59.

A week and a half passed in the blink of an eye. Suddenly it was Thursday the 19th – the end of the school term and Hermione was in the car navigating the London traffic, heading for Platform 9 & 's. As of yesterday she was officially on holiday from work, until after Boxing Day – all non-essential parts of the Ministry shut down over Christmas – and the children would be staying at home with her until Christmas Day. Ron would have them from then on until the beginning of term. Hermione wasn't sure whether he planned to stay at the Burrow or at Grimmauld Place, but the children should enjoy both.

She was currently not enjoying anything. The traffic was as insane as always, and Hermione began to rue her decision to travel by Muggle methods, especially considering she was running late. She should have just apparated, but then she would've had to side-along apparate both of the children and all their luggage, and that was a fine way to get splinched. She could've driven into Wandsworth Town station and caught the train from there though, and she regretted not doing so. Someone blared their horn at her and she jumped and glared in her rear view mirror. She'd been indicating.

Unfortunately they lived close enough to King's Cross that to travel to one of the official Hogwarts' portkey locations – which took students and their families to King's Cross – was slightly less practical than travelling directly to the station. So here she was, trying not to die as she clutched the steering wheel tightly and gritted her teeth, driving defensively, whatever that meant. Mostly she just tried to be aware of everything everywhere all at once, following the road rules exactly. It didn't seem to endear her to other drivers. She had to pay a toll, and the cost of parking anywhere vaguely near the station was frankly insane, but she made it there in one piece, albeit with only five minutes to spare.

Hermione raced through the massive station at a brisk trot – in jeans, oversized jumper, and trainers this time, her hair in a low bun, and her wand slid into her arm holster. Rather less well put together than the last time she'd been at the station, but she'd been on her way to work then. She ran straight through the barrier that separated Platform 9 & 's. from the rest of the station without even slowing. She burst onto a bustling, noisy chaos, filled with curling drifts of steam, and with children spilling off the Hogwarts Express with hand luggage and pets in tow. More luggage was being brought out by the porters; large trunks and cases. Harried parents were visible through the settling clouds of smog, looking anxiously for their children, or catching up with friends.

It was a zoo. Hermione craned her neck looking around for the children and spotted several red heads that belonged to her nieces and nephews, but no Rose, yet. She did see Harry and George chatting off in the distance though, and waved at them, smiling brightly. Both men waved back, and Hermione would've liked to go over and say hello, except she had children to find. It took a few minutes of hovering near the train before Hugo came bounding up out of nowhere, and flung himself at her, knocking her back a step. "Mum! You're here! Sorry, I was just saying goodbye to Lorcan and Lysander."

She steadied herself and hugged him back, kissing the top of his head briefly. "Hello darling. And how are they?"

"They're fine," he said flippantly, adding with rather more excitement, "They're going to Azerbaijan for the holidays! Their parents are going on a field expedition and taking them both along."

"So if – if –" she emphasised "– we go to Disneyland Paris, they won't be coming, then?"

"Oh, no," he said, slightly crestfallen, and then brightened again, hopeful. He was giving her whiplash with his sudden bursts of energy. After her drive through London, she just wanted to go lie down somewhere quiet for an hour or two. Instead, she'd have to drive back the way she came, with two excited children chattering in the back-seat. "But I really want to go. Please? Pleeeease?"

"We'll see," she said firmly, regretting mentioning it as she looked around for Rose. "Go fetch your trunk, darling. I'll wait right here." Hopefully Rose would turn up while she waited for Hugo to return, hauling his trunk behind him. And sure enough, just a moment after he had dashed off, Rose appeared with her large trunk and Scorpius in tow with his trunk, Malfoy following behind. He was as perfectly put together as always, in a rather Victorian suit, his hair perfectly styled so that it was just slightly dishevelled, his fingers tucked in his pockets. He looked elegant and relaxed, with the sleekness of a big cat – lazy and yet somehow alert.

"Hi Mum," Rose said and hugged her, and Hermione squeezed tightly.

"Sweetheart," she said affectionately, kissing her daughter's temple. "I'm just waiting for Hugo to come back with his trunk. "And then she smiled at the two Malfoys. "Hello Scorpius," she said first, and he grinned, more comfortable with her now that they'd spent so many lunches together.

"Hello, Ms Granger."

And then Malfoy. Standing there behind the other two, his eyes dragging over her slowly.

"Hi," she said, smiling at him, still feeling a little flustered and tense from her drive through London, and her madcap race through the station. In her casual mum clothes, she was a contrast to Malfoy, and she didn't like the way her internal comparison made her feel. She felt like Ron for a moment, and wished she'd at least taken the time to do something with her hair, and put on slightly newer trainers than the battered ones she wore. He didn't seem to care though, from the look he was giving her.

"Granger," he said, and smiled, slow and meaningful, and she felt her cheeks burn hot. Not two hours ago, she'd been sprawled in his bed. It was thanks to him that she'd been running late. So in a way, it was thanks to him that she hadn't had the chance to neaten up, and dress smarter. Not that it really mattered anyway, she told herself. Unlike Ron, she was perfectly capable of dressing up where needed. "How are you?" he asked, as if he didn't know perfectly well. But they didn't want the children to know they spent every spare minute glued to each other, especially considering a quarter of that time was spent in a tangle on his bed, or in the shower, or on the couch. Or on one memorable occasion, bent over the kitchen bench on her tiptoes.

"Stressed," she went with after a second's hesitation. It was true. "I hate driving into King's Cross. London traffic is the worst. How did you get here?"

"I apparated into the men's toilets under a Disillusionment Charm. We'll head home much the same way, I imagine." He was lucky; one child and one trunk was manageable to disapparate. Two children and their luggage was just a little too much. "It's disgusting," he went on, grimacing, "but efficient."

"Well, that explains how you got here before me," she said without thinking, and then clamped her lips shut. Oh dear. That carried a heavy implication that they'd been together before coming here, if the children were paying enough attention to pick up on it. From Rose's grin, she was. Shit.

"Were you and Mr Malfoy on a date this morning?" Rose asked boldly, and Hermione winced. Was essentially living at his house something that counted as a date? A very long, extended date? No, no it wasn't.

"We spent the morning together at my place," Malfoy said smoothly, the truth. "Your mother was helping me set up a TV."

That was also true, technically speaking. It had arrived yesterday afternoon, but she'd plugged it in and shown him how to operate it this morning. It fuzzed occasionally thanks to magical residue, just as phones occasionally restarted at his house, and her laptop's battery had totally drained in seconds, once. But mostly there wasn't enough magic to prevent electrical items from working fairly well. She'd warned him that the price you had to pay for Muggle technology was limiting your magic use to the essentials, rather than using it for every little thing, and he seemed happy to do that.

"Oh," Rose said, and shot her mother a sideways glance, as if she suspected the story was dragon dung. Hermione smiled back calmly, a Sphinx, giving nothing away. Rose made a quick, small face at her, and then eyed Malfoy, assessing him. She'd get no joy from him – he was entirely unreadable right now.

"A television?" Scorpius asked, sounding pleased. "That's brilliant! Rose always tells me about TV shows, and I can never watch them."

"Well, now you can," Malfoy said, smiling at his son.

"You can watch Stranger Things!" Rose said, jittering with excitement. "And Sabrina!" She went off on a ramble, listing shows one after the other as Scorpius threw in shows she'd obviously told him about. Malfoy shifted to stand beside Hermione as the two chattered.

"So, are you looking forward to the sleepover tonight?"

Hermione had arranged for Hugo's closest Muggle friends – David, Sanjeet, and Skye – to stay, their school having gone on holiday too. They'd be staying until Saturday, which was about all Hermione thought she'd be able to handle before she went insane. Tomorrow they were going to Battersea Children's Zoo, and then having lunch at Battersea Park, and Saturday they were going to see the new Jumanji movieand have lunch out before she dropped them off home again.

She gave him a flat look. "No. No, I am not. Two extra boys and a girl all crammed into our house for two straight days – and three nights – is not my idea of fun. But Hugo will love it, so it's worth it." She glanced at Scorpius and Rose. "Would you and Scorpius like to come to the cinema on Saturday morning? I'm taking the children to see a family friendly adventure film. I'm sure Rose would enjoy the company."

"I'll ask him." He stood close enough to Hermione that his arm touched her shoulder, both of them looking at the children instead of each other. He smelled delicious. Like wood and spice, and a hint of citrus-y pine. "But I have a feeling he'll say yes."

"Mm, me too. They –" Hugo came up out of the crowd, lugging his trunk with exaggerated difficulty.

"I got it!"

"Excellent. Well, we'd better head home, then," she said reluctantly, turning to face Malfoy. She was happy to have the children home, but being back in the Wandsworth house wasn't overly pleasant, and having five children to look after a full term of none was going to be a shock to her system. Rose had mentioned catching the bus into Wandsworth tomorrow and meeting up with the couple of Muggle friends she still kept in touch with so she wasn't coming to the zoo, but that still meant Hermione would be corralling four eleven-year-olds by herself. Great fun. In the past she'd had Ron to help her, at least. He was always great with the children's friends. "Text me about the movie later. We'll be seeing Jumanji: The Next Level, if you want to google it."

"Will do," he said, and then put his hand on her upper arm, leaning in and kissing her cheek, very close to her mouth. His lips were soft and her breath caught, a tingling heat flooding her, followed swiftly by the burn of embarrassment. Technically it was entirely chaste and not particularly romantic, but it had felt romantic. She knew she had to be blushing, her cheeks felt so hot, and she bit her lip without thinking. And then realised how coy it must look, swallowing hard and pulling herself together.

He was smiling at her. "Bye, Granger." He turned to Scorpius, who was staring at them both with owlish eyes, much the same as Rose and Hugo. "Come on, Scorpius. Time to brave the men's toilets." Hermione snickered at the resignation in Malfoy's voice.

It took a moment for Scorpius and Rose to disengage. First, she told him he should use his dad's new phone to text her, and scribbled her phone number on a bit of parchment with a self-inking quill that took several moments for her to dig out of her shoulder bag. It was a lovely intermingling of Muggle and wizarding culture, and gave Hermione a warm feeling. "I bet you never imagined this, did you?" she asked Malfoy, nodding at the two. "Magic and Muggle, all mixed together."

The look he gave her was complicated, but she saw longing and love there, sharp and sweet. "No," he said. "Never."

Hermione leaned on the kitchen bench, a cup of tea and her phone lying on the bench in front of her. Rose was upstairs in her room reconnecting with the wonders of the internet and all her Muggle friends via Discord voice call, and Hugo and his friends had turned the sitting room into their territory. They'd pushed the coffee table up against one wall and covered the floor in air mattresses, and were currently drinking Pepsi, grazing on crisps, and watching Disney, while Hermione cooked up an oven full of chicken nuggets and Smiles for them. She planned to cook some peas to go with them, and call it a balanced meal. It was a sleepover, after all – their parents were hardly expecting them to eat well.

Dessert would be Neopolitan ice cream, with strawberry sauce and crumbled up Flakes.

She sighed, and sipped her tea. The children were content – although from the occasional thump coming from the sitting room, she feared for the furniture – and it was nice to have the house full of life and people. Being here alone was untenable now. Try as she might, she'd developed an aversion. But at the same time as it was lovely to have the children home, they were hardly spending time with her. And she'd had to leave her wand upstairs in her dresser, nestled atop her bras, lest she forget and accidentally use it where one of Hugo's friends might see. She was usually very good at remembering not to use magic around Muggles, but as uneasy as she felt in the Wandsworth house now, she feared she might slip up.

So, driven out of the sitting room by children, she stood alone in the kitchen listening to Hugo and his friends as their dinner cooked. Ten more minutes, probably. She picked up her phone and texted Malfoy.

What're you doing?

A reply came in only a moment later.

[I'm watching Scorpius watch TV. Or rather, look at every available channel. He's devastated that I haven't sorted out any home internet yet. Which reminds me, don't unexpectedly text anything risqué, because he's been using my phone to text Rose.]

The thought of that happening made Hermione cringe to her bones. But also snicker a little.

I never do! You're the filthy one. And I'll help you get the internet sorted if you need. She frowned. His house had been a Muggle one originally, hence all the electrical wiring and modern kitchen appliances, but she wasn't sure it was wired for fibre. She supposed that in the worst case scenario, he could get an unlimited data plan through Vodafone and hotspot things when Scorpius was at home.

[Well it's safe for now. He's too absorbed in the TV right now. Muggle technology is addictive.]

You should get him his own phone, she sent, smiling to herself. What if I want to send you nudes?

[Hah. You've already made it clear that's never happening. Much to my eternal disappointment.]

I might change my mind. One day.

[I shall continue to live in hope then. Although to be fair, I hope to have the real thing right in front of me every day, soon.]

Every day? He'd sort of, half seriously asked her to move in before and they'd both brushed it off. But the comment hit differently when she'd been basically already living at his house, for a few weeks now. Her heart lurched and picked up speed, her hands suddenly clammy as she typed back.

Is this you asking me to move in, Malfoy?

[Yes.]

Okay then. Once the children are back at school.

There was a long pause, and Hermione began to wonder if she'd fucked up. Had he just been joking again? Should she not have said yes? No. Oh no. She didn't know what she'd done wrong, but it must have been something. She buried her head in her hands. And then straightened. No, she told herself – she was being ridiculous and catastrophising. He'd probably just gone to make a cup of tea, or pee, or something. And then her phone rang. Malfoy. She answered.

"Seriously?" he asked, sounding breathless and speaking quietly. "You mean it. You'll move in? All your things here, the other house sold, with me every day?" He sounded like he couldn't believe it. Like he'd won the lottery. Hermione grinned into her hand, weak with relief.

"Yes. Yes I mean it, you idiot. Why would I lie?"

"I don't know. I just thought…it's probably too soon, and I shouldn't, and when you said yes –"

"Sometimes you're as thick as R–" She broke off. No, she wasn't going to compare him to Ron, even in jest. She wouldn't appreciate being compared to 'Tori' at all. "...Fang," she finished weakly, and Draco gave a short, humourless laugh.

"Oh, good save, Granger. I know who you were going to say, and I'm not impressed." He sounded irritated, but not exactly angry. Wry.

"Shut up." Hermione paused, wincing inwardly. "Still want me to move in?" She was joking, mostly. But she knew she'd be genuinely annoyed at being compared to Astoria, and not easily soothed. Something about the comparison pushed all the wrong, irrational buttons.

"Yes. But we might have to play out my second-favourite disciplinary fantasy first, before I let you off the hook for that comparison." Oh God, there was so much to unpick in that sentence. Malfoy's voice was still low, as though he was afraid of Scorpius overhearing, but there was a dark, delicious intent behind his words, and Hermione shivered, desire stirring suddenly to life. All he had to do was say things like that, and it gave her a visceral jolt of sexual arousal, streaking through her core. Jesus.

"Second-favourite?" she asked and her voice wobbled slightly.

"Mm. I honestly don't think you'd be keen on my first favourite, Granger, and I'm magnanimous enough to compromise."

There was a thump from the sitting room and Hermione looked up distractedly, staring absently at the sitting room wall, but no chaos erupted. A chorus of laughter rang out, and Hermione assumed everyone still had their limbs.

"How do you know I wouldn't like it?"

"Do you want to be thoroughly tied so that your tits pop out deliciously all pink and beautiful, your calves bound to your thighs, your arms tied behind you, pushed down on the bed with your flogged arse sticking up in the air while I fuck it, nice and deep?"

Oh good God.

"Hnnngh …no, no, probably not," Hermione got out in a strangled, tiny whimper, telling the truth but also for some inexplicable reason, unspeakably aroused by the fantasy. She pictured it in her mind's eye, and was undeniably, ridiculously aroused at the thought. She swallowed hard and reached out, jabbing the oven timer. Three minutes left. "Wh-What's your second favourite then?"

Somehow she knew he was grinning – that wicked smile that made her feel unspeakably fond of him and rather aroused at once. "Well, considering I wouldn't actually know how to tie you up like that, and I know you don't want me fucking your pretty little arse –"

"Malfoy!" she hissed, her face going hot. He went on, unperturbed.

"– I figure I'd just bring you right to the edge of orgasm, then put you over my knee and give you a little spanking, in between finger-fucking you, and then make you suck my dick for a while before I fuck your sweet pussy." He paused. "I feel like that should be suitable punishment for comparing me to Ronald bloody Weasley." And then he sighed contemplatively, and added the usual disclaimer. "Not that I'd ever actually do that, Granger. It's just rather nice to think about." Hermione bit her lip. She would not actually be opposed to that one. It seemed like potentially good fun.

"And I know you like it when I tell you what weird scenarios my brain has invented," he said, amused.

"I do," she admitted. Whether they were shocking, hilarious, or unbelievably arousing – often all three – they were always fun to hear. Like a window into Malfoy's twisted id. "And some of them actually sound fun." She sipped her tea, smiling to herself – a secret smile she buried in her mug, even though no one was there to see it.

"Like the one with the engorgio?" He ventured a guess, and Hermione nearly choked on her tea as a nervous snicker snorted out of her. She swallowed her mouthful of tea without dying, and kept snickering, tears in her eyes.

"No! Well…maybe? I don't know," she vacillated, eventually landing on a mental 'no'. She lowered her voice. "No. I wouldn't think so. As bizarrely appealing as it might seem, the reality of it sounds like a recipe for disaster, frankly, where you might end up in St. Mungo's with extremely embarrassing, painful problems."

He laughed. "Fair. The one with the modified tickling jinx?"

"No, we talked about that already," she said. "You first, and then I will."

If the modified jinx worked the way Malfoy claimed Blaise Zabini had told him – she'd recently discovered he still kept up with Zabini when the other man occasionally attended his parents' parties – it was supposed to provide a tingling, rubbing sensation all over, rather than tickling. Apparently it was orgasmic, if rather overwhelming. Zabini claimed it had resulted in endless climaxes. Hermione had said it was weird, likely untested, and Zabini was probably full of shit anyway. And by the way, why hadn't he told her he was still friends with Blaise?

Malfoy had told her that chatting at parties a few times a year hardly classified them as friends. He did the same with Theo and Pansy Nott when they attended, and he wasn't friends with them either. He didn't have friends, he'd told her. Then he promptly went off and looked up the jinx in the Registry of Spells to prove her wrong, and discovered it was in fact in there. He'd then suggested lashing her to the bed and fucking her while she was under the influence. Hermione had countered by agreeing, but only if she was allowed to use it on him first. In the end, they'd both chickened out. For now.

"Maybe on New Year's," he answered her. "Get me drunk enough and I'll be our guinea pig."

"You can't be a guinea pig if you're more than tipsy. The drunkenness will interfere with the results," she said primly.

"Tipsy then, you persnickety witch," he said, sounding as though he were caught between amusement and impatience. "Anyway, I was asking which one of my scenarios sounds fun, before you went off on a tangent."

The timer went off on the oven, loudly. Hermione tapped it off. "Sorry. Hang on, one second. I have to put the phone down to check the nuggets and Smiles." She laid it down without another word and opened the oven using a tea towel as an oven mitt as she checked the food. Not quite. She turned on the hob that the saucepan of peas sat atop, and tapped the oven timer to another five minutes as she picked up the phone. A door opened.

"Mum, is that dinner?" Hugo yelled from the sitting room, having obviously somehow heard the timer over their ruckus.

"Five more minutes, darling!" she shouted back at the top of her lungs, forgetting to take the phone away from her mouth.

"Merlin, Granger. My ears," Malfoy said plaintively.

"Oh shit, sorry!" She winced, feeling like an idiot.

"Well now I have two questions. What are these smiles you're checking, and which damn scenario?"

In swift succession Hermione said: "They're dreadfully unhealthy, self-explanatory mashed potato shapes that you bake. And punishing me." She quickly added: "Your second favourite! Not the other one."

There was a second's pause, in which she could almost hear him smirking. "Oh really, Granger?"

"It could be fun," she said as evenly as possible. She didn't want to let him win by knowing just how much the thought of being draped over his thighs, while he pushed his fingers into her wet cunt in between sharp slaps to her bum, turned her on. To an irrational degree. And the reality might be disappointing, of course. But trying it sounded worthwhile. "Why not give it a go. If it turns out terribly we just won't do it again," she said pragmatically.

"Well…you were very rude, really, Granger. It'd only be right to discipline you…" he said, sounding more like he was trying not to laugh than anything else, and she covered her stupid, gleeful grin with her hand as she leaned on her elbows, staring at the oven clock without seeing it.

"When will we see each other next?" she asked, adding, "Not counting Saturday." He'd already texted earlier to accept Hermione's invitation to the cinema.

"Scorpius is going to visit his mother and maternal grandparents on Christmas Day, after lunch," Malfoy said hopefully. "He'll be there until after New Year's at least, unless something goes awry."

"And Rose and Hugo are staying with Ron from Christmas Day onward," Hermione said, anticipation fluttering in her stomach.

"Five more days, then, Granger. And then I'll put you over my knee and spank you until your arse is rosy pink, and you ask me very nicely to suck my dick."

She pressed her thighs together, blood throbbing heavy through sensitive flesh, longing to be with him and have him rub her –

The oven timer went off, nearly covering the distant slam of a door upstairs that Hermione hardly registered in the moment. "Oh for Merlin's sake," she snapped, startled by the alarm, jabbing it off. "Sorry, Malfoy. That's not aimed at you. It's just the children's dinner – the oven –"

He laughed. "Go sort dinner then. I won't keep you. I'm just going to sit here on the edge of my bed until my damned erection goes down, and then rejoin Scorpius watching…whatever he's watching." A brief pause. "I miss you."

"I miss you too, Malfoy." She smiled as she turned the oven off. "I'll see you Saturday." She put her phone down, and then caught a flash of red hair to her right. Oh shit. Rose was settling in a seat at the breakfast bar, a smirk on her face. Hermione suddenly recalled the slam of the door when the oven time had gone off, and quickly ran back everything she'd said in the past minute or so. Oh thank Merlin, she hadn't said anything awful.

"You miss him, hmm?" Rose asked meaningfully, and Hermione glared at the stove as she turned off the hob – the peas simmering away. There was a price to pay for everything.

"Yes," she said crisply, shooting her daughter a sharp look. Surprisingly, Rose didn't prod any further. She just smiled, as though amused by the notion of her mother having such feelings, and nodded earnestly.

"That's nice. I'm glad that if you and Dad had to break up, you ended up with Mr Malfoy. I really love the idea that Scorp and I could be step-siblings. And I like Mr Malfoy."

Hermione smiled as she dished up dinner. "You're going to have to learn to call him Draco. Mr Malfoy sounds so odd."

"You can't talk," Rose said. "You call him 'Malfoy'."

Hermione blushed. "That's different!" she protested, and then quickly called for Hugo and his friends, to avoid talking further.

Hermione woke in the night from nightmares of Len and Ciaran, covered in cold sweat and gasping for breath. She hoped fervently that she hadn't screamed – and from the still, quiet air, she didn't think she'd woken anyone. Thank God. She rolled over and checked the time. 3:24 am. She wasn't about to text Malfoy right now. She refused to. So instead she slid on pyjama shorts and a dressing gown and crept out of her room, butt of her wand sticking out of her deep gown pocket. Rose's door was ajar, and she pushed it open just enough to peek through. The girl was peacefully sleeping, sprawled limp and relaxed, a stuffed dragon under her arm.

Hermione retreated, and made her way quietly down the stairs. The sitting room door was open, and from the stairs she could see the blue light of the TV spilling out of it. She'd told the children lights out at midnight, but it seemed they hadn't listened, of course. The faint sound of the TV carried on the air, but the house seemed quiet otherwise. She sneaked a look in the sitting room and saw all four children asleep in their nest of sleeping bags, cushions, and air mattresses, the TV quietly playing some children's show. She left it, and wandered through the rest of the house like a wraith, feeling worried and vulnerable.

In the end everything was locked and secure, and there were no intruders. Hermione crept back to bed and curled up in a little ball, her wand under the pillow, feeling miserable. She missed Malfoy. The bed felt empty.

The next day went smoothly, and at six pm Hermione brought home a gaggle of bundled up, exhausted but happy eleven-year-old children, who went off to sleep at ten pm sharp without complaint. After their day out, they'd hardly been able to keep their eyes open. Rose had enjoyed her day with her friends, and Hermione had refrained from sending Malfoy photos of the animals at the zoo. Even though they'd been adorable – especially the otters, and the fancy rats. Maybe not the Madagascar hissing cockroaches.

She bought tickets for Disneyland Paris that day too – she was checking the website for the Easter hols, and by some fantastic stroke of luck, they had tickets available for Christmas Eve. It seemed meant to be, so she bought them immediately, and then asked Malfoy. If he hadn't been able to go, maybe she would've invited Ron instead, and let a ticket go to waste. But Malfoy said yes, and it was set. Hugo was ecstatic, and Rose was quietly excited too.

Saturday dawned bright and cold, and Hermione and the children met Malfoy and Scorpius at the cinema. They'd apparated to a place Malfoy knew nearby and then walked – stopping in at a shop to buy Scorpius his own phone along the way – and Malfoy's cheeks and nose were pink from the chill bite of the wind. Scorpius had avoided that by wrapping his scarf half around his face, it seemed. Hermione bought popcorn and drinks at exorbitant prices for everyone in addition to tickets, and Malfoy insisted he'd pay her back for his and Scorpius's. The children all sat down the front together, wanting to sit in the very front row for some reason, and Hermione and Malfoy snagged seats at the back, after telling the older two to look out for the younger ones.

Malfoy was fascinated by the movie, and Hermione got less canoodling than she'd expected. It was lovely, though, and at the end he kissed her quickly but thoroughly before the lights went up, and she was left feeling all molten and warm.

She didn't see him again for a few days. She took the children to see her dad, and then to visit her Aunt Lucy and cousin Gwen. They spent an afternoon ice skating, and went shopping for last minute Christmas presents for the children to buy their dad, and she found a present for Malfoy. Cuff-links she had engraved with golden snitches, to match his tie, and the plan to send him an obscene photo on Christmas morning. Not the most imaginative gifts, but he did seem to enjoy accessorising his clothes with different ties, ascots, and cuff-links. And he certainly would be expecting to be woken to a photo of her, after what she'd said about not sexting pictures. But it was Christmas. She could make an exception.

Now she just hoped she could actually take a sexy photo of herself, Hermione thought wryly. She'd never tried before.