TW: Reference to Past Child Abuse
TW: Referenced Biphobia
TW: Traumatic Injury (Past)
CW: Mild Sexual Content
CW: Strong Language
Friday, July 5th.
Ten days since he shagged Hermione. Ten days since he held Hermione. Two days since they last spoke on the phone. Approximately nine wank sessions in the interim, Draco did not understand the persistence of his libido. He'd be in a meeting, his mind would drift, and it always worked its way to Hermione's stomach. The round, soft bit with a thin path of hair leading downward. She had amazing tits, a nice arse, and he enjoyed how her breaths got shorter and deeper the closer she was to orgasm. Why was it her stomach that seemed to pull his thoughts in that direction?
During their time apart, he'd been wanking to memories. Primarily memories of Hermione and the excitement that came from seeing someone so strong in such a vulnerable position. Being trusted to care for her in that position was a gift. A few times during the days without Hermione, his mind wandered back to Astoria and her softness. Her touch, her skin, her soul were all so delicate. Hermione was many things, but soft never crossed his mind—Except it had. The stomach kink was his attraction to the softest part of her.
That Friday, Draco got himself off before going to sleep. When he closed his eyes, he was still in his bed. It was Hermione's hand on his dick, working him up. There was another hand on his chest, and he turned to his left to see Astoria. She leaned in for a kiss and Draco could nearly feel it. Her lips were full and soft; she tasted like cheap toothpaste just as she would have before bed. That was a memory. Hermione's lips around his cock? That was a memory. Tori tugging on his hair by the roots? A memory. Hermione riding his dick? Another memory.
In a universe trillions of lightyears away, perhaps there was a Draco Malfoy with the good fortune to be shagged by these women simultaneously. As it stood, it felt like he was cheating on his girlfriend with the memory of his wife.
He came, though.
Draco stared at the ceiling and hated himself for what he had done. He missed Astoria and the comfort she brought to his life. Things were so much simpler. Disagreements always had an amicable resolution. Their careers were mostly complementary. Astoria had moved into Malfoy Manor and embraced it, fending off the gloom that had covered the house for the entirety of Draco's life before her. When he finally broke down and asked why she didn't seem to mind his bisexuality, she shrugged it off with a simple, It means you've got double the options of everyone else and still chose me. Life was comfortable when Astoria was around.
A comfort he would never feel again.
The following Monday, Draco met his mother in her office for tea. Their first tea since she broke up with Penelope, and Draco hoped to find his mother in better spirits. When he walked through her door, it appeared as if Narcissa was trying to force her way back to the woman she had been a month earlier. Draco didn't know how to tell her looking backward only prolonged the ache. He sat in his usual chair and waited to be acknowledged. As his mother finished whatever she was writing, Draco noted she had been for a manicure and hoped a small attempt at looking more like herself was a truer sign of her heart healing.
Narcissa stood from her desk and made her way to sit in the accompanying chair. She poured them each a cup of tea before saying,
"I have a request of you."
Draco nodded and sipped his tea. Narcissa smoothed her trousers then asked,
"Will you find another name for my grandson to call me? We believed mémère was cute while he was still learning to form words, but we are far past that point."
"Are we?"
"Yes."
Draco nodded again and confirmed, "I will think of something. We've been discussing words he should use for Hermione as well. 'Mum' doesn't quite suit her."
Narcissa raised an eyebrow and asked, "Which are you considering?"
"'Maman' seems to be his pick. He liked 'mamounette,' but can't quite say it in full. I offered 'stepmum,' but he didn't like it. None of the English names seemed to fit."
"Is she prepared to take on the responsibility of parenting a child?"
"No." Draco revealed, "We have questions about what our family will look like."
"Your family is you, the Granger girl, and Scorpius. What else …" Narcissa's face softened. "Should we expect an addition?"
"We are considering it." Draco admitted, "I'm terrified, mother. I don't wish to deny Hermione something she wants, but I also don't believe I could go through it again. She's not quite determined whether she wants a child of her own. Her concern is whether another child would create a distance between her and Scorpius." He shrugged. "I don't know what to do."
"The Granger girl doesn't want a child of her own."
"Nor did she want a husband, yet we're planning for that."
"My son." Narcissa let out a tiny laugh. "There are some things in this life only a woman can understand. If a woman wants a child, she knows. Marrying your father, I knew a son was required of me and I was happy to provide that for us. Even so, I nearly left him because he made me choose between the two of you. Any decent mother loves her child more than she loves her marriage, and any decent woman knows when she wants a child of her own. If there is any question, my son, then the answer is no."
Draco remained skeptical.
"I think you're wrong."
Narcissa laughed louder this time.
"Shall I explain to you the Granger girl's reasoning?"
"If you believe you can."
"She has spent twenty years pursuing her career; a career which has already cost her one marriage. Now that her entire life is on unsteady ground, Hermione Granger is desperate for another type of success. She is adopting what is typically considered success for women: motherhood. Not a stepmother as she would be to your son, but to have her own child. She views her body as abnormal and having a child would be the most normal, most female thing she could do to balance that scale."
"Oh." Draco tried to find the words to properly phrase his feelings. All he could come up with was, "That makes no sense, yet it aligns perfectly with what she told me."
"As I said, my son, there are some things in this life only a woman can understand." Narcissa conceded, "She also said in her interview that she did not intend to have a child, so I know this to be a new development."
"May I ask about Penelope?"
Draco watched as his mother did her best to appear unaffected, but he could see the heartache in her eyes. Each bit of that relationship he uncovered, there seemed to be more buried underneath. He found himself desperately curious about how deep that relationship went. Then again, perhaps those were questions best left unanswered.
"Penelope is a woman who knows she wants a family."
"I understand that, but—"
"I would prefer we not speak of her." Narcissa dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips. "I hoped she would find her way into the Diggory boy's arms, but neither of them are as interested as I believed they would be. It appears my matchmaking skills are waning rather quickly."
"Or," offered Draco, "neither of them could see through their own heartbreak."
"Would that Penelope could love me so deeply. As it stands, my son, she is moving on as she should have years ago."
"Each time I hear from her, she has an ache in her voice. Seeing the name Malfoy on her phone hurts her. I'm not saying I understand what went on between you, but … Did she have a boyfriend in the eight years she was your …" Draco shrugged. "I hardly know how to refer to her."
"No. She was not permitted to see anyone else."
Draco laughed.
"You're telling me that incredibly beautiful, tall, thin, blonde woman who has more power than she knows what to do with … You're telling me that she chose to be your bit on the side for what were arguably the most attractive years of her life? And you don't think she loved you?"
"As I said," snapped Narcissa, "I prefer we not speak of her."
"There it is." Draco grinned. He shook his head and asked, "How do you do that? You terrify people, you sound more like yourself, and I envy it. I'll never be able to do that."
Narcissa dismissed that thought with a wave of her hand, "You will."
"I'm thirty-four, if that was in me it would've appeared by now."
"People fear me not because of what I have done, Draco, but because of what I could do to them. There has not been a time when you needed to do the sort of things your father and I were known to do."
Draco rephrased, "Murder."
"Eliminating threats and collecting debts by means outside of those legally prescribed."
"Murder."
"Protecting this family by any and all required means."
Was this the person he was meant to become? Even if for the most proper, most angry reasons, Draco couldn't see himself ordering a kill. Much less having blood on his own hands. His father's voice sounded inside his head. You don't have the stomach for it. Pathetic. Unworthy of our name. Aloud, he said,
"I cannot imagine getting to that point."
"No, I imagine you would be unable to see it in yourself."
"A failure, as my father would say."
"No!" Narcissa placed her teacup in its saucer. "It takes need, my son. You never needed to avenge Astoria. Graham and Jami are fortunate we haven't razed that cemetery to the ground to get her body back."
Draco grit his teeth. He never considered that an option. Was it? Could he have asserted his privilege, his rights as her husband to have her buried in her proper resting place?
"I never believed you or my father cared much for Tori."
Draco watched his mother casually spin the teacup around on its saucer. She couldn't meet his gaze when she replied.
"Your father and I believed she was a bit timid, far more akin to the women your grandfather and his father and his father, et cetera, married. Your father and I wished for you to find someone exceptional, and I suppose the Greengrass girl was exceptional in her own way. Her lightheartedness brought out something in you that had been long absent. A happiness you hadn't connected to since childhood."
Draco confirmed, "She made me incredibly happy."
"Which is all a parent wishes for their child. Regardless of how we felt about her, she was a Malfoy in name and blood. She gave you a wonderful son, and in carrying on this family's legacy she earned a place in our crypt. She should be here, on manor grounds. As it stands, I understood you preferred to leave her in Stoke-on-Trent because she would not wish her body to be disturbed. This is why I donated to the Manchester Opera House, because it is a fitting memorial to her memory we could create without the disturbance."
"And I am grateful to you and Blaise more than I can say."
"In the weeks since, you have been more like yourself than I have seen since your wife's death. You have reconnected with your son, Draco. That was all I wanted from this. Toward the end of his life, your father recognized the distance between you and Scorpius because it was the same distance between himself and you." Narcissa revealed, "He never wanted that."
She could say things like that without care for the inherent hypocrisy. Any decent mother loves her child more than her marriage. Where had that drifted off to? Draco may not have been the best father to Scorpius over the past six years, but he would never treat Scorpius the way his father treated him. The thought of Scorpius experiencing the pain of being discarded by those he loved most? Scorpius losing his identity and searching for it outside the family Draco had gifted him? Draco would kill however many people it took to spare his son that pain. Draco simply scoffed,
"C'est ça ouais."
His mother glared at him and asked, "Would you care to say that again?"
"No." Draco cleared his throat and added, "I would not do that."
"Your father—"
"Just because you loved my father and continue to love him does not mean I am meant to extend him the same courtesy!" He whispered, "You know what he did to me."
"He gave you a name, wealth, and a home."
"He poisoned my name, my wealth, and even these bloody walls!" Draco stood up and made for the door. Halfway there, he turned around to add, "Never try to convince me that man cared for me."
"He didn't know how." His mother's voice shook. "Your father cared for this family and never understood how you fit into it until he saw you with your son, Draco. He believed you would end up married to Blaise and destroy our mechanism for retaining wealth. When you embraced your sexuality, your father believed it would lead to a dozen bastard Malfoy children across the continent. He never understood you."
"Because he never got to know me."
"No, he did not. And he regretted it."
"Did he?" asked Draco. "Or was he simply angry he had been wrong?"
"He was angry at himself upon realizing he had been the terrible father you always claimed he was. I can tell you the moment he finally understood—"
"If it wasn't when he dragged me out of this house by my hair, telling me I was a disgrace and would be more helpful to this family if I had my balls chopped off, mum, then I would consider that realization too fucking late!"
Narcissa tugged at the end of one sleeve and said, "I left him for that, if you recall."
"Fat lot of good it did. A week of contrition and you fell right back into his arms because you loved him. So please, mother, tell me when my father finally recognized after decades of disdain, that he had been a poor father to me."
"He saw your son on FaceTime with Bastien Queensbury's father, and Scorpius referred to him as his grandfather." Narcissa took a deep breath before continuing to say, "Your father realized he had been replaced in your son's life because he had not been there for you in yours."
Draco laughed.
"Another way he didn't understand me, then. Bastien's father was meant to replace Graham Greengrass in my son's life. Mr. Queensbury taught me how to be a man, but my father loved my son in all the ways he never loved me. My son will grow up to be a good man because I've surrounded him with good men."
"On that, we agree."
"I believe you," conceded Draco, "that he came 'round in the end. He was a different man when he died. I like to think my son was responsible for that."
"When your father died, he was with the family he always hoped to have."
You weren't enough. His mother didn't need to say it aloud for those words to crash between them. Draco lived his own life and found his way to the family he always wanted, and it turned out to be the family his father wanted, too. Why had Lucius Malfoy wasted twenty years loathing his own son when they wanted the same thing? There was no healing that ache, so Draco said the one thing that would reopen all the wounds his mother had tried to heal.
"When you leave us, mother, is Penelope meant to sit with us at the funeral as family, or in a row further back?"
Narcissa scowled, snapped her fingers and pointed toward the door.
"Leave."
.oOo.
Two days later, Draco spent an hour watching Scorpius read while he lounged on the sofa before dinner. His phone vibrated with a call from Penelope Clearwater. He answered with a bored,
"Hello?"
"Hermione's been sacked."
Draco sat straight up and sputtered, "Are you fucking joking?!"
Scorpius turned around and shouted, "You said a naughty word!"
Draco waved him off and asked, "Sacked from News at Ten or BBC altogether?"
Penelope's voice was heavy when she confirmed, "Altogether. I'm preparing a statement now, but the news won't break until tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. As of now, the only people who know are the network executives, her producer, Harry and Ginny Potter, and Hermione herself."
"Diggory doesn't know?"
"No, and he won't until the news is public tomorrow. Hermione's final broadcast will be this evening."
"Right, I know you're phoning as our publicist, but my concern is for her wellbeing. She hasn't called to tell me."
"I am phoning you on her behalf."
"That's a good sign, right?"
"As good as could be expected. I believe she will hold herself together until this evening. We've made the collective decision she will stay the night with the Potters. Ginny just returned from the World Cup, so Hermione has friends to lean on. While we all think Hermione is a strong person, she lives in a tenth-floor penthouse with a very jumpable terrace."
"What have you planned for tomorrow?"
"Nothing yet, I only received the news a half hour ago."
"May I offer up an idea?"
"You can offer up anything. I feel I've failed her. All she's ever wanted was a career in journalism and to be our UN Ambassador. She's lost both in less than three months. I'm one failure away from jumping off her balcony myself."
Draco recognized the truth beneath her words. Penelope Clearwater was handling the separation from his mother about as well as Narcissa herself was handling it. Draco said,
"Perhaps the best course of action is for Hermione to embrace this change in circumstance. What if I take Hermione out for a family day? Hermione, Scorpius, and I. Perhaps even the little Potter boy so we look like a real proper family. What if we go out in public, get lunch, perhaps do something touristy? We make it look like BBC has lost the best foreign affairs journalist on the continent, while Hermione hasn't lost much at all."
There were several seconds of curious silence on the other end before Penelope answered.
"That is a phenomenal idea. Can you pick her up from Potter's house tomorrow for lunch?"
"Absolutely. They're in Chiswick, as I recall. Is there a way for Hermione to get the anchor position back?"
"It would require immense backlash from the public."
"Could you publicize the story of Hermione losing the functionality of her shoulder and burning the skin on her arm? Frame it as a sacrifice for the network which they repaid by firing her."
"I want to do that, yes, but I am not certain Hermione will go along with it."
"Leave that to me. When we go out tomorrow, she will wear something that exposes the arm. Questions will circulate and it will seem more organic than if you include it as part of a statement." Draco insisted, "I think we can win her job back, Penelope. Hermione is too strong and too good at her job to be sidelined like this."
"I agree."
Draco decided not to mention his mother. If Penelope wished to know, she would ask.
"Is there anything else you need from me?"
"No."
The call ended and Draco looked over to his son, nose still in the book. He nudged Scorpius's backside with his toes and offered,
"Would you like to see Hermione tomorrow?!"
"YES!" Scorpius tossed the book aside and flung himself onto the sofa. He crawled into Draco's side and asked, "Are we going to London?"
Draco held him close and said, "Yes, we are going to London. Now, I know we spoke about Hermione—"
"Maman!"
"She is your maman to you and me, but Hermione may not be ready for that herself. It is best if you continue to refer to her as 'Hermione.' Some mean people have made it so she won't be on television anymore."
"NO!" Scorpius clung to Draco's shirt and asked, "Why?"
"Because she is good at her job, and sometimes she is so good that it makes other people look bad."
"Good is bad?"
"No, my son—" Draco cringed. My son. When had he become his mother? "No, Scorp, good is good. Sometimes people cannot handle excellence. We are taking Hermione to lunch tomorrow as a treat, and we will stay the night at her flat."
"YAY!" Scorpius shouted and ran toward the door. "Mémère Cissa! Mémère Cissa!"
Draco realized, rather belatedly, that he'd been so angry at his mother he'd forgotten the one request she made.
.oOo.
The Potters had a nice, rather quaint home in Bedford Park. A white fence lined the perimeter, there was a stained glass transom above the front door, and an arched entryway with a wrought iron gate. It was lovingly Victorian. Scorpius was practically vibrating with excitement, so Draco permitted him to knock on the front door. He texted Potter thirty seconds earlier, so he wasn't surprised Ginny was there to answer the door. Draco said,
"If they'd started you in the second half, England would've walked away with a medal."
Ginny shrugged and said, "Probably. Just means I'll be suiting up four years from now."
"I'm glad to hear it." Draco glanced down and asked, "Are you going to say hello?"
Scorpius offered his hand, which Ginny accepted.
"Hello, Mrs. Potter!"
"Good morning, Scorpius. Good to see you again. Al is in his room."
Draco walked inside behind Scorpius and Ginny, through the entry and toward the family room off to the right. The room was rather chaotic. There was a fireplace on the far wall with a large wood-framed mirror above it. Three rather large green chairs were centred around a coffee table, with one green bench off in a far corner. Some hideous floral curtains were pulled back to reveal the entrance to a conservatory where a myriad of child sports equipment had been tossed about. A television was atop some sort of cabinet in another corner. There, on one of those green chairs, Hermione was curled into herself clutching a pillow to her chest. She was in a pair of black pyjama bottoms and what appeared to be one of Ginny's training t-shirts.
Scorpius rushed through the room and made a beeline for Hermione. She turned toward him, as though sensing he was there before Scorpius said a word. Hermione opened her arms and Scorpius pummeled her torso with the biggest hug he could manage. Hermione wrapped her arms around him and glanced up at Draco before returning her attention to the hug. Her voice was painfully soft when she said,
"It's so good to see you, baby blond."
"My dad said you won't be on telly anymore."
"That's true." Hermione tightened her hug. "You won't see me on telly anymore."
"Dad said mean people made you go away."
"That's true."
"Dad said I get to stay at your flat!" Scorpius wriggled free of Hermione's grasp and said, "With Al! I'm so happy!" He deflated for a moment. "But sad for you." His smile returned. "But happy for me! I get my dad and maman and my best friend!"
Goddamn it. Draco glared up at the ceiling. He ought to have known Scorpius couldn't keep maman out of his mouth. Not when he was so excited to have Hermione in his life in this new way.
Scorpius placed his hands on Hermione's knees and said, "Best day ever!" Before running off to find Albus. Once he was out of earshot, Hermione placed her elbows on her knees, rested her face in her hands, and cried. Ginny nodded wordlessly toward her before making herself scarce. Draco maneuvered his way through the room and knelt in front of Hermione. He said the only thing that came to mind.
"You don't deserve this."
"D-do you know wh-what's the worst part of all this?" Without waiting for a reply, Hermione said, "I wasn't this scared when I got blown up. I've never been this afraid before."
"What are you afraid of?"
"Not knowing."
"There it is." Draco flattened his palm against her knee. "You can't see where your life is heading, and you're afraid because you don't know where to find the answer."
She sniffled and said, "Maman may be an answer."
"I am sorry for that, I told Scorpius we hadn't had that discussion yet, you and me, the way I had with him. He's just excited."
Hermione said, rather lamely, "Best day ever."
"Perhaps not the best, but we will make it a good one. Penelope and I agreed the best way to respond is to make it appear as though BBC lost everything, and you lost nothing."
"But I did. I lost my job."
"And gained maman, did you not?"
Hermione nodded.
"I'll wait here while you get dressed, then?"
"I need a minute." Hermione sniffled and wiped the tears from her face. "I don't want your son to see me cry. I'm so scared, Draco, terrified of what life looks like without BBC to hold onto."
"Then let me show you what it could look like if we committed to combining our families. Your life can be this. Your life can be me and Scorpius, it can be in my library, it can be taking time to breathe. Perhaps once you see what this life looks like, you won't be as afraid of what the future holds for you, alright?"
Hermione made for the stairs and Draco took her seat. He listened to the hums and whirrs of the house until a voice sounded from the doorway.
"Malfoy?"
"Potter?" Draco asked as he turned around to confirm it was, in fact, a disheveled Harry Potter. "You look like hell."
"Feel that way, too." Potter stepped a bit further into the room, but still fairly close to the entry point. "Thanks for coming to get Hermione."
"Does your son have requirements to go out in public? You and Ginny are famous enough to where I assume it's a problem."
"No." Potter shrugged it off. "Not really. Al doesn't go out often enough for us to be concerned about it."
"If I'm taking him in public, he will be photographed. Scorp has loads of masks because I require him to wear one when we're out. We have enough for your son, if it's something you want us to use."
"Sounds like a great idea."
"Okay." Draco mentioned, "You and Ginny don't act like you have the level of notoriety you do."
"I never quite understood why I became the face of so much shit." Potter rolled his eyes. "What good is it if I can't even use it to hold people accountable for the worst … Whatever, fame is fucking useless. Gin's an athlete, right? She sells tickets, people want to see her play. My wife's great, but me? All I did was sign up for the army. Too small for the RAF, so I wound up in Afghanistan and, I dunno, was too stubborn to die, I guess."
"Do you wish to speak about your retirement?"
"Turns out when you witness a war crime, the general assumption is you shut the fuck up and get back in line. In war it's us versus them, yeah? If us is doing something bad to them, then it's justified. What I saw …" Potter shuddered. His whole body convulsed for a moment, like he'd lost control of himself. He reached out to the wall for support. "The shit I saw haunts me."
Draco made the mistake of asking, "What does that have to do with you being shot?"
Potter laughed. It was an eerie, desperate gasp of a laugh that had Draco wondering whether Potter was all there. Perhaps taking Albus for the day was a good thing all around. Potter said,
"I reported what I saw. When nothing was done, I reported it higher up the chain. Pissed off some people with large guns, then got shot in the back for the trouble. Twice."
"I find it difficult to imagine a fellow Brit—"
"Never said it was Brits."
Oh.
Oh.
Draco nodded and simply said, "I see."
"I'm doing better, I promise. I'm not … not always like this. Got some papers in the mail a couple days ago that made things harder, is all."
"Do you wish to speak about it?"
Potter nodded. He revealed,
"They've offered me half a million pounds if I sign an NDA. Can't talk to Hermione about it because she's just lost her job, in part because of an NDA. Ron thinks I'm going to fall apart if I sneeze the wrong way. I may not be the best husband in the world, but I know better than to distract my wife with this shit while she's just come back from getting 4th place at the World Cup, which may well be her last."
Not if Ginny had any say in the matter.
Draco asked, "Do you want my opinion?"
"No." Potter hedged, "Could probably use it, though."
"If I'm understanding what you're saying, without saying, you witnessed a war crime committed by the only country in the world who can strong-arm our military the way it seems they've done to you."
"Correct."
"They can't actually kill you because someone as famous as you getting shot in Afghanistan then mysteriously getting offed … That would raise too much suspicion. If you were going to commit suicide you'd've done it already—"
"Considered very frequently for many months. Worked through it."
"Their only option, then, is for you to shut up. My advice? Figure a number you can live with, stick it atop the NDA, and send it back."
"But—"
"Potter." Draco made sure Harry was looking at him before he continued. "There is no winning against the war machine. What's done is done, and the people who did what you saw will not be held accountable. This is true whether you continue reporting up the chain or not. At some point, bravery and honour are useless against those without it."
Potter sat with that for a moment. He nodded to himself and stared at the ground. He slumped his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair.
"Y'know, I think I knew that, but I needed to hear someone say it."
"If you didn't have a family to care for, my opinion would be different. I'd tell you to fuck them as far up the arse as you could before you die under extremely suspicious circumstances. As it is, I've got a son, Potter. I know how important it is to be there for him because my father sure as hell wasn't there for me the way he ought to have been. If he was, perhaps I might've turned out a bit more …" Draco shrugged. "Perhaps I would have felt more comfortable finding out who I was. Who I am. Sons need their fathers, and as it is … You've got to figure what's the best thing for them."
Everyone seemed to appear in the doorway just then. Hermione was in another of her short-sleeved jumpers. This one was black with large white polka dots, tucked into a pair of black jeans. Ginny must've helped Hermione pull her hair back. Albus Potter was right on his mother's heels, and Scorpius was right behind him. Draco made for the front door, flipping his car keys between his fingers. He shouted for Scorpius,
"On y va!"
Scorpius whined, "I need to say goodbye!"
"Dépêchez-vous!"
Scorpius once again shook hands with each of Al's parents before running out the door.
.oOo.
Taking Hermione to lunch was a bit of a mess. Draco managed to mostly ignore the phones and cameras pointed their direction. The paparazzi shouted questions like,
"What happened to your arm?"
"How long have you been dating?"
One made the mistake of directing a question at Scorpius. Draco told Hermione to go ahead and get in line for the London Eye, the most touristy thing Draco could think to do, while he hung back. Draco turned to that pap and said,
"If you so much as look at my son again, you will not see the sun rise tomorrow morning."
He nodded and said, "Understood, Mr. Malfoy."
"Good."
They stood in line just like everyone else, fending off selfie hunters and shielding the children from view of cameras as best they could. Albus was rather used to it on some scale, but Scorpius was far too curious. He would lean to the side and wave, delighted to be the focus of so much chatter.
Hermione reached for Draco's hand and his heart skipped a beat. They'd never held hands before. Somehow, this felt like a better indication of their relationship's strength than the sex. Draco and Hermione were together in the eyes of everyone around them. They held hands up the zig-zagged walkway until they stepped into the clear glass bubble that would take them up for a view of the London skyline.
Many of the tourists didn't seem to know who Draco was, but some recognized Hermione. She warded them off with a polite,
"I would prefer not to take photographs while I'm out with my family, but it is nice to meet you."
Draco couldn't help but smile when she referred to him as her family. She would make a great politician one day. Scorpius and Albus had their noses very nearly pressed against the glass as their glass pod slowly made its way upward. Draco and Hermione sat on the bench in the centre of the pod, free while everyone else was more interested in the view. Hermione stared at her hands and said,
"They are already asking questions about my arm."
Draco insisted, "You don't have to answer."
"Perhaps I should."
"Would you like to tell me what happened?"
Hermione picked at the underside of her fingernails when she answered. Draco could sense her anxiety, simply speaking about it to him. The din of conversation was a decent shield for the two of them, so Draco waited patiently until Hermione was ready to talk.
"When a bomb goes off, everything stops. Your entire body becomes fluid. Your muscles feel like they've been pulled off your bones and flop about inside of you like limp pasta. The reporter from Le Monde who was in front of me took the blunt of the impact. His body was in several pieces scattered amongst a blast radius too large for me to think about. My left arm and shoulder were the only bits he didn't quite cover."
Hermione choked back a sob.
"The explosion cracked my clavicle in two places. One crack was concave while the other poked up and out through my skin."
Draco winced.
"It tore my rotator cuff completely off my shoulder. My arm felt like it had been blown off but was somehow still connected to me. I was in so much pain and all this chaos happened around me as I stared up at the sky. It was very blue, the sort of blue we never get here in England. I thought it would be a nice last thing to see in this life, the blue of the sky."
"Were you afraid?"
"Yes and no. I was afraid of dying with unanswered questions."
"What sort of questions?"
"Who did this? Why? Will Ron be able to move on? Do I want Ron to move on? Those sorts of questions. Then there were the regrets. I remember thinking I should have told Ron how good of a person he was. Rather, I should have told him that more often. I should have phoned Viktor one last time, just to feel the butterflies in my stomach again."
"Did you want to die?"
Hermione paused before answering, "I wanted whatever the universe had in store for me. Lying half-dead on the desert floor with an arm that felt like it was slow roasting over a fire … I told myself if I survived, I would not let this deter me from telling stories which need to be told. I remember thinking, This is what war feels like. So many people go through exactly what I felt. Bombs, drones, whatever it may be … We wind up in the same place. Lying on the ground, staring up at the sky, wondering whether we will be gifted another breath."
Draco placed his hand on Hermione's thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze. There were no words he could say in reply.
"Ron and my parents never understood that promise. They've never been through anything like that, which is why I need to show these stories. War makes unimaginable pain an everyday reality, and there is no way for people like my parents to know what that's like unless I tell them. That is why I went back to work, and they chose not to listen to what I have to say."
Draco squeezed her thigh once more as if to say, I get it now. I'm here for you. I will always be here for you.
"I went back to work, and BBC's fired me for it."
"No, golden girl. They fired you because once you went after someone with as good a reputation as Lockhart, no one was safe. The stories you told were too powerful."
"Has Penelope released a statement?"
"That is none of your concern today." Draco pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek. "This is our day. Thank you for telling me what happened."
Hermione leaned into him and said, "You deserved to know."
"Is there anything you want to know from me?"
Hermione looked away, toward Scorpius and Albus. Draco gently nudged her knee with his own.
"Ask me, Hermione."
She blurted out, "I pushed back my surgery."
"Oh."
Hermione shook her head and said, "I couldn't do it. It's the one bit of me that healed, and I need more time to sit with what it means to open that wound again."
"You deserve all the time you need."
"I've read nine books on being a stepmum since I saw you last." Hermione turned her gaze away from the two boys and stared straight ahead into the backsides of a dozen tourists lined along the glass dome. "None of it helped. I'm sitting here as a woman nearing thirty-five with no job, no experience in motherhood, one good arm, and a newsreel which consists of nothing but me pissing off every foreign government that would speak with me. I've not a clue what I'm doing anymore."
"For starters," said Draco, "Scorpius and I don't have any idea what a mother should be, so you're working with a fairly blank canvas. Second, yes, you are nearing thirty-five with a bachelor's degree from halfway across the world, a master's in political communication, and a law degree from Cambridge in addition to an internationally respected career in broadcast journalism. Which, whatever you may think of it now, would be impressive for someone at age fifty."
Hermione smiled and sat up a bit straighter.
"I suppose that's true."
"How many text messages have you received?"
Hermione shook her head and admitted, "I haven't looked. My phone's been off all day."
"I'm shocked ITV hasn't hired one of those planes that write messages in the sky. Would you like me to read through them for you?"
"If you wouldn't mind."
Hermione handed Draco her iPhone, which began to vibrate uncontrollably the moment he unlocked it. Once it was done seizing in his palm, Draco revealed,
"Fifty-eight missed calls and 214 unread text messages. Texts first?"
"Texts first."
Draco clicked on Dad. It was a very large message, one that took up the full screen, outlining exactly how proud he was of Hermione and her accomplishments. Followed by a single text reading, We have plenty of room for you here in Australia.
Draco clicked on Mom. Two very short messages. Sorry to hear about you leaving BBC, they didn't deserve you. Followed by, The guestroom can be made up for you whenever you like.
He rolled his eyes, knowing full well Hermione wouldn't care to hear from either of them at this moment. Next were twenty unread texts from Cedric Diggory.
Going to continue coverage of the increase in crime throughout London today. Don't want to frighten people off, though. D'you think it'd be overdoing it to do a follow-up tonight?
How is Pavi?
I miss her.
Don't tell her I said that, though. I want to look cool and aloof, not like I'm scrolling through our joint photo album every morning at breakfast. Which I'm definitely not doing.
Daily Mail just posted the most ridiculous story about you being sacked.
LOL the Sun's posted it, too.
Hermione.
HERMIONE.
The Economist has a bit on it. Have you been sacked?
Why aren't you answering?
Oh, God, is this true? Hermione?
Please, for the love of God, just like a bloody message so I know you haven't jumped off a bridge.
BBC released an official statement.
Penelope phoned me to confirm it's true after I called her seven times.
Where are you?
What do you need from me?
Just saw the photos of you out to lunch with Malfoy. I know it's not the most pressing thing right now, but I'm proud of you for choosing to show off your scars. I know how heavily that weighs on you.
I don't know what to do. What do you want me to do?
I'm so sorry about this, Hermione. I'll talk it over with NUJ; they can't fire you without cause. We all know they're not firing you for breach of contract, they're sacking you because of Lockhart.
I will fix this however I can, I promise.
"Diggory is losing his mind over this," said Draco.
Hermione shook her head, closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"I don't want to talk to him."
"Understood."
"This will hurt him just as much as it hurts me."
"I believe you."
Texts from the Drs Longbottom, her ex-husband, all of her friends, and …
"Does someone at ITV have your number?"
"Roger Davies. Cedric gave it to him last year when he considered asking me out."
"Oh?" Draco conceded, "He's handsome. Fit. Same career more or less … Perfectly sensible match."
"Why do you ask?"
"Because everyone at ITV who has ever touched a phone has either called or texted you to say there's a spot open wherever you like."
Hermione laughed.
"I suppose job security isn't quite so large a concern as I believed it to be."
"No, and being a mum isn't quite as scary as you imagine it to be, either. If I can be a half-decent father, you can be an exceptional mother, Hermione."
"Your son deserves that."
"You deserve it, too."
.oOo.
Hermione did not own a television.
Penelope Clearwater had mentioned before that Hermione didn't have one, but he didn't believe it until he stood in her flat without care for time. There was no television to be found, but there was a wall in one bedroom filled with bookshelves. Hermione had tossed three of her parenting books on the coffee table in her snug, discarded once she realized they were of little use.
Albus and Scorpius spent the hour before dinner working out puzzles. Watching them together, Draco had a better understanding of their friendship. Scorpius would try to shove pieces together while Albus sat back and observed. When he found two pieces he believed went together, he grabbed them, placed them in front of Scorpius, who then determined how they fit before handing them back to Albus to figure out where they went in the broader scheme of the puzzle.
"That," Draco said, "is teamwork like I've never seen."
"Isn't it nice?" Hermione revealed, "I've got a stash of games for when my friends' kids are over. As I don't believe in screens—"
"You don't believe in screens?"
"Padma specializes in digital privacy. I know far too much about how children's data is monetized to allow any child I love near a device. Besides," Hermione nodded toward the two boys, "look at them. This is how they work with each other. Why would we want to place a screen in front of them?"
"Not even a television?"
"That's different. I think if you have the proper programming, television is a good cultural education tool."
"But you don't have a television."
Hermione conceded, "I don't. I do have my laptop, though, which I use for telly sometimes. I will watch Escape to the Country if I need a distraction."
Draco wrapped his arm around her shoulders and said, "You continue to fascinate me, Hermione Granger."
"Perhaps you'll keep me around awhile, then."
She meant it as a joke, but there was an undercurrent of fear beneath those words.
"Perhaps you'll see that I am your escape to the country."
They laughed and time slowed as the evening wore on. Scorpius and Albus ate dinner on the floor while finishing their puzzle. Draco and Hermione ate on her sofa, watching them. There was a sort of contentment Draco had never felt, not even with Astoria. Perhaps it was a feeling he could only have as a father, watching his son learn and grow. It felt like his life had led to this one moment of calm, right where he was meant to be.
Scorpius yawned. Albus yawned even wider. Both boys were fighting against the exhaustion of the day. Scorpius looked like he was about to fall over but was determined to finish the puzzle before he fell asleep. Albus took on more responsibility, trying to fit pieces together on his own.
Hermione leaned over into Draco's space then reached across his lap to grab the pillow at his side. On her first pass, she nudged the crotch of his trousers with the side of her hand. Hermione placed the pillow behind her back and rested her right hand on his left thigh. Draco was fine with that. This was Hermione's day to be sad. This was her day to figure out what the next phase of her life was meant to look like. This was not a day for Draco to be thinking with his dick.
Hermione moved her hand up Draco's thigh until it was resting precariously close to the danger zone. Draco swallowed thickly and leaned back until he was resting on the cushion behind him. Draco tilted his face up toward the ceiling and tried to will his thoughts in a nonsexual direction. They were two people watching their boys end a long, exciting day. Nothing more. Hermione made small circles with her thumb on the outside of his thigh. She said,
"Thank you for being with me today."
"I love you, Hermione. I wanted to be with you."
Hermione pulled herself into Draco's lap and sighed.
"This could have been the worst day of my life. When I woke up this morning, I felt lost. I had no idea what to be if I'm not BBC journalist Hermione Granger; I've been BBC journalist Hermione Granger for nearly thirteen years. Then you showed up and I got a new title."
Maman.
"I told you what happened to me, and you didn't judge me the way everyone in my life did at the time. Ron told me he would leave if I went back to work, but I thought, how could you leave if you love me? This is me, this is what I was put on this earth to do. If you stop me from being me, then that's not love, is it? I trust you to let me make choices for myself, Draco."
"I want to be part of the life you make for yourself, Hermione."
Hermione pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Then a kiss to his cheek, a gentle kiss against his jaw, a lingering kiss to his neck. She pressed her chest against him and sucked until she knew it would leave a mark. Message received. Draco bit back a moan and gently pushed Hermione off his lap. He said,
"Boys, I think it's time for bed."
Neither Scorpius nor Albus had the energy to protest. They sluggishly made their way to Hermione's bedroom and changed into their pyjamas. Draco turned toward Hermione and winked before stepping fully into the bedroom. Scorpius and Albus were getting comfortable beneath the duvet, eyes half-hooded. He spotted a white noise machine on the dresser.
"Night, dad!" came Scorpius's quiet goodbye.
Draco sat on the edge of the bed and asked, "Do you remember when we talked about whisper kisses?"
Scorpius nodded.
"Tonight, we're taking time for whisper kisses."
Albus asked, "What's whisper kisses?"
Scorpius answered before Draco could.
"Normal kisses are for when people are looking. Whisper kisses are ones nobody else is s'posed to see."
Albus's eyes went wide and he nodded.
"Whisper kisses are secret kisses." Then Albus frowned and wondered, "Are secret kisses gross like normal kisses?"
"Really gross." Scorpius shifted under the covers until he was comfortable. "But it's okay when parents do it."
"My dad kisses my mum now. He stopped kissing her when he got back from Afghanistan."
Draco blinked, a bit stunned that Albus could properly say 'Afghanistan' while Scorpius could hardly spit out "mamounette." His heart broke for Ginny, too, having seen that morning just a shadow of what Potter must have been like upon retirement.
"Right. Well, you boys behave and sleep well."
"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. G'night, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco turned on the white noise machine and increased the volume until he was confident it would obscure any of the indecent noises he and Hermione were about to make.
"Good night, boys. Shout if you need anything."
He closed the door behind him and made his way to the guestroom. Hermione was on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, trousers discarded on the floor. Draco plopped onto the bed beside her and rolled until he was on his right side. He placed one hand on her stomach and asked,
"Are you thinking again?"
"Yes."
"This is the one place thinking so much is not required."
Draco shifted so he was on top of Hermione, with one hand on her side. He kissed her slowly, promising a good end to this day. He owed her that much.
"Grab a condom for me?"
Hermione leaned in for another kiss and whispered against his lips, "Do we need one?"
Draco realized exactly what she had been thinking about. Part of him thought it would be perfect. He would love to be a dad to Hermione's child, right? He shook his head and remembered what his mother told him days earlier. A woman knows when she wants a child. The Granger girl has questions. Hell, Draco himself still had questions. He sat up a bit to gain distance and clear the fog from his mind. He tugged on the hem of her jumper before saying,
"Hermione, I love you, but I am not coming inside you without one. Unless you promise to pop off when I need you to."
"I had a wonderful time today with you, with our family." Hermione insisted, "I want that life for us—"
"Hermione, we are not making a decision like this on one of the worst days of your life."
"I'll pop off then."
It broke Draco's heart to say, "Tonight, I don't trust you to."
Hermione grimaced and Draco said,
"I'm sorry, I should've found a gentler way to say that."
"No, you're right to say it."
"But I don't want to shag you while you're crying, Hermione."
"It has very little to do with what you said. All the emotions of the day are catching up to me."
"And that's normal. Today is an emotional day, and this is another way I get to show you how much I care for you. Years from now, it's going to be you and me, golden girl, fucking like we're lazy about it. Watching telly late at night, maybe we're in our forties, Scorp's off at uni, and the manor's got fantastic soundproofing. I can make you scream my name in all sorts of ways, or just get you off because I want to hear the quiet noises you make. You and me, golden girl."
Hermione smiled and replied, "I like the sound of that."
"Good. So right now we need to get you out of this top so I can see these fantastic tits of yours."
Hermione took Draco's hand and placed it on her chest, overtop her jumper.
"Can you do slow for me tonight?"
"Tits out slow?"
Hermione shook her head. Draco grabbed another pillow and situated it behind Hermione so she could sit upward into more of a lean. He put more of his weight on her and asked,
"We good here?"
"Very good." Hermione whispered, "You and me, right?"
"You and me."
.oOo.
Post-sex cuddling with Hermione Granger was the best. Draco would keep her in his arms as long as she wished to be there. Hermione grinned and went in for a slow kiss. She whispered,
"Best day ever."
"I would end every day like this if I could."
"I want to watch the broadcast."
Hermione pulled up the BBC news feed on her laptop and waited for 9:58 to become 10:00. Draco held her by the waist with one arm and situated the laptop so they both could see the screen. He teased,
"You know how when a country's team wins the World Cup, they do a montage of all the parties happening? The opening of this broadcast should be live feeds of dictators when they read the news you've been sacked."
Hermione chuckled.
"Knowing Cedric, it will be a montage of our greatest moments together with a black and white filter, set to 'My Heart Will Go On.'"
"Oh, that'll quell the romance rumours."
Another laugh. Hermione said,
"I wonder what people have to say about us today."
"If I know the internet, it's anything and everything and nothing you wish to hear. Your show's coming on now."
The News at Ten intro ended and Cedric Diggory was at the centre of the desk wearing a dark grey tie and a rather depressed look on his face.
"Good evening. For those of you who have not yet heard today's news, the British Broadcasting Corporation has terminated Hermione Granger for breach of contract." Diggory paused for a moment, as if he could hardly believe the words. "They claim she provided inaccurate information regarding her health and fitness to work as she recovered from a blast injury suffered on an undisclosed assignment. What BBC failed to mention was that if Hermione did not return to work, she would be replaced. They put her in an untenable position."
Hermione snuggled closer to Draco and said, "It's kind of him to defend me at the top of the broadcast."
Draco could see it on Diggory's face; he was about to do a hell of a lot more than offer words of consolation.
"I firmly believe Hermione Granger has been terminated as retaliation for her exceptional interview with Gilderoy Lockhart, and the NUJ has agreed. Hermione Granger is a qualified journalist whose firing presents a question about the merits of BBC's work. As such, the National Union of Journalists has authorized a strike of the team behind BBC News at Ten, and select others in the broadcast industry who have chosen to express solidarity at this time. The following people have agreed to walk off the job this evening:
Stewart Ackerley, assignment editor.
Eddie Carmichael, writer.
Andrew Cooke, assistant producer.
Colin Creevey, transport manager.
Roger Davies, ITV Sports Anchor.
Marietta Edgecombe, Host of BBC Breakfast.
Kevin Entwhistle, Chief Meteorologist.
Wayne Hopkins, videographer.
Ernie MacMillan, producer.
Orla Quirke, correspondent.
Lisa Turpin, correspondent.
Rose Zeller, Department Head for Makeup and Hair.
These people will remain out of office until BBC releases a public apology to Hermione Granger for her unwarranted firing.
Signed and authorised by the President of the National Union of Journalists."
Cedric placed that paper aside and picked up another. Draco felt Hermione tense up as Diggory said,
"This second letter, I read to you now, was delivered to the network's Vice President one hour ago."
Diggory took a deep breath and he seemed calm. Eerily calm. Cedric Diggory always leaned into the camera a bit, he acted as though he was trying to speak directly to whomever was looking at him on the telly. He did it so every viewer felt he was doing his best to give the news to them, to that person specifically. Draco believed him when he spoke. Cedric leaned slightly back and wasn't looking at the camera. Whatever this letter was, he hadn't delivered it to whomever was running the prompter. Hermione whispered, mostly to herself,
"What have you done?"
"I spoke to you from this desk for one year as a standalone anchor. Time after time, it was clear to me that I did not have the foreign affairs knowledge nor experience to adequately convey the depth of the stories which needed to be told from across the globe. The heads of the network came to me and said these words, 'Give us a list of people you will accept as a co-anchor.' Let it be known that I gave them one name: Hermione Granger.'"
Hermione pressed her left hand against the centre of her chest.
"The network offered her this desk and she declined, hoping to continue her invaluable work in the field."
There was a brief moment when Diggory seemed to recognize that whatever he had done could, as of this moment, not be undone. Draco knew what he was about to do, but Hermione, it seemed, hadn't quite caught on. Cedric shook himself out of it and continued to read from the paper between his hands.
"She accepted the second time, and I have never had the privilege of working with a more dedicated journalist. I chose her because I know the best when I see it, and Hermione Granger is unquestionably the best foreign affairs journalist England has to offer. Hermione has given this network everything it has asked of her and more. She informed me of her injuries prior to our first broadcast together, and I purchased two dozen ties to coordinate with her favourite turtlenecks so she could feel comfortable sitting next to me. It was my goal for Hermione to understand I would be with her on this journey, side-by-side. What became a national pastime, debating the merits of our colour coordination capabilities, began because Hermione was afraid the scars she obtained while working for this very network would become a story when all she has ever wanted was to shine a light on the stories that matter."
"What is he doing?" mumbled Hermione. "What the bloody hell is he doing?"
Draco hissed a sharp breath through his teeth and muttered, "I can't believe what he's about to do."
"What?" she asked. "What is he about to do?"
Draco knew Hermione would try to run for the door and not stop until she had her hands around Cedric Diggory's throat once she figured out what he was doing.
"When the news came around this morning that I would once again be anchoring this desk alone, I cannot describe to you the guilt that began to crush me. I pulled Hermione out of the field, I told her this desk was ours, not mine. If it weren't for me, Hermione would be doing what she loves, travelling the world and showing you all the faces of war which are so often blurred. Hermione Granger made me a better journalist. That woman is my partner in broadcast, my friend in life, and an inspiration to young women across the globe who strive to tell the stories of their worlds in a way that matters."
Diggory looked at the camera as if he had memorized this particular bit of the letter.
"If Hermione Granger's brand of journalism does not have a home at this network, then neither does mine. At noon today, I notified the National Union of Journalists that I am resigning my post as delegate for broadcast. At nine this evening, I delivered my letter of resignation to the Vice President of BBC. It has been the honour of a lifetime to sit next to Hermione Granger, and I will not sit by as she is forced out for telling the truths which need to be told."
Cedric placed the paper on the desk and unknotted his tie. He pulled it off his neck, placed it on the desk, and left. The camera zoomed out so both empty chairs were in view. Hermione stared at the screen, gutted. The feed was replaced by a replay of BBC News at Six. The only thing Draco could think to say was,
"Perhaps not the best day ever."