Eventually, Dean revealed,
"I asked for two things: a guarantee I would never need to pay spousal support and the sole rights to the profits I receive for my books. Shea saw the potential in them, and he wanted a cut so badly that I gave up my entire life to keep control. Which is what he wanted, I think, in the end. To know I would have to start over."
"But you did nothing wrong." Draco added, "You weren't the one who …"
"Who cheated." Dean insisted, "You can say it, I'm not offended. My husband did what he did. He wanted to get caught, wanted to humiliate me because he wanted out of our marriage."
"Can I ask why?"
"I don't know." Dean sighed heavily and said, "All I can say is divorce can quite easily take love and turn it to hate."
Blaise quietly said, "You don't seem to hate him."
"I don't. The divorce made me hate myself, mostly, for not being enough for him. I felt humiliated, inadequate, all sorts of things ran through my head for years. Was it that he was bringing in more money than I did? All our friends had marriages that were fairly equal; he was the only one supporting his partner. Ginny made enough at Arsenal and from endorsements to support their family while Harry was abroad. Hermione and Ron were making about equal pay before they got divorced and Ron's new marriage is similar. Neville and his wife were both pursuing the sort of degrees that take ten years. That's why I wrote my first book, so Seamus wouldn't feel like I wasn't contributing enough. I wanted to bring in a check and say, 'We are going on holiday as my treat.' Instead, I came home with my book advance to find him sucking someone else's cock."
Draco summarized, "Your husband cheated on you, took all the shit you cared for, kept your house … And you hate yourself for that?"
"I'm working on it. That's why I, um, why I hadn't … Why I hadn't dated anyone since. Ginny thinks it's because I was afraid someone would cheat on me again, but the truth is I didn't date anyone because if I couldn't be what my husband needed me to be, what hope did I have to be that for someone else?"
Hadn't Hermione said the same thing? And if she had … Did Draco's hesitation confirm she was right to feel that way? He sighed and mumbled to himself,
"I fucked up."
.oOo.
When Draco arrived home on Sunday, he scooped his son into a tight hug. Scorpius's first question was,
"Is Hermione okay?"
Draco assured him that Hermione was fine. But she wasn't. Draco hurt Hermione in a deep way, causing her heartache that was far different from his own. He knew as much because in the blue guestroom, on the corner of the bed closest to the door, was his blue sweater. His heart was heavy as he noted Hermione had made the bed. She had fluffed the pillows, placed everything in order, and left the potential for something more right there on the edge. A perfectly folded reminder of the pain he caused them both. Draco picked up the sweater and pressed the fabric between the pads of his fingers.
I fucked up.
Nothing Monday, but Draco watched Hermione on the news.
Nothing Tuesday, but Draco watched Hermione on the news.
Nothing Wednesday, but Draco watched Hermione on the news.
Thursday was a complete workweek with nothing from Hermione.
He caved on Friday. He needed to hear from her. That afternoon he texted her a photograph of the shoulder of his jacket, which had been turned into a bird toilet. Draco added:
Right place, wrong time?
Hermione replied a couple hours later with: Consider it a gift from me.
Her anger was still simmering, but at least she was willing to speak to him. He added:
On the shit scale, I suppose bird isn't so bad.
Hermione revealed: Romilda scheduled my second date for a week from today.
Draco pressed the message to give it a thumbs-up. That was the last he heard from her until Penelope Clearwater called the following Tuesday. Romilda summoned Draco from his office then sat dutifully off to the side of Narcissa's office in her makeshift desk, while Narcissa had her mobile on speaker. Narcissa announced,
"My son has arrived."
"Good." Penelope's voice came through with stark clarity. "I'm calling you both because I have good news and catastrophic news. Beginning with the single ray of sunshine in this shitstorm of a day, Draco, your reputation analysis was quite good. Women under forty tend to admire that you've embraced your sexuality, they love your hair, and most of them would eagerly jump into bed with you."
Draco grinned and replied, "That sounds like great news to me."
"Everyone over fifty-five hates you for your last name, there's nothing we can do about it, you are forever associated with your father's political scandal. It's best not to deal with them."
"Understood."
"Men under fifty-five tend toward curiosity. Many see you as a financial icon, which disgusts me past the point of comprehension—"
"Miss Clearwater."
"You know how I feel about generational wealth, Narcissa."
There was a long, tense pause before Narcissa said,
"You may continue."
"They don't know much about you, Draco, but the one thing everyone agrees on is that you look fantastic every time you step outside your house. As that appears to be your biggest selling point, I've gotten you a magazine cover."
"Ugh," Draco groaned. "They will ask about my father."
"Yes," Penelope agreed, "but I believe we can spin that."
"How?"
"You speak about how your father's scandal influenced your decision to keep your son out of the spotlight."
"No."
"Not speaking about your son, Draco, you don't even need to mention his name. Say your father has damned you to a life of questions and judgment from the public, which you would like to spare your son."
Draco looked to his mother, who nodded her approval.
"I accept. Which magazine?"
"GQ."
Draco shook his head and said,
"Apologies, I thought you were referring to Gentlemen's Quarterly."
"I am. Their upcoming cover has been 'cancelled' for something or other. Genuinely, you and Hermione are my favourite clients if for no other reason than you don't have social media. (I take Fleur's phone away every time someone tweets about Bill's face.) GQ were rather desperate; their backup was a male model who, I dunno, only wears sustainable underwear and has a line of vegan protein powder. When I pitched you as the sustainable billionaire, they were all but kissing the ground at my feet."
"This is great news, which worries me for the rest of it."
"As it should." Penelope sighed heavily and sounded like she was holding back tears. "I love Hermione. I know I give her a lot of shit for being so secretive about her shoulder, but she's an unbelievable talent. She will change the world somehow, and I'm meant to be the one making that path for her. In twelve years, this is the second time one of my plans has backfired. The first time I got her sent to Afghanistan, but I also got her out. There's nothing I can do for her this time."
"Penelope." Draco hedged before asking, "What's happened?"
"Two weeks ago, when you asked for my services, I told you that the public is far more forgiving of men than they are women."
"Yes."
"I just got this news not ten minutes before our call. Ambassador Shacklebolt is retiring ahead of schedule. He will be stepping down in three weeks' time."
Oh, no.
No.
Draco's heart plummeted straight out his bum as he knew what Penelope would reveal before she said it.
"They've chosen Percy Weasley to fill the spot."
Draco shook his head and leaned closer to the phone. He insisted,
"This will kill Hermione. There must be a way to get them to reconsider."
"I have tried. It doesn't matter how many statements I issue refuting an article, the Daily Mail piece is top of mind for everyone."
"So this is my fault," said Draco. "Because she was seen with me, she's losing out on this position."
"Yes and no."
Narcissa was far too calm when she asked, "Which is it?"
"Both. It has nothing to do with Draco, not really. Between McLaggen and Malfoy, they're branding Hermione as a slag. They made it seem like she is going through men the way the average person goes through the paper. Read, then discard. It didn't matter if it was Draco or some other rich bastard, the bureaucrats don't want Hermione to get in because the minute she does things will begin to change. She will make change. They will do anything to keep the status quo, including branding the best journalist in the country as some kind of whore for the one percent."
"Oh my God." Draco couldn't believe it. "She's going to jump off her balcony, Penelope, I'm not joking. This has been a bad time for her, and—"
"What don't I know?" Penelope challenged him. "Why is it a bad time?"
"Because she asked me to take our friendship to a more romantic level, and I declined. We've hardly spoken since."
Penelope was quiet for a long while. Draco felt his mother glaring holes into his forehead, but he stared resolutely down at the phone. Penelope asked,
"You hired me for the sole purpose of not hurting Hermione's reputation. You said you wanted to be safe for her by the time she asked to date you."
"Yes."
"So she was ready and you … You said no?"
"Correct."
Penelope said, "Congratulations, Narcissa, on raising a fucking idiot of a son. I'll email you the details of GQ but my rate has doubled." She groaned and said, "I told you because she called you after she lost Breakfast and you seemed to keep her above water. I believed you would be her first call once she hears the news tomorrow. You just … You just … God, I can't believe you said no! I cannot believe you would … Forget it. Narcissa, I respect you more than anyone I've ever met. You and me, I always felt we understood each other. I say this with the knowledge you can have me killed at your whim, but as of this moment our working relationship is terminated."
The line went dead.
The air in the room was suddenly heavy, the only noise was the distant whir of the grounds crew's machines as they tended to the plants outside. Romilda didn't move a muscle. Draco finally looked up from the desk to see his mother staring at him, somehow looking ten years older. The expression on her face? That was the look of disappointment he was used to seeing from his father. He'd never seen it from her. Draco stood up from the chair and turned to leave, feeling all sorts of emotions he was afraid to name.
"Where do you believe you are going?"
His mother's voice was low, hardly more than a whisper. It was the same tone she'd used to terrify the Greengrasses. Draco turned to face her and watched as she stood to her full height. It had been a very long time since she had felt the need to reassert her position as matriarch; he'd nearly forgotten what it felt like to be on the receiving end of her disappointment.
"You have one opportunity to explain to me what happened with the Granger girl."
"I said what happened."
His mother walked around her desk and stood directly in front of him. Draco held his breath as Narcissa repeated in that terrifyingly even tone,
"Explain to me what happened with the Granger girl."
"Friday evening, when she was meant to call Penelope and handle the Daily Mail piece, as you recall I followed her. I asked her not to refute it because I wanted to be in a relationship with her. Then I hesitated because I realized I was comparing my feelings for her to my love for Astoria, and it's not fair for me to do that to her."
"So you lied."
"No, I—"
"When you said the Granger girl asked you to be with her romantically, you lied. You asked her, then the grief took it back."
Draco looked at his mother and wished he could deny it. She already knew the answer, she knew where the conversation would end, and Draco could do nothing except stand there and receive it.
"I believed I could be there for her. She understands my grief and has never tried to compete with it."
"Yet you made her compete. You made her compete with Astoria. After you rejected her, that woman still put herself in front of your son to protect him. She had no idea the magnitude of what she stepped into, all she wanted was to keep your son out of the situation. Not her son. Yours."
Draco conceded, "I know."
"I set the table for you. I pulled her into this, I did everything to ensure you had this opportunity. All you had to do was fall in love with an exceptional, brilliant woman, and you couldn't even do that."
"You're wrong, I did fall in love with her. It's just not enough, I am not ready—"
"When will you be unafraid to love again?"
Draco shook his head and looked away because all he could hear were Hermione's words. An honour to be at the top of the pyramid of people you are incapable of loving. He hadn't just kept himself away from her; he'd kept parts of himself away from his family. From his son. But the Astoria-shaped hole in his life seemed too deep to escape. He gave his mother the only answer that felt true.
"I don't know."
The back of Narcissa's hand collided with Draco's cheek, and it resounded through the room like a gunshot. Romilda gasped and Draco glared at her. Romi should not have seen any of this. Hermione's ex-husband couldn't so much as dream to humiliate him the way Draco's own mother had. Draco's right cheek throbbed, but he didn't dare move. Romilda curled in on herself, desperate to be anywhere else. Narcissa snapped,
"Don't look at Romilda. You look at me."
Draco grit his teeth and turned his gaze toward his mother, whose disappointment hurt even worse than the slap to his face. He promised,
"I will repair your relationship with Penelope Clearwater."
"No, I will repair that relationship. You have made it quite clear there is one relationship, and only one that you care for, my son."
"I won't apologize for loving my wife."
"You don't love your wife, Draco Lucius Malfoy, you love the past. Your father taught you better than this."
"If you had died before my father, he would've killed himself to be with you again. Pardon me for not having considered that a viable option."
"Haven't you? Running the business, caring for your son, going to your wife's resting place, and repeat. Please, my son, tell me when exactly in the past five years, you have lived a life. Skipping your best friend's wedding because you can't recover what you lost? You will continue to lose yourself in that grief. Your son has never known his father, Draco. Never. Not a single day have you been the man you were before this grief overtook you. Not a single moment have you been the man I raised you to be. I thought Miss Granger would be the one to finally lift the veil and bring you back to us. But if she can't, then I don't believe anyone can."
"I—"
"You are a disappointment to me, to this family's name, and to your son. You can go to your room."
"Do not talk to me as if I am fifteen again!"
"Then do not love like a child!"
Narcissa turned her back and walked to her desk. Romilda had her clipboard clutched to her chest, eyes hopping between the two of them. Narcissa shuffled some papers around with the pads of her fingertips and, without looking up, said,
"Leave, or I will have security escort you."
.oOo.
Hermione didn't call.
Penelope wouldn't answer.
Wednesday was a clusterfuck of a day. Draco couldn't concentrate during his meetings, half of them in-person, and kept glancing toward his phone every five minutes hoping Hermione would call. He needed to know she was okay after the noon announcement.
He could call Diggory; someone had to have his number. He could call Ginny. He could call Bastien and have him ask Padma if they'd heard from Hermione, but Draco knew it wasn't his place. Not anymore. Hermione would call if she needed him, and he had forsaken the right to call her first. Draco placed his fingertips against the right side of his face and sighed. At five o'clock, he phoned Theo.
"Hello?"
"I need you to be honest with me."
"I'm always honest with you."
"Which is why I called."
"What's wrong?" Theo's voice increased in volume when he repeated, "What's wrong?"
"I fucked up my relationship with Hermione. I fucked it up so bad, Theo, that I don't know if she's ever going to talk to me again."
"She will."
"I don't—"
"You've got to trust me on this one, brother; when it comes to complicated relationships you have no experience."
Draco frowned.
"That's not true."
"You've had two relationships in your entire life. You'd known Blaise for fifteen years by the time you started shagging, and Blaise is far more conservative than anyone tends to notice. All he's ever wanted is a husband to come home to every night. Maybe a kid, but then you gave him one to care for and he's perfectly happy with that. You knew everything about him before you started dating, you were happy for a year, and it ended amicably. Astoria was as uncomplicated as you could get. The two of you were so happy all the time that it was irritating. The proposal was perfect, the wedding was perfect, and your son is so fucking perfect, Draco, that you've never had to deal with anything complicated except of your own making."
"Rude."
"Honest."
"Fair."
"So what did you do?" asked Theo. "Wait, wait, no, let me guess. You tried to give it a go with Hermione, couldn't stop thinking about Astoria, so you ended it."
"I was going to kiss her and stopped halfway there."
"Wow." Theo laughed and said, "I'll give you this, you sure know how to torture yourself. You didn't even have sex with her, and you're trying to tell me that you've fucked it all up?"
"Yes."
"Draco, I've known Hermione a couple years now, I've been watching her on the telly for four, and I know her well enough to say that she doesn't give up when she wants something. That woman looks at you a way she doesn't look at anyone else."
"And?"
"And you're a fucking idiot."
"Now you sound like Bastien."
"Well, sometimes he's right. I've only been with one woman, so I can't speak to the ups and downs of going from one person to another. But I can speak to complications. I was twenty when I got married. Trace was going to business school and I was inventing shit that would eventually make us enough money to get a house. That was our only goal: a house. Then Trace got pregnant and we had to drop everything, every dream we had because we had not one but two babies to care for? Trace didn't want to leave business school, so I had to give up my career for two years, and I did it because it was the right thing for us to do. Tracey deserved that from me. More than a decade later, I get to do everything I want to do because Trace runs a wildly successful business. All because I got my head out of my arse when I needed to."
"Right."
"Scarlett and Sebastien are happy. Trace and I are happy. All you have to do is listen to Hermione when she tells you what she wants, and then you do it."
Draco revealed, "She wants me to, quote, 'Find the love [I] can't give [her.]' So she wants me to help her find someone to fill the spot she offered to me."
"No."
"No?"
"When she says, 'Find the love you can't give her,' that doesn't mean it has to be somebody else. That love can come from you, you've only got to find it. That means, whether you like it or not, you have to stop mourning your wife."
"I took my wedding ring off a couple weeks ago."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Theo said,
"I'm proud of you for that."
"Thanks, but I moved too quickly and fucked it up."
"For now."
"For now, for later, forever, it seems." Draco groaned, "She got really bad news today, and last time she received bad news she called me. Now I think I might've lost her as both a future partner and as a friend."
"Give her time. Their friend group is close, too. She will get support where she feels it's best to get it. Maybe this time it's not you. Maybe it is. You've only got to stop trying to figure out what's in her head and start looking at what she does. She is a woman of action. She does things. Pay attention to that and you'll have a better understanding of where she sees you in her life, yeah?"
"Right now she's ignoring me."
"Because, as previously stated, you were an idiot."
Draco nodded to himself and admitted, "I was an idiot."
.oOo.
At ten o'clock, Draco nestled into the couch, nervous, waiting to see Hermione's expression. He guessed she would be professional, composed, and no one would be the wiser that her biggest dream has been ripped from her hands. Diggory appeared onscreen after the title sequence.
"Welcome to BBC News at Ten. I'm Cedric Diggory and our top story this evening is that Hermione Granger has finally taken a day off." He played it off as a joke, but there was worry in his eyes. "In other domestic news tonight—"
Oh, God. When was the last time Hermione missed a day? He pulled out his phone to dial Ginny—it was best to check in on her, right? Not to call her directly, because Hermione would reach out if she needed him. Bas was always an option; he could ask Padma. Draco received a call from security before his thumb touched the screen. He answered,
"Draco."
"Mr. Malfoy, we've got a situation at the front gate."
"What sort of situation?"
"Well there's a car out front. Policy is we don't engage until they approach the gate or the guard station, and she didn't quite make it to either one. Thing is, we're not meant to meddle in your private affairs but I ran the visitor logs for the plate and I'm fairly certain that's Hermione Granger. She's got the X5 parked out there, lights on, license plate–
Draco rushed to the front door as quickly as he could, not bothering to look for shoes. Out the door, down one staircase, through the hall that felt a hundred metres longer than it was because Hermione was there, she needed him, and he didn't move fast enough. Every moment she sat there was a moment he wasn't helping her. Draco nearly tripped down the front steps and ignored the path, cutting across the grass toward the front gate. Security must've seen him coming because the gates began to open as they came into view.
He spotted the X5 about ten metres from the exterior guard station. Draco ran to the front, opened the passenger door, and sat down. He caught his breath then turned to look at Hermione, stone-still with her forehead resting against the top of the wheel. Draco asked,
"Are you hurt?"
"I stole the car." Hermione let out a sob that sounded like she'd been holding it in for far too long. She barely held herself together long enough to say, "Colin w-was in the loo and I-I stole the car. I didn't know what to do so I drove here."
Draco repeated, "Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Did you tell anyone—"
"No."
"Unlock your phone for me."
"No."
"Hermione, I know we're not on best of terms right now, but if you've gone missing—"
She sat up and rested her head against the seat. Hermione grabbed her phone, punched in the code, and handed it to Draco. He asked,
"Who should I call?"
She choked out a gravelly, "Percy."
Draco frowned and asked, "Who?"
"I hate him, I hate him s-so much, he's the worst, biggest bureaucrat bloody twat of a human who wouldn't know a good time if it strangled him with his tie." Hermione wiped tears from her cheeks as she said, "I lost Breakfast to Marietta. Did you know that? Marietta. She hates BBC, but the moment they offered her the sofa she couldn't abandon ITV quick enough. She knew she was taking it away from me. Then I lost you to the memory of your wife. I handled all that rejection because it's the proper thing to do, I can do this, I can be this, I can … I can … I can't handle losing to Percy."
Draco stepped out of the car and closed the door, confident Hermione wouldn't drive away while he had her phone. He figured the best place to start in this situation was with the obvious: the car. Colin, she said. He found the only Colin in her contacts and dialed. Colin answered before the tone had finished its second note.
"Hermione, where are you? I haven't told anyone about the BMW, nobody knows it's missing, we don't have any problems if you—"
"Is this Colin?"
"Oh my God, please tell me you know where Hermione—"
"This is Draco Malfoy. She's driven the X5 to my home in Wiltshire."
"Oh, thank God, yes, I remember where that is. Is she okay?"
"I dunno if okay is how I'd phrase it, but she is in one piece."
"I can get a car and be up there in about three hours."
It wouldn't be quite so easy to explain away a second car, and Hermione was in no fit state to drive back. He asked,
"In your contract, who is permitted to drive the X5?"
"Me."
"Anyone else?"
"No, sir. Not unless I am incapacitated."
"Here's what's going to happen, then. You are going to get the hell out of Broadcasting House without being seen. Hermione will drive the car back to Battersea in the morning, you'll do whatever needs to be done with it, and pick her up in the afternoon like none of this ever happened."
"But—"
"A thousand quid will appear in your bank account for the trouble. Do you understand?"
"I don't need you to—"
"Do you understand?"
"Yeah, yeah, I've got it. But you've got her, right? You're not gonna … not gonna take advantage of … I feel like right shit asking it, but she's my boss, you know? I care about her and I don't want—"
"You and I both know Hermione wouldn't have driven here if I was that sort of man."
"Right."
"Hermione will call you when she is back in Battersea tomorrow."
"Understood."
Draco ended the call, then scrolled through her contacts until he found Dean Thomas's number. He pressed the call button and Dean picked up after the first ring.
"Hermione?!"
"Not quite. She took the network's car for a joyride to Wiltshire."
"Oh, thank God." Dean sighed in relief. "We've been searching after her for hours. Her makeup artist said she vanished from the chair and she hasn't been answering her phone. We thought … Well, we thought a lot of things."
"I figured that would be the case, which is why I phoned you. If you can call everyone who is worried for her, or text, or—please let them know she's safe."
"Do you want me to tell them she's with you?"
Draco looked at Hermione, slumped over, once again resting her head on the wheel.
"No, they'll judge her for it. Everyone else has, I don't need your circle thinking poorly of her choices, as well."
"Don't take Ron and Harry's opinions as our gospel," cautioned Dean. "Parvati is over the bloody moon at the thought of the two of you. Ginny loves it, and you know I am on your side in this because I like you for her."
"She's not here for that, she's here because—"
"She drove to you at night, in a stolen car, on one of the worst days of her life."
"I see your point."
"I will tell them she is safe, and tomorrow I will tell them where she went. Is that acceptable to you?"
"Yes."
"I trust you to take care of her."
"I will."
Draco ended the call and opened the door, slotting himself back into the passenger seat. He placed the phone in the console between them and said,
"Colin knows the car is here. Dean Thomas knows you are safe, and he will tell whomever else needs to know."
Hermione nodded, her breaths steadier than they were. Draco asked,
"Do you want to tell me why you're here, or would you rather just—"
"When the announcement came, my phone exploded with calls. Texts. My friends were upset for me, losing my dream job. I didn't want to talk to Ron or Ginny because they have to be excited for Percy. Harry has enough to deal with. Padma and Parvati and Cedric and Angelina and everybody I know were so sorry. They all kept talking to me like I was a statue with a giant crack running through me, waiting for me to fall apart. I knew I would cry and I didn't want to do it in front of them. They already see me as weak."
"Nobody believes you are weak."
"Limited, then."
"Hermione, I think sometimes you have to admit that you are."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you won't be the person I play tennis with, and it may be you don't have the ability to do everything that you once did. But whether you have one arm or two or something in between, you can still deliver the news. Everyone still wants to watch you. Nobody would ever say that you are weak in confrontation, or that your integrity is vulnerable. People see that you are a courageous journalist—"
"But they don't like me! I just wanted people to like me for once, just once. I can't help but feel there is nowhere to go, and I will be stuck at the same desk for the next twenty years of my life. Or probably five, I suppose, because you know what happens to women in media when they turn forty."
Draco asked, "Why do you want people to like you?"
"Because I want to be around people who are happy to see me! I don't want to be a drag on my friends, and everyone I meet seems to think I can't be a nice person. All I do on television is cover horrible things and make powerful people look incredibly stupid. Sometimes I just want to feel like it's okay for me to talk about films, or shoes. Shoes make me taller. Shoes make me normal. It doesn't matter what sort of woman I'm talking to, if I am in a nice pair of shoes, I always have something to talk about that isn't the fucking news."
"Right." Draco nodded, took a deep breath, and said, "Here's what we're going to do. You are going to drive this car through the gate and park out front. We will go upstairs to the blue guestroom where you are staying the night, leaving after breakfast, and making it out of this house without going to hospital."
"Okay."
Hermione followed instructions. Draco nodded to the guard on duty, grateful he'd chosen to bend protocol the slightest bit and notify Draco that Hermione had (sort of) arrived. She was slow to pull through, then around the circular drive at the front of the manor. Draco hopped out, walked around the car to her door, and opened it. She said,
"I don't want to move."
"I'm not letting you spend the night in your car."
"It's the network's—"
"Get out of the car, Hermione."
She unfastened the belt and swung her legs sideways. She halfheartedly pushed herself into a standing position and sort of fell forward into a hug. Draco pulled her close and shut the door with his free hand. Hermione stood there for a minute, not crying so much as she was praying for the world to stop turning. Draco stepped away and led her to the door, through the manor, and into the blue guestroom. Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and Draco asked,
"Would you like me to leave?"
"No."
"Would you like me to stay?"
She nodded and patted the spot next to her on the bed. Draco walked toward her, slowly, then tentatively sat down next to her. He said,
"I know the way we left things—"
Hermione leaned into him and let out an angry, hysterical sob. Draco knew that, in truth, this was not about the United Nations. It was about everyone in Hermione's life telling her she was meant to do this one thing, so often that Hermione had begun to believe it herself. Destined to make change where it was needed most, right? By failing to get the position, Hermione had to admit that everyone was wrong. She was wrong. What else was she not meant for? Those weren't tears of anger, they were tears of doubt.
"I just—just wanted some—" She hiccupped before continuing. "Someone to pick me once."
Draco placed his arm around her back and pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her head, the same way he would with his son. He said,
"I've got you, golden girl."
She sniffled and wiped her nose with the side of her hand.
"I could've gone on my date this Friday as soon-to-be ambassador, and instead I'll be going as just Hermione."
"Right." Draco scoffed, "Just Hermione. Just multilingual lawyer, internationally-feared journalist Hermione. Just beloved by my son, Hermione. A woman who survived both an explosion and a date with Cormac McLaggen, the latter of which is more impressive in my view."
Her voice was so soft when she asked, "What if he's disappointed?"
"Then he's an idiot."
.oOo.
Draco woke up alone shortly after sunrise. There was an indent in the pillow where Hermione had slept, and a note on the duvet.
Got an early start this morning. Thank you for caring for me. You were the only person I trusted to let me feel like I'd lost part of myself without making me feel weaker for it. Will repay you soon.
-Your Golden Girl
PS – I stole your sweater. Again.
.oOo.
Friday could have gone better.
2:00
Draco received a text from Ginny.
You're going to get a call. Answer it.
A minute later, his phone vibrated with a call from a new number. Draco obliged Ginny and answered.
"Hello."
"Malfoy?"
"Yes."
"It's Ron Weasley. Um, Hermione's ex-husband."
Oh, what a delightful surprise. Draco rolled his eyes, wondering what fresh hell could rain down upon him this time.
"I'm not sorry for punching you."
"Truly," replied Draco, "a fantastic reason to phone me."
"But I am sorry for thinking you were the sort of man I thought you were."
"I don't understand."
Weasley sighed and said, "I don't know, really, what Hermione's been feeling these past few weeks. She was happier, a bit, but she started wearing different clothes. Stuff that doesn't fully cover up her arm. Not in public, but around us. I guess that started because you made her feel some sort of something. Now, Dean just told me that she drove all the way to you last night and slept at your house. I thought you'd've been the sort of man to take advantage of her in that situation. We're not married anymore, but Hermione is my best friend. I will protect her with my life, and I would never have guessed you would be a decent enough man to keep her safe."
Draco let those words linger in the air between them.
"I owe it to Hermione to protect her the way she protected my son."
"She came to you in her weakest moment, and you didn't press your advantage."
"She came to me because she knew I wouldn't."
"I'm calling to apologize for assuming you would."
"I appreciate that. I accept."
"But, uh, I do have a question about your mate, Zabini. Dean's been out with him twice in the past week. So what's he like?"
"Blaise?" Draco laughed. "What do you want to know?"
"We all thought Seamus was a good bloke, but then he pretty well stabbed Dean straight through the heart in the end. I just want to make sure that's not going to happen again."
"You're quite protective of your friends."
"Hermione got blown up, Harry got shot, Dean's divorce went so bad he was nearly homeless, Neville's trying not to declare bankruptcy …" Weasley sighed heavily and admitted, "I just want to make sure none of them ever fall too low."
"Blaise did the same for me."
"And you're doing the same for Hermione?"
"I hope so." Draco conceded, "She deserves so much more than I can give her."
"There we've found something to agree on." Weasley said, "It seems we'll be seeing each other again, and I just wanted to apologize for assuming you were not a decent sort. Then thank you for taking care of my girl."
Draco tried not to sound territorial when he repeated, "Your girl?"
"She may not be my wife anymore, but when you get the phone call I got? Some BBC producer sitting in his posh office saying my wife's just been in an explosion and I've gotta be on a flight to Bahrain because that's where they're trying to save her arm … Nah, mate, you never forget that feeling. She's always going to be my girl."
"I understand." Draco took a deep breath before saying, "My girl never left hospital. That's why I hesitated with Hermione … Because I can't lose another one."
"Understood."
6:30
A text from Ginny: She's excited.
7:45
A text from Romilda: Hermione's date arrived early. He's [flame emoji] tonight.
You said he wouldn't make her laugh, though.
Romilda: If my man looked like that, he could never tell a joke and I'd still ride that dick as long as we both shall live.
How badly did I mess up?
Romilda: [mountain emoji]
8:05
Hermione texted: Don't know why I was nervous. Date #2 is actually date #32.
Accompanied by a photo of Hermione leaning into the arms of Viktor Krum.
Draco locked his phone and stuffed it in his pocket. The feeling he first had when he saw McLaggen snogging Hermione? It began to stir somewhere deep inside of him. Every muscle in his body seemed to tense like he was preparing for a fight. He rejected Hermione, he brought this upon himself, and yet …
Best sex I've ever had.
Draco wanted to prove her wrong. Prove that he was better, prove he could make her feel everything Krum had and more. Yet, Viktor Krum was out to dinner with Hermione and Draco was at home. Taking care of his son. Running his business.
And repeat.
He stewed in a series of unhelpful questions. What are they discussing? Do they still have chemistry? Have they kept in contact? Will Krum be put off by her scars? Those thoughts kept circling in his mind until he tucked Scorpius into bed for the night. His son asked,
"Those people who hurt Hermione. Who were they?"
Draco plopped onto the bed next to his son and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He was surprised it took this long for the question to come up.
"Those were your mum's parents."
"Oh." Scorpius admitted, "I didn't know my mum had parents."
"She did, and they loved her very much. But she was always a bit too … liberal I believe is the term they used."
"What's 'beral mean?"
"It means that the play she performed in, and where we met? They didn't want her to do it."
"NO!" Scorpius gasped and turned into Draco's side. "No."
"They never liked me much because I'm—" Perhaps this was the wrong time to mention that particular nugget of the Greengrass' disdain. Draco pivoted, "—because my hair is long."
"Hermione has long hair." Scorpius guessed, "That's why they don't like her?"
"They don't know her, Scorp. She was trying to keep you away from them, and that's why your grandfather hurt her."
"She got hurt because of me?" His eyes started to water as he said, "I don't wanna hurt people."
"Oh, I know," Draco twisted until he was fully on his side, face-to-face with his son. "You didn't hurt anyone, my son. Nobody was hurt because of you."
"But my mum—"
"You did not hurt your mum, and you did not hurt Hermione. People make choices, and they are responsible for those choices. Your grandfather chose to hurt Hermione, no one else chose it. Your mum, however, died because of many separate choices. Some were mine, others were doctors', some were her own. Sometimes decisions pile up into a mountain no one can climb."
"What did you do?"
"What did I do for what?"
Scorpius asked, "What did you do to hurt my mum?"
Draco felt the punch of that question in his soul. He admitted,
"Your mum told me she was fine, even though I could see she was in pain. I hurt her by believing her words, and not what I knew to be true."
"Why was Hermione angry?"
"When?"
"In the gardens. I heard you yelling."
"Oh. Well, Hermione and I had an argument. I hurt her, too, in a way. But everything is fine, now."
"Dad?"
"Yes?"
"I don't believe your words."
Draco looked at his son's face and saw himself as he should've been. He said,
"I'm glad you don't, because they're not true."
Scorpius asked, "Will you tell me what's true?"
"The truth?" Draco tucked Scorpius in just a little tighter. "I love Hermione in a way that scares me. Losing your mum made me into a person I don't like very much."
"I like you."
Draco laughed and said, "That's good, Scorp. I'm happy you do, but I used to be a lot more fun."
"You're not fun."
"I know. I know, and Hermione sees all the fun parts of me that I thought were lost. So I love her, and she likes me in a similar way. I messed it up because I was scared. Now I get to be her friend and watch her love somebody else."
"Can't you try again?"
"I don't think so."
"I think you should try again. I like her shoes."
Draco laughed and said, "Maybe someday when I am less afraid."
"Okay. I can wait." Scorpius nestled into his pillow and said, "G'night!"
.oOo.
Saturday afternoon, Draco picked his phone off the floor and glared at the spidery cracks along the front of his screen. His mother and son stared at him from the dining room table, concerned and confused. The chef stopped in the middle of plating lunch to stare at him. Narcissa asked,
"Would you like to explain why you decided to launch your phone at the wall?"
Draco grumbled, "No."
"Might I guess this has to do with Romilda finding a successful match for the Granger girl?"
"You might." Draco grimaced. "Can't say I will confirm."
"This is the most emotion I've seen from you in six years, my son." Narcissa smiled softly and said, "I like it."
"Well I don't."
He accidentally touched the screen and revealed the text that filled him with more rage than he knew what to do with.
Hermione: [firework emoji] [firework emoji] [firework emoji]