Matching a Malfoy

by LittleSixx

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

25. His Name is Lancelot

"We need to talk about maman."

"Hermione!" Scorpius said from the backseat of the car. "What of maman?"

Draco clutched the wheel a bit tighter. Scorpius said it so naturally, without distinction. Hermione was that to him, the same way Draco was his father. Scorpius was so far ahead of Hermione that Draco feared it would push her away. He concentrated on the road and said,

"Being a father is quite difficult. I'm not certain I know how to do it."

"You're getting better!"

Draco laughed and said, "Thank you, my son." My son. God, if he wasn't careful he could easily turn into his mother. "You are my son because I am your father. Your mother and I made the choice to have you together, and neither of us would ever change that choice."

Scorpius's smile disappeared. He said, very quietly, "I know."

"Hermione is still making her own version of that choice. Does that make sense?"

Draco glanced up into the rearview mirror to see Scorpius shake his head. A reframing, then.

"Your mum and I chose you. I know you have loads of people who love you, and you love them. But there's a difference between being your uncle like Bastien and Theo, being your godfather like Blaise, and me … As your dad. It's just different. It's bigger. Being your mum is a bigger choice than any of those other things. Hermione isn't quite ready to say she's your mum."

Scorpius scrunched up his face and asked, "Hermione doesn't love me?"

Shit.

"No," Draco insisted, "she does. She does love you. Very, very much, Scorp. It's only that Hermione has never been a mum before. Choosing to be a mum is very scary. I don't believe she is holding up because she doesn't love you." Draco sighed a shaky breath and admitted, "I think she is holding up because she isn't certain she loves me."

"But I love you!"

"I love you, too, but being your mum means Hermione will have to be with me forever. That's a hard thing to love."

"Why?" Scorpius shrugged. "I'll be with you forever."

"Sometimes," said Draco, "I am a very difficult man to love. I was lucky to have found your mum, and never truly thought anyone would love me again. I have to show Hermione I can be a good dad and a good husband."

Scorpius was quiet for several minutes, and Draco did not feel the need to fill the silence. He was rather surprised when Scorpius said,

"Al is my best friend."

"Yes, I know."

"I call him Al."

"Yes."

Scorpius said, "But Mr. Potter calls him Albus."

"Because that is his name."

"Not for me. His name is Al for me. Not to anybody else, just to me. Hermione is maman just to me."

Draco nodded to himself. It was a decent argument. Scorpius saw Hermione as his mother and could call her maman. Hermione viewed Scorpius as Draco's son, and would refer to him as baby blond. Those things could coexist. Draco did not know whether to feel like a proud father or a colossal idiot to have been outmaneuvered in a discussion by his soon-to-be six-year-old.

"I give it to you. You can keep maman until Hermione asks you to stop. If she tells you to stop, you listen."

"Yes, father."

"Good, then."

.oOo.

Draco could hardly wait for Hermione to arrive. Ten weeks they would be together as a family. Their conversation from the prior night echoed in his mind. She was so dismissive of the awards she'd been given, he found it difficult to understand why she refused to take pride in them. He typed, "Hermione Granger award acceptance speech" into YouTube and clicked on the first video. The thumbnail was the awarding body's logo with a split-screen of Hermione in profile, presumably delivering her acceptance speech.

The video began with Hermione being rolled onto the stage in a wheelchair by Ron Weasley.

She looked awful. There were patches of hair missing around her left ear. Bandages trailed up the left side of her neck. The back and palm of her left hand were also wrapped in gauze. She sat on a large pad in the wheelchair, presumably because they'd been taking skin grafts from her bum and thighs. Before she so much as said a word, Draco understood very clearly why Hermione did not wish to remember this string of awards. To be dragged onstage in visible duress, recovering from a blast wound, and expected to thank people for doing it?

Weasley stepped off to the side of the stage while Hermione sat next to the podium in the centre. Someone brought her a microphone, which she couldn't hold. She pulled out a series of notecards while someone fished a lavalier mic from backstage. Hermione began her speech with,

"I told my husband it was alright if I stayed in the chair because you can hardly see me above the podium on my best day."

The crowd's laughter filtered through the speakers. Draco watched Hermione sit as straight as she could and focus on the cards in her hands.

"I would like to thank the Society of Editors for presenting me with this award. Four years ago, I was honoured with this award after an interview with Dolores Umbridge, England's Ambassador to Brazil. I was given that assignment out of a combination of luck and good timing, as I spoke Portuguese. I spent the bulk of 2008 covering the trial of Juan Carlos Ramírez Abadía and the Picasso art thefts from museums in Sao Paolo. Those stories wrapped in early October and BBC had scheduled a primetime interview with the ambassador only a few days prior to the final F1 race of the year, which would take place in Brazil. The network told me repeatedly they feared people would type 'Brazil' into Google search and all that would appear was Formula 1."

Hermione paused and looked up at the audience with a wry smile.

"My interview seemed to have more impact than Lewis Hamilton's fifth-place finish."

The crowd laughed again. Draco could see in her eyes, though, how rehearsed and painful this was. She held the cards entirely with her right hand, the fingers of her left unable to grip. That was only clear if you were looking for it. The way her hand rested on her knee, her fingers were positioned upward so it appeared they were holding one corner of the cards.

"I have always loved reading stories. When I was younger, I was devastated to know there were so many books I couldn't read because they were in other languages. My parents took me to a bookshop in London and when I made my way to the foreign languages section I was immediately drawn to Arabic. The language looked so beautiful that I wanted to read it, so I learned it. I had no idea Arabic would come to be so misunderstood.

"BBC gave me the Arab League assignment and I accepted because I knew how desperately these stories needed to be told. The past four years I've spent in Iran, Yemen, and Lebanon among others, have been the opportunity of a lifetime. I have met the most incredible people and seen art that brings me closer to religion than any church ever could."

Hermione paused and shifted to the next card. She grit her teeth in a way that Draco knew to be a tell she was fighting back tears. Hermione must've been in so much pain. She mentioned once that she would sleep on her stomach after these procedures, and she was expected to not only sit on her bum in a chair, but to deliver a speech. She stared at the card for several seconds before she spoke again.

"I received an assignment from BBC that would have been a series of interviews far eclipsing the one for which you have already awarded me. It was completely mad, but an opportunity to influence international policy and public perception on a global scale. Unfortunately, that interview never happened. Myself and three other reporters were the victims of a targeted attack."

Hermione clutched the cards more tightly in her hands.

"I am the lone survivor of that explosion. I understand the act of political protest and I respect it. I do not wish for anyone to use my pain, my life as an excuse to further the bigotry so often leveled at this region. Recovering has been a multi-faceted process, but I fear that the worst part is yet to come. As I continue to be awarded for surviving an attack I cannot so much as speak about, I fear that I am becoming the story. I believe this to be a disservice to all the journalism I have done to this point. It has been difficult to square my reality with your praise."

Ouch. Hermione flipped to the next card.

"To that end, I wish to dedicate this award to the three journalists who were not as fortunate as I seem to have been. Because of the nondisclosure agreement I have with BBC, I cannot say their names. I receive this award on behalf of the four of us, because their death is not the saddest part. The silencing of what should have been a world-altering story is desperately unfair."

Hermione took in a shaky breath.

"Thank you, again, for this award. I promise you this incident will not deter me from reporting. I will be back in the field when I am able to continue telling the stories which need to be told."

She was wheeled offstage, but Draco's heart ached. It was no wonder she was so cognizant of how she looked on camera when this was the first time people saw her after the incident. Hermione was a very proud person; he couldn't tell her he'd watched this. As far as she knew, Draco had only ever seen her on telly and during their time together over the past few months. He intended to keep it that way.

When he received the notification Hermione was pulling into the drive, Draco raced to the front doors. He bolted outside, down the steps, and scooped Hermione into his arms. His heart was beating so quickly inside his chest, he thought it might leap right out into her hands. He said,

"Welcome home, Hermione."

She was smiling so wide, he couldn't help but smile back.

"I feel like I'm coming home, but I don't know if that's the house, or … Or if it's you."

"It can be both." Draco grabbed her right hand and said, "Let's start by making my room, our room."

Hermione asked, "Where is your son?"

Your son.

"With my mother. I wished to welcome you here myself, as Scorpius will undoubtedly monopolize your time henceforth."

"Henceforth," teased Hermione, "let it be known that I fully intend to steal more jumpers from your closet."

"You are welcome to any and all of my jumpers that cling to your tits." Draco added, "We will have a guest for lunch tomorrow. It occurred to me there is one person in my family you have yet to meet."

"Oh?"

"It's a surprise."

.oOo.

One night in the manor with Hermione was not so monumental. They didn't have sex, which was fine. Draco was too anxious, too worried that he'd muck all this up. He had one opportunity to show Hermione what their family could look like, and there was a piece missing.

Draco, his mother, his son, and Hermione congregated at the foot of the staircase in the entrance hall. Their lunch guest should be on the steps. Lewin signaled for the doors to open, and Draco couldn't have been more excited. Hermione nudged him with her left elbow and asked,

"What's got you in such a good mood?"

"You're about to meet one of my favourite people in the world."

"My son," said Narcissa, "I think that is giving him far too much praise."

"You cannot stand that he was a better father to me than your husband," replied Draco.

"My husband was and remains your only father, Draco Lucius Malfoy. That is all you are permitted to say on the matter."

Draco rolled his eyes. Draco Lucius Malfoy. His mother's delusions of his father were boundless.

"I am excited for lunch," Hermione said, attempting to change the topic. "I enjoyed eating on the pond the first evening I spent here."

"Hopefully this meal has a better ending," replied Narcissa.

Draco quipped, "You really know how to cheer up a moment, mother."

The front doors opened to reveal Bastien's dad, and Draco felt like everything had finally come together. Mr. Queensbry took up far more space in the entry than the average man, his sturdy physique garnered from a combination of good genes and decades of physical labour. He was in an olive-green leather jacket with a white t-shirt underneath. He looked so effortless in jeans, some Chelsea boots, and thick-rimmed glasses. He'd grown his beard out a bit since the last time Draco had seen him. He was so confident in his own skin, and Draco had spent nearly his entire life looking up to Mr. Queensbury as a paragon of masculinity.

Scorpius bolted down the hall with his arms open wide, shouting, "GRANDPA!"

Mr. Queensbury shouted back, "GRANDSON!"

Draco never quite knew how to refer to him. "Bastien's dad" was a compromise between "Mr. Queensbury" and "the man I wish was my dad." Draco looked over to see Hermione staring at Bas's dad in shock, her mouth half-open and eyes wide. He nudged her and asked,

"What?"

"I don't remember him from the elopement. How old was Bastien's father when his son was born, twelve?"

"Nineteen."

Hermione shook her head and said, "I know you care for him as family, so I don't want to say what I'm thinking."

"No, say it."

"That man is huge and hot as hell. The air around him, it's how I feel standing next to Viktor."

Draco hadn't expected to hear that. The sort of thoughts he had about Viktor Krum were not the thoughts he would have about a man he considered to be his father. Objectively, Mr. Queensbury had achieved some indescribable balance between "distinguished" and "rugged." He had callused hands, salt and pepper hair erring closer to grey, and a tattoo of a sword just barely visible when his jacket slid up his wrist. Draco watched as Mr. Queensbury bent down to ask Scorpius,

"Shoulders?"

"SHOULDER RIDE!"

Scorpius climbed onto Mr. Queensbury's back, threw his legs over Mr. Queensbury's shoulders, and leaned forward to grip the front of his shirt. Bastien's dad stood up to his full height and Scorpius squealed in delight for sitting at such a height. Draco took the opportunity to rush in for a hug. Mr. Queensbury wrapped one arm around him and said,

"It's good to see you, son."

"It's been too long."

"Yes, indeed. Alright, now," Mr. Queensbury nodded over Draco's shoulder, "you gonna introduce me to your girl?"

Draco couldn't keep the smile off his face when he stepped aside. He turned toward Hermione and said,

"This is my girlfriend, Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is Lancelot Queensbury, Bastien's father."

Hermione offered her hand, which Mr. Queensbury accepted.

"Your son looks so much like you. I went to a match of his a few weeks ago, and it was a sight to see."

"Good to meet you more officially this time, Ms. Granger. Bas won, so I heard. I'm making a trophy display for their house and it's nearly finished, now. Saw that interview you did, the one they sacked you for. Crushed Lockhart's bollocks on live television, that's one hell of a gift you've got. Putting the fear of God into one of the biggest news networks on the continent. I look forward to learning more about you over lunch." Mr. Queensbury's face lit up when he caught sight of Draco's mother. "Narcissista!"

"Ever the displeasure to see you, Lance."

He conceded, "You look beautiful, as always. Helps to cancel out your desperately unpleasant disposition."

"Thank you. You are as large as ever, with an ego to match."

"Well earned, though, i'nnit?"

Mr. Queensbury winked. Draco shook his head and rolled his eyes. Hermione leaned over and whispered,

"Are they flirting with each other?"

"Yeah." He laughed. "Always irritated the hell out of my father. Though," he admitted, "my mother usually brushes him off. A bit odd that she's playing into it today."

"She's untethered for the first time in thirty-five years." Hermione gave her customary one-shoulder shrug. "And that is a very handsome man."

Draco felt his face fall.

"Oh my God, you're right. Oh, God. She wouldn't." He cursed himself, looked at his mother, and noted her cheeks had turned a bit pink. Her dress was long, dark purple, and it clung to her in a different way from how her clothes usually fell. Tighter, as if she meant to show off. He conceded, "She absolutely would."

"And I wouldn't blame her one bit." Hermione shook her head and glanced down at Mr. Queensbury's bum. "This is my official endorsement of your mum shagging the hell of out him."

"Excuse me while I go vomit." Draco gagged. "Ugh."

He tried desperately to keep that thought out of his mind on the way out to the pond for lunch. Staff had placed a large umbrella over the platform to keep out the sun, and Chef had made a fantastic lunch on Mr. Queensbury's behalf. Bas's dad once brought Chef a set of paring knives he crafted as a "side project," but Draco knew better. It was a gift for Chef's fifth anniversary at Malfoy Maonr. He still reached for those knives quite often, two years on.

Each of the adults had one side of the square table, while Scorpius was sitting on Mr. Queensbury's lap. The conversation began innocently enough. There were the getting to know yous, Scorpius introducing his 'grandpa' to his 'maman,' and Hermione's incessant curiosity about Draco's childhood. Questions she wouldn't dare ask his mother. Mr. Queensbury pulled out his phone and scrolled through embarrassing photos of Draco in his youth. Hermione giggled and said,

"I never would have guessed you made such questionable fashion choices."

Draco admitted, "Sometimes you learn what looks good by suffering through what doesn't."

"As I recall," said Narcissa, "you were once sent to detention for stealing other boys' ties and crafting them into a shirt for yourself to wear beneath your jacket."

Draco laughed.

"The dress code said we must wear a 'shirt and tie.' The shirt was, technically, both a shirt and ties."

His mother said, "The headmaster did not find it nearly as humorous as you did."

"You sew?" asked Hermione.

"Mhmm." Draco sipped some water then replied, "I learned to sew because I went through a phase where I wanted sequins on everything to piss off my parents. The typical teenager thing."

Narcissa confirmed, "It was quite successful."

"I learned to do a lot of things just to do them. I learned to juggle because it's a good party trick and something I could still do when I was high. It's funnier when I'm high. I learned to conduct a band because the year before I went off to uni I convinced the school band to play 'Careless Whisper' outside Theo's room after he and Tracey …" Draco trailed off, not wishing to encourage his son's questions about 'whisper kisses.' "Anyhow, loads of little things to make people laugh."

"All you boys had such talent, and the three of you are tall …" Mr. Queensbury admitted, "Theo's a bit average, but somebody's got to be. Yet none of you wound up working in a field where I could teach you. At least Blaise works with his hands." He paused before adding, "Manicured, buffed, lotioned hands."

"What do you do for a living?" asked Hermione.

"I'm a blacksmith. I primarily make gates and staircases, custom orders. Occasionally I get a commission for metal furniture, which I love to make. I actually did the benches for the public gardens here at Malfoy Manor."

"For which we are very grateful," said Narcissa.

"You pay well. I've also got a small jewelry-making setup in my forge because Padma wanted to learn the craft. It gives her and Bas reason to visit, and I like teaching her to use the tools. We made Bastien's wedding band together."

"Oh?" Draco said, "I didn't know that."

"Yes." Mr. Queensbury bounced Scorpius a bit on his knee. "Bas didn't tell me about Padma until they were already engaged. He ran into her on the street, took her on one date, met her parents, then got engaged in all matter of six days. She'd always been interested in making jewelry, but never had the time or the resources. I thought it would be a good way for the two of us to really get to know each other if I helped her connect to this dream she had pushed aside."

Hermione's voice was breathy when she said, "That was considerate."

"I care for that girl; I want the best for her and my son." He paused before adding, "And Pavi."

Draco noticed his mother giving Mr. Queensbury a very judgmental look, and it was only a moment before everyone else took note. Mr. Queensbury hardly seemed bothered. He asked,

"Do you have something to say, Cissa?"

"'Pavi' is an interesting choice of name. Are you close to Parvati, continuing your trend of dating women twenty years your junior?"

"Narcissa, you ought to look in the mirror before judging me for dating women twenty years younger."

Draco watched his mother close herself off immediately. The ache of Penelope's absence was still keenly felt. He wondered whether his mother had been using Penelope as a shield from the grief of losing her husband. Perhaps this wasn't just his mother's sadness over losing Penelope Clearwater, and the pain was far deeper than she realized. Narcissa returned her attention to the plate and revealed,

"No longer."

"No?" Mr. Queensbury hissed a sharp breath through his teeth. "When?"

"A month ago."

"How's Penny taking it?"

Penny? God, did everyone on the planet know about this relationship? And Bastien's father knew enough about their time together to call her Penny? Draco slumped backward in his chair, wondering how he was blind toward what appeared to be a pivotal part of his mother's life for so long a time.

"I wouldn't know." Narcissa was suddenly very interested in cutting her chicken into smaller and smaller pieces. "I haven't spoken to her and I doubt she wishes to hear from me."

Mr. Queensbury made a face, but said nothing. He continued to play with Scorpius, tickling him lightly on the stomach. Draco took the moment to wonder why his parents were so close to Bastien's father. They hated Theo's father enough to quasi-adopt his son. Blaise's mum stopped coming around once she realized Lucius was the one billionaire she had no chance of pulling away from his wife.

Draco never remembered his father or his mother being hostile toward Bas's dad. Even when Draco's father came trudging to the Queensbury house, filled with contrition and waving divorce papers with Narcissa's signature on them … Even after Mr. Queensbury told Lucius to go to hell and Draco would be staying as long as he wished … Even after Draco watched his father go to prison … Even after he left prison … Mr. Queensbury was accepted as part of the family circle.

"If you have something to say, I wish you would say it," snapped Narcissa.

"You are exhausting." Mr. Queensbury sighed. "The tortured widow bullshit is a bit trite. Lucius would've wanted you to keep being the sexy, manipulative, femme fatale you always were to him."

Draco offered, "This conversation makes me want to walk into oncoming traffic." Yet, no one seemed to hear him. Even Hermione was invested in the tennis-like volley of conversation between them.

"I thought I was viewed that way by everyone," replied Narcissa.

"You are." Mr. Queensbury insisted, "That's what you don't understand. You trained your mini-me, and she's off on her own now. You should be at every gala in London, traipsing about in sexy gowns and upstaging all the second and third wives of the rich pricks you've known for the past thirty years. Look at me, Cissa, I make a moderately decent income and my workshop's bigger than my house. Even I can get women twenty years younger than me; it's not all that impressive. Being with you? Now, that's impressive."

"It was once."

Mr. Queensbury pointed at her with his fork and said, "Tortured. Widow. Bullshit."

"Mourning my husband of thirty-five years is not something I will apologize for, Lance. Given that your marriage ended after ten, I don't expect you to understand."

"You're right." He shrugged. "My wife and I hated each other, so we separated because it was best for our son. Leaving someone for the good of your child is something I expect you can understand."

Draco felt there were two separate conversations happening. The words they were saying meant something, but the unspoken conversation simmering beneath meant more. His mother seemed to agree with Bastien's dad both above and below the surface.

"I am finished with lunch. Ms. Granger, would you care to escort me and my grandson back to the manor?"

Hermione looked to Draco, wordlessly asking whether he wished for her to go. He leaned over to kiss her quickly on the lips then nodded toward the manor.

"I'll follow shortly."

She offered a gentle, "Okay."

Draco watched the three of them walk toward the manor and disappear somewhere beyond the hedges. Hermione held Scorpius's hand until he ran toward the fountain to splash water in the lowest tier. When Draco thought about the soft bits of life he and Hermione could have together, it was moments just like that.

"How are you doing, son?"

Draco jumped a bit in his chair. He pulled himself from his thoughts and focused on Mr. Queensbury.

"Well."

"No, no," Mr. Queensbury placed his hand on Draco's shoulder and repeated, "I want you to tell me how that woman put the light back in your eyes, boy."

Draco admitted, "It's not one thing. It's loads of tiny, tiny things coupled with a few bigger things. We seemed to do everything backward."

"Alright, then." He moved his chair so he and Draco were directly across from each other with no table between them. "I want to hear it all."

Draco laced his fingers together. It felt like he was explaining his girlfriend to his father. He and Hermione had said "I love you" before they kissed. Hermione protected Scorpius after having met him all of once. This relationship was organic and confusing in a way that Draco himself could hardly wrap his head around. Their connection was immediate, but their relationship had gone through a thousand iterations over the past few months. That was the purpose of Hermione's extended stay, wasn't it? To figure out what the hell they were doing.

"My mother tried to set us up, and she was subtle about it. I kept running into Hermione, first here at the manor, then on a double-date, then at a party, and I began seeing myself again. I thought, I'm running my businesses and they're more profitable than ever. They're environmentally conscious and we're making legitimate investments to show that sustainability and profitability are hand-in-hand. It wasn't until Hermione started asking questions about my life that I realized … I didn't much have one."

"Okay. When did you ask her out?"

Draco frowned as he realized, "I don't think I ever did. She spent time with Scorpius, driving him in from London, taking him out to shop for shoes, those sorts of things."

"Things a mother would do."

"Yes." Draco conceded, "She cared for my son. Graham and Jami paid a visit to the manor a couple months ago—"

"No!" Mr. Queensbury gasped. "After all these years?"

"Yes, demanding to see Scorpius because if I was pursuing another woman they felt they should have proper say in his familial arrangements."

"Proper say would be Graham crawling to you on his hands and knees to apologize for what he did with Astoria's body. I can understand holding you accountable. I know that blaming you isn't right, but I get it. Grief impacts people in terrible ways. I don't get why they felt the need to torture you by erasure. I don't blame Jami one bit; she'd just lost her daughter and I know if she fought him then she would've lost her husband, too."

Draco revealed, "Hermione was here when they showed up. We'd had an argument the night before because I'd …" He sighed. "I asked to kiss her, she said yes, and then I backed out at the last moment."

"Oof, son," Mr. Queensbury shook his head, "you can't play with women like that."

"A lesson hard learned. She was coming down to say goodbye to Scorp before she left, and I got the call from security right as they came through the front doors. I tried to keep them away, but Scorpius didn't understand what was going on. Hermione rushed to stand in front of him so Graham and Jami couldn't see my son. Graham grabbed her by the shoulder—"

"No."

"She's got a metal plate holding her clavicle together—"

"No, no."

"He put pressure on the wrong spot and—"

"No, I do not want to hear it from that man. That little boy has been through so much, and Graham thinks he can just come in—"

"I took Hermione to hospital and she was in a sling for a week." Draco grimaced. "She did this whole thing for Astoria, gave me a resting place for her. On my birthday, she sort of jumped on top of me in the back of her BMW and we made out for a bit. We didn't quite know whether we were together or not, we seemed to keep missing each other. Either I was too deep in my own grief or Hermione was too terrified of what having a family means. We've been official for about a month, now, but it seems she's far deeper into my family than one month allows for."

"How deep?"

"Scorpius calls her maman. He told me he wants Hermione to be his mother. I never brought it up to him, he asked it of me."

"Okay." Mr. Queensbury nodded. "Okay, then. Do you want Hermione to be his mother?"

"I want Hermione to be what she wants to be. She has taken time away from BBC specifically to get to know my son. She is trying to be his mum, I think, but I don't know how to be her husband. She's got a career I don't wish to step on. She has political ambitions which may well fall to pieces if she marries me—"

"You both are talking about marriage already?"

"We're talking it through. We don't want to give Scorpius hope if there is a roadblock we can't avoid, but I do want to marry her. Everything with Tori was easy, while Hermione is work. We are building this relationship together, we both fucked it up a couple times, and we want it enough to keep going."

Mr. Queensbury cautioned, "You've got to take a real long look at what the future looks like."

"We are. We've discussed what—"

"No." Mr. Queensbury shook his head and repeated, "No, you haven't. I've been around enough violence to know the sort of injury your girl's got. I read the story online, it said a torn rotator cuff?"

Draco nodded.

"That injury never gets better. It only gets worse, and she's so young. When did this happen?"

"Twenty-eleven, so eight years ago. She was twenty-six, nearly twenty-seven."

"God, she's been dealing with it for a decade already? That muscle, Draco …" Mr. Queensbury shook his head. "It's the sort of thing where if something goes wrong again, that's not something you reattach a second time. If Graham could put her in hospital just by touching her, she's fragile. Tell me, son, what do you think the likelihood is that you're married to this girl for thirty years and she never moves her shoulder the wrong way?"

"I … I hadn't thought of anything like that."

"Eventually her arm's going to lock up and she will need a shoulder replacement. Now, you look me in the eyes and you tell me that you can handle another woman you love going into surgery and not coming out."

Draco scoffed, "A surgery like that's got to be routine—"

"Pregnancy is routine, Draco, and you lost Astoria because of it. Don't you dare make this mistake a second time."

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fucking hell.

"I can't go around walking into relationships afraid that my partner might die at any moment."

"And I'm not telling you to. I'm saying that I just saw my grandson feel like he's got a mother for the first time. I'm telling you that if, if something does happen and he loses a second mum, you can't do what you did the first time. You can't be the man you've been the past six years. You've been weak, son, and I didn't want to tell you that. But you've got yourself one badass woman with a perpetual target on her back. Astoria was a good woman, she would have made a fantastic mother, and I know she had loads of talent left to give. But Hermione Granger is a fucking legend and you have to be one hell of a man to keep up."

Weak.

You've been weak.

Draco shook his head and said, "I've never heard you sound so much like my father."

Mr. Queensbury sat up to his full height and there was a rage in his eyes that Draco had never seen directed at him before.

"You will take that back and you will apologize for saying it, otherwise I will walk out these doors and never come back, Draco Malfoy. You take it back this very moment."

Now you sound like my mother.

Draco swallowed those words and nodded.

"I apologize. I was wrong to say it."

"Yes, you were. I know me flirting with your mum annoys you. Hell, that's half the reason I do it, but that is the only thing your father and I had in common. I saw what that man did to you and the pain he put you through. All I'm trying to do, Draco, is spare you the shock that would come with losing another woman. I could've told you, in fact I should have told you not to come out to your father. But I didn't know …" He grimaced. "I didn't know how to tell a kid it was okay to be bisexual when that kid didn't know he was. How do you say, 'It's alright to be who you are, but don't tell your dad.' I should've found a fucking way. Thank God for Lewin."

"Lewin?" Draco frowned and asked, "What the hell does Lewin have to do with any of this?"

"It's been twenty years and you don't know?"

"What don't I know?"

"Lewin got his car from the servants' garage, pulled out front of the manor, and managed to get you into the backseat. He showed up at my door, told me he was taking you to hospital, and I said I'd do it. He needed to turn 'round as quick as possible because I know your father would have murdered him if he ever found out. I can't believe he's never told you he risked everything to get you to me."

"I …" Draco shook his head. "I didn't know at all. Bas and I assumed I walked somewhere—"

"Where the hell did you think you could've gone on a broken knee?" asked Mr. Queensbury.

"I … I thought …"

"Look, son, when all that shit happened to you, I was the age you are now."

Draco's stomach seemed to tie itself in knots. That couldn't be right. All those choices Bas's dad made, and standing up to Lucius Malfoy was a terrifying thing for anyone to do. Hell, that's why he was able to negotiate monthly release from prison; everyone was afraid of what would happen if they said no. Would Draco have the courage to do what Bas's dad had done? He wasn't sure.

"Being a father is difficult, and I've always tried to be the sort of dad who parents by example. I wanted Bastien to understand how to be a man based on what I did. How I interacted with people. When my ex-wife found her new husband, I wanted Bas to have a good relationship with him. Honestly, I like Sajjad a hell of a lot more than I like my ex-wife."

Draco chuckled.

"I'm a traditional sort of man. There's a lot of nontraditional thinking in this modern world, but I don't give a damn what anyone wants to say, you raise daughters differently than you raise sons. The only way to raise good men is to be the example. Do you think my son is a good man?"

"Yes, Bas is a good man."

"He's a good man because I set that example. So tell me, Draco, if your son is looking at you, what sort of man do you expect him to be?"

Oh, God. Six years of Scorp's life, what sort of example had he set? Draco supposed,

"Sad, mostly."

"No, no, you're missing it, Draco. You're missing the point. Your son looks at you and sees a man who knows more about being a CEO than he is interested in being a father. I didn't want to tell you this, but I think if you are welcoming Hermione Granger into your family then you need to know you've been a shit dad."

Draco felt like a six-year-old who had just gotten an answer wrong in front of the class. He was wrong. He was embarrassed. How had he become his father?

"I'm sorry." Draco's voice shook when he said, "I've always considered you my dad. Ever since you took me in, I started to see what you said just now. I learned how to be a proper man because of you."

"There is nothing I take more pride in than seeing my boys and the men they've become."

"It doesn't sound like you're proud of me."

"I am proud of you, Draco. I am." Mr. Queensbury sighed heavily and he suddenly looked far more worn-down than he had before. "Taking your place in the Malfoy family was a choice you made and I respect it to this day. I think it was the right thing for you to do, coming back here. I was happy when you were with Blaise, because you were willing to learn what a proper man does to get a proper partner. Then you found Astoria Greengrass and you were happy. All that time in your life, son, you made the right decisions for you. But you stopped making the right decisions once you had a son. Because the right decision isn't about you, it's about your boy. You haven't made a decision putting him first."

Draco stared down at his hands; he hadn't meant to be so selfish. He loved Scorpius more than anything but never knew how to express it through all the grief. Being a businessman and being a Malfoy came to him far more easily than being a father. Draco hesitantly asked,

"What if I am my father?"

"You're not."

"You said—"

"I said fathers parent by example. If you followed in your father's footsteps, do you think your son would trust you enough to tell you he wants a mother?"

"No."

"If you had to make a decision right now to put your son first, what would you do?"

The first thing? If there was one choice Draco could make to put Scorpius first, what would it be? The answer was sort of obvious, wasn't it? He had spent all this time telling Hermione she could be the badass news anchor, war reporter, journalist/would-be lawyer/career guillotine and have a family. He'd spent their entire relationship preaching balance when he hadn't been living it.

"I'd get a COO," he said. "I would take a step away from the business and give my son the time he deserves."

"Good." Mr. Queensbury leaned forward to clap Draco on the shoulder and say, "That's my boy. You've got a good woman in your life. You've got a good son to carry on your legacy. You've got a good head on your shoulders, Draco, and all you've got to do is keep that head out of your arse."

"I can do that."

"Alright. I'm going to go talk to your mum about Penny. I'll give her shit, but I know she loved that girl. I assume you know about that relationship since she brought it up in front of you."

"Why do you know?" asked Draco. "Why would my parents tell you my mum was having an affair?"

Mr. Queensbury let out a slow, exasperated breath before saying, "Draco, there are some things about your parents that it's best you don't know. I'll give them credit where it's due, they knew you needed some normal people in your life. Bastien was always a good kid and they wanted you to be grounded. I, uh, I admit that when Bas's mum and I split, your parents were mediators. It could've been far nastier than it was. They also paid half of Bas's tuition."

Draco was shocked his father approved of that. He always believed his father considered Bastien to be the lesser of his friends. He was lower-middle class, not a circle Malfoys were permitted to run in. So much new information had been revealed, Draco wondered how he had misread his own family. Perhaps that was why it took so long to find his place in it.

"Now, I never wanted your father to go to prison. He didn't do what he was accused of, but they had him where they wanted him. While he was gone, I had to be there for your mum until Penny came along and offered a different sort of camaraderie. Your parents and I were amicable. We've always been amicable."

"Even when—"

"Yes, even then, Draco. Because your dad would have put a bullet in my brain for keeping you the way I did, except that we respected each other as men. That's something you have to learn, respecting people who do terrible things." Mr. Queensbury stood up and opened his arms. "Come here, one more hug before I go flirt with your mum."

Draco admitted, "I wish you wouldn't do that."

"As you get older, sometimes you need to be reminded you're not dead yet. Your mum needs to feel loved in a way you can't give her. And, flirting is a skill that fades if you don't use it."

Draco hugged Mr. Queensbury as tightly as he could. When Bas's dad crushed him in a backbreaking squeeze, Draco felt like a child again. He could count on Mr. Queensbury to be there when needed, and say what needed to be said. Draco promised,

"I'm going to do right by Hermione."

"I know you will, son. I know you will."

.oOo.

Draco settled into bed that night, kissing Hermione as softly as he could manage. They only had ten weeks of this life to themselves. He wanted to savor every moment and make time slow to a near-halt. They'd found the perfect angle for Hermione, leaning on her right side against the pillows. Draco was resting on his left, that hand playing with her curls while the other rested absentmindedly on her waist. Hermione had tucked her hand beneath his pyjama shirt, teasing the dip just above his bum.

"It occurred to me," he whispered, "that I've never asked you out on a date."

"Kiss me again and I'll forget."

"I want—" He laughed as Hermione stole a kiss. "I want to take you on a picnic date tomorrow. I can show you the public gardens, we can bring Scorp along, and I'll get to say I've finally asked you out properly."

"I did bring a few dresses. I never allowed myself to look very feminine because I was afraid of exposing my arm and the awful bits of my leg. Now that I can … Would you like me to wear one?"

"Easier access to the sexy bits of you?" Draco teased, "How could I resist?"

"It's only …" Hermione closed her eyes and deflated a bit. "You're so beautiful, I want to look pretty when I'm sitting next to you."

"Sunday is a popular day in the gardens, so there may be people who take pictures." Draco moved his hand from her waist, over the curve of her bum, then back again. "I can do your hair in the morning, if you like."

"Yes." Hermione shifted closer to Draco and rested her head more firmly on the pillows behind them. "Now that I'm not a field reporter, I wish I could do my hair the way I used to. Everything is limited because of my shoulder, and it's always the smallest things that get to me. I can only wear clothes that fasten in the front. I can't cut my own food on a plate. Doing my hair is what I miss the most. It's such a human thing, and I can't do it."

"Hermione," Draco gave her waist a gentle squeeze, "you could do the news topless and still be taken seriously. You have brought me closer to my son, closer to my family, and you've made me look at myself in a way nobody else had the courage to do. I can zip your dresses in the back. I can do your hair. I can cut your food for you, do all the things you can't. That is what a partner does."

"I should be able to do those things."

"But you can't."

Hermione rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Draco did the same, flopped over and looked up, wondering whether there would ever be a time when Hermione could talk about her limitations without feeling like they made her less-than. The more often they were together, the less likely Draco believed it to be.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore."

Hermione pushed down the covers, slid her legs beneath them, then pulled them up to her shoulders. Draco was still on top of the covers, so Hermione had cocooned herself as if that would save her from the conversation. He slipped his left arm under the linens and felt around for Hermione's hand. He threaded their fingers together and said,

"You never said yes."

"Hmm?"

"To going out with me tomorrow. You never said yes."

Hermione replied, "I don't want to go."

"Okay."

Draco didn't bother hiding the disappointment in his voice. He had rather looked forward to showing Hermione that part of the property. The public gardens were filled with life in a way the manor never could be. He wanted passersby to look at them and think, "That's a man who loves his girlfriend." Or even, "What a happy family." Draco was happy with Hermione and he feared that, no matter how much love he had to give, Hermione may never be truly happy with him. She admitted,

"I want to feel normal. I want to look normal to people."

Draco rolled his eyes and huffed, "Hermione, do you think I look normal to people?"

"How do you mean?"

"I'm a man with long, white-blond hair, and I walk around wearing a twenty thousand pound timepiece like it's something I picked up at Tesco. I look like my father. We are never going to look like a normal couple because I'm very obviously who I am, and you're a world-renowned journalist who got blown up. You got blown up, Hermione, it fucking happened. Obviously it's traumatic, nobody blames you for reacting the way you have. You're never going to look normal and you've never been normal. Sure, there are pictures of your arm out there, now, but there are seventeen thousand photos of my dick on the internet."

She paused before saying, "Your dick looks good, though."

Had she Googled photos of his cock? Draco felt himself turning a bit pink. Hermione Granger typing 'Draco Malfoy dick' into a Google search may be the funniest, most humbling part of their relationship. He said,

"Anyone can look good, Hermione. Anyone can be beautiful, it's not that impressive. Just like Bas's dad told my mum, it's not all that difficult to find beautiful women. D'you know what's hard?"

"What's that?"

"Loving a woman who is stronger than you are." Draco admitted, "It's hard to be a man and look yourself in the mirror knowing your partner has a strength you can only aspire to. Tori's strength came from her grace, her kindness, all the good parts of Scorpius that you see? That's the strength she passed on to him. When I look at you, I don't think grace. I think relentless. Anybody else, if they'd suffered an injury where they could barely move their neck and their arm, they'd retire. Not only did you not quit your job, you went back to the region that did this to you."

"The region did nothing." Hermione insisted, "One person did this, and I don't believe they were entirely wrong to do it. They misunderstood our purpose in being where we were. I can't …" Hermione made a pained face. "I can't say any more."

"I know."

"It doesn't feel like strength to me. It feels like the right thing to do."

"Well, golden girl, this may come as a shock, but doing the right thing is not the only option."

"It is for me."

"You know what we call that?"

"What?"

"Strength of character."

She sighed heavily and adjusted the position of her neck on the pillows.

"Good night."

.oOo.

Draco cracked one eye open the next morning. He'd gotten under the covers sometime in the night, and Hermione was already awake next to him. She said,

"We can picnic."

Draco half-said, half-yawned, "Yeah?"

"You asked me out, and I'm saying yes." She admitted, "It was rather rude to turn you down, I think. I am quite keen to be out with you and your son—"

Your son.

"—it's that I don't wish to be stared at. But, as you pointed out, people will stare at us anyway. So we are having a picnic and that's the end of it."

"Your enthusiasm is truly overpowering." Draco groaned as he sat up and every joint in his body seemed to pop. "Go do your things, then. I'll be done in time to help with your hair."

Hermione rolled out of bed without another word. She trudged into her bathroom while Draco slowly stood up from the bed. He glanced over his shoulder toward the bathroom door and did not move until Hermione pushed it closed. He pulled the drawer of the nightstand open to look at his wedding photograph. It was so easy the first time. He took his wedding ring from the drawer and placed it on his finger.

It felt wrong.

That ring belonged to a different man. He'd worn it ever since Tori died because he was desperate to be that man again. Draco wanted to laugh again, wanted to make other people laugh. He was good at it once, the life of the party with no effort at all. Draco Malfoy was the king of parties and had no problem also being the jester.

He took off the ring and placed it in the drawer next to the photograph. Draco was a new man, and he had to learn to be a father. Otherwise he would end up just as his own father did, and Scorpius deserved far more. Draco pushed the door closed and made for his bathroom, praying this day wouldn't turn out to be a terrible mistake.

The morning routine was the same as it always was: piss, handwash, quick shower, brush teeth, skincare, and clothes. Clothes. He couldn't wear a simple jumper and jeans. This was a first date, after all. Sure, they had a family outing in London, but that wasn't a date. That was make sure Hermione doesn't jump off a building. He had lowballed it a bit, knowing there were two weddings scheduled and always a hundred tourists traipsing through the gardens after a morning at Stonehenge. They would be photographed, and Draco wanted to be photographed having a good time with his family.

He needed to look like it meant something, but not like it was planned by a publicist. He grabbed a mossy green suit with cream floral embroidery on the lower half of the blazer. That was picnic-appropriate, right? Flowers … like the garden … Green … like the garden … Cool enough, posh enough, but not business. He grabbed a semi-sheer button-down and stuffed his arms through the sleeves before making his way through the bedroom toward Hermione's bathroom door. He knocked and waited for her to say,

"You can come in."

Draco opened the door to find Hermione in a robe, sitting on a stool in front of the vanity. Her hair was frizzy and flattened in the back from where she slept on it. The Sleekeazy's products were spread about the top of the vanity as though Hermione had been waiting for him. He made to stand behind her and grab the shine spray. Draco said,

"You can back out, if you're not ready."

"It's sort of like being a mum, isn't it? I'll never be ready. Doesn't mean I'm not keen." She looked Draco up and down in the mirror. Her eyes lingered on his chest, seemingly satisfied he'd left his shirt open. "Is that shirt made of lace? You look like the ground we're meant to sit on at a picnic."

"You can sit on me any time, golden girl," Draco teased, "you know that. This whole thing? Made to order and less than fifteen hundred quid."

Hermione blinked at him and asked, "Am I meant to see that as a bargain?"

"Handmade to order, Hermione, it is a bargain."

She sighed.

"I don't believe I'll ever understand your wealth. I know what it's like to be comfortable. I've met dictators who live in palaces far more ornate than your manor, but this is different. This is … I dunno, it's a legacy."

Draco went to spraying the shine serum onto her hair then separating the curls.

"You don't have to tell me about the pressure of the Malfoy legacy, Hermione. I feel it every moment of my life. I think, as a father, it's one of the things I find most difficult. Learning how to pass that on to Scorpius so he understands the importance of carrying it, without making him feel like he can't be himself within it."

"You will figure it out. After all, you have figured out how to be yourself. I don't understand how you manage to look cool in something that should so clearly be silly."

"I spent the first twenty-five years of my life walking the very fine line between 'fashionable' and 'stupid.' Unafraid to step onto the stupid side of the line. Trick is, if you can justify your clothes to yourself, and the clothes are cool to you, then nobody else's taste matters."

Draco sectioned off Hermione's hair and plaited it at the top, from her hairline to the middle of the back of her head. There, he joined it into the rest of her hair in a half-braided frizzy ponytail. It was effortless, but cute. He wondered whether Hermione had ever considered herself cute. He looked at her in the mirror and played with the ends of her curls. She asked,

"Are you truly going to do this for me every day?"

"If you'll let me."

An odd expression crossed her face. She stood up and turned to face him, reaching out to fasten the bottom button of his shirt. Hermione fastened the next one up, then the next, and as many as she could before her arm reached its vertical limit. Draco placed his hand on Hermione's back and asked,

"Are you going to do this for me every day?"

"If you'll let me."

"Oh, alright." Draco bent low for a good morning kiss. "How about this? You can button my shirts as long as you promise to unbutton them."

"I can manage that." Hermione walked around him and out the door, saying, "I will need you to zip the dress for me."

Draco grinned. A dress. Hermione Granger was wearing a dress for him. There was something special about it. She said she wanted to look pretty next to him. She never had the confidence to do it before she was with him, and today she was comfortable enough and cared enough to take that step for herself. Draco felt incredible to know he made someone so powerful see herself in that light for the first time in eight years.

"I'm ready!" came Hermione's shout from the bedroom.

Draco rushed out of the bathroom and saw Hermione standing with her back toward him. She had pulled her hair to the side, revealing the centre of her back as the dress hung open. The dress had very puffy, structured shoulders that looked even larger on Hermione's small frame. It was pink and green, appearing to mold to her shape as he pulled up the zip. Draco placed his hands on her hips and asked,

"Is this silk?"

Hermione let her hair down as she turned around, nodded, and smoothed the front of her dress.

Draco was looking at a different person. She looked happier than he had seen her at any point over the past few months. Draco recalled how battered and bandaged, how despondent she seemed in that acceptance speech. All of that self-consciousness had finally left her. Hermione took a deep breath and asked,

"How do I look?"

"I didn't know it was possible to be this proud and so turned on at the same time."

Hermione blushed. She glanced down at the floor and smiled.

"Do I look like Draco Malfoy's girlfriend?"

Draco closed the distance between them and took her hands in his.

"You always look like Draco Malfoy's girlfriend."

They walked together through the manor, down to the back door where Narcissa was waiting. She was leaning back in a chair, watching Scorpius pile a tray high with biscuits. Narcissa was in a green blouse with long, slitted sleeves, and brown silk trousers. They all seemed to be rather green. Even Scorpius was in a thin green jumper.

"Mum?"

Narcissa turned to look at Draco, but her eyes quickly skipped to Hermione. Narcissa gave her the once-over and said,

"You look very nice today, Ms. Granger. My son is fortunate to be standing next to you."

"Thank you." She said, "You look nice as well."

"Yes." Narcissa stood up from the chair. "I am driving to Reading this afternoon. I expect to be back for dinner."

"Reading?" asked Draco. "You're going to see Bas's father?"

"Yes." Narcissa pulled on her driving gloves and confirmed, "I have been invited to a gala in London three weeks from yesterday. Seeing as he was so insistent I attend, I am asking him to be my date."

Draco sputtered, "Your date?"

"Not as a romantic date. I cannot appear at a gala alone, my son, and Lance is a very good-looking man. We will make a nice photograph."

"It's for photographs?"

Narcissa confirmed, "Only for photographs." She pulled a pair of sunglasses from her purse and placed them atop her head. "And to irritate him. He hates wearing a suit."

Scorpius waved and said, "Bye, grand-mère Cissa!"

Gran-mère.

"Goodbye, grandson." Narcissa turned to Draco and gave him the all-too-familiar glare of disappointment. "Next time I ask you to do something, I expect it to be done."

He nodded.

"Understood."

Draco watched his mother leave, and Hermione shivered the moment she was out the door.

"God, your mum is scary, sometimes."

Draco recalled the back of his mother's hand as it met his cheek.

"She's going to shag Bastien's dad, isn't she?"

"Oh, yes." Hermione nodded. "Definitely. How are we getting to the public gardens?"

"Scorp!" Draco shouted. He waited for his son to place the lid on the biscuit tray. "Will you show Hermione how we get to the public gardens?"

"Yes."

Scorpius grabbed Hermione's left hand, and she deftly pulled it away. She offered her right and said,

"Only pull this one, baby blond."

"Okay!"

Draco rushed to grab the picnic basket from Chef, then walked quickly over to the other side of his son, just in case Scorpius fell and took Hermione with him. Scorpius led their small group out the back of the manor, down a set of stairs, and over to the golf cart parked in its designated port. Draco placed the basket in the back of the cart, grabbed the keys, and plopped into the driver's seat. Hermione stared at the available space next to him with an amused expression on her face.

"Not what you expected?"

Hermione giggled and admitted, "You're a billionaire, I thought you might have a mini helicopter or something."

"Afraid it's just us and the trusty cart today." He added, "Someday you'll need to remind me to give you the lecture on private planes."

Hermione stepped inside as Scorpius climbed into Draco's lap. It was a snug fit, they hadn't done this in far too long. Scorp had grown quite a bit since they last made the trip. It was a cloudy day, but warm enough. They wove through the back of the manor and made for the guard station nestled inside the large hedge dividing the residential portion of the property from the county-run gardens. Draco drove the cart through the back entrance, nodded to the security guards, and sped for his favourite patch of grass.

People were already milling about, but Hermione didn't seem to mind. Draco pulled the cart off the path and onto the grass by the red walking bridge. The three of them managed to spread the blanket, find a comfortable position, and distribute plates.

Chef had outdone himself. If Draco didn't know better, he'd say Chef was far more fond of Hermione and Scorpius than he was of Draco. Then again, if that was true ... Could Draco blame him? The food was superb. Scorpius kept stealing glances toward the tray of biscuits still stashed in the back of the golf cart. Hermione sat with her legs crossed at the ankles, with very little room for movement in that dress.

She ate like she was cautious of all the passersby. Many of them did not bother hiding their phones as they took pictures. Draco was satisfied that Scorpius had enough jam smeared across his face to be an effective mask. Hermione eventually dipped a napkin in her water and wiped Scorpius's face clean. It was rather tender the way she did it. Scorpius didn't put up a fight the way he would if Draco attempted to do the same. Out of nowhere, Scorpius asked,

"Maman?"

"Yes?"

"Do you love my dad?"

"Scorpius!" Draco felt his entire face turn bright red. "You can't ask her that."

Scorpius pouted and insisted, "Maman said I can always ask questions."

Hermione held out her arms and said, "Come here." She shifted so Scorpius could sit and lean against her legs. She wrapped her left arm around him and said, "ask me again."

Scorpius looked up and asked, "Do you love my dad?"

"I do." Hermione pulled him close and said, "I love your dad very much."

Scorpius grinned and said, "Me, too."

Draco's heart melted. That was one of the best moments of his life. Hermione loved him. His son loved him. He was worthy of their love, though he hadn't felt that way in more years than he cared to admit. Draco pulled out his phone and snapped a quick photograph as Hermione said,

"D'you know when I love him most?"

Scorpius shook his head.

"When he laughs. I love when he's happy enough to laugh so big he has to close his eyes. You laugh like your dad sometimes."

"Really?"

"Mhmm." Hermione teased, "Just like ..."

She began tickling Scorpius's stomach and he giggled. He tried to push her hands away to no avail. Scorpius's eyes began to water so Hermione finally relented.

"Oi, Scorp, do you want to go deliver biscuits?"

"YES!" He rushed over to the golf card and grabbed the tray of freshly baked biscuits. "Where?"

"Anywhere I can see you," Draco shouted back. "Don't go beyond that shrub or past the sculpture back that way."

"Okay!"

Draco watched his son rush toward unsuspecting passersby. He explained to Hermione,

"When he goes to the public gardens, my son brings treats from the family. Scorpius loves to meet new people, and who can resist a good biscuit?"

Hermione blurted out, "I don't want to have a child of my own."

Thank God. Draco tried to keep the relief off his face. Until that moment, he hadn't realized that he would've said no. If he was honest, it was a process he could not go through again. He asked,

"Why? Unless you'd rather not say."

"I don't believe I ever wanted it."

His mother had said as much. She outlined exactly what Hermione was thinking, as though she knew. Draco supposed she was right and there were things only a woman could understand. He asked,

"Was it something about me?"

She conceded, "You were the only reason I even considered it. Ron kept asking while we were married and I kept putting it off. Then, with you, I had the confidence in myself to really think about it. I've been trying so hard to be normal and thought having a baby would make me feel that way about myself. It won't."

"No," Draco confirmed, "it won't."

"I'm really happy being around you. I'm worried I don't bring you that same happiness because all I am is work."

Draco laughed and asked, "I'm not work? Scorpius isn't work? Hermione, my son can barely remain upright without tripping over his own feet. Right now he fancies himself the next Monet who also races F1. He'd try to convince Mercedes to make a car in the shape of a tree."

Hermione replied, "He'd give them a good argument, too. He's better than some barristers I know."

"I don't understand why you think you don't make me happy."

"Because I never made anyone happy, not really. Not my parents, not Ron, well ..." She blushed. "I suppose I made Viktor happy for a bit, but the breakup was so devastating every bit of happiness we had disappeared."

Draco pulled up the photo he'd just taken on his phone, then showed it to Hermione.

"This makes me happy."

"What about me, though?" asked Hermione. "You say I'm impressive and strong and all these things ... But why should any of that make you happy?"

"Because this is the first time you've worn a dress in eight years, and you did it for me. For yourself, and for me, at any rate. You keep finding the confidence in yourself when you're with me, and it makes me happy to know I can do that for you. Sex with you makes me happy. Doing your hair makes me happy. I dunno, Hermione, but since the moment I met you, being around you has made me incredibly happy."

"I—" Hermione stopped abruptly as a drop of rain landed on her head. She looked up at the dark clouds overhead and muttered, "Oh, no."

The clouds opened immediately, and rain poured down on the garden. Hermione grimaced as every other sound was muffled by the raindrops hitting the stones on the garden path. She tossed Draco's phone back to him and began stuffing plates in the basket. Hermione said,

"This will be murder on my hair."

Draco turned toward where he'd last seen Scorpius, only to find his son running toward them shouting,

"WET BISCUITS! WET BISCUITS!"

Draco ran toward him and scooped him up, losing half the biscuits in the process. Scorpius shouted,

"MY BISCUITS!"

"Scorp, we are heading to the cart, now."

Draco noted Hermione had managed to stuff everything back into the picnic basket. She held out her hand, which Draco used to pull her into a standing position. He grabbed the blanket with his free arm and they all rushed toward the golf cart. Hermione slotted herself into the passenger seat, then placed the basket in the back. Draco haphazardly tossed the picnic blanket atop the basket, situated Scorpius on his lap, then allowed himself a moment to breathe. He looked over at Hermione; her dress had been soaked through and the ends of her curls were plastered to her neck. Draco pushed back his hair and laughed.

"Not the best ending to a first date."

Hermione smiled and pulled Scorpius onto her lap. She wrapped him up in a hug, wet biscuits and all. He curled into her chest, his hair soaked and stuck to his forehead. It was such a ridiculously tender moment that Draco leaned down and kissed Hermione as the rain poured around them. She pulled back to say,

"This is my perfect afternoon."