A/N: For the purposes of political clout, I upgraded Wiltshire from an earldom to a dukedom.
"It's a bit late, Draco."
Bellatrix fluffed her hair and leaned further back in the chair. She stretched her arms out wide and grinned, the sight of her blackened gums still making Draco nauseous. He narrowed his eyes and said,
"It's important this is handled immediately, and I haven't the first clue where to begin."
She raised an eyebrow and asked, "Oh?"
"My girlfriend was attacked this evening—"
"Girlfriend?" Her voice was a high shriek. Then she realized, "Oh, you mean the Mudblood, yes, yes, I've heard of her. You aren't really—"
"Yes, aunty, I am." Draco could see disappointment in her eyes. He needed to get her on his side before she fell away entirely. It turned his stomach to say, "I'm not soiling the bloodline. Scorpius is the perfect Black-Malfoy heir. I will give him the choice, but I know he will do as I did and exchange my name for my mother's. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black is alive in my son."
"It won't be, should you need another."
"Don't." Draco snapped, "Do not think of such things. My son, my heir is the last gift I received from my wife. My pure wife, aunty. My service to the bloodline is complete. Now, I have my time to truly love, and yes, I have chosen to play in the mud."
Bellatrix scoffed. She fluffed her hair, shook her head, and crossed her legs.
"I don't like it."
"Fifty pounds a week, I send you." He gestured toward her body and said, "Where's it gone? You're not washing your hair. You've not eaten much in weeks. It hurts me to look at you. How much of my money are you sending him?"
Her voice was high and childlike when she said, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has classified the summer as a fast, to prune the weaklings among us."
"Mhmm," Draco hummed, "and is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named also fasting? Or is he taking fifty quid from all two hundred of you to gild his cage?"
"Everything we do is in service to him. What he chooses to do with his money is not for me to decide. I counsel him, but I do not question. Being a Death Eater is a privilege, my precious nephew, and if you would—"
"Loving Hermione is my privilege. I care for her—"
"As a pet?"
"As a lover. As you have taken him to be for yourself, a man of unpure blood—"
"DO NOT SPEAK OF IT!" She screamed, her eyes wide, the madness playing out in front of Draco. "DO NOT SPEAK OF HIS BLOOD, YOU KNOW NOTHING OF HIS BLOOD, HIS BLOOD IS SACRED—"
"Just as Hermione's career is sacred to me." Draco kept his voice level. "I love her senselessly, as you love him. I am the only family you have left because I understand you. When the whole world judged me, you were there for me with open arms. I won't forget it. I understand your love and I am asking you to protect mine."
She leaned forward and scoffed, "Why would I do such a thing?"
"Because you love me."
"The Draco I know would never—"
"The Draco you knew died with his wife," he snapped, "as the Aunty Bella I loved as a child is no longer. You've gone mad and I don't care because I love you. I love you more than your husband, more than my mum, more than anyone else because you loved me when nobody else did. All that I have left are the dirtiest pieces of myself and they fit with her. So I am begging you to help me because we're always together in this, you and me, this life. No matter what we lose of ourselves, I have you and you have me. So help me."
Bellatrix looked up at the ceiling and pursed her lips, like she was considering it. Her cheeks hollowed and she crossed her arms.
"What do you want, then?"
"A man died protecting Hermione. I want the people who killed him dead before we bury him on Saturday."
"The names."
"Amycus and Alecto Carrow."
Bellatrix shook her head and said, "They are Death Eaters on the outside. I can't lose—"
"You can." Draco insisted, "Assert control over your ranks. If someone touches your family, they die. That is how we operate, you know that."
"The Mudblood is not my family."
"Just as I do not answer to your beloved prophet, but I will keep sending you fifty pounds per week knowing it goes to him."
Bella quipped, "You sound like your father."
"He wasn't total shit."
She threw her head back and laughed, a cackle that must've torn at her throat. She hummed to herself before saying,
"No, no he wasn't. He loved Cissy. Is she well?"
"No," replied Draco, "she is quite unwell. Did you know she was seeing—"
"A woman?" Bella laughed. "'Course I did. Cissy always thought she could hide it, but you can tell when a woman looks at another woman whether it's one thing or another. Cissy desired women; you know you got it from somewhere."
"She dumped her girlfriend. Now she's shagging my best mate's dad. She's going mad without my father, and I don't know what to do. I am begging you to help me keep one woman in my life, aunty."
"What's my reasoning?" asked Bella. "If the Carrows are to see their final sunrise—No, no, no, no, no. No. Give me a why they will accept."
Draco leaned forward and said, "They stole from me, from your family. Prune the traitors among you."
.oOo.
He changed clothes at Blaise's house. Neither Blaise nor Scorpius was there, so Draco assumed he'd just missed them on their way to St. Mary's hospital. No need to worry, really,
Draco arrived at hospital, said hello to everyone, then left. He couldn't shake the feeling he'd done something terribly wrong. The things he said may not have been true, he needed to say them, but that reality didn't make it feel less shitty. Draco felt like his father, putting wheels in motion to end not one but two peoples' lives. He showered at Blaise's house under scalding hot water, desperate to get the women's prison off his skin. He pulled on a hoodie and jeans because he was about to spend a day in a hospital, then in a car. Who cared about what he was wearing? He needed to feel comfortable to avoid the mental breakdown lurking just over his shoulder.
When he returned, the waiting room was empty save for Weasley and Potter … and another man just a bit younger than them. Thirty, maybe? He looked familiar, but Draco couldn't quite place him. This had been a fairly exclusive area overnight, so Draco walked over and asked,
"Who are you?"
"Creevey." The man's hands were trembling. "Dennis Creevey, um, Colin's my brother."
Oh. Oh, no.
The man looked like he was in shock, more than anything. He looked like Colin; they had the same eyes and slightly pronounced smile lines. He said,
"We don't have any family except each other and I … We haven't been close for awhile. Drifted apart because I'm all the way north in Manchester and he's here in London. I'd text him occasionally, but … But now …" He shook his head. "They said he died from a stab wound. I didn't think people could die from that. S'pose that's the problem because Colin's trouble was that he waited so long to get checked out. And now I'm … I don't know what to do."
Draco knew that moment well. He'd been sitting in a similar chair when he was told his wife was dead. Colin's brother stared down at his hands and said,
"He's a body now. I dunno what to do with it. My brother's dead and now I've got to get his body from here to the mortuary. Do I …" He shrugged. "Do I just fold him up in the boot of my car? I know Colin wanted to be cremated because he never wanted to take up more space than necessary. That's … That's what he told me. So … So how … I don't know …" Dennis Creevey's mouth kept moving but no words came out.
Draco offered his hand and said, "Draco Malfoy."
Dennis Creevey accepted the handshake without standing up. Draco dropped his hand and said,
"Your brother is a hero to me, to my girlfriend, and to my son. I lost my wife suddenly six years ago and I went through the same thoughts. Her parents took her body away from me, so I would like to help you lay Colin to rest the way I never could for my wife."
Dennis Creevey nodded.
"Do you have a place you would like for your brother to rest?"
"No, I wouldn't know where to start guessing."
"May I offer my property?" asked Draco. "Our public gardens are beautiful, and it would mean everything to me to have the opportunity to care for Colin's resting place. He …" Draco felt the tears well up in his eyes and was surprised by how quickly they came. He wiped them from his cheeks. "He deserves the respect befitting a man who thought nothing of putting himself between my partner and people who would've killed her. If you would give me the opportunity—"
"Help me." Dennis Creevey threw his hands up and repeated, "However you wish to help, however you can take this out of my hands …" He sobbed. "I lost my brother. My wife's seven months pregnant and it never occurred to me that my daughter could come into a world without Colin. He said he'd just gotten this great gig, an agency was about to hire him full-time for his photography so he wouldn't keep freelancing for Conde Nast. He was so happy he sent us five hundred pounds to help prepare for the baby. A baby he won't even get to meet because …" Dennis let his head fall into his hands. "What the bloody hell's happened?"
"Leave it to me." Draco placed his hand on Dennis Creevey's shoulder and assured him, "Your brother will rest properly."
.oOo.
Draco went to the loo around five thirty that afternoon. Hospital staff expected Hermione to be discharged within two hours and he'd been in the waiting room for nearly twelve. When he returned to the waiting room, Weasley had a concerned look on his face. Draco plopped into a chair, allowing one in the middle for separation, and asked,
"What's happened?"
"Hermione's parents are here." The frown lines of his face deepened. "I didn't phone them because I knew she wouldn't want them here. I left our marriage, but Hermione's parents left her."
Draco's heart sank.
"Are they with her?"
Weasley nodded, so Draco stood up and dashed toward the doors leading to Hermione's room. He heard the Grangers before he saw them. A male voice said,
"I think that's an unfair thing to say to your mother."
Hermione's voice was strong when she replied, "Just because neither of you wish to hear it doesn't mean it's not fair. It doesn't mean I'm wrong."
"Hermione—"
Draco stepped into the room and asked, "Is everything good here?"
"No," snapped Hermione. "I was about to tell my parents to leave."
The two people standing there were significantly taller than Hermione. She looked like her mother in subtle ways, and hardly anything like her father. Her mother was slim and even a bit taller than her husband. She had long, straight hair and a pronounced furrow in her brow as she watched her daughter in that hospital bed. Hermione's father seemed to have a much more agreeable disposition, but he had dark circles beneath his eyes like he hadn't slept. Draco guessed he might look much the same.
Hermione's mother said, "We aren't leaving our child—"
"You left me seven years ago, let's not pretend you've suddenly grown fond of London again." Hermione slammed her laptop closed and huffed, "I don't want you here."
"Allow me to introduce myself," Draco offered his hand to her mother first, "Draco Malfoy."
Hermione's mother looked down at Draco's hand then scoffed, "The reason we're all here. Of course I know who you are."
Draco pulled his hand back. Hermione's face turned red, she appeared so angry that she forgot to breathe. She demanded,
"Don't speak to him like that."
Draco insisted, "It's alright, Hermione—"
"It's not alright!" she shouted. "I'm trying to grieve and my parents show up to make it entirely about them! I don't want them speaking to you as though they are more part of my family than you are."
Mr. Granger said, "I think this conversation is best had another time, at another place." He placed his hand on his wife's shoulder and said, "We should find a place to stay and how best to support Hermione—"
"I don't want your support!" Hermione pointed to the door with her right hand and demanded, "Leave."
Mr. Granger gave his daughter a singular nod before turning and walking out the door. He wrapped his fingers around his wife's wrist and gently tugged her along, though she continued to glare at Hermione until she was entirely out of sight. Hermione leaned backward on the hospital bed, sinking into the pillows.
"I don't enjoy speaking to my father like that."
Draco walked to her bedside and took her left hand in his. He made gentle circles on the top of her hand with his thumb, though she made no indication she could feel them.
"I am going to ask a question which may be rather ill-timed, but I need an answer."
Hermione nodded as best she could.
"Do you want your parents to meet our son?"
Hermione considered the question quickly. She said,
"I want to say yes, but only to force my mum to see that I can be a mother, too. I can do it better than she did. I don't feel it's proper to use Scorpius as a pawn."
"Why not?" asked Draco. "I think you're going to be fantastic. I also think Scorpius would like to collect yet another set of grandparents. Anyone who will let him eat sugary cereal is more than welcome in his eyes."
Hermione smiled just the tiniest bit, even as she tried to hide it.
"If you don't wish for them to be part of our family, that's fine, I would've tossed my father off a bridge if given the opportunity."
Hermione nodded and conceded, "I will consider whether I want them to meet him, but not today. Not until … Until the mourning … The this … Until it's over."
"Thank you." Draco squeezed her hand but was met with nothing in return. "I love you."
"I love you, too. It was odd, just now, I was thinking about my parents and if you hadn't barged in I intended to tell them they were not only unwelcome in my recovery room, I hadn't planned to invite them to my wedding. Our wedding, whenever it happens."
Hermione nearly had her arm ripped off again, and she was thinking about their wedding? Draco wondered whether that was the trauma, the grief, or if she was still a bit high from the painkillers. Then again, perhaps Draco should begin considering their wedding. Or a proposal, at least. As he looked down at Hermione in the hospital bed, he knew there was no one else who could match him tit for tat in this life. Hermione Granger was his partner, and someday soon would be his wife.
"Why wait?" he teased. "You and me tomorrow, Blaise's back courtyard, I can grab a ring from somewhere atrociously expensive."
"Cartier?"
"Boodles."
"I don't have a dress—"
"We could find one."
"No cake."
"Blaise can bake overnight."
"No officiant."
"We can hire one."
"No photographer."
That landed like a blow to the face. Draco turned away and shook his head, knowing the only person they would have wanted was lying in the morgue. He sighed and offered a weak,
"I will drive you home."
Draco returned to the waiting room where Ron Weasley was in deep discussion with the Grangers. A rather rousing discussion because he heard bits and pieces the moment he opened the door.
"None of us asked you here—"
"We are her parents—"
"Hermione is in a difficult way—"
"We want to help her—"
"If you did, you wouldn't be here."
Draco stepped to Weasley's side and asked, "Where are you staying while you are here?"
Mrs. Granger spat, "That is none of your concern. Hermione is in hospital because of you, and we don't need your assistance."
"Oi, Abby, don't talk to him like this is his fault." Weasley insisted, "Malfoy's part of Hermione's life, and if I'm okay with it you damn well need to be okay with it. He's more important to her than you are. My guess is she just told him to get you the hell out of the country and Malfoy, here, talked her 'round."
"We don't know where we are staying," replied Mr. Granger. He seemed far more aware of the situation than his wife. "We grabbed what we could and hopped on the first flight out of Sydney to London. Only had first class available so we put out quite a bit, but we wanted to be here for our daughter." He paused before adding, "Even if she doesn't want us here, we need to be here."
"Then you are staying at the manor." Draco said, "I wouldn't feel right knowing you are paying for a room when I have plenty."
"We don't need your charity," said Mrs. Granger.
"Abby." Weasley huffed, "I am not going to defend you to Hermione. You've got exactly one person on your side right now, and it's him. I'd suggest you take him up on the offer because nobody else will put up with you."
She asked, "When did all of you decide you hate me?"
"Probably about six years ago when we realized you really weren't coming back from Australia. You abandoned Hermione. There's no undoing that, and Malfoy's giving you a second chance to be in Hermione's life. Take it or go back to the life you made without her."
"Here's what's going to happen." Draco said, "Weasley will drive the two of you to a nearby hotel. Make it a nice one," Draco pulled five hundred quid from his wallet, "so they can get cleaned up. Flying commercial is awful enough, but you've come quite a distance. Royal Lancaster London has excellent bathrooms. Meet me at Blaise's house at seven-thirty and I will drive you both to the manor. You will stay there and we will figure out how you fit into Hermione's life."
Mrs. Granger asked, "Why would weneed your help?"
"Hermione just told me that when we get married she won't be sending you an invitation." Draco quickly added, "I haven't proposed, she simply offered it up to say there is no future for you in her life. I would like to change that, so it seems you do need my help."
"Fine," said Mrs. Granger. "Only because I need to wash my hair."
"Thank you," Hermione's father added. "We appreciate the gesture."
Hermione was discharged from the hospital ninety minutes later, her parents and Weasley long since gone. Draco walked out the front door of the hospital and held it open for her. She walked through and grabbed his hand just before the sound of a high-powered camera shutter sounded from across the way. Hermione stopped and said,
"Kiss me on the cheek. I want them to know we're together through this."
Draco obliged with a quick kiss on the cheek before opening the car door. He helped Hermione into the back behind the driver's seat, fastened the belt around her, then got into the front himself. He drove to Blaise's house and neither of them spoke the whole drive. Draco felt Hermione's grief becoming far more real during those twenty minutes.
She knew which room was Draco's from their first party together. Hermione didn't so much as look back before going upstairs. He heard Scorpius's shout of, "Maman!" but had no time to see his son, as the Grangers were stepping through the front door a minute later. Blaise's foyer was tense, as Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas stood with their arms crossed, visibly unhappy.
"Dean!" Mrs. Granger smiled and said, "It is so good to see you."
Draco watched as Dean Thomas eyed her up and down, slowly. He shook his head as though disappointed in what he saw. He stepped in front of the stairs to shield any potential sight of Hermione and Scorpius from view. He offered a cool,
"Abby."
Mr. Granger tried to break the tension by gesturing to Blaise and asking, "Who is this handsome fellow?"
"This is Blaise Zabini, my fiancé."
"Oh! Yes, I recall reading of your mother some time ago." Mr. Granger nodded his head and said, "It looks like you've made Dean very happy."
Mrs. Granger added, "Of course, another trustworthy family one of you has decided to step into."
"If you wished to express an opinion, Abby, that ship sailed six years ago," said Dean. "I haven't the faintest idea why Draco's decided to let you stay. Hermione is fine without you. We are all fine without you.
"You'll never have a child of your own, Dean." She snapped, "Perhaps that is why you could never understand what it means to watch your child step into danger on behalf of others with no concern for her own wellbeing. I'm her mother, and I will not sit by as she is so cavalier with her own life. You will never know what that's like because you're too busy sticking your cock in places it doesn't belong."
Dean didn't seem surprised by that remark, but all the colour drained from Blaise's face. Draco felt his jaw drop and even Ron Weasley sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. No one, however, was nearly as horrified as Hermione's father. His eyes were wide and he seemed stunned his wife could say such a thing.
"ABIGAIL."
"Don't start with me, Jack—"
"Go to the car now."
"Don't tell me what to do—"
"I damn well will because you're ruining our chances at reconciling with our only daughter. So get in the fucking car, Abby."
Mrs. Granger stormed out the front door. Mr. Granger looked Dean in the eyes and said,
"I apologize. When Hermione is hurt, Abigail becomes this terrible version of herself. You didn't deserve that." He turned to Blaise and said, "Nor did you. I hate that this is your first impression of us, because we aren't like that."
Blaise said nothing. Weasley asked,
"Is the little Malfoy staying here, or will he be going to Wiltshire?"
"Here," replied Blaise. "He doesn't need to be around …" He clenched his jaw. "That. We work very hard to keep Scorpius in a world where sexuality is not something he considers. Me being with Dean is normal to him, just as Hermione and Draco are normal to him."
Dean glared at Mr. Granger and said, "They're not like that. Abby just wanted to hurt me, so she found an easy way. She knows my stepfather has said far worse for fifteen years. She didn't mean what she said, but she can't help herself which is why she isn't welcome."
"I told her as much at hospital," said Weasley, "but she wouldn't listen. Malfoy has taken up the task of repairing that relationship. Good bloody luck."
"I need to sit down." Mr. Granger pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked at Blaise and said, "Mr. Zabini, I apologize again. Dean, it is good to see you. Ron …" He shrugged. "I have nothing more to say. If you are so moved, please tell Molly and Arthur that Abby and I say hello." Then he turned and walked out the front door.
Draco shrugged and took the stairs two at a time before finding Hermione in "his" room. She was perched on the end of the bed while Scorpius grabbed things from her case and placed them in the appropriate drawers. Draco sat next to Hermione and leaned down for a quick kiss.
"I'm taking your parents to the manor while we determine the best path forward for all of us. I don't want you to worry about anything except yourself."
She nodded. No additional response. It was more numbness, and Draco knew better than to let it linger. He offered,
"Your mother is—"
"Sanguivorous."
"I was going to say 'abrasive,' but we can land on sanguivorous."
"I don't know how to talk to Scorpius about my parents. I don't know if I want them involved in his life at all."
Draco offered, "Give me time to make that determination. If they cannot accept me as your partner, then they've made the decision for us, haven't they?"
"I suppose." She paused for just a moment before asking, "Do you want a big wedding?"
Had she been considering this for hours? Draco had done his best to put it out of mind. Here she was, bringing it up again.
"I haven't considered it, Hermione. Tori and I had fewer than thirty people at our wedding. I would be happy to marry you at city hall, if you like."
"I will give it a think." Hermione adjusted the sling on her right shoulder. "I do hate these."
"How long are you expected to wear it?"
"Two weeks."
Draco didn't know what to say, so he stood up and grabbed Scorpius in a tight hug. Scorpius wrapped his arms around Draco's neck and said,
"I am happy maman is okay."
"Me, too." Draco pressed a quick kiss to Scorpius's forehead then placed him on the ground. He knelt low to be on his son's level when he said, "Whatever your maman needs, you be here for her, do you understand?"
Scorpius nodded.
"Good. I love you, and I will see you very soon." Draco teased, "Be nice to Dean, remember, we want to keep him around, too."
"Okay! I love you. Thank you for letting me stay with maman."
"You make her happy."
"Because she makes you happy."
"Yes, my son, she does." Draco hugged him close then stood up to hug Hermione. He whispered to her, "I don't have anything to say to make this better. Whatever you need, we're all here for you."
"Please don't give my parents much grace, Draco. You're my partner." She tugged on his shirt with the fingers of her right hand. "I don't want to lose you because they make you see our life together differently."
"Nothing can pull me away from you, golden girl." Draco hugged her and said, "I love you more than I can say."
"What you said at hospital, about catching the things I let fall away …" Hermione insisted, "It was what I needed. That's why I love you, because you knew what to say."
Draco left, said goodbye to everyone, and found the Grangers already in his car. Mrs. Granger was asleep in the backseat behind her husband, sitting in the front passenger seat. Draco started the car and was met with silence for the first fifteen minutes of the drive. Once he was satisfied his wife was truly asleep, Mr. Granger asked,
"How did you meet Hermione?"
Draco surmised a version of the truth would be best.
"We were the unfortunate half of a double-date. Our dates left with each other, and we left as friends." Draco shrugged. "It's grown organically into love. I think we took our time about it. Viktor Krum came back into her life—"
"Ugh," Mr. Granger groaned, "I never liked him. I didn't like the way he touched her so openly. Quite handsy. I never thought my daughter would be thick-headed enough to fall for a footballer, but he never cheated on her, and I do appreciate that. I do think he loved her, and I know she loved him. He was always polite, but there's just something about him … I don't know. I didn't like him."
"May I ask about your first impression of me, then?"
"I don't much have one. What Ron said was fairly accurate, we don't have another lifeline. You offered us a chance to stay, and that's all I can go by"
Draco insisted, "You know it's not."
"I won't judge you because of your father. We did read the article in British GQ, and it seemed like he was the terrible father we all believed him to be. However, I know sometimes parents make terrible decisions." Mr. Granger nodded to himself and repeated, "Terrible choices. Australia wasn't my decision but I went along with it. I own that."
Draco hedged a moment before asking, "Was there anything else you read and deemed noteworthy?"
"Contrary to what you'd presume based on my wife's remarks, we're not much interested in peoples' sexuality. As long as you floss daily, we try not to judge."
"I do floss."
"And we always liked Dean. That Blaise fellow is a lucky man. I heard about his divorce from Seamus. It's a shame, because I know they cared for each other. Sometimes that isn't enough." Mr. Granger looked down at his hands and whispered, "Sometimes it has to be."
Draco let that sentiment linger in the air. Perhaps all that rage in Hermione's mum wasn't about Hermione at all. It may be that she was dissatisfied with how often her husband's heart was pulled toward England. Hermione seemed much closer to her father. Perhaps mothers and daughters fell into the same trap as fathers and sons: be yourself, but be like the best bits of me, too.
"My father lived about a year-and-a-half after he was released from prison. He was a terrible man, but he was still my father. I see him when I look in the mirror. When my father died, I knew he was proud of me. I had done everything he ever wanted me to do. I offered you the lifeline, as you said, because Hermione aches for your approval. She'll never admit to it, just as I would never admit to caring what my father thought of me."
Mr. Granger insisted, "I am proud of her."
Draco replied, "When I said 'your' approval, I didn't truly mean yours."
"Ah."
"I will confess to you, I always thought my life was a bit empty as an only child. My mother's eldest sister died fairly young, her other sister has been in prison for years with no chance of release, and my father was an only child. I hadn't any cousins, any family, really. Any opportunity to expand our family is one I consider, and Scorpius will never have any siblings—"
"Why would you say such a thing?" asked Mr. Granger.
"Hermione said she does not want to have a child, so I believe her."
"There's where you've gone wrong, then."
"Oh?"
Mr. Granger revealed, "I know my daughter, and she is logical to a fault. Where you're at now, of course she can't see herself having a child. Look at your son, the first child Hermione's had. Once she has confidence in her abilities as a mother, once she marries you and has that security? The variables change."
"I don't wish to go through it again." Draco admitted, "I was naïve when my son was born, and it cost my wife her life. My son is enough for both of us."
"I suppose." Mr. Granger stared down at his hands again and said, "When you only have one child, if that relationship sours you've lost everything."
"Would that my own father had believed as much."
"I'm certain he did. You see, Abby had a life she wanted for Hermione. That life was never what Hermione was meant for. I imagine your father had a life he wanted for you and when he realized you were on a different path he snapped. Not saying it's right, it's proper shit, but you said that your father realized you were on the proper path when he saw you with your son. Perhaps Abigail can see Hermione is on the proper path when she sees Hermione with your son."
"Her son."
"Pardon?"
Draco repeated, "Her son. Scorpius is my son, and he is Hermione's."
"Of course."
.oOo.
The staff helped Mr. and Mrs. Granger to the red guestroom on Sunday evening. Draco half-ran to his office and tapped Romilda's name in his contacts.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring—
"Draco?"
"Romi, I—"
"How is Hermione?" she asked. "Will she be okay? Narcissa wouldn't say much—"
"I don't know about 'okay,' but she will recover physically."
"Good, that's good." The relief was clear in Romilda's voice. "What does she need from me? What do you need from me?"
"I …" Draco swallowed thickly and revealed, "I have to plan Colin's burial ceremony, and I know …" He took a deep breath. "I know myself, I know I can't do this alone. Can I steal you for the week?"
"You needn't ask." Romi offered, "I can pick up whatever you need, and if there's any administrative things you need assistance with at Malfoy Holdings, I can take those on. I'll be at the manor tomorrow morning."
"You are incredible."
"Yes, thank you, but so was Colin Creevey. He deserves to have this done right."
"I know."
.oOo.
Draco had fallen prey to the darkness before. Three years earlier, after being rejected by his deepest friend, the light in Draco's life faded far more quickly than he realized. The shame and guilt clouded his mind until he found himself on a road just outside Andover. He could hardly see the road, so it could not have been his hands that guided the wheel left into the group of trees bordering Monxton Road. It must've been the rain. Slick tyres. What man would intentionally total a Rolls Royce?
He woke up in an ambulance, concussed, bruised, and scraping the back of his mind for a reason he'd driven himself into a tree. He recalled looking at the car with its front bumper hanging on by a proverbial thread. There was a large dent in the centre front of the vehicle, and the two front tyres were flat on the bottom. Draco looked at what he had done and felt nothing. It was just a car. He was just a body. Life was just nothing.
The darkness was those undefined moments. The guilt, the shame, the lows you can only access after the highest of highs. It had come before in his youth. At fourteen, sixteen, seventeen … Slowly. It would begin as a raincloud, then a hand on the shoulder, then fingers around his neck until he could hardly breathe because life was so overwhelming in its despair.
Monday morning, Draco initiated a conference call between himself, the CFO, Deputy CEO, and Romilda. Draco made it clear that Romilda was acting on his behalf and would bring him any urgent inquiries. He gave her the title of "acting chief of staff," encompassing anything and everything she would handle throughout the next six days. He sensed some skepticism toward her and said,
"I don't have another option."
Monday afternoon, Draco spent his time with the county's surveyor. They debated between four available plots. We have the fewest weddings near this plot. That plot receives the most sunlight. We will block off this area for the ceremony. This is our contingency for rain. The microphone will be here. We have approved the five selected plant species. How many attendees do you expect? Draco sighed and shook his head, hoping Dennis Creevey would approve of this rather nontraditional ceremony.
"I have to get this right."
Monday night, Draco was in bed, face-down on his pillow. He felt something in the universe had shifted and tried to recall the last thing he said to Colin. It would've been before Hermione was fired. Most likely when he dropped Hermione off for their dinner party. He'd texted Colin since that time, mostly contacts for billionaires looking to get professional photographs of their sugar babiesgirlfriends with their newest car. The last thing he texted was Don't take less than five thousand. He's an idiot with money and a bastard to put up with. That was three days before Colin died. The last thing he said?
"Bye, Colin."
Tuesday morning, Draco was pacing about the manor. The dark cloud hadn't vanished overnight. Rather, it seemed to be resting rather comfortably on his shoulders. He nearly ran into Hermione's mother in the hall and, before he could apologize, she asked why he was doing all this. Colin wasn't an important part of Draco's life, she said, not the way most people would expect. Where was Colin's brother in these arrangements? Grieving. Mourning, as Hermione ought to be. She asked, why wasn't someone else planning the funeral?
"I am the only option."
Tuesday afternoon, he was on the phone with the company producing the rather unfortunately-named "party favours" for the ceremony. No, these cannot be delayed. Yes, I understand I need two hundred and twenty. No, it is 'Colin' with one 'l' and 'Creevey' with an 'ey.' You do understand I paid five thousand additional pounds for this rush order? Thank you, yes, it has been a stressful time with this loss.
"I have to get this right."
Tuesday evening, Draco FaceTimed Hermione. She looked like hell. Evidently she'd been doing little but sleeping, sobbing, and staring at her computer screen. Diggory offered to deliver the eulogy, but Hermione insisted. "He died because of me. I need this moment to thank him properly." Draco tried to push back on it, insisting the chain of events that caused Colin's death was hardly her fault. She glared at him and said, "You ought to look in the mirror before you say that to me." Draco nodded, wanting more than anything to be there with her, but he would make things worse. She needed her friends, not her partner.
She needed to say goodbye to Colin.
Wednesday morning, Draco woke to a dark room. He couldn't sleep. He reached out toward the nightstand and slapped at it until his fingers landed on his phone. 3:54 AM. He rolled over, pressed his face into the pillow, and screamed. The darkness was heavy, and he stayed in bed, staring up at the ceiling until the sunlight began to shine through the window. At six o'clock, Draco supposed he needed to get out of bed.
He didn't have another option.
Wednesday afternoon, Draco received a phone call from Harry Potter. "So, erm, I lent your people my gun." Draco's stomach squirmed at 'your people.' "It appeared in my bushes in an unmarked package. All my bullets are still there so either they failed, or the gun was never meant to be used. I don't know what this means, but wanted you to know and I know better than to say something like that via text." None of this could happen via text. That's why Draco had gone to the women's prison instead of phoned. He had these conversations under the fog of darkness.
He had to do this right.
Wednesday evening, Draco received an unofficial summons from one of the few members of the House of Lords he deemed "tolerable." Draco hadn't been to the Royal Automobile Club in well over a year and wouldn't mind returning any other week. Why must it be this week? It was labeled "urgent." The valet was doing maintenance on the Mercedes, his mother would murder him before letting him drive the Aston Martin, that left the Bentley and Ferrari for distance rides. Tomorrow would be nearly three hours to the club, then to Blaise's to pick up Hermione and Scorpius, then two hours' return drive to the manor. Draco felt wrong making time for politics.
He needed to say goodbye to Colin.
.oOo.
Romilda brought a package to Draco just before he was meant to leave the manor on Thursday morning. Unmarked. Slim, hardly larger than his palm. Draco told Romila to leave and she obliged. He knew what it was before he tore into the package. In the centre of all that crumpled paper was the watch. The watch.
Draco felt nothing. He thought he would feel guilt, shame, and an unwelcome kinship with his father. Even though he had proof in his hands that two people were dead because he demanded it, there was nothing in his heart. He should've known the darkness was closing in, but it had been long enough that he disregarded the familiar tells.
He drove the Ferrari to London because it had a large boot. Perhaps Hermione would want to bring her entire closet with her to the funeral. He needed to have enough room for her, for his son, for anything. For everything.
For nothing.
The terrace at Pall Mall was beautiful. No use in denying it, the Royal Automobile Club had an eye for aesthetics. He drove onto the pathway with large hedges on the left and the gardens with silly-looking circular shrubs and a small flower garden on the right. He parked the Ferrari in the lot out front before walking through the front doors. He made his way through the familiar foyer, unchanged from his last visit, and to the courtyard. Even beneath the dreary London sky, the hedges were bright green and the plants in the centre were in full bloom.
Draco saw his host sitting at a table beneath the gazebo and trudged over.
"Lord Scrimgeour."
Rufus Scrimgeour stood up and offered his hand.
"Mr. Malfoy."
Draco shook his hand then sat in the chair across the table. If the House of Lords was shit, Lord Scrimgeour was only half-shit. He looked like a typical posh, stern English grandfather. He had a furrowed brow, shoulder length wavy hair dyed a nearly-convincing brown, and lips so thin as to be indiscernible. Lord Scrimgeour was a bit racist, incredibly elitist, but also quite practical. Draco had always appreciated that because there was a time when his sexuality was used as a weapon against his father. Scrimgeour put a stop to it. He never wanted children used as pawns in political games. He wasn't much of a gameplayer himself, which may be why his seat wasn't vacated in the reforms. Draco said,
"You implied this was urgent."
"It is, it is." Rufus leaned back in his chair and asked, "How have you been?"
"Are you fucking joking?" Draco snapped, "I'm bollocks-deep in funeral arrangements. My girlfriend had her arm partially torn off and replaced. How have I been? I'm losing my head, Rufus, and you've taken me away from all that for something I presume to be life-alteringly important."
He cleared his throat and said, "I see. Well, life-altering may be apt as Parliament has agreed to lift the suspension of your family's peerage."
Draco frowned. What the bloody hell could merit that? Twenty years, millions of pounds donated to charity, and he singlehandledly lowered the country's carbon footprint … Not enough to merit the peerage. He turned around in his chair, looked to the left, looked to the right, then plopped back down.
"Am I hallucinating?"
"No."
"It feels like I must be hallucinating."
"You're not hallucinating, this is something we've discussed for weeks."
"What's finally pulled the stick out of your collective arseholes, then?"
"Enough time has passed—"
"Bullshit answer," Draco demanded, "give me the truth."
Lord Scrimgeour huffed, "Your reputation has been given a boost the past few months. Parliament agreed it is no longer proper to deny you the peerage because of the mistakes your father made."
Draco rolled his eyes.
"You know my father didn't commit those crimes. He'd done far worse that you couldn't prove. You made it look like he'd bribed a dozen members because you couldn't jail him for anything real."
"Regardless—"
"My mother will be Lady Malfoy, then?"
Lord Scrimgeour hedged a bit, "It would only apply to you and Ms. Hermione Granger, assuming that path leads where we hope it does."
Where we hope it does.
"You bastard." Draco seethed. "You summoned me here to tell me I am entitled to my birthright because of my girlfriend? Because …" Oh, right, there it was. "Because my girlfriend was brutalized in front of the entire country and you think that the two of us will shine some light on the House of Lords? Make you lot look like less of a bunch of bloody twats?! Hermione Granger is an award-winning, internationally renowned journalist who happens to be dating me. And you think that Duchess Hermione Granger will make people interested and take you lot seriously instead of thinking you're a bunch of blowhards."
"I respect your sentiment, and will concede the tone of your assessment to grief."
Draco rolled his eyes.
"Hermione has no care for titles, I have no need for one, and quite honestly I loathe the thought of being dragged to the House of Lords and making decisions with you lot. I have done quite well for myself in the private sector. I don't need you."
"Given the …" Scrimgeour searched for the proper words. "Given the growing dissent toward the monarchy and our nation's foreign policy over the past few centuries, the House of Lords recognizes having someone like Hermione Granger, who is so well-respected internationally, it may turn the tide of public opinion in a more favourable direction."
"As I said, you will give me the peerage because it's good publicity."
"In short."
"The moment Hermione receives a title, her legitimacy as an independent reporter goes away." Draco shook his head and said, "I won't do it."
"I rather think that the Granger girl has always been inclined toward politics." Lord Scrimgeour suggested, "Perhaps she would appreciate the opportunity to have such a close influence over what happens—"
"Hermione has no care for influence, she cares about making decisions. If she doesn't have the power outright, she doesn't want it."
"Give her the seat, then."
Draco raised his eyebrows and asked, "Pardon?"
"Make a special request so Granger can have the seat once you're married. We didn't plan to seat you in the House of Lords, but were you to delegate the responsibility to someone as respected and," he made a disgusted face, "Labour-oriented as Hermione Granger, perhaps we would grant you the seat as a show of good faith after your father's issues. We want her involvement, we don't necessarily require you."
We don't require you. That broke the last string holding Draco together. All he heard was his father's voice from twenty years earlier. I don't want you.
Draco stood from his chair and flipped the table over, tossed it like it was nothing. It crashed into the empty chairs a metre away. The entire courtyard jumped at the sound and turned to look. Draco paid them no mind. What reputation was there to care for?
"I am Draco Malfoy, the only heir to the Dukedom of Wiltshire and the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black! You have the audacity to sit here and tell me that my birthright is contingent upon my partner? You sit here and tell me, 'Draco, now that we know you won't be having any more cocks up your arse, you can take your seat in the House of Lords.' Fuck you, and fuck every single one of you for keeping the title away from my mother."
Lord Scrimgeour pressed his palm against his chest to smooth his shirt, pretending to be unbothered by the outburst.
"We will certainly discuss returning the title to Narcissa—"
"Hermione has made a career searching out and exposing government corruption. The moment she walks into the House of Lords and sees what happens there, she'll come out and scream at every camera she can find to burn it all down."
"Again, good faith, Mr. Malfoy—"
"I am planning a burial for my friend, who died because of a gift I gave my girlfriend. I cost my girlfriend part of her shoulder, and I cost Colin his life! I know that as a member of the House of Lords, Rufus, accountability is a foreign concept to you as it was to my father. Allow me to explain to you the immense pain and guilt I wear like a bloody jacket every fucking day."
Lord Scrimgeour glanced toward the other patrons and cautioned, "I think we may need to table this discussion—"
The words wouldn't stop coming. Draco felt too many things. He could name some of the emotions clouding his thoughts, namely rage and fear and guilt and shame and—
"I couldn't see my wife was in pain before she died because my head was in the clouds. I was so excited for our life together, and overwhelmed by the love I had for my son. I forgot to tell Hermione to take off her watch because my head was in the clouds—I mean, I'm dating Hermione fucking Granger, you understand, how could I think of anything except what a lucky man I am to be in love with her? When I don't pay attention, people die."
"I thought this would be good news for you."
"A week ago it would have been. What good is a title to me now, Rufus?"
"Draco—"
"You could have told me over the phone. I could have told you no on the phone. I could have said, 'Let me talk it over with Hermione after things are settled.' Instead, you drag me out here and take time away from the things I should be doing. I can't …" Draco shook his head. "I can't be here right now."
He retraced his steps from ten minutes prior, out of the courtyard, through the entrance hall, and out the door to his car. Draco opened the door of the Ferrari and slammed it shut when his bum met the seat. He turned the car on and made to put it in drive, but his hands were shaking. He looked down at his hand on the parking brake and felt the darkness circling him completely, like a blanket. He was warm, too warm.
Draco opened the car door, walked round the back, and opened the passenger door. He walked 'round the front and closed the driver's door before walking around the boot to the passenger door. He plopped into the passenger seat, closed the door, and fished his phone from his back pocket. His fingers were trembling as he punched in the code to unlock it, Hermione and Scorpius swept away by his thumb as he navigated to his contacts. He scrolled down to Theo's name and pressed it.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
No answer. Draco pressed his name again and put it on speaker.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring—
"Oi!" There was a clanging in the background like something had just fallen off a shelf. "Will you fucking stay where I put you?! Christ!" Theo lowered his voice to ask, "You alright?"
"No. "I'm at Pall Mall and I need you, brother. Come get me."
