74.

Hermione went back to work in the new year with a spring in her step, a massive stack of folders filled with plans, and a pang in her chest. She had cuddled Carina goodbye, kissed her velvety soft little forehead, and stepped out the front door bundled up in her black wool coat, and soft grey hat, and scarf with a warming charm already cast, to apparate to Whitehall, popping into existence under a Disillusionment Charm, in Corner House St. She dropped the charm as soon as she'd ascertained no Muggles were in sight, and set off down Northumberland to Dilectio Coffee, opposite Trafalgar, to get a latte for her and Mariska. And a pastry.

It was cold and drizzly, and the footpaths were icy underfoot as she trod carefully along in her boots, past busy, glum Muggles on mobile phones, huddled in their winter gear. Hermione was very glad for magic, when winter rolled around. A well cast warming charm worked wonders – unlike cooling charms, which for some reason did a lacklustre job on living beings. She wondered why idly, as she paid for her coffees and two chocolate eclairs, and set off for the Ministry. Probably something to do with interfering differently with the body's temperature regulation system. She knew from bitter experience that one wasn't supposed to use strong cooling – or warming – charms when pregnant.

When the red phone box loomed up ahead, she felt odd. As the new Head of MLAI she was simultaneously excited and a little nervous, and as a mother, she hated the fact that she would lose her mobile signal. Malfoy could fire-call if – Merlin forbid – there was an emergency, but she couldn't just check in on Carina without taking the lift back up to the street.

Hermione stood in front of the phone box and resisted the urge to call for all of twenty seconds. She pushed inside the phone box, and set her lattes awkwardly on top of the phone, barely balanced, bag of eclairs squashed under one arm as she dug out her phone.

The phone rang only once before he picked up. "I was wondering how long you'd last," he said instead of hello. There was a very smug not4 of amusement in his tone.

"You're terribly mean," she told him, and he laughed, unrepentant.

"No, mean would've been letting it ring through to voicemail."

"If you ever do that, you git, I will apparate home and murder you."

"But then who will look after Carina? Who is fine by the way. She's happily having some tummy time in the morning sun."

"What about Minnie?" Worry hummed under Hermione's skin. She didn't trust the crup around Carina without supervision. The animal was adorable, but she was only a baby herself, and not yet trained.

"I am not letting the cruppy eat our child. Don't worry. Carina's right in front of me," Malfoy said patiently. "She's currently staring very intently at Minnie, who is sleeping with all four legs in the air. It's adorable." He said it flatly, as though stating mere fact, and Hermione's lips twitched. Malfoy was a marshmallow, under the surface.

"Okay," Hermione said weakly, and sighed. "I miss her already."

"I know. But you'll be home at lunch. It's only three hours." He laughed. "You know, by the time you get settled in your new office, you'll be so lost in work that you'll forget we even exist until Mariska yanks you out of your haze for lunch."

"Lies," she said, rebalancing one of the coffee cups as it threatened to slide off its perch on top of the phone. She pictured Malfoy. Sitting on the floor beside Carina and Minnie, in the morning sun that swept into the sitting room through bi-folding doors, his hair ruffled and his eyes gleaming, in the trousers and grey oxford shirt he'd been wearing when she left. Devastatingly attractive. "Filthy lies. I'm going to miss you both dreadfully for the next three hours."

"Alright then, Granger," he said placatingly, that infuriating note of amusement in his voice.

Hermione huffed as she stared blankly out of the phone box at the grey, wet street outside – all the Muggles walking past totally oblivious to her stare, their gaze skipping over the red phone box as though it wasn't there. "I will!" she insisted, feeling a little silly. She knew Malfoy was only teasing, but there was something that made her feel horrible about the idea that she could just happily leave her baby and not be bothered. And besides, she was bothered. Even if she was looking forward to taking over from Higgins and really sinking her teeth into her new role as Head of MLAI.

Malfoy's tone gentled. "I know you will, Granger. But work is going to keep you busy – time will fly by. And then before you know it, it'll be lunchtime."

Hermione had to admit, he was probably right. There was a lot to do – this whole week was probably going to be spent sorting through the mess of Higgins's office, making it her own, and reviewing and assessing the sub-division, all while interviewing for a new Interrogator, to replace her. Yes – she was going to be busy. If she didn't know she had Mariska to help her, she'd be overwhelmed. She took a deep breath, pulling her phone away from her ear to check the time. It was five to nine. It was time to go – Hermione wasn't about to be late on her first day.

"Okay," she said again, with a sigh. "You're probably right. I'll see you at a quarter past twelve, then." She pictured him again, wistfully, wishing she could work from home. "I love you."

"Love you too, Granger."

And then, coffees clutched in hand, Hermione's day at work began, almost like any other day, except that she walked to Higgins's office instead. Mariska wasn't at her desk when she arrived at the outer office – larger than her old one, of course. Hermione heard murmuring and banging from Higgins's – her – office through the crack in the door, and assumed her secretary must be in there. She put the coffees and pastries on Mariska's desk and peeked over it to check.

Yes; her secretary's Witch Weekly collection had already been tucked under the desk.

Hermione smiled as she dropped her handbag on one of the chairs up against the wall and draped her coat, hat, and scarf over top, smoothing down her hair – loose and reaching just past her shoulders now, Malfoy had charmed it for her this morning. She pushed her office door open to be confronted by a filthy, harshly lit disaster. Dusty, dirty, and raining in one corner, from a thundercloud that flickered lightning. A bookcase had collapsed, and the charmed 'window' behind the desk showed a vivid hellscape.

"Good God," she said, horrified, as Mariska looked up – breathless and ruffled for once, in trousers and a blouse with an apron over top, her hair hidden by a head wrap, and a pair of thick gloves on her hands. She was clearly prepared for the task, and appeared to be trying to corner and catch something. Hermione saw movement behind an end table in front of her secretary. "What in Merlin's name?"

"Ms Granger!" Mariska said, and smiled distractedly, rubbing at her forehead with the back of her glove. An empty cage sat beside her. Hermione eyed it – and then the scurry of movement – with a pinch of worry.

"Do I need to be concerned?"

"Um, well, maybe marginally? Higgins appears to have had an infestation of murtlaps," Mariska said, and then squeaked in fright and kicked as something pale pink and the vague shape of a rat rushed at her. It went flying back and hit a filing cabinet, and then lay there, stunned. "Oh! Sorry, sorry," Mariska muttered to the insensible creature as she rushed to it, seizing it in her gloved hands and shoving it into the cage. "I'm sorry, you disgusting thing."

It made a horrible squeal as it regained its senses and leaped to its feet, looking none the worse for wear.

"Jesus Christ," Hermione said, staring at her panting secretary. "No. No, this is not how I'm starting my first day back, as Head of MLAI. Running around and catching murtlaps. I categorically refuse." She racked her brain and then waggled her wand at the minor storm in the corner. "Meteolojinx Recanto." Lightning flashed and thunder boomed one last time, and then the cloud – and the rain – vanished.

"Come on, Mariska. I have coffee and pastries. And I'll send a memo for pest control."

"Pastries?" Mariska's eyes widened as she picked her way carefully across the disaster of a room. "But pest control is busy – that's why I was doing it. There's a scourge of imps throughout Level 4, and they said they might not get to us before end of day."

Hermione sighed as she shut her office door firmly behind them. Of course. "Well then, I suppose we'll have to do it – but after a latte and an eclair. And you can tell me about your holidays, and all the latest news. And then we can attempt to clear the office."

"Just burn it to the ground," Mariska said as she yanked off her gloves and plopped down with a groan. "Oh Merlin, I missed your Muggle lattes."

Hermione sighed, casting a glance at her closed office door. Something banged against it, making the door rattle. She blanched, as Mariska jumped in fright. Christ. It seemed Malfoy would indeed be right; Hermione was going to be far too busy to think of anything else, with the current state of her office to deal with. Well, it was nothing a few well-placed spells couldn't deal with, she was sure.

The first week back at work ended up going well, aside from a few hiccups, which had to be expected. Although what the hiccups were had been unexpected. See: the murtlaps. Hermione had not thought the next stage of her career would begin with wrangling rodents.

Monday was taken up by clearing infestations, charms gone awry, and a conglomeration of nearly sentient sweets out of Higgins's office. It was rather harrowing, dirty work, and Hermione had a scalding, soapy shower at the end of it. Malfoy nobly helped wash her back, and she soon forgot all about her rather stressful first day back.

Tuesday was spent cleaning and organising the office, and getting settled in exactly the way she wanted. That was a rather good day.

"Who says I can't have it all?" Hermione said, blissfully happy as she forked her lunch into her mouth – Carina in the crook of her arm, happily having her own lunch.

"Definitely not me," Malfoy said, smiling faintly as he watched the two of them, leaning on the kitchen island opposite her and sipping a cup of tea. He'd already eaten, apparently. "I value my life too much." Hermione rolled her eyes at that.

"It's all thanks to you, anyway," she said. "And you made an excellent point yesterday – if I murder you, who's going to take care of Carina?"

"Oh, you could get a nanny, I'm sure," he said lightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners, although his smile was hidden behind his mug.

It wasn't until Wednesday that Hermione could actually call a team meeting, and give everyone the pep talk she had planned, along with handing out the folders that contained her expectations for the sub-division going forward into the New Year. 2021 will be a year of growth, and excellence, she told the small group of employees, who blinked blankly at her and gave a chorus of ragged, unenthused agreement, before shuffling off.

Thursday, interviews began for the new Interrogator. It was a long, dragging day, filled with under-qualified applicants, who seemed to have so little interest in the job that she wondered why they were applying. The salary, she supposed, which was decent.

In any case, Hermione flooed home in tears that evening, for reasons she couldn't explain even to herself – yes, she'd missed Carina, and being away from her so much had been a jolt this week. But it hadn't been just that. It had been internalised guilt, exhaustion, stress, worry that she wasn't up to her new job, and a general feeling of miserable dread, the cause of which she couldn't pinpoint.

When she got home, Carina was fast asleep, and Malfoy took one look at her and enfolded her in a hug. Warm, strong arms, and a total lack of judgement as she cried her eyes out against his chest for five minutes, while Minnie danced around their feet. He smelt like pie, which was oddly comforting. And then he told her to go get changed, before tucking her up on the settee under a blanket, pressing a mug of chamomile tea into her hands, and putting a slice of obviously homemade blackberry and apple pie on her lap, much to her surprise.

"Eat," he said, sitting down on the settee opposite her, and taking her feet into his lap. His thumbs pressed into the arch of her foot, and she groaned. Oh, it felt so nice. "You've had a long week. You need to unwind. And I made pie. Practice for the bake sale at school." He gave her a wry look. He meant the Ilkley School for Magical Families, of which he was a founder. The school roll had grown a good deal just in the last year alone, and they now had a fireplace connected to the floo network, so students from further afield could attend.

"Draco Malfoy baking pie. Now there's an image." Hermione smiled, and then groaned. "And my week's not over yet," she said wearily, sipping her tea and then wedging her mug between her thighs and taking a forkful of pie. It was delicious. "Oh Merlin. Mmmph. This is so good, Malfoy."

He smiled at her crookedly, his eyes catching the light, and his hair casually raked back – relaxed and beautiful, in dress trousers and a grey-blue button-down shirt with the cuffs turned back to mid-forearm, a waistcoat unbuttoned over top. He'd made it clear early on that staying at home with Carina would not mean he lived in pyjamas. I'm not going to let myself go, he'd said, grinning. Hermione had pouted – she loved his pyjamas – but she hadn't really expected anything else from Malfoy. A man who had as many nice suits as he did wasn't about to spend his days in novelty pyjamas and t-shirts.

There was a smudge of flour at his temple. She wasn't going to tell him. Not when it looked so rakishly charming.

"Pie and a foot rub. I feel so spoilt." She beamed at him, cosy in leggings and a long-sleeved t-shirt, cuddled under her blanket. His hands were warm and firm on her feet, slowly easing away tension she'd been holding onto for days without even realising.

"Well, don't expect it every day." His eyes shone, that crooked smile returning for a fleeting second – blink-and-you'll-miss-it quick. "But you deserve it," he said easily. "You've had a hard week. I know Higgins left the division in a mess, figuratively speaking. And you told me about his office."

"Seventeen murtlaps," Hermione said in disgust. "Seventeen. And I swear to Merlin those sweets had a burgeoning civilisation. He was living in squalor in that office." She shuddered. "He really let things go to pot over the past couple of months. I've asked the Ministry to do a welfare check on his home – I'm half worried that'll be in the same state." Malfoy grimaced.

"Delightful," he said, telegraphing a delicate disdain, his hand sweeping up to encircle her ankle, before sliding back down over her foot. "Anyway, given all this stress, I thought that perhaps next Tuesday we could go to the Veela's Folly for lunch."

"The Folly?" Just the thought of it made Hermione feel happy – there were so many wonderful memories there. So many important moments. Right from their first lunch when everything had begun, before she'd even really realised it was anything. And it was beautiful there, even in winter – bleak and wild, with the waves crashing and churning against the cliffs, and the wind howling icily, smelling of salt. There would be little bird life, being winter, but it was still just as magnificent, standing on the balcony and leaning out over the long drop to the rocks below, Malfoy warm beside her.

They hadn't been since before Carina was born, and Hermione realised suddenly that she desperately wanted to. Their Tuesday and Thursday lunches had become tradition, and she missed them, whether at the Folly, or elsewhere.

"What about Carina?" she asked around a mouthful of pie. Good God, Malfoy was wonderful. Between his hands on her feet and his pie in her mouth, she was slowly sinking into bliss, shedding the stress of the day with each touch and bite.

"My mother would happily mind her," Malfoy offered, and Hermione grimaced. She supposed Narcissa Malfoy would manage fine, but the idea made her nervous. She didn't imagine Malfoy would be any happier with the idea of Molly Weasley minding her, though. And the idea of a proper date with Malfoy made her heart wrench and her stomach flip with want. It had been so long.

"Here, or at the Manor?" she asked, forking up a bit of pie, her eyes narrowed on him.

He looked mildly surprised that she was even entertaining the possibility. "Here," he said, his thumbs pushing along the sole of her left foot. Heavenly. "Not at the Manor."

Hermione frowned. "Well, I suppose she's the best option, really. Unless we want to hire someone?" She thought it over. It wasn't as though they couldn't afford it. "Maybe that wouldn't be a bad idea, if we want to have our regular lunches again."

"I'd rather not have a stranger alone with our child," Malfoy said, firmly, his hands pausing in their massage.

"But –"

"I'm still Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater, Granger. Carina is a Malfoy." His expression was unreadable in the way that told her he was hiding his emotions, and his voice was flat. Careful. "There are inevitably risks involved. People have long memories, and old wounds."

Oh.

"Granger-Malfoy," Hermione said with a brisk cheerfulness, forcing a close-lipped smile around her mouthful of pie. "The Granger part will cancel out the Malfoy."

"Mm," was all he said, unconvinced.

"But I take your point," she added. "No strangers." It wasn't a hardship for her to agree to that, really. She'd had concerns when Rose and Hugo were younger too, for simultaneously similar but opposite reasons. The worry had of course been that surviving Death Eaters, or un-Marked sympathisers of Voldemort's, would make an attempt on the children. "We did the same when Rose and Hugo were small – family only. Inconvenient, but necessary."

Malfoy looked relieved at that, and Hermione found herself wishing very strongly that her mother was still here.

She'd thought that so often since she'd found out she was pregnant again – her mother had been alive when Rose and Hugo had been born. She'd supported Hermione, been a listening ear, and doted on the children as babies and right through Rose's toddlerhood, and into Hugo's. If she'd still been alive, Hermione would've entrusted her with Carina in a minute – her father had always been better when the children were a little older, so it had been her mother who'd babysat most often, when Hermione and Ron went out on dates.

But Carina didn't have Thomasina Granger. She had Narcissa Malfoy.

Hermione sighed. Like it or not, the witch was Carina's grandmother, and Narcissa really seemed to be making an effort, even if her husband seemed less keen on anything and everything that didn't involve his dogs, or his investments. And Hermione being Hermione didn't help. Lucius was clearly still a believer in blood superiority, even if he had the good sense to keep it mostly private. But even he wasn't about to do anything to hurt his grandchild, half-blood or not. And besides, if Narcissa came over to their house, Lucius wouldn't have anything to do with the arrangement.

"Well, I suppose you can ask her," she ventured slowly, and then sucked on the tines of her fork. If Malfoy could be open to having Christmas Day at the Burrow, and could spend time with Harry and Ginny at their infrequent but regular lunches and dinners, then Hermione could give Narcissa a chance with Carina.

Malfoy smiled. He seemed quietly pleased, and Hermione thought that for all his complaints about his parents, and stress over their discomfort with Scorpius's sexuality, and his apparent willingness to cut them off if need be, he did love them. Despite everything, he didn't want to lose them. Not really.

His mother in particular – his relationship with Lucius was understandably rather more complicated. He didn't seem to like his father much, and yet between an unstated but obvious desire to prove himself to his father, and the need to jointly manage the Malfoy estate, they did interact. Mostly via owl, admittedly. They seemed to both despise talking in person.

Hermione wasn't sure she would ever fully wrap her head around the intricacies of their dynamic. But she didn't think she needed to understand it in order to support Malfoy. She wriggled her toes in his lap, eating another forkful of pie and beaming at him.

"She was fantastic with Scorpius," he said, as he twiddled her toes, clearly satisfied. "I'll owl her this evening, and ask, but I'm sure she'll be happy to mind Carina, now and then."

"She'll be overjoyed," Hermione said drily, remembering how rapt Narcissa had been at Christmas. "And I suppose it'll be nice for Carina to get to know her grandmother. Especially if it becomes a standing arrangement." And then something occurred to her. "But tell her – no house-elves assisting her unless she'll allow us to pay them. I'm not condoning slavery in our own home."

Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing at the thought of telling his mother that, but nodded. "Fair. I'll suggest payment. But I don't expect she'll agree to that. Not initially, at least. Salazar's sake, she's probably going to take offence to that, too." He groaned in resignation, and patted Hermione's foot, signalling for her to move them both off his lap. "Excuse me, Granger. I think I need pie now too."