58.

At Malfoy's insistence, Hermione spent Sunday through Tuesday at his house, flooing back to hers in the mornings before work to get dressed. Now that Astoria wasn't likely to turn up unexpectedly, Malfoy seemed to have unofficially moved her in. Hermione wasn't complaining. The Wandsworth house was on the market now, and she imagined it would sell within a couple of months, if not sooner. She'd have to be at home during the Christmas holidays because of the children, but otherwise she was happier not being there. Despite her best efforts not to let the abduction control her, being in the house alone made her tense and vaguely uneasy. And she may as well stay at Malfoy's, rather than having him stay at her place where they both feel mildly uncomfortable.

Hermione sat at her desk sorting through some recently completed case files, shrinking them down to put into her long-term storage filing cabinets, and wondered whether she would need to buy a house, or whether Malfoy would suggest again – more seriously this time – that she move in. She supposed magic would make it easy to add a whole extra storey to the house. Or they could convert the loft, Muggle style. Or buy another house together in Ilkley, with enough bedrooms for all three children. Such idle, domestic thoughts kept occupying her recently. It was rather nice.

Files organised, Hermione slotted them neatly away and checked the time – it was already quarter past twelve. She frowned. It was Tuesday, which meant Malfoy should have come to collect her for lunch at midday – although he always turned up early. It wasn't like him to be late. She popped her head out into the outer office, and Mariska looked up at her inquiringly. "You haven't seen Malfoy have you? Or heard from him?"

"No, I haven't, sorry." Her secretary checked the time. "Gosh, he's late. Normally he's here by quarter to, at least." She looked mildly curious, as though she suspected drama. Sometimes Mariska seemed to have a sixth sense for drama. Hermione hoped fervently that Astoria hadn't turned up, disgruntled and drunk, and had another meltdown.

Hermione grabbed her handbag and coat. "If he turns up while I'm gone, could you let him know to wait in my office? I'm just going to check if he's in his office."

"Can't," Mariska said cheerfully. "I'm going to lunch myself in a minute. But I'll pop a note on your door." Hermione probably should've thought of that herself.

"Oh would you? Thank you so much, Mariska. I'll bring you back a cappuccino," she said gratefully, and then went off in search of Malfoy with a wave.

She heard the voices before she even entered the outer office that led into Malfoy's private office. Male voices. Malfoy's and – Harry's? Hermione quickened her step, and hurried in the door to the secretarial space, her stomach lurching. The rather prim, superior secretary was nowhere to be seen, and Malfoy's office door was shut.

"– absolutely disgusting –" Yes, that was definitely Harry's muffled shout, coming through the office door. Oh Merlin, what had happened? Hermione yanked the door open to Malfoy and Harry facing off across Malfoy's desk, Harry in his field Auror gear, and Malfoy in a rather Edwardian black and grey suit. Harry's mouth snapped shut and he snapped his head to see who had interrupted. His cheeks were red with anger, his fists clenched – wand in his hand, Hermione noted with a stab of worry – and he was breathing hard. In short, he was clearly utterly furious.

Malfoy looked much calmer at first glance; he stood behind the chair at his desk, his hands seemingly resting on the back of it, his cheeks only faintly flushed, and she hadn't caught him mid-tirade. But Hermione knew him well enough now to see the stiffness in his shoulders, the controlled tension in his hands, and the tightness in his jaw, and around his eyes. He was fraught, at the very least, and edging toward a frustrated anger. His gaze slid from Harry to her, and for a split second she bore the full force of his cold stare and felt herself shrivel, and then his expression shifted, transforming.

"Granger," he said, and her name was almost a plea. He looked slightly wild-eyed, his hands clenched on the back of the chair. "Can you please tell Potter to back the fuck off?"

"Harry – put your wand away!" Hermione snapped, marching forward and shoving his hand down to his side as he began to raise it toward Malfoy. She doubted he'd do anything truly harmful, but she didn't need Malfoy jinxed. He shot her a betrayed look but slid his wand back up his sleeve, into his holster. Hermione looked at him, and then Malfoy. "What in Merlin's name is going on here?"

"Sorry I'm late for lunch, Granger," Malfoy said with a rueful, tired smile that was so sweet that Hermione's heartstrings shivered as if plucked. "We just got back from Hogwarts."

"We?" Her mind immediately went to Scorpius and James. Oh no. Oh shit, she thought things had settled down between the children.

"They caught Scorpius and his son –" Malfoy nodded at Harry "– down in the dungeons, in an empty classroom." He rubbed at his jaw and sighed, looking more exhausted than angry now – although maybe there was a hint of amusement there too. Hermione frowned, bewildered.

"Who, James?" she asked.

"No," Harry snapped, without looking at her. "Albus." His voice vibrated with anger as he glared daggers at Malfoy. He was still blotched red, his shoulders stiff and his hands still balled into fists, but at least he wasn't holding his wand.

"Albus?" Hermione asked, even more bewildered now, and then Malfoy gave her a dry, exasperated, definitely amused look, and everything suddenly made sense. James's behaviour. Rose – and Scorpius and James's – refusal to admit why James had attacked Scorpius. The way Rose had bitten back the name of who Scorpius was seeing. "Scorpius and Albus?"

"His fucking son was caught with his tongue down Albus's throat, in an empty classroom, both of them with their shirts half bloody off!" Harry's voice rose to a shout. "Merlin's beard, who knows what they were doing!" Oh God. Well, that wasn't good. Hermione cringed at the thought. They were thirteen, and most definitely not of age. And even for teenagers having a fumble, thirteen was far too young. A snog between two third years was one thing – once clothes started coming off, it was an entirely different matter. She grimaced.

"According to your son, it was his idea," Malfoy said shortly, fingers white-knuckled on the chair back, his fleeting amusement long gone.

"And he's clearly trying to protect Scorpius!"

"Dragon dung! Why would you assume that? Maybe it was –" Malfoy began, shoulders hunching as he came to his son's defence, the accusation making his anger flare up. Malfoy might be able to weather insults and accusations against himself with an impressive cool control, but when it came to his son he was as protective as any loving father.

"It doesn't matter whose idea it was!" Hermione broke in. "They're teenage boys! Idiots, driven almost entirely by hormones and bravado. I'm sure either of them could have equally suggested it." She looked at the two men in front of her, hoping they were going to take a breath and cool down. She forged on. "But they were both clearly in favour. And they may well do it again or worse, particularly if you two can't form some kind of united front" She fixed them both with a glare. "So both of you, settle down, and talk to each other. Your children obviously need you."

There was a short silence.

"They're too damn young for that shit," Harry said, and misery began to overwhelm his anger. He pulled his glasses off and held them by one arm as he rubbed a hand over his face. "They can't just…" He trailed off, and Malfoy sighed tiredly.

"I know that, Potter. I'm not bloody happy about it either. But it's not like they were practising Dark magic. They were – they were necking in the dungeons and went a bit too far. But they got caught before anything happened, at least."

"Thank God."

"Mm, and Merlin, and bloody Salazar," Malfoy agreed. "I don't want my child doing that at his age either, you know. Just because I wasn't yelling my bloody head off like you, Potter, doesn't mean I'm not worried and frustrated. And angry with the pair of them. But shouting at a teenager doesn't do a damned thing. I would've thought you'd have known that."

"Well, knowing it, and managing not to do it when I'm feeling that fucking pissed off are two entirely different matters, Malfoy. Not everyone has your blessed level of self-control," Harry said, and then stopped rather abruptly and looked at Hermione. "Well," he added, "I suppose even you don't always have perfect self-control."

There was a few seconds of silence as they all remembered Malfoy's behaviour while Hermione had been missing – or rather, the two men remembered, and she remembered what they've told her. Malfoy clenched his jaw tighter and the chair creaked under his grip. "Uncalled for, Potter," he said sharply but Harry just grinned, the git, glad to have found a way to needle Malfoy at last.

"Harry," Hermione said warningly. "Not helping." She looked between the two. "I don't know why you two are even arguing. Or whatever this is."

"Because Potter thinks that Scorpius has led his precious, innocent angel astray."

"Like you don't think the same thing, Malfoy," Harry accused, and Malfoy sighed.

"I don't. I think what Granger said – they're a couple of hormonal, infatuated teenagers. Thank Merlin they're in different houses, and don't share a dorm," he said, and Hermione winced at the thought of that, as Harry paled. It seemed as though Harry was taking the news as quite a shock. She supposed that it was, finding out this way – getting called into school by the Headmistress, because your child had been caught in a state of undress. She cringed with mortification and horror just thinking of it. And then to find out it had been another boy, on top of that – well, yes, it would be a shock.

"So that's why James attacked Scorpius?" she asked thoughtfully, shifting the topic slightly. "Because he was angry Scorpius was dating his little brother?"

"I guess so." Harry shrugged helplessly. "Merlin. I didn't even know Albus was gay," he added then, miserably, losing cohesion as his mind raced ahead, speaking as though he were thinking aloud. "God, I'll have to tell Ginny. She's in Australia right now. What's the time over there? Christ, I don't know why he didn't trust me. Us." He glanced at Hermione forlornly. "Did we do something wrong, that Albus didn't feel he could tell us?"

"Scorpius told me years ago," Malfoy said, supremely unhelpfully, and Hermione shot him a glare. He was a git too. For God's sake, the pair of them were like angry dogs, snapping at each other and trying to establish dominance.

"Malfoy, shush!" she told him, and he subsided, although the glint in his eye made it clear it was payback for Harry's comment about his loss of self-control. She felt like shaking the pair of them.

"Look, right now you're both upset –" Malfoy made a scornful noise in the back of his throat, and she shot him a glare "– and there's no need to rush to figure out how to handle this, because there's not really much you can do other than sit them down together and talk about safety, responsibility, and consent, and potentially not being emotionally ready for things even though you feel physically ready," she said listing what she'd already mentally prepared for the eventual talk she would have to give Rose, and then Hugo. Considering what Scorpius and Albus were getting up to, maybe she should give Rose the talk in the holidays. Ugh.

Harry shot her a horrified look, and Malfoy a slightly bewildered one. Which was when she remembered that Hogwarts hadn't done sex-ed, and she suddenly wondered if Malfoy had ever been taught those concepts explicitly, or just picked them up subconsciously along the way. Harry probably had been exposed to them to some degree – he'd been around Muggle culture all his childhood, and then every school holiday. Hermione herself had gotten the talk from her mum at fourteen, in the summer holidays. She cringed remembering it and how embarrassing it had been, but in retrospect it had been a very good and thorough one.

"Well, you will have to, you know," she said to the two men, still looking at her, rather disturbed. "And it'd probably be good to do it separately, and then give the two of them the talk together, if they're seriously dating. But right now you should head to the Burrow, and have a cup of tea with Molly," she said to Harry, kindly, reaching out and patting his arm. "I think it's probably the middle of the night in Australia, and while I know you've had a shock, I'm not sure it's worth waking Ginny up for." Harry blinked at her and then nodded, running a hand through his hair, and scrubbing it up into a mess. He looked a little dazed and discombobulated now that his anger had left him, his posture crumpled and his eyes sad.

Malfoy caught Hermione's attention then, and she looked at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. "Do you need to go with Potter?" he asked, with a thoughtfulness that honestly no longer surprised her. "We can cancel lunch if you like. We're already late."

"No. No, I don't want to cancel," she insisted, emphatic. Malfoy might not be as shocked as Harry given he'd already known Scorpius was gay, but he still looked stressed and tightly wound. She wanted to have their usual lunch and be the supportive girlfriend. He had no one else to be there for him, and Harry had all the Weasleys.

"And I'm fine anyway," Harry said with a scowl for Malfoy, as if offended by the implication that he was going to pieces, even though he clearly was. He straightened his back and stiffened his shoulders. "You're right, Hermione. There's no point in bothering Ginny yet, if it's late over there. I'm just a little…" He broke off, and sighed.

"Go see Molly, Harry," she told him firmly, giving him a little push. "She'll give you tea and biscuits, and you know you'll feel better for it."

"Yeah. Thanks 'Mione. I'll do that." He patted her shoulder absently and forced a smile. "I'll…be in touch, I guess, Malfoy."

"Wonderful," Malfoy said drily. "I look forward to it."

As soon as the door shut behind Harry, Malfoy came apart just a little bit, to Hermione's surprise. His shoulders slumped and his chin dropped, head hanging down as he took a deep breath, his grip making the chair creak again. And then he slowly exhaled. "Fucking hell. That was not fun."

"Are you okay?" She stood across the desk from him, coat still over her arm and handbag clutched tightly in that hand, debating whether to go to him and hug him, or whether that would be overkill.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just – let's go to the Folly before we debrief." He grinned ruefully as he crossed his office and lifted his coat off the hook, shrugging it on, and then holding out his arm to her. She went to him, heels clicking on the floor as she fumbled with her handbag and coat. He took her bag without a word, holding it helpfully while she slid her own coat on, she murmuring thanks, a little dance as smooth as if they'd done it a thousand times. And then when she took her handbag back and glanced up at him with a small, sympathetic. smile, he kissed her lightly on the lips. "Come on, Granger – I could do with a stiff drink."

They sat at the Folly, Hermione in her peach silk blouse and pencil skirt, her hair slightly windblown from picking her way down the short, gusty cliff-side path, and Malfoy in his waistcoat, having draped his suit jacket over the back of his chair, and folded back his sleeves, cuff-links sitting beside his untouched water glass. His firewhisky on the rocks, on the other hand, was nearly gone even though it had only just arrived.

They hadn't really talked yet. Not properly. He was ashen in the afternoon light, the lines on his face deepened, his eyes thoughtful and pained as he stared out the window. While Harry had been angry, and loud, Malfoy was quiet and pale – but, she thought, not really any less at sea over what had happened, and what on earth to do. His Dark Mark was half exposed with his sleeves turned back as he was wearing his arm holster on the right, and Hermione thought it was a rather stark show of his mental state to have the Mark so obvious in public.

When they'd arrived and sat down, he had said, "tell me about your morning, Granger, while I steady my nerves," and Hermione had smiled and said, "oh, so my fascinating work stories are just some ignorable background noise, are they?" He'd looked at her, startled and apologetic and she'd waved him off with a grin. "I'm teasing," she'd told him, and then obliged, sipping her Elf-made wine every so often.

She'd given him every tiny, minute detail that she remembered of the new case she'd been handed that morning – John Carlisle had been accused of murder, but he claimed he'd been under the Imperius at the time, and because he was skilled at occlumency, neither veritaserum nor legilimency were considered persuasive evidence. It was a complex, interesting case. That he had murdered the victim wasn't in question; he'd turned himself in, immediately. But the man had been a stranger to him, as far as the Aurors could tell, and Hermione's own evidence had confirmed it. And yet there was no evidence he'd been cursed, or who could've cursed him, or why they would've chosen him. Assuming Carlisle was telling the truth, had he been the target, or the victim? Or both? It was a tangle. Hermione herself had no clue if he'd done it or not.

Malfoy had nodded and made the right noises, and Hermione had been fairly certain it had all been going in one ear and out the other – just as had always happened with Ron. She'd been okay with Malfoy doing it this one time though; he had good reason. He was frayed and come apart, and gradually stitching himself back together with firewhisky and time, and the peaceful drone of her voice.

Or so she'd thought. Until he hummed and said, in a lull of her musings when she was taking breath, "It's probably the wife. I mean, it's a complicated situation. But then again, maybe it's not. Did you look at the wife?"

"What?" She set her wine glass down, startled.

"The wife," he said again, his eyes silvered in the pale grey light coming in the large window; it was a bleak, overcast day today, which didn't help how ashen he still looked, although the firewhisky had put some colour in his cheeks. "It's almost always the spouse, when it comes to this kind of murder where there isn't a clear-cut motive, isn't it? Either the victim's, or Carlisle's. Were they married?"

"Yes. Both of them," Hermione said, surprised and rather pleased he'd actually been listening after all, rather than her just flinging her chatter out into the aether as background noise. He hadn't seemed like he'd been listening; staring out at the wind-tossed waves, his eyes very far away. He'd looked deep in thought. Hermione had assumed, of his meeting at Hogwarts, and what to do now, and probably how useless Astoria was. Hermione was certainly thinking that last one, rather pettily.

"Did the Aurors investigate them?" Malfoy asked, swirling his firewhisky in slow circles, the globe of ice inside clunking and whirling nearly melodically.

"Not thoroughly. Or, I received no files on them, at least. Hm." Hermione thought for a moment. She didn't expect Malfoy's guess would truly be right, but it was worth looking into further – especially if the Aurors hadn't properly investigated the women. "Thank you. I'll look into that when I get back to work." She smiled at him. "I didn't think you were really listening."

"I wouldn't have asked you to talk if I had planned on ignoring you, Granger," he said, as if taken aback and slightly insulted by her assumption. "I'm not that rude." She raised a brow, and he smirked. "Well, not to you, anyway." He downed the last of his firewhisky and raised a finger, gesturing to the wait staff.

"So," she said, as she watched him slide his glass across to the end of their small table. "Feeling better?"

"Somewhat, yes. But Merlin, I wasn't expecting to deal with that today. Or for several years, yet." He sighed, shoving a hand through his hair and frowning, that expressive mouth down-turned and telegraphing a lost kind of displeasure. It made him look younger, somehow, and Hermione found herself wishing they were at home – at his house, she corrected swiftly – and she could sit on the couch with his head on her lap and soothe her fingers through his hair. That always seemed to relax him into a near doze when they were watching TV on her laptop, and it was oddly calming for her too. But Malfoy was going on, and she dragged herself out of her thoughts, elbow on the table and chin in her hand as she gazed at him.

"– to get caught doing something so stupid, with less than two bloody weeks until the end of term? Salazar's sake, it's so frustrating. And then Potter's son? Fucking hell. It's like he wanted to infuriate me as much as possible. I suppose it could be worse, and he could've been engaging in some self-hating relationship with the other Potter boy."

Potter's son, Potter boy, Hermione thought, and rolled her eyes. "You know both their names, Malfoy," she said, drily. "It won't kill you to use them. Honestly, sometimes you're as bad as Harry."

"You're mean, Granger," he said, but he grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and her heart swooped the way it always did when he gave her that smile. That grin. No calculation behind it, no deliberate charm – just a genuine, playful happiness. She hoped it always made her feel like that. That heady, giddy joy. "Vicious," he emphasised, still spinning his firewhisky glass on the table, leaning back in his chair, his eyes brightening, as though their banter took some of the weight of single parenthood off his shoulders.

"And you're a baby. So childish, Malfoy," she poked back verbally, kicking off her shoe, her foot finding his under the table and poking his ankle physically. He jolted, startled, and then smiled again – a little lopsided thing this time, lazy and sweet.

"Fine. Albus and James, then," he capitulated.

"There, that's not so bad, is it? You'd better get used to calling Albus by his name if Scorpius is dating him. You'll end up seeing a lot of him in the holidays. The boys are going to want to spend time together." She paused. "Preferably supervised time. Perhaps Rose can chaperone," she added with a grin.

It might not work out too badly, really. Rose and Hugo always spent a lot of time at the Burrow along with the rest of their cousins in the holidays – with Hermione and Malfoy together, and Scorpius and Albus dating, perhaps Scorpius could just go along with Hermione's two, and all the children could hang out together. Molly had a fairly watchful eye; she'd put a stop to any potential hanky-panky. She said as much to Malfoy, who looked rather overwhelmed and not at all reassured by that. She supposed a sudden merger with the Weasley-Potter conglomerate hadn't exactly been what he'd been expecting when he woke up that morning, with Hermione curled up against his chest.

"Oh Merlin," he groaned at the thought, just as the server came up smiling politely. He gave the girl a grateful look. "Another firewhisky on the rocks, please. And Granger, do you want to order lunch?" She did, actually. All that talking had made her hungry, and she didn't want to just sit there watching Malfoy down glasses of firewhisky all afternoon. They both ordered, and then settled back in to wait for their food, Malfoy's firewhisky arriving promptly. He took a swift gulp, and Hermione gave him a tight-lipped, sympathetic smile.

"It's not the end of the world, you know," she said gently. "It's hardly ideal – them being caught in the middle of, well, that, but in a way it's quite good that the boy Scorpius has ended up seeing is Albus. After all, you know Harry, and he's my best friend, and like it or not I'm fairly closely entwined with them all, so we'll be able to keep an eye on them, and be supportive, and all stay on the same page –" she went on, listing all the positives, finishing up on, "– besides, they're only thirteen. I doubt they'll last that long. I remember our Hogwarts third year, people hardly dated longer than a term before breaking up, if that."

"Well, that's true," Malfoy said, perking up slightly. "They'll probably lose interest fairly quickly."

"I wouldn't count on it though, Malfoy. There's always the rare couple who have been together since they were young. And I suppose for Scorpius and Albus, they have more reason to stick together." He gave her a quizzical look. "Well, they don't really have a lot of choice when it comes to partners in the magical world, do they?"

"Ugh, don't tell me that, Granger. I was just starting to cheer up."

"At least they can't get each other pregnant," she said, trying for levity, and he choked on his firewhisky, wheezing and coughing, grabbing for his napkin and pressing it over his mouth as his eyes streamed. Oh dear.

"Not funny, Granger," he got out in a strangled voice, face flushing as his cheeks streaked wet with tears, and Hermione pressed her fingers over her mouth, hiding her smile. It was mean to laugh at him, she told herself, as he finished his spasm of coughing and wiped away his tears, blinking hard.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. But it's a little bit funny." She cleared her throat, dabbing at her own eyes with her napkin, and taking a deep, steadying breath. "Really though, like it or not, you're going to have to give Scorpius the talk."

Malfoy frowned. "The talk? I'm not sure the usual talk applies here, Granger."

"Well, of course it does –" she began automatically, and stopped as she remembered his bewildered look in his office, and the lack of sex-ed at Hogwarts. Pure-blood sex and relationship talks were, she imagined, most likely different to the one she'd received from her mum. "What do you think the talk involves, Malfoy?"

He shifted uncomfortably, flushing. "I don't want to – I mean, it was mostly just about pregnancy," he said, cheeks still blazing red, refusing to meet Hermione's eyes. His level of embarrassment only piqued her curiosity further. She leaned forward, elbows on the table again and napkin balled up in her clasped hands, chin resting on the back of her knuckles.

"Like what?" she asked eagerly, and he groaned and gave in, taking a fortifying sip of his drink.

"Fine." He sighed. "Don't spill your seed in any witch who isn't pure-blood –"

"Oh Malfoy, you are failing so badly at that," she couldn't help saying, snickering, and he glared at her. "Sorry, sorry, go on," she said with a wave.

"– Because pure blood must not be diluted. Use a contraceptive potion with every pure-blood witch, lest you beget bastards. And don't fall in love with anyone until after you're married."

"Oh God, that's cold." Hermione shuddered.

"Arranged marriages." Malfoy shrugged. "Which is probably why the next piece of advice is to ideally find a mistress who's barren."

"Struck out again, I'm afraid. Although I probably don't have the rampant fecundity of my youth," she said wryly, and he snorted. There was a brief pause, as though he was weighing up whether or not to say the last thing. And then he decided.

"And make sure there's no way she can accuse you of rape," was the last thing he said, and with that horrifying statement, the traces of amusement suddenly drained from the air. Hermione swallowed hard.

"Did he mean by not raping women, and making sure you gain explicit consent, or –?" she asked, tongue feeling thick in her mouth, and Malfoy gave her a pained look.

"I've honestly never been sure," he said tightly. "As far as I know, my father's always been faithful to my mother and they seem blissfully in love, so I'd like to think he meant not to let myself get into any compromising positions. Or maybe it was the advice his father gave him, and he was just repeating what he'd been told."

"Well, I wholeheartedly agree that you can't tell Scorpius any of that. That is not a relevant talk at all," she said, and Malfoy shot her a faintly amused glance.

"Mm. As I just told you."

"Oh shut up. Don't I 'told you so' me. I was just curious as to what old-fashioned nonsense you'd been told. And it was worse than I thought."

"So what do you think the talk should include, Granger?"

So she told him her basic points. Whether or not one was emotionally mature enough to manage the consequences, whatever they might be. Being responsible enough to wait until both partners were of age, and avoid situations that might result in regrettable decisions. Seeking explicit consent beforehand, and reading cues and checking in throughout the entire experience. Making sure that both parties were protected against disease and any physical damage. Understanding that sharing pleasure and fun should be the goal, rather than ticking off 'achieving' particular acts. And knowing they could go to a parent for help or advice about anything, without fear of being seen as awful or unlovable.

Malfoy listened intently, and she could almost see him mentally taking notes.

"I don't know how well it'll work, mind you. I haven't used it myself," she said ruefully. "But my mother gave me a sex talk covering very similar topics, and I think it helped me. Of course, then there's the part that deals with relationship dynamics too," she began, but then their food arrived.

"Tell me the rest when I can write it down, Granger," he said wryly, confirming her suspicion. "It seems good advice to pass on to Scorpius." He laughed. "Or maybe I should just get you to do it for me."

"Oh no. Don't even try ," she said, pointing her fork in his direction for emphasis. "Then you'll blame me when he doesn't listen to any of it."

"Mm, well, expecting them to wait until they're of age seems like a big ask, at this point," Malfoy said with resignation, clearly unhappy. Hermione gave a sympathetic sigh.

"All you can do is give them the information, tell them you trust them to be responsible, and let them know you'll be there to pick up the pieces if they mess up," she said, and then made a face. "I feel like you'd be better at the 'picking up the pieces' part than me, if it came to that. You're far calmer. I'm more like Harry. I just get so impatient, and end up wanting to yell."

"Tori taught me that yelling does not help," he said, a complicated expression on his face. Hermione ate a bite of her salmon, and let the silence sit for a moment, watching Malfoy, and the sky outside past his shoulder. The clouds were heavy, filled with rain, and she could see it falling over the sea off in the distance; a thick grey haze in the air between cloud and water. Malfoy's expression was faraway, off in the long distant past and shot through with grief, and she found she didn't mind his absence. She just ate her salmon and waited for him to come back to her.

"Well," Malfoy said at last, slightly more brightly, and she turned her gaze fully on him. The faintest hint of a smile graced his lips, and his eyes were calmer than they'd been earlier, the tension in his jaw and his shoulders lessened. The momentary grief was gone, without a trace. "I do feel better now, Granger. Thank you. And the talk you came up with is far superior to what I was thinking of."

"I'm sure you would've done fine, Malfoy," she said around a mouthful of asparagus spears. "You're a good father."

He looked oddly vulnerable after she said that, looking down at his plate as he shrugged, lashes catching the light. "I try." It made her heart ache in the most beautiful way. And then he added, "I never thought I'd have him. I thought I was doomed to bury my children forever." His jaw twitched, his fingers tightening on his fork. "Like some karmic penance for my part in the war. For the people who died while I stood by and did nothing."

"Oh, Malfoy…" Her heart was a wreck. A ruin. The thought of him living with that monstrous belief in his head for years while he went through loss after loss was awful. What a thing to think.

He shot her a sharp glance. "Don't worry, Granger, I'm not about to go to pieces this time." But his hand shook as he picked up his firewhisky. And it wasn't that she was judging him, either. She was just terribly, terribly sad for him.

"You can if you want. I don't mind," she said carefully, and he forced a small, fleeting smile, his eyes shining very wetly. He cleared his throat.

"My point was, Scorpius is the child I thought I would never have. That he's here is a fucking miracle, frankly. So I want to do my very best by him. It's bad enough that Tori's never mothered him, and that my past has burdened him. I don't want to add to that by being a bad father."

"Well, you aren't," Hermione said very decidedly. "You're brilliant. It's part of why I love you so much." And Malfoy smiled at her. Quite sincerely this time and pleased at her words, his sadness easing a little – and in response happiness welled up in her like a spring, cool and sweet. She loved these moments, sadness and all. The moments he stripped himself bare for her, and every time that he did, she discovered she loved him more and more. All the parts of him; grief, and sweetness, and snark. It was all so beautiful.