You can be my mum!

Nothing had ever hurt Hermione quite like those words. Scorpius was red in the face, shouting over Draco's shoulder as he left, Don't leave! Why was he telling her not to leave when Draco was the one walking out the front door? Perhaps in his five-year-old vocabulary, don't leave translated to don't let us go. Hermione placed her hands on her hips and stared at the floor as Scorpius's screams were muffled by the closed door.

She made a mistake, but Draco wasn't blameless. Pulling her in only to push her away, how long was she meant to deal with that? How long was enough? Hermione sighed because for all the rationalizing, right or wrong, the answer was obvious. To make things work with Draco Malfoy she would handle the push and pull as long as it took. It seemed she made that realization ten minutes too late. She wiped the watery buildup from her eyes and gathered her composure before walking into the dining room. Her friends' faces seemed to be coloured in various shades of we should not have heard all that.

"I'm sorry." Hermione said, "I apologize for what happened just now, and whatever you might've heard, I will simply make the request that you didn't."

"It's forgotten until you want to talk about it again," replied Ginny.

"Thank you."

"Look, you four," Bastien pointed individually to Hermione, Ginny, Padma, and Parvati, "have shit talked my best friend for well over an hour now." He paused before saying, "I'm not even sure why Dean's here."

Dean replied, "Same."

Bastien turned to face his wife with a stern look on his face, one Hermione had never seen.

"Padma, queen of my heart, viceroy of my dick, I love you. But I need you to understand Draco's been heartbroken for six years, he's been wearing his wedding ring for six years and," he turned to Hermione, "he took it off for you. That means something to me, and if you all can't see that Draco has made a choice then I don't know what to tell you."

Ginny insisted, "It's a choice he has taken his bloody time with."

"Yeah, he's slow!" Bastien huffed, "Draco's always been a trainwreck. His dad hated him, his mum didn't really know what to do with him, and he's a comedian in the body of a male model. Astoria came along and she got it. She got him. Then she died and all the laughter left with her. We've watched him float along in life for years and none of us knew what to do. How do you tell a man life gets better when better is six feet below a headstone with a name she didn't even want?"

"I know." Hermione crossed her arms and said, "I don't want him to stop loving her. I just want him to stop living in the past with her."

"He's trying. Then you appear and, suddenly, better comes around again. She's a little different, shorter, one good arm and an internationally recognized career in broadcast journalism. Somebody committed to the truth. Somebody who has been hurt by the world just as deeply has he was. Everyone in this room is happy you two have found each other but never, since Scorpius learned to talk, has he spoken to his father the way he did just now. I swear to God, Padma, if what's going on right now pulls that boy away from his father, I will never forgive either of you."

"Would you leave me because of it?"

There was a long, desperate pause before Bastien answered.

"Babe, you don't want the answer to that question."

Hermione couldn't decipher the unspoken conversation that happened between the two of them. Whatever invisible argument they had, Padma appeared to lose. Bastien didn't move as Padma walked past him, out of the dining room then out the front door. Bastien nodded and mumbled,

"Good. Good."

The sound of the front door opening then closing sounded through the dining room once again. Hermione watched as Bastien turned to face her full-on.

"When Draco came out to his dad, Lucius dragged him to the door and pushed him down the front steps of the manor. Draco had to walk to the nearest neighborhood which, you've been to the manor, it's about three kilometres away. Theo's dad was shit and Blaise's dad is a question mark, so when Draco finally found someone willing to drive him, he came to my house. I can't tell you the horror of seeing my best mate show up at my front door, his face all scratched up because he fell into the gravel. He still had bits of it, tiny bits in his hair. I remember the knees of his trousers were shredded and covered in dried blood from where he'd hit the steps. Draco wasn't even crying he was just in shock, you know, he thought he'd been cut off from everything. He believed his life was gone at fourteen and my dad didn't so much as ask a question. He said, That boy's mine now. If you ask my dad today, Draco still is."

Hermione saw the truth of that in Bastien's eyes, and the commitment he had to Draco. Exactly the way Harry and Ron would look if someone asked about her. Bastien continued,

"The most important thing I've learned from my dad is that when you care about somebody and they show up at your door, you let 'em in. Draco has never felt unwelcome in my house until today. I am very upset at you for that. All four of you, but primarily you. You have the ability to bring my family together and you have the ability to tear us apart. I think you intend to see this thing through as far as it can go, but I'm asking you to stop shutting the door in Draco's face."

Hermione insisted, rather half-heartedly, "I never meant to."

"I believe you."

"Can I say something?" asked Parvati.

Bastien nodded.

"Go ahead, Ti."

"I don't think most of this matters. The snogging, the sex, all of it … Both of you can get there eventually. I think the real problem comes down to whether you're willing to be part of Scorpius's life in a permanent way. And whether Draco will let you, because you'd be filling Astoria's shoes, in a way."

"I don't know about Draco. I don't know what is happening between us, but," Hermione's breath caught in her chest, "someday that boy is going to be my son, isn't he?"

"Probably," Dean agreed.

"By the sounds of it, Hermione," added Ginny, "the kid already thinks he is."

The world seemed to tilt on its side. Hermione reached for the edge of the table as her legs gave out from underneath her. Ginny leapt up and helped her make it into a chair. Hermione slumped forward and sighed. When had this happened? She hadn't even noticed Draco and Scorpius were part of her life until the door closed behind them.

"I'm so sorry, I only just realized that I want it. This family, I think I want it."

Whatever Bastien was about to say was cut off by the sound of Padma coming through the front door. As it closed, she walked into the dining room and placed her hand on Bastien's lower back. She said,

"He needs a driver."

Bastien closed his eyes and sighed. He turned around and left, mumbling,

"Man doesn't leave his desk for six years and now I'm his bloody chauffeur."

Padma waited until the door closed behind Bastien before letting out a massive sigh. Her shoulders slumped and she admitted,

"I think I needed to hear that."

"Shifting the mood a bit …"

Hermione looked up at Dean, who had a tiny smile on his face.

"Blaise gave me an office. The top floor of his house, there's this room that looks out onto the backyard. He said he never used it, so he changed things around a bit and now there's space for me to work when I'm there on weekends. Or …" Dean's cheeks went slightly pink. "Or not the weekends. I haven't met Draco's son and this," Dean waved his hand around to indicate the general area of the dining room, "isn't something I am going to count. But once we're there, I think I'll be spending more time at his house than at my flat."

Ginny's face lit up. She nudged his knee with her foot and asked,

"It's a thing, right?"

Dean nodded and confirmed, "It's a thing."

Parvati asked, "A long-term thing?"

"No," Ginny replied, "I can see on his face. It's a rest of your life thing."

"I know it seems as if we are moving too quickly, because Shea and I were best mates for, what, nearly ten years before we started dating. I met Blaise six weeks ago and everything in my life has settled into a clearer picture than I ever had with Seamus. Blaise is so beautiful and famous and I …" Dean shrugged. "I teach maths. It should be nowhere near as comfortable as it is, but I'm happy with him. So, so happy." He paused then added, "And yes, hopefully it's a rest of my life sort of happiness."

Padma cautioned, "It does seem to be rather quick."

"I know."

"But if it's what you want …" Padma wondered, "Have you asked Blaise why he wanted to give you space in his home?"

"I did."

Ginny asked, "What did he say?"

"He said he's in love with me." Dean awkwardly cleared his throat before admitting, "I haven't said it back. It, um, I do. I only … He's Italian, right? He's so expressive, so quick to understand he's in love with me and he can say it because he knows. It makes me feel secure in this because Shea didn't always know."

"No one has ever described Blaise as particularly expressive," replied Padma.

"Because you don't get him. Blaise is genuinely surprised by how easily I'm able to read him. He says it usually takes people years to understand the way he speaks … And, more importantly, how he doesn't. It took me all of ten minutes to figure him out. I love him with my whole heart, but if he asked me to marry him right now, today, I would say no."

Hermione sat up straighter, concerned. Not two weeks earlier, Dean said he would marry Blaise on the spot. What changed? Then again, she knew the answer before Dean said it.

"Not because I need more time to know he's right for me; I don't. He's perfect. Like I said, he puts my life in focus in the exact way I want it to be. But that's what I thought I did for Seamus. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if I could ever make Blaise feel happy the way he does for me. This doubt keeps growing. The deeper I fall for him, the more I doubt that I will ever be enough."

"First," said Ginny, "Blaise would sooner jump off a building than cheat on anyone. Whether it's you or not, he doesn't have that in him. It's like asking if an octopus will cross a desert: literally impossible. Second, you're asking why he'd believe you are enough and it's because you've never looked at anyone and thought you were better than them. Third, if Seamus is the reason you and Blaise don't work out, Parvati, me, and Hermione are going to fight over which of us gets to bash his fucking head in."

Hermione added, "I've only got one good arm but I'd give it my best."

"It's not his fault."

Padma insisted, "Yes, it is, and I believe it's best if we don't talk about him."

"You all have passed judgment on my ex-husband, and I think it's proper that I have a say in how we discuss him. Whether you want to admit it or not, he supported me for a long time. We disagreed in which direction my career should go, but not because Shea thought I should do something smaller. He always wanted me to dream bigger, he wanted to support me pursuing statistics as a career, not teaching. He believed my talents would be better utilized elsewhere and, to be honest, he was right. I didn't choose to teach because it was the best thing for my career, I chose it because I love it. You all act like he was a horrible husband when all we did was disagree."

Parvati said, "Given the way your marriage ended, I think it's difficult for us to consider the rest of it with an open mind."

Dean's eyes went dark. Hermione could almost see the memory flashing through his mind; the shame he worked so desperately to push down. She wanted nothing more than to wrap him up in a hug and promise that he never had to feel that way again. By the sounds of it, that was exactly what Blaise Zabini was trying to do. Dean said,

"I won't defend what he did because it hurt me. He meant for it to hurt me, for the divorce to be as painful as it could be. But our marriage was happy for awhile and I would appreciate it if you all would stop trying to take those happy years away from me simply because my husband fell out of love with me."

"As I said," replied Padma, "I believe it's best if we don't discuss him at all."

"And I am telling you that I want to talk about my twenties, all of which happened with Seamus. So unless you want to keep quiet about ten years of my life, Padma, I think we should be able to talk about him without the four of you threatening to murder him."

"I never agreed to murder," replied Parvati, "only the cleanup."

Dean conceded, "That's fair."

"Can I make a suggestion?" asked Hermione.

Dean nodded.

"I think the reason we're all so visceral in our hatred for your ex-husband is that he caused you to doubt yourself. We want to see you happy, so maybe if we saw you happy with Blaise, it would ease our …" Hermione searched for the word.

"Derision?" offered Ginny.

"Derision for your ex-husband."

"Okay." Dean shrugged. "What are you saying?"

Parvati's eyes lit up.

"Are you saying party?"

Hermione confirmed, "I'm saying a party. With all of us, and all of Blaise's friends. I believe we overlap so much anyway there won't be a massive guest list. Harry could come, even."

"He'd like that," replied Ginny.

Dean considered it for a moment, then leaned back in the chair. He crossed his arms and conceded,

"Perhaps that would be a good time for me to meet Blaise's godson. It wouldn't be quite so forced."

Hermione sighed heavily, knowing she would regret the suggestion, but—

"You could bring Luna. Scorpius would be thrilled to meet her."

Dean laughed and said, "To smooth things over? A good idea."

"Harry isn't ready for anything terribly public yet. They won't make the announcement until tomorrow, but Alicia's broken her ankle which means I've been added to the World Cup roster, so—"

A chorus of congratulations rang throughout the room. Hermione's heart was just a bit fuller with this news. Ginny gestured for them all to tone it down because,

"I'm not starting. I've only been training three months, not quite up to starting speed yet but I am valuable enough to be on the bench. Group stage for England begins tomorrow. Probably won't make it in time, so you won't need to watch until the second match on the fourteenth, but Harry will be taking care of Al and Jay for the month. It might help for him to have something like this to take the weight off a bit."

"That's great news, Gin." Dean insisted, "I know that taking off in a World Cup season was a massive blow for you. I'm glad he's good enough for you to take this opportunity back, if not in the way you'd hoped."

"If you lot could check in on him a bit, that would be helpful."

Padma confirmed, "I'll do that."

"It's rather far out of the way," offered Hermione, "but could Malfoy Manor be a decent venue for whatever it is we want to do? I'm sure Draco would be willing to host regardless of whatever is … Whatever is … Happening. With us. Whatever is happening with us."

Dean said, "You know, Blaise talks about me as 'number four.' As in, Scorpius's fourth parent. If you end up as Scorpius's mum, d'you know what that makes you?"

"What?"

"Mum-bo No. 5."

They all dissolved into giggles with no end in sight. The heartache of Draco's departure was, for a moment, forgotten.

.oOo.

Hermione never intended to have a personal trainer. In her mid-twenties she was every variation of "passable." Thin enough. Attractive enough. Her hair was 'different' but not 'unprofessional.' Hermione had a body just barely good enough for television. On the edge, but never quite tipping over until the explosion. Once she needed a physical therapist to help with her shoulder, Ginny introduced her to Oliver Wood.

Their first year together was … rocky. Tumultuous, perhaps would be the best word. Hermione would scream at Oliver, who was unafraid to yell right back. Everyone would agree that the person who had the most difficult time dealing with Hermione's recovery, even more than her own husband, was Oliver. Hermione hated him for the first several months and, after being together for seven years, Oliver would probably admit he hated her at first, too. From the beginning they focused on the one thing they had one thing in common: Hermione's need to regain vertical movement in her shoulder. Focused on the goal, Oliver made damn sure Hermione would be able to lift things again. Truthfully, she could not have done it without him.

Hermione walked into Puddlemere Training and Physical Therapy on Tuesday morning, preparing for a much-needed, if unwanted, conversation. The door opened to reveal the hustle and bustle of trainers counting down time, bulky men lifting weights the size of Hermione herself, and the sound of heavy footsteps on high-speed treadmills. Her preparation was the same as it had been for years, while Oliver's eyes were glued to one of the World Cup matches on the television. She asked,

"How many of them have you worked with?"

"The entire England team," he replied without turning his head. "Loads of others, too. I heard Ginny's been added to the roster."

"She's ecstatic." Hermione wondered, "Do you train men's footballers, as well?"

Oliver laughed.

"No. I've worked with a handful of blokes in my time and I fuckin' hate it. You don't start out that way, y'know, I began my career as a player before my knee got torn up five years in. Devastated, I became a trainer and worked with the biggest teams for a bit as an assistant. Always thought the women's teams were a bit below par by virtue of them being smaller. Then I got offered the lead training gig at Arsenal and never looked back."

"Why is that?"

"Because women complain less and are always willing to tell me when something's gone too far. Men push themselves past the proper point all the time because they want to be the best. Women simply want to be their best. That's why they work better together as a team, and why their football is far better to watch. Besides, I learned the hard way that it doesn't matter how small a woman is, you all always have at least one way to kick someone's arse. Men end up hurting themselves in training and go down for half a season just because they thought they could prove something with ten more reps." Oliver shook his head and grumbled, "Idiots."

Hermione smiled and clamped the 1kg weighted bangle around her left wrist. Oliver uncrossed his arms and positioned her in front of one of the benches.

"Pendulums first."

Hermione huffed, "Given how many years we've been doing the same routine, I think you can stop the narration."

Oliver raised an eyebrow and asked, "Did you not have a morning coffee, Hermione?"

"I'm only saying—"

"There is something on your mind. You get pissed when there's a question you can't answer. And yes, we are sticking with the same routine that has worked for well over five years seeing as you can still lift things with your fucked-up arm. I don't tell you how to look into a camera and you don't tell me how to design a training regimen."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Oliver added,

"Yes, table first. If you like, you can begin with circles instead of the pendulum to switch it up a bit."

She grumbled, "How spicy." Hermione gripped the bench in front of her with her right hand and began moving her left arm around in clockwise circles.

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six.

"I've been thinking."

Five. Four. Three.

"You do that. Counterclockwise next."

Two. One.

Counterclockwise.

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three.

"Do you believe I should have the surgery?"

Two. One.

Oliver insisted, "Clockwise again."

Hermione followed instruction without reply. He said counterclockwise again, so Hermione put in another ten. Oliver said,

"Twenty pendulums. Go."

Hermione swung her arm back and forth, controlled, twenty times. This was the easiest part of the workout: the warmup to open up the shoulder. Upon completion, Oliver positioned Hermione so her left elbow was tucked in toward her waist. He stood at her side with his palm open about a fist's width behind her elbow. He said the same thing he always said: "Squeeze, push back, forward, release."

Hermione obliged. As much as the routine annoyed her, she liked the familiarity of it. There was no regression, there was no progress, it was simply something that had to be done. Without this, she could regress. One day she might wake up to find her shoulder decided it'd had enough of moving a certain direction. Hermione would do everything in her power to keep that from happening, including the slow back and forth of twenty shoulder extensors back into Oliver's hand.

Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen. Seven—

"Yes, I do."

Sixteen.

"The surgery?" asked Hermione. "You think I should do it?"

Fifteen.

"Yes. Because I think you're ready to move forward and the plate's holding you back."

Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve.

"Not literally," Oliver added. "Physical recovery is half physical, half mental. The plate kept you together, and I think having removed will show you that you can keep yourself together on your own, now."

Eleven. Ten. Nine. Perhaps Oliver was right. Eight. He scolded her,

"Don't forget to relax."

Hermione loosened the tension in her arm before making a fist again then pushing her elbow backward for number seven. Six. He'd said the same thing Draco said, in a way. Five. She asked,

"If it wasn't mental, would you recommend surgery?"

"No."

Four. Three.

"Why not?"

Two. One. Done. Hermione turned to Oliver and waited for an answer. He ignored her and went over toward a wall. He nodded to the wall and said,

"Climbers."

Hermione hated this one the most. Of every exercise, this was the one that showed how much movement she'd really lost. She placed her fingertips on the wall and slowly "walked" them upward. At about shoulder-level she began to feel the usual twinge in her left clavicle. Hermione made it a few more centimetres before the dull pain emerged in her shoulder. She winced and kept going until she couldn't move her left arm up any more. Her right hand, though, continued making its way up to full extension.

"Hold," said Oliver. "Thirty seconds."

Hermione grit her teeth and resolutely refused to look up at her own hands. God, she could feel the limitation in that moment. Her right arm was fine, normal, totally good. Then her left could barely do half as much. Those thirty seconds felt like ten minutes. When she finally looked at the wall, her left hand was right there staring her in the face. The purple-tinted raised bits of skin that began at her knuckles and worked their way around, crisscrossing the slightly raised veins on the back of her hand up toward her wrist before they disappeared beneath the weighted bangle.

"You're staring daggers at your own hand, Hermione."

She shook herself out of it and looked back down at the floor.

"You can drop it now, we're done."

"But usually—"

"You said you wanted to change it up a bit, so we're moving along."

Hermione let her hands fall back to her hips. Before she could say anything, Oliver insisted,

"That feeling, right there. That's the reason we both want the plate gone. Let's get on with it."

They didn't talk much after that. Things were the same as usual. Tuesday. Thursday. Sunday. She walked on the treadmill with incline. Ran for five minutes. Walked. Ran. Walked. Cooled down. Left.

You can keep yourself together on your own.

Oliver's confidence in her felt misplaced. Colin drove her home and didn't say anything. Hermione imagined the look on her face was enough to show she wouldn't be much for conversation. She tried to focus in on the day's news, fielded a text from Cedric about a joint story they'd be covering, followed by a text from Ernie about whether to continue to cover a story they introduced the night before.

Hermione arrived at her penthouse, grabbed her clothes, and made for the bathroom. She hung them on the back of the door and turned to face her reflection. Bits of hair were stuck to her forehead. Her face was still flushed a bit pink. She pulled down the zip on the front of her sports bra and shrugged it off before tossing it in the general direction of the basket. Draco had seen most of this once; Hermione wondered how much he remembered.

She placed her hands on her hips and surveyed her upper half as a whole. Hermione liked her chest. It felt … proportional. An odd choice of word, but the best word she could come up with because her tits still felt like part of her in a way she could no longer feel about her arm. She leaned forward and placed her hands on the edge of the sink. Not so big as to be their own statement, but not so small they might as well have been absent under her ubiquitous turtleneck sweaters. When she interviewed for the gig at Ten, one of the executives said she had perfect "television tits." Staring at herself in the mirror just then, Hermione had a rather desperate realization.

She pressed her fingertips into her eyes and sighed. She pulled her phone from the side pocket of her duffel and scrolled through her contacts until she hit the Ds. Hermione tapped Draco's name and put the phone on speaker as it rang. It continued to ring, and Hermione pictured Draco's tiny frown as he stared down at his own phone trying to decide whether to answer. When he finally did, Hermione asked,

"Draco?"

"Oh." His sigh crackled through the speaker. "You did mean to phone me?"

"Yes, I did."

"I thought it might've been an accident."

"It wasn't."

"Okay."

"I need to apologize to you for what I did on Friday."

There was a long pause before Draco asked,

"Friday? I don't believe anything you did on Friday was wrong. Just as I don't believe what I did was wrong."

"I realized something just now, and it's quite awful of me. You said that the feelings you were experiencing on Friday when we were a bit closer than we had been before, you said those were new to you. They were new for me, as well, but I liked how I felt in your arms. I felt desirable for the first time in a long time. This gorgeous, hilarious man wanted me. I wanted to move faster because I felt rather …" Hermione bit down on her lip before admitting, "insecure about the rest of me. My tits are the one thing I feel normal about. Something you've already seen and admitted you like."

Draco insisted, "I haven't really seen them."

Hermione glanced up at herself in the mirror and hoped that someday soon he would.

"It was too much for you and it felt, in the moment, to me, as if you'd decided you didn't like that part of me anymore. Which I know isn't true, and it isn't what happened. I apologize for believing it was."

"Would you like to know what did happen?"

"Only if you want to tell me."

Another deep, lengthy sigh filtered through the speaker.

"You'd gone on and on to Romilda about how fucking Viktor Krum was important to you and how much you loved each other. Then you said you still have some sort of love for him and I thought, I want her to love me more. I decided to get you alone so I could prove I can be better than him. The thing no one tells you about the sort of grief I've gone through is that your desire for sex disappears. I assume most men can overcome it far quicker than I have, but … God, you were talking about him and I wanted it again so badly that it hit me all at once. I realized I wanted to fuck you until you forgot about Krum entirely, and at the same moment I realized this was the first time I'd felt that way since I lost Astoria. I felt guilty for wanting you and it was exactly like our moment in the garden, you were right. The more I think about it, the more I understand what I've been doing to you the entire time we've known each other."

"It's not exactly the same," replied Hermione. "Viktor and I chose to separate all those years ago. You and your wife didn't have a choice."

"That's true, but we've ended up in the same place, haven't we?"

"No, I'm not jealous of Astoria."

"Oh."

"I love how deeply you care for her. I would never want someone to ask me to forget how I felt for Ron simply because we are no longer married. Dean said something similar about Seamus a couple days ago, now that I think about it. God, I've been a hypocrite in that regard. If anything, your love for her proves how strong your love for someone can be. I think of her as a permanent part of your life, and I don't believe we have to be all that separate from each other. When it comes to your son …" Hermione let the sentence drift off. The idea of being a more permanent fixture in that regard was still new.

"What about my son?"

"Nothing."

"Hermione, nothing is nothing when it comes to Scorpius."

"It's simply that I recognize … There is something … I'm not …" Hermione huffed. "I can't say."

Draco hedged, "Is it the mum thing?"

The mum thing.

"Yes, Draco, 'the mum thing.'"

"It's a lot of pressure, I know, you can forget he said it at all."

"What?" Hermione's heart sank a bit. "No, I don't want to forget it. He was screaming for me and I felt responsible for him. We've bonded a bit by accident, and I'm in love with you, but I care so deeply for your son that it scares me. Someday I would be happy to be number five."

"Oh, Hermione," Draco's voice was so soft, "you already are. My son would never have been in a car with you otherwise. The difference between being number five and being his mum has nothing to do with him, and everything to do with me."

"Oh."

"I don't feel right about the way we left each other on Sunday, but I feel like proper shit for involving my son in it."

"You didn't mean to. You didn't go to Padma's house to see me; you were coming to see your best friend and I was in the way. I apologize for that as well."

"Thank you." Draco hesitated before admitting, "That did hurt me, knowing Bastien had to choose between me and his wife. We are usually right in step with each other. Fortunately, Padma understands everything far better than anyone else does. Would it be possible to see you on Friday? I'm coming to get Scorpius as it's his final day in school before summer. We would like to see you together, in person."

"Of course. Yes, of course you can."

"I know it's your day off—"

"I'd love to see you both."

"My son won't be making the trek back to London for quite some time, so—"

"Yes."

"I look forward to it. And Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for telling me everything. I believe I haven't been open enough for you to feel like you can do that. As for what you mentioned to me on Sunday … We won't speak of it until you bring it up. I promise."

"Thank you."

"Be seeing you?"

"Friday."

"Bye, Granger."

"Goodbye, Malfoy."

The call ended and Hermione felt good about it. Good to know she would see Draco and Scorpius again in a few days. In the meantime, she had a decision to make and a job to do. Hermione took one last look at herself in the mirror, turned to the left, then to the right, and placed her hands on her hips.

"Should be two Michelin stars."

.oOo.

Friday was a blur. Hermione rushed around and sometime after eleven Penelope texted that she'd been booked on The World This Weekend. That meant shifting the physical therapy schedule around and an extra cup of throat coat to ensure her radio voice was ready. Penelope arrived at the penthouse around three o'clock and sat at Hermione's dining table. She placed her purse on the chair next to her and waited for Hermione to take the seat across the table. Hermione sensed this would not be a pleasant conversation.

"The date for the Lockhart interview has been set."

"Oh?"

"June 26th, a Wednesday. The network is hoping for midweek fireworks."

Hermione conceded, "I'm certain I will provide. Will I receive an advance copy of his book?"

"Yes. I should have it for you Monday. There is something we need to discuss for early July. I have an opportunity for you, which you aren't going to like."

Hermione conceded, "The matchmaking was a horrible idea from my viewpoint, but it has changed my life. For the better, I hope. I will hear you out."

Penelope hesitantly revealed, "It's a magazine cover."

"I'm listening."

"British Vogue has agreed to interview you, on the condition you speak about your arm. Specifically discussing the impact it has you as a woman in a very high profile, highly visible job."

"That sounds like an amazing opportunity—"

"I thought so, too."

"For someone else."

Hermione watched as Penelope's eyebrows knitted together in frustration.

"Would you care to think about it for a moment longer."

"No."

"That wasn't a question, Hermione, that was me telling you to consider it a moment longer."

"No, but I appreciate their willingness to feature me."

"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get this cover?" asked Penelope. "The number of strings I had to pull? They chose you over two different supermodels and the entire World Cup team!"

"Yes, I do, and I need you to understand I will never be on the cover of that magazine."

"It's reserved for beautiful, powerful women—"

"They should feature you, then."

"Hermione."

She huffed, "British Vogue is not a magazine. It is a series of billboards and ads in magazine format with the occasional watered-down article included between advertisements for perfume and designer shoes."

"You buy designer shoes. You love designer shoes."

"Yes, and I find many of them in the advertisements of British Vogue. But do you know what I don't find in their pages?"

"What's that?"

"Journalism."

Penelope snapped her fingers and pointed at Hermione to say, "You are in hot water, Hermione. We are working toward getting you a more relatable, public image."

Hermione scoffed, "Please tell me how getting blown up makes me relatable."

"Relatable is the wrong word; I went wrong trying to make you relatable. Now I am trying to make you editorial. I want you to be both trustworthy and inaccessible. People criticize your fashion choices, so let's put you on the cover of one of the most highly-regarded fashion magazines."

"No." Hermione conceded, "I understand your strategy, but no."

"A cover with you wearing absolutely nothing over your left arm. I want everyone to see what you have gone through, what the price of your style of journalism really is. I need them to see it in order to appreciate you and what do you do. What can I say to make you reconsider?"

"Nothing."

"Hermione, you take such big risks and pay the consequences. This is a risk with such minimal consequence! I want everyone to know just how truly impressive you are."

"Then British Vogue is never going to do that."

"How can you know?"

"Because they Photoshop those covers until they push the boundaries of reality. You and I both know they will never agree to an un-retouched version of me. Certainly not an un-retouched version of my skin. They would take one look at my arm and claim to 'soften the edges.' Then they would say, 'Perhaps we take some of the blue tint out of the purple to make it look a bit more like natural skin.' British Vogue will do anything to ensure their cover doesn't offend the delicate sensibilities of customers queuing for the till at Tesco. My arm, as it is, is not cover material."

Penelope looked away because she knew Hermione was right. She sighed.

"I fear that your reputation is so thoroughly baked there isn't much I can do."

"Good," replied Hermione, "because people trust me. Everything outside of that is window dressing."

"The things they say—"

"I don't care. If the network cares so much about having a female anchor who does nothing but recites news bulletins prepared by her producer, they never would have chosen me. They didn't put me at six because that's when the average person watches the news. BBC gave me ten o'clock because I cover the stories that I cover. They gave me ten o'clock because Cedric loves me and I love Cedric, and together we love the news. We care for our broadcast and if they fired me, Cedric would leave."

Penelope raised an eyebrow and asked, "Would he, really?"

"In a heartbeat."

Penelope frowned as though an idea had begun to form. She hummed,

"Well, people like him. If he likes you … perhaps they need to see you through his eyes."

Hermione conceded, "It's better than British Vogue."

"You've given me an idea. Allow me to think on it. Would you—"

Penelope was interrupted by a knock at the door. Hermione frowned, knowing Draco was meant to arrive but how the bloody hell had he made his way into the elevator and up to her floor? She stood and made her way to the door. Hermione grabbed the stool she kept in the coat closet and stood to look through the peephole, where she confirmed Draco had found his way up to her penthouse. Hermione kicked the stool aside and opened the door.

Scorpius came through first. He darted inside and hugged Hermione around the legs.

"HERMIONE!"

She patted him on the back and said, "Hi, baby blond."

"I missed you."

"I missed you, too."

Hermione's survey began at Draco's shoes and worked upward. He'd worn trainers, navy trackies, and a thin white jumper that clung to every bit of him. His watch looked rather simple, a silver rim and navy leather band with a white stripe down the middle. Knowing Draco, it probably cost well over ten thousand quid. She lingered on the muscles in his upper arms for just a moment too long before noting that, once again, he'd watched her stare at him. She guessed,

"Casual Friday at Malfoy Holdings?"

"It's loads of driving for me today. I'm not fond of being in the car for so long in nicer shoes and trousers. Nobody sees them, anyway."

"Nobody except whomever let you into my building."

"A hundred Pounds here and there opens most doors for me."

"Oh."

"Except this one, apparently." Draco nodded to the doorframe that was acting as a dividing line between the two of them. "May I come in?"

"Yes, of course."

Hermione stepped aside as Draco entered, then closed the door behind him. He'd only taken about four steps inside before—

"I—oh." Draco's face fell into a combination of horror and disgust as he caught sight of Penelope. "Oh, God. Miss Clearwater."

Penelope stood from her chair and walked over to greet him. She offered her hand, which he shook reluctantly. Hermione watched Penelope's eyes narrow as she dropped her hold. She sighed heavily as she seemed to realize something unpleasant. Penelope said,

"We should speak later."

Draco looked down at her as though she'd just told him Sleekeazey's had gone bankrupt.

"I'd rather we didn't."

"Your mother made that choice for us, didn't she?"

"I put the pieces together on my own and made the mistake of asking."

Penelope closed her eyes and shook her head. Draco insisted,

"I don't …" He glanced at Hermione then rephrased. "You only surprised me. I have been avoiding you—"

"At least now I know why."

Hermione looked between the two of them and decided that, whatever this conversation was about, she did not wish to know. She watched as Draco said,

"More than anything, I keep asking myself how I never met either of you …" Draco looked over at Hermione before once again speaking to Penelope. "… when you have been involved in my life for so long."

"The problem is that you haven't been involved in your life for that time." Penelope nodded to him then said, "We will speak later."

Draco promised, "Soon."

Penelope gave Hermione a gentle hug goodbye, then glanced down to Scorpius. She offered her hand and said,

"I don't believe we have met."

Scorpius let go of Hermione and stood up to his full height. He looked up at Penelope as he placed his tiny hand in hers. She shook his hand as he said,

"My name's Scorpius."

"Penelope Clearwater. I am Hermione's publicist."

Scorpius let go and asked, "What's a pub-list?"

"It means that when Hermione is in a magazine or the papers or on television, I make sure it's about good things. Then, when they print bad things, I try to make them go away."

"It's good to make bad things go away."

Penelope agreed, "It certainly is. What do you do, then?"

"I draw!"

"Are you good?"

"No."

"Will you be good someday?"

"Yes!" Scorpius nodded quite emphatically. "I'm going to be very good."

"In that case," Penelope pulled a card from her purse and offered it to Scorpius, "you might need a publicist."

Scorpius accepted the card and tried to read it back.

"Pen-pen … Pen lope."

"Penelope."

"That's a long word."

"It's my name."

"OK. Miss Pub-list."

"I'll accept it." Penelope patted Scorpius on the shoulder and said, "Goodbye, Scorpius. Send me a drawing and I'll pitch a placement. Hermione, I will call you on Sunday. Draco, I expect a call from you tomorrow. Now," Penelope walked past them all and mumbled, "I am going to get very drunk."

Hermione watched the door fall closed behind Penelope. She asked,

"Do I want to know what that was about?"

"No." Draco resolutely insisted, "I wish I didn't know what that was about."

"You can come in, please, sit—"

"I think it best we don't stay long." Draco said, "Scorpius and I came to apologize to you in person."

"For what?" asked Hermione.

Draco said, "I am sorry that you tried to get to know me far quicker than I tried to know you. I hurt you by hesitating, by not trusting that you really are the one to finally pull the sun over the horizon so my life doesn't feel so dark anymore."

Hermione smiled up at him.

"Thank you. That is a kind thing to say."

"There is only one way I know to show you that you are a part of our family." Draco gently nudged Scorpius with his foot and asked, "Do you want to give Hermione her gift?"

"Oh!" Scorpius pulled a tiny business card from his back pocket. It was crumpled around the edges like he'd sat on it. He offered it up to Hermione and said, "This is for you!"

Hermione accepted the card, which had her name at the top in distinct calligraphy. Below that was the word "Unrestricted." Underneath that were six bold numbers: 120419.

"We take security seriously at Malfoy Manor. As you know, the general expectation is you pull up to the guard station, sign in, then are granted entry. There are only four people with a personal code to bypass security and open the manor gates: Blaise, Bastien, Theo, and Romilda. You are now, quite literally, number five."

The weight of that reality was heavy in Hermione's hands. She placed the card in her pocket and said,

"You are a sap."

"Am I?"

"Do you believe I don't remember the day we met?"

Hermione watched Draco's face flush bright red. He looked up at the ceiling and mumbled,

"It is an important day to me."

Hermione blurted out, "I've decided to have the plate removed."

Hermione watched as Draco processed that information. The mood iced over as he realized exactly what that would entail. He nodded to himself then placed his hands on his hips. Without looking at her, he said,

"I am happy for you. I, um, I don't know how that makes me feel." Draco sighed heavily. "I want you to do what's best for you, always. I love you, and even in the handful of weeks we've truly known each other I can see how much the incident still weighs on you. However, I would be lying if I said knowing yet another woman I care for will go through surgery is anything less than deeply terrifying."

"I understand."

"Every time I think I may take a step forward with you, something seems to push me backward."

"The surgery is minimal, it's—"

"For which I am grateful, but it's difficult for me to admit I care for you the way I do, knowing that you … If something went wrong, you could …" Draco grimaced. "That it could happen to me a second time. Which I know is incredibly selfish. This is the proper decision for you, but I'm not sure what the proper course is for me."

Hermione insisted, "I want you to be selfish. I want you to tell me what you are and are not ready for. You can wait until it's done. Perhaps it's best if we take time to be a maybe."

"I don't want to be a maybe. I want to take you out on dates, I want to introduce you as my girlfriend, I want to be in be—hmm." Draco looked down at his son then returned his gaze to Hermione. "Intimate. The intimacy we nearly had this time last week, I want it."

"I want it as well, Draco, I do. I believe it is best if we delay being a proper couple until after I have this procedure."

Draco asked, "You want to wait?"

Hermione nodded, knowing it was the proper decision even as Draco's confidence visibly began to wane. He'd officially made her part of his family and her response amounted to little more than let's not get ahead of ourselves.

"Why did you come to this decision?"

"About us, or—"

"The plate."

"Because of what you said, that it's no longer part of me. I want to move forward from that moment. I want to move forward with you."

Draco was quiet for a long while. Scorpius was silent save for the quietest sounds of his fingers folding and unfolding the edges of Penelope's business card. Draco finally said,

"I cannot express to you how relieved I was to have a place to put Astoria's memory. The simple knowledge that it's there helps me to be a better father because I am no longer carrying around the past. You literally carry the past with you every moment of every day. If having the plate removed will give you even a tenth as much relief as what Tori's new resting place gave me, there is no question. We will wait until it's done, then give it an honest go together."

"Thank you."

"Scorp and I will leave, now, to get back before dark." Draco took one of Hermione's hands and gave it a light squeeze. "Please come to the manor soon. The house is far happier when you're in it."

Hermione placed her hands on Draco's hips and said, "Last Friday I said that if you asked to kiss me again, I would say no. I'm deeply sorry for that, because it was a lie. To apologize, can I kiss you instead?"

Draco laughed so hard his eyes crinkled at the corners. He raised a single eyebrow and asked,

"Can you reach?"

"I got it!" Scorpius's tiny voice rose up from below. He ran toward the front door and shouted, "I got it!"

Both Hermione and Draco watched as Scorpius half-ran and half-waddled to the door, picked up Hermione's plastic stool, then dragged it to where Hermione was standing. He pushed it toward her and said,

"Chef always gives me a stool to help reach."

Hermione stepped up onto the stool then pulled Draco into a kiss by the collar of his shirt. He responded immediately, wrapping his arms around her waist and spinning her around in a circle before placing her back on the stool. He bent low for one lingering, chaste kiss before heading toward the door. He shouted over his shoulder,

"Be seeing you, Hermione Granger."

"I love watching you walk away, you know that?"

She heard Draco's loud, unrestrained laugh that reminded her once again of the day they met. He turned around and, just before closing the door leaned across the threshold to say,

"If you like my backside half as much as I enjoy your chest, Hermione, I don't know how you keep your hands off me."

The door closed behind him and Hermione stepped off the stool. She looked down at Scorpius to say,

"I give him about five seconds before he notices."

Scorpius nodded and held up one hand. He put down his thumb, then another finger, then another, then another, and the door opened right as Scorpius finished the countdown. Draco shook his head and said,

"You make me so dizzy I forgot my son."

"Can I stay with Hermione?"

"Well Hermione doesn't cook," Draco revealed, "and Chef is making pasta."

Scorpius's eyes lit up as he asked, "Noodles?"

Draco confirmed, "Noodles."

"Bye, Hermione!" Scorpius gave Hermione's legs a quick squeeze before rushing out the door toward the lift.

Draco winked at Hermione before he left.

"I love you almost as much as my son loves noodles."

"That's the Blaise Zabini influence, isn't it?"

"Without question. Be seeing you, Golden Girl."