Hermione woke up purple.
The left side of her chest and the upper half of her left arm were bruised because she rolled away from Draco in bed and forgot to adjust her position. There was no one to blame but herself this time. Hermione looked less and less like herself every time she looked in the mirror.
The look on Draco's face when he saw her injuries was the most devastating thing Hermione had seen in years. He realized Hermione was falling apart in slow motion right in front of him. Physically, emotionally, professionally, even. Someone at BBC had talked to The Sun, because they had an online story professing she would not return to News at Ten. Hermione hadn't made that decision for herself yet. She told Cedric, I can't see myself going back. Not, I won't be back. Hermione could hardly decide; she couldn't see herself in the present let alone the future. There was all the grey gelatin left to wade through.
I will find you.
I will marry you.
I will care for you.
And Hermione believed him. He didn't push her to do anything other than sit in the car. She sat in silence, music in her earbuds, sometimes pressing the pause button just to listen to Scorpius ramble on.
Hermione's mum took me to get a pedicure! The ladies were nice. They thought it was funny my feet tickled. Grand-mère Cissa says Hermione's mum is smart. They were funny! They said people think it's easier to have a boy than a girl because girls have long hair and makeup and lots of clothes. Grand-mère Cissa said she had a boy with long hair and makeup and lots of clothes but Hermione's mum had a girl who didn't care about hair and makeup and clothes.
Hermione had to conceal a smile at that. It did sound like something her mother would say, though she had always cared about her hair. It merely took twenty-five years before she understood how she liked to wear it.
Did you like Hermione's mum?
Yes. Hermione's mum took me and Grand-mère Cissa to taste chocolates.
In Bath?
Yes! Grand-mère Cissa bought a box full of chocolates for Lewin. And a box for maids, one for butlers, Grand-mère Cissa bought so much chocolate! Hermione's mum likes dark chocolate, but I think it's gross. But I didn't want to say that to Hermione's mum because I like Hermione's mum.
I'm glad you like her. She doesn't seem to like me very much.
She's sad. She misses maman.
I see.
A few minutes passed before Scorpius spoke again.
Father?
Draco's voice was weary when he answered, Yes?
Promise you and maman aren't getting a divorce?
Draco's sigh was low and Hermione saw in the window reflection that his grip tightened on the wheel.
No, Scorp. We aren't married, so we cannot get a divorce. Hermione and I are not breaking up. She will still be your maman, she's just … She's only … You remember when we talked about your first mum and the pain that never leaves?
You said it's because she's never coming back.
Exactly. Our friend isn't coming back.
You said maman makes your heart hurt less. How do we make maman's heart hurt less?
I dunno, Scorp. I don't know if anyone can.
Hermione needed to do it herself. When they pulled into Zabini's house, she rested her hand on the centre console. Draco took it and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, grounding Hermione in the moment. Together, this life was worth living. It wasn't fair to Draco that he was the only one present in their relationship. Hermione needed to find her way back, but it was all grey.
She blinked and she was in bed, staring at Blaise Zabini's ceiling. Draco was in the doorway, concern radiating off him, missing only the cartoon lines bouncing off his shoulders.
"If you feel the need to do something because you've finally drowned in all that darkness, Hermione, you find me and tell me you love me before you do it."
That wasn't it at all. It wasn't I want to kill myself. It was, I don't see what life looks like. Nearly thirty-five years of Hermione brightest of your age Granger. Hermione the most ambitious of your age Granger. Hermione the best international correspondent we've got Weasley. Hermione news at ten Granger. None of that was there for her anymore. Ambition? Gone. Career? On hold.
She grabbed her phone and sent him the photo Romilda had taken of the three of them before bed. Draco had his arm around Hermione's shoulders, she was leaning into him, and Scorpius had no care except for the book open in front of him. Draco was quite exceptional at the voices. It was lovingly domestic, and life had taken it away. She was stuck in her boyfriend's ex-boyfriend's guestroom with a purple arm and a Hermione-shaped hole in the world when she looked toward the future.
.oOo.
Monday.
Monday?
Monday.
Hermione went through the motions of waking up alone. She brushed her teeth and moisturized without looking in the mirror. She looked over to see the dark colour on her arm had lightened a bit. Hermione pulled on a cardigan and padded downstairs to find Blaise standing in the snug, staring down at the sofa. Hermione walked over to join him, wondering,
"What are you looking—oh."
Draco and Dean were asleep on the sofa with a dozen cans of beer scattered about the coffee table. Some were crushed, some were tipped on their side, and Dean had one foot resting on the end of the table. Draco's head was resting against Dean's shoulder, remote for the telly clutched in his left hand. Blaise shook his head and said,
"I don't understand beer. I have cases of fine Italian wine, French wine, even some from Spain. Dean likes the craft beer nonsense; his football mates introduced him to it." Blaise rolled his eyes. "Uncivilized brutes without taste."
"Shall we wake them?"
"I'll show you a trick to get him up." Blaise raised his voice to say, "Sleekeazy's has gone out of business."
It was like a jolt to Draco's nervous system. His eyes opened and he sat straight up before clutching his head with both hands.
"Bloody hell, you can't do that to me. My head feels like it weighs forty kilos."
"Stop after the first case of beer next time." Blaise added, "Don't wake Dean, I'm making wedding plans and he finds it overwhelming. I'd prefer he sleep through it."
"Yeah, yeah," Draco waved him off, "best man duties can wait."
Blaise returned to the kitchen and Draco tossed the remote aside. He pressed his fingers into his eyes and groaned.
"Seems you two had an interesting evening."
"Didn't want to disturb you. Leave you to your feelings and everything."
"Thank you."
"Did …" Draco shrugged and managed to look up at Hermione with pained, hungover eyes. "Did you sleep well?"
"I suppose."
"I'm set up in the guest room across from my son. The room is yours. I didn't quite make it up last night, it appears."
"No." Hermione admitted, "I'm happy you and Dean are friends. I can't so much as attend events with Ron and his wife without three business days' warning."
"Blaise and I weren't married." Draco's eyes unfocused for a moment, "Not that I didn't try." He shook himself out of whatever path his mind was traveling. "Dean's going to be a large part of my son's life, so we're friendly. He needs friends who aren't straight, I think. Makes him feel normal."
"I'm working toward that myself. I'm going upstairs to … do something. I'm uncertain what."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
Hermione found herself smiling, teasing, "Can you climb stairs right now?"
"Not a chance," he replied with a small laugh. "Could I hug you, at least?"
Hermione nodded, so Draco opened his arms and said,
"Please, for the love of God, do not make me stand up."
Hermione walked into Draco's hug and let him wrap his arms around her. She placed her hand on the back of his head and said,
"Even sitting, you're still nearly as tall as me."
"The world couldn't handle any more of Hermione Granger. Had to keep you from getting too big and outshining the sun."
"Little chance of that anymore."
"The sun goes down, and you're in the darkness, but the sun will rise again. Hermione Granger will rise again. It takes time, is all."
"Have you ever looked forward and seen nothing? It's all grey to me."
"No. I looked at my future to see a windshield and the trunk of a tree."
Hermione's heart sank, not wanting to force him to relive that moment.
"But I am still here for my son, and I am still here to love you. Hermione, when you look at the future and see grey, that's not darkness. That's a question mark. It's uncertainty. It's shit, it's absolute shit, I know, but it's not the worst thing you can see."
She could have thanked him. She ought to have thanked him, but she didn't. Hermione didn't want to hear those things. She wasn't in the mood to hear an I love you or You will rise again. Hermione was tired, suddenly. It was too much work to move through the world. She stepped out of Draco's grasp and said,
"I'm going to our room."
"Okay. I love you, Hermione."
She didn't say it back. Hermione trudged upstairs, thinking about how Draco could've had a whole person to love if she had left him open to someone else. She rustled through the wardrobe and the world came crashing down around her. She hadn't brought any clothes for physical therapy; her workout clothes were at her flat.
Colin was not at her flat.
"Hello?"
Hermione stared down at her phone, in her hand, with Ginny's picture looking up at her. She rang Ginny? When had she rung Ginny? She croaked out,
"Hi."
"Harry's watching Al and Jay, d'you need something?"
"I …" Hermione took a deep breath and said, "I have to get my things."
"Right," Ginny asked, "Why does it sound like you don't want to do that?"
"Because Colin won't be there. Colin was always there." Hermione sat on the bed and said, "The first thing I did in the morning, five days every week, was look at my phone to ensure Colin would be on time. Now he's never going to be on time because he's dead." Hermione felt her body begin to shut down. She reached for the nearest pillow and said, "I need to nap."
"We will get your things for you. You never need to step into that flat again, Hermione. I'd prefer you not to, given you have that very jumpable terrace."
"Okay."
"Malfoy's buying a house for you anyway, yeah? Ti's off today because the PM has something on Saturday, and she knows your closet inside-out. Harry's got your spare key, so give me a few hours and we'll have your clothes over to you."
Hermione's eyes fluttered closed as she asked, "Don't you have practice?"
"Right, Hermione, I'll say something I probably shouldn't. But the difference between men's football and women's football is that in men's football people buy tickets to watch Arsenal, in women's football they buy tickets to watch Ginny Potter. If I miss half of practice, nobody's going to tell the bitch bringing in the money to do extra laps 'round the pitch."
Hermione smiled.
"Though," added Ginny, "maybe I'll have a podcast someday after I retire. This Bitch Runs the Pitch. Hell yeah, I like it. Could pitch it to BBC, end up right after women's hour on Radio 4."
"You're incredible."
"So are you. Don't worry about it. You just … I dunno. I dunno what to tell you. When Fred died I spent a whole year wanting to hit everyone. So much rage in me, you know? Still have it, only now I channel it into footballs. Knocked a keeper's tooth out once."
"I have physical therapy with Oliver. That's why I need my clothes. But Colin drove me to physical therapy on weekdays. He can't drive me."
"Don't worry about it, you know I'll take any excuse to see that bastard. Love that guy. I'm hanging up, I'll call Ti, and we'll be over to Blaise's place in a few hours."
.oOo.
"Hermione!"
She forced her eyes open and stared into Parvati's eyes. What happened? Where was she?
"You're still in bed. I've put your clothes in the wardrobe, what would fit anyway. Your boyfriend has quite the collection."
Hermione grumbled, "That's only a bit of it. His closet at home is so large it has a chandelier."
"That doesn't surprise me. We're doing a girls trip to physical therapy today, you, me, and Gin. Get dressed, I'll do your hair, then we'll be off."
Hermione blinked and she was in the back of Parvati's car. Ti drove, Hermione was in the seat behind her, while Gin was to her left in the back. Hermione looked down to see she was in athletic wear and nice trainers, but didn't recall putting them on. Ginny stretched out her legs and said,
"Usually I'm the one driving around. It's nice to be in the back for once."
"Speak for yourself," replied Parvati, "everyone around us assumes I'm your Indian Uber driver."
"Ti, no rideshare driver has eyebrows as nice as yours."
Parvati glanced at Ginny in the mirror and said, "I accept that as truth. Thank you."
"Harry's been great the past couple weeks, taking on more responsibility with the boys. I can finally do things like sit down to eat breakfast instead of stuffing it in my face in the morning."
Hermione wondered, "When did you know Harry was getting better? What made you feel like he was finally coming 'round?"
"Honestly?" asked Ginny.
"Honestly."
"I came home one day after practice, hadn't showered. The team has been so good about letting me go, letting me take care of things at home. I was sweaty and dirty and the boys were at my mum's. All I wanted was to lay down, you know, to be horizontal. Harry looked at me and said, 'Gin, I don't have it in me to get it up right now. Probably won't have it in me for awhile, but you look so hot right now I've got to find a way to fuck you otherwise I'm not worthy of being your husband.'" Ginny shrugged. "We must've been in bed for an hour. I realized that he did care about me, even if he was still rebuilding what he'd lost inside himself. Before that, I'd really been thinking about leaving him."
Parvati nearly drove them off the road.
"What?!"
"I know it makes me total shit." Ginny admitted, "I wanted to leave him because he wasn't telling me what happened. He came back to me so broken, and all I wanted was to find out who shot my husband. Whose bollocks I needed to crush with one of those things they use to roll out our tense shoulders in the training room. Harry had seen so many things in war, I was shocked there was something that could unsettle him so deeply. He's not the man I married anymore; he never will be again, I know that, but there's something about watching a broken man fix the pieces of himself back together just because you deserve it. And y'know what? I did deserve it. I fucking did, and he did it."
There's something about watching a broken man fix the pieces of himself back together just because you deserve it.
"Ced's still torn up about everything." Parvati said, "He thinks of himself like Ten's team captain. Now he's watching it all fall apart. He says you're not going back, Hermione, is that true?"
She admitted, "I don't know. Draco's family is having the peerage returned to them. Seems a bit trite for a duchess to comment on wealth inequality across the globe. Probably hypocritical to be married to a billionaire while commenting on cost of living crises."
"Why?" Parvati said, "The PM's not commenting on it. Perhaps it is different if someone like you marries into it and still has the bollocks to call out all those things. Besides, Draco is obsessed with sustainability. That bit in GQ about his cement production was fascinating."
Hermione revealed, "He's got a degree in materials science. Before everything happened—" Before Colin died. Before my arm was torn apart. Before I needed physical therapy every day. "—he planned to move to London with me and Scorpius to pursue a PhD in plastics."
"He could still do it." Ginny insisted, "That's half the rotten part of billionaires, isn't it? That they farm out the work and the brains? Leave it to Hermione to find the one billionaire who actually likes books."
"Oh." Hermione lamented, "What am I going to do with my library?"
"We moved your clothes," replied Parvati, "we can move your books. I'll have Padma enlist Bastien to move your larger furniture—"
"I don't need it." Hermoine shook her head and insisted, "Draco can buy whatever furniture he wants. I don't want anything to remind me of that place, of this terrible time in my life."
"Except your books," said Ginny.
"Yes, except my books."
Parking at Puddlemere Training and Physical Therapy was a nightmare. Parvati went 'round the block twice, but a space had opened on the third pass. She saw another car coming from the other end of the street, so she sped forward, shifted into reverse, then backed into the space perfectly parallel to the kerb before anyone could so much as blink. Hermione grabbed onto the door handle because her head was still spinning.
"Christ, Ti," Ginny groaned, "did Max Verstappen teach you to drive?"
"You know Padma and I go to Bangladesh every year." Ti shrugged. "I drive in Dhaka; London streets are a breeze by comparison. And now, it's time for the girls to show up at Puddlemere, reminding all these professional athletes that women don't drop dead when they turn thirty."
They exited the car, but Ginny pressed for more information.
"How are things with Diggory? I thought, given how much you helped him with the eulogy for Colin, that there might be something happening there."
"Ced's no longer interested, he made that clear. I helped with his speech, and now I'm a free woman."
"You don't believe that," insisted Ginny.
"No, I'm not free because my heart aches like something is sitting on it. I haven't had sex since I had the miscarriage, the love of my life rejected my offer of reconciliation, and I am stuck travelling with the PM this weekend which ruins any chance at finding a decent bloke at a bar." She fluffed her hair and pulled a tube of lip gloss from her purse. "I would like to find a nice, fuckable, Bastien-sized man to take my mind off things."
"Ti," Hermione said, "you know most of the men in here are athletes who are injured."
"Good, then, if they blow their back out shagging me they've already got a trainer to help. I'm not seeing the problem."
She was off toward the front door, so Ginny and Hermione followed. The moment they walked through the door, Oliver was standing at the reception desk. His smile was wider than Hermione had ever seen it when he noticed his favourite former client had walked in. She shouted,
"Oliver!"
"Gin!"
He hugged her and lifted her off the floor, he was so excited. Everyone in the gym stopped to look, but Ginny didn't seem bothered by it. She punched Oliver on the shoulder and asked,
"How've you been?"
"Shit. You?"
"Less shit."
"Fantastic.
Ginny Potter. Is that Ginny Potter? Fucking hell, that's Ginny Potter.
The chorus began. Hermione watched Parvati scan the men scattered throughout the gym, staring at their best friend. Hermione watched Ti's shoulders fall as she rested her hands on her hips.
"I don't really want this. I want my boyfriend back. I'm going to cry over takeaway until you're finished, is that alright?"
Hermione patted her on the back and said, "I think that's a perfectly reasonable thing to do."
Parvati sighed. She dragged Ginny out the door and Hermione was left with Oliver. She unzipped her jacket and Oliver shouted,
"My God!" He pressed his fingers against her arm and asked, "What the bloody hell happened?"
"I slept on it."
"You're purple."
"I'm aware."
"I've never seen this before."
Hermione mumbled, "Always happy to be a first."
Oliver shook himself out of the shock, clapped his hands together and said, "We'll start with the usual?"
Hermione confirmed, "The usual."
They went through the exact routine Oliver had used for seven years. Instead of bitterness, Hermione found comfort in the familiar rhythm. Her arm still worked as it had before, but it felt different. She knew it was metal and plastic inside of her, and the way they fit together was … different. It wasn't her muscle so she couldn't feel precisely what was happening. It was as though she had to feel the bits around her shoulder and her brain deduced what was happening in the centre of it all.
Toward the end of their workout, Oliver said, "We're going to test your arm's rotational ability."
Hermione insisted, "I don't want to do that. I'm not ready to do that."
"You know me," Oliver said in a calm voice. "I won't push you to do anything that will hurt you. All I want is for you to take your arm up to here." He held his hand against a point on the wall. "Just here, so you can know how it feels."
Panic set in.
"No. I don't want—"
"Just once."
Hermione figured she had to do it. Oliver didn't push her to do unnecessary things. He needed to see what her arm could do so he could create a new routine. It made sense. Hermione psyched herself up the way she would before starting a difficult run, or a major broadcast interview.
I can do this.
I know the facts.
I know I can do this.
"Start at your waist, then walk your fingers up the wall like normal. Walk them all the way up to my hand."
Hermione nodded, and placed her palm flat against the wall, arm level with her waist. She pressed the tips of her fingers against the wall, then 'walked' them upward. Slowly, steadily, assuredly. Hermione was about one hand's length away from Oliver's when she paused. That had been her maximum since the incident. Hermione gingerly lifted her arm higher than she had in eight years. In her head, she heard it creak the way the door of an old car would after sitting dormant. Her stomach tightened, there was a massive pounding in her head—
She let her left arm fall as she vomited against the wall. It came as such a surprise that Hermione lost her balance and fell backward, catching herself with her right arm. She landed on her bum and felt so disappointed. Her body continued to fail in new and embarrassing ways.
"Oi, the fucking hell you lookin' at?" Oliver shouted, "Look that way or you can leave and never come back."
Hermione looked down at her soiled trainers and bits of food she didn't recall eating that were stuck to the wall.
"I didn't expect that." Oliver found a towel and disinfectant. He wiped everything clean, except for the tiny bits that had soaked into the top of Hermione's sock. "I thought you would yell at me, might punch me again, but I didn't think … Well. I s'pose that's it. I didn't think it through."
"I'm sorry."
"Hermione, if I had ten pounds for every time I wiped up some footballer's vomit, I'd be retired in Dubai." He disposed of the cleaning supplies then plopped down next to her. "Do you want to talk about why it happened?"
"I thought it would fall off." She wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb. Hermione admitted, "For just a second, it felt like it might. It felt wrong."
"You know it won't fall off."
"I know."
"This isn't about your arm, then. Is it about …" Oliver grimaced. "Is it about what happened?"
"All these people … All of them, Oliver, try so hard to protect me. Even now, Gin and Ti are outside eating takeaway in the car because they want me to know they're here for me. I don't understand it at all, and moving my arm in a new way is a risk. If I do something wrong, if I damage it even more, then they've done all this to protect nothing. My body wasn't prepared for that thought, I think."
Oliver sighed heavily and patted Hermione on the back.
"Is it alright if I get a bit deep for a moment?"
"Yes."
"People see the best of humanity in you. You make dictators cry. You've pissed off multiple foreign governments to the point BBC must have a Granger Danger phone line. You go to these places nobody's heard of like fucking Mauritania and talk to farmers nobody would give a shit about, except you talk about how foreigners are depleting their supply of fish off the coast. Then I'm like … Y'know, I'd be pissed if a bunch of people started fishing in English waters and I couldn't get fish to go with my chips. But I don't know I have that in common with Mauritanians until you tell me I do."
"I—"
"Not done." Oliver shifted so he was looking at Hermione more directly. "Then you sit down with one of the most popular figures in the country and say, 'You're a fraud and fuck you for stealing from my friend.' And that's the thing about you. Everybody talks a big game, thinks they're tough until their face hits the ground. Everybody thinks they'd speak truth to power, but you do every bloody time."
Hermione insisted, "It's my job."
"That's not it. Hermione, you're not just doing your job. You've shown us the worst of humanity and the chokehold it has on the best of us. It's not balls, it's not brains, there's something inside of you that just can't help but see the world at its best. And then you show the rest of us the world as you see it. That is what makes you exceptional."
Hermione wanted to say something, but found herself at a loss for words. Oliver never said things he didn't mean. She stared at the wall, free of her vomit, and leaned forward to rest her head between her knees.
"Sometimes I want to stop. I wish I could slow down and say it's time to be a mum. It's time to be a wife, because I failed at that the first time. Perhaps I could write a memoir. Sometimes I want to be a whole person, because the Hermione that the world sees isn't really me. It's a projection, a version of me, but it's not the whole picture. That's for my friends, for my family, for myself. I look at the future and all I see is grey because I want to stop and be a person. A whole person. But stopping all the things you just said isn't an option. That desire to share the world is in my blood. When I finally tell myself, 'Hermione, you can rest now.' That's when the grey appears. I want to go back to BBC. I want to work my way to the UN. I don't want to stop doing the work that I love."
"Don't, then."
.oOo.
Neither Blaise nor Dean was home when Hermione returned. The bottom three floors of the house were quiet, save for the maid staff tidying up. Draco was in the office on the ground floor, and Hermione meant to talk to him, but the conversation he was having on the phone sounded quite consternating through the door.
What do you mean it sold over asking?
I offered seven-three for a home that is worth a generous seven-one. Listing it for eight million pounds was ridiculous, and it sold for eight-five? Has the market gone mad?
Hermione wondered whether Draco could possibly find a better house for their family. It had been perfect. She envisioned their life there. And oh, that bathtub …
No, it won't do. It will not do, Trisha. It must be within twenty minutes of Broadcasting House. Yes, I've heard the rumours. No, you shouldn't believe them. Hermione will return to journalism, the only question is when. And it will help if she has a bloody home to live in while she's here!
It seemed Draco knew exactly what Oliver had pulled out of Hermione: she didn't want to stop. Of course he'd be able to see that before she was able to see it in herself.
That one is out because of the cooktop. No glasstops, Trisha, Blaise will never cook for us if he is forced to use a glasstop stove.
Absolutely not, I won't consider any home with such a small wardrobe.
Yes, it must have a garage. I'm not parking my Ferrari on the bloody street!
No, I don't want any renovations.
I don't care if it's the best home on the market, no pools, no exception. My son is an incredibly curious child and the last thing I need is my family name drowning in my own home. No pools.
I don't have any room in my parameters. If I had to find one? I suppose … Perhaps we don't need something detached. Scorp could use a sense of community. Hermione could, as well. If you've got a place with nice neighbors, people who won't be starstruck by me and my wife when we leave the house—
My wife.
He said "my wife." Hermione's spirit lifted immediately. Was Draco planning to propose? Obviously not until she was through the grey pudding, but … How? When? Hermione smiled to herself. Mrs. Malfoy. Lady Malfoy. Duchess Hermione Jean Black Malfoy. Hermione Granger Malfoy. Hermione Malfoy Granger. Draco Malfoy's wife.
Draco Malfoy's wife.
You say the pool can be walled off? Fine, if it's available quickly—Send it to me.
Double-fronted villa. The pool does appear like we can block it off until we are rid of it. Eight bedrooms, eight bathrooms, a nice garden. Oh! A chef's kitchen and small staff quarters. That's perfect, as I do prefer a live-in. A two-car garage? Brilliant. I never have more than one in London at a time, which leaves room for Hermione's Jaguar. The main bedroom has two dressing rooms and bathrooms, as I requested. Ten minutes from Broadcasting House?
Listing price of 25.7? Is that all? No, I agree, everyone gets their arse chapped by the council tax. But for a private cul de sac? Gated? How many homes are behind the gate?
Alright. Set up a tour for myself and Blaise Zabini. I don't wish to drag Hermione out right now.
Hermione smiled to herself and made her way upstairs to change. He still intended to find a home for their family, and was already referring to her as his wife. She might've floated upstairs for how little she could feel the ground beneath her feet.
The future Mrs. Malfoy.
.oOo.
Hermione drove herself to physical therapy the rest of the week. On Tuesday, she arrived to find Oliver standing next to five strips of blue tape on the wall. The lowest one was labeled Tuesday. The next Wednesday, then Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. There was room for about fifteen centimetres between each of them. Hermione frowned and asked,
"What's this?"
"Since testing your shoulder out didn't go well yesterday, I figured we might play a bit more to what's actually going to help you."
"I don't understand."
"You're an over-achiever, so I'm giving you something to achieve. By Saturday, you'll be able to reach all the way up," he tapped the top piece of tape, "here."
Hermione shook her head and insisted, "There's no way I'll be able to do that. It's too high."
"And frizzy-haired women in their mid-twenties can't be world-renowned journalists."
Oliver believed in her, so Hermione resolved to believe in herself. They went through her usual routine, then she reached up for Tuesday's bit of tape. No vomiting, no pressure, just Tuesday.
And it worked.
For the first time in eight years, Hermione managed to lift her arm completely parallel to her shoulder. She held it out like that for a solid minute, hardly believing her eyes. Oliver wiped a tear from her cheek and said,
"I told you, each one of these is an achievement. Go home proud today, Hermione. You did it."
Hermione went home proud on Wednesday. She went home proud on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. The first person she went to when she arrived home on Saturday afternoon was Scorpius. He was upstairs in his room, practicing the written alphabet. She leaned through the door and asked,
"May I come in?"
"Yes, maman."
He said it hesitantly, like he wasn't sure she wished to come in at all. Hermione stepped into the room and held out her arms.
"Will you give me a hug?"
"YES!"
Scorpius jumped out of his chair and ran to her. She knelt on the floor and caught him against her chest, squeezing him tight.
"I had a good day today, and I wanted to come home and tell you first. This is a happy day, baby blond."
His voice was so soft when he said, "I'm happy you're happy."
"I'm happy knowing I get to see you when I come home." She pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek and said, "You are my favourite person in the world. I love you so much and I'm sorry I haven't been able to say that for a little while."
"It's okay. Dad said your heart hurts and sometimes it takes time to stop hurting."
"It does."
"What of me?" Draco's voice came from the doorway. "Do I get a hug, too?"
She was so happy he appeared, as though he knew he was next on the list of people to whom she needed to say I love you. Hermione stood up, made for the door, and pulled Draco into a kiss by the collar of his shirt. He placed his hands on her waist and reciprocated with enthusiasm. He wondered,
"What brought this on?"
Before leaning down to steal another kiss.
"I did something for myself today, and it felt really good. I thought I should do another thing for myself." Hermione snogged him within an inch of his life before saying, "I wanted to kiss my boyfriend because I deserve it today."
Draco took a deep breath, a bit unsteady on his feet, then said, "You deserve it every day."
"But I felt like it today." Hermione smiled. "I felt like myself today."
"Blaise is making a traditional Italian dinner tomorrow. It's Sunday, and sometimes he likes to do Sunday dinners the way his nonnina did when he was young. I wasn't intending to ask you to eat with us, but …" Draco pulled Hermione close so there was no space between them. "I want you there as part of our family. My w—partner."
He nearly said it.
He was thinking about it.
"I'll be there as your …" She smiled. "Partner."
.oOo.
Zabini dinner was to begin at six, but Hermione began preparing at four o'clock. She needed to give herself enough time to prepare in case this didn't go as she hoped.
Hermione brought the bedroom stool into the bathroom and sat at the vanity. Spread out on the countertop was a hefty pile of bobby pins, five hair ties, a comb, a brush, and all of Draco's Sleekeazy's products. She began by warming up some of the anti-frizz gel between her palms. Hermione took a deep breath, then began massaging it onto the ends of her hair. This was the easy part, of course, something she knew she could do.
Her hair was still frizzy, but the curls were in more defined clumps. She picked up the comb with her right hand and sectioned off half her hair to be dealt with later. This dinner was meant to be quite formal, even though none of them were so much as leaving the house. Bastien and Padma would attend, along with Theo and Tracey. Hermione needed to look good for this, and she wanted to do it herself.
Hermione lifted her left arm to help divide the free half of her hair into two clumps: top and bottom. She formed the first clump into a small bun with a bobble, then did the same for the second. The true test was the next, the opposite side of her head which meant her left arm would need to reach even further than Oliver had pushed it to go. By the time Hermione realized as much, she'd already done it. Her hair was in four messy buns at the back of her head. She began pinning it down with bobby pins to make what her mum had called the "flower bun." A frizzy mess at the back of her head that looked intentional.
She pulled a few curls out in front to frame her face and smiled. This looked familiar, like a woman she hadn't seen in too many years to recall. She walked into the bedroom and only just managed to get the forest green jumper over her hair. Hermione hadn't done her hair in so long that she forgot to put the sweater on beforehand. It hadn't mattered for years and years and years.
She pulled on the beautiful pink pencil skirt that she never had the confidence to wear before. It hit right at her knee and some of the scarring was visible just below the hem, but this was dinner with her friends. She could wear whatever the hell she wanted. Delicate floral appliques ran down the left side of the skirt, a combination of embroidery and three-dimensional silk petals. She'd spent a thousand pounds on this skirt only for it to spend two years at the back of a wardrobe. It deserved airtime.
Hermione looked at her phone to see it was only 4:45. She had all sorts of time—
Wow.
Hermione saw herself in the mirror and it was like seeing herself for the first time. This was how she thought she would dress at (nearly) thirty-five. She looked like a professional. She looked like a boss. She looked like a soon-to-be-duchess. Hermione stood straighter than before. She turned to the side to see the skirt still hugged her bum in the best way. When she saw herself full-on, Hermione noted the way the skirt hugged her hips, accentuating her curves. She could almost feel Draco's hands making their way from her waist, slowly tracing the seams downward.
She pressed her hand to her mouth to quiet the sobs that came without warning. Hermione sat on the end of the bed and cried, thinking so many things. How terribly she wished Colin was there to see her like this. To know she could find herself again. The sadness all these years, thinking her body didn't deserve to be seen like this. Buying and buying and buying clothes to wear in the future, never in the present. She had been so focused on her career, on making sure no one knew the scars she carried that she forgot to carry herself.
This Hermione was a woman her mum could be proud of. A whole, complete person in the mirror. Hermione wiped the lower part of her eyes and was disappointed to see the foundation come off on her fingers.
"Golden girl, I'm just checking—Hermione?"
Draco sounded concerned. She shook her head and said,
"I'm so sorry. I need to clean up and fix my makeup. I'm early for dinner anyway."
Hermione looked up to see Draco half-dressed. He was in a pair of linen trousers and a white button-down with a print on it. It must've been a sketch of classic cars and the mountains of Capri in the background. It was colourful, whimsical, and Draco had left it unbuttoned. He was wearing an undershirt, mercifully, as he was prone to wearing his silk shirts with nothing beneath them.
"Why are you crying?"
Hermione tossed her hands in the air and said, "I feel like myself for the first time since I got blown up. And it's … It's not because I can move my shoulder now. It's that yesterday when I came home to our son, and I came home to you I saw my future the way I wanted it."
Draco stepped into the room and asked, "Did you … Hermione, did you do your hair on your own?"
She nodded.
"Oh." Draco sat on the bed and said, "I am so proud of you."
Hermione stood up and made for the bathroom because she couldn't handle the sincerity in Draco's voice. He shouldn't be proud of her for doing her hair, it should be normal. She washed the foundation off her fingers and quickly touched it up. She took a deep, slow breath in just as Oliver taught her then held it in ten seconds before letting it out. The tension left and she managed to stop the tears. When she walked out of the bathroom, Draco's jaw dropped.
"Whoa."
Hermione wondered, "A good 'whoa?'"
He stood up and brought Hermione over to the full length mirror. He stood behind her and placed his hands on her waist. Draco moved them slowly up and down her sides as he eyed her approvingly in the reflection.
"You look incredible."
"I look like myself."
"Bastien said something to me days ago that's lingered."
"Oh?"
"He asked me when Scorpius will have a sibling."
Hermione looked at Draco in the mirror and raised her eyebrows. His hands continued to explore her lower half.
"I told him neither of us wants that. Me out of fear, and you out of a lack of time. I've always seen our future together as us married, spoiling the hell out of Scorpius, shagging as loud as we can while he's away at boarding school." Draco wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist. "Yet, looking at you right now, I want a child with this woman. Look at the strength in you, golden girl. All that you've been through, recently and not so. I've been so afraid I would ruin another woman, yet here you are building yourself from the ground-up again. I look at our future and see a child because I want more of you to love, Hermione."
She could see it, too. Becoming a mum at thirty-six wasn't exactly the timeline most women seemed to follow. Then again, getting blown up does tend to shift the priorities.
"It's not required of you, nor expected. Tori gave me the perfect son to continue the Malfoy line, and I love every bit of her I see in our son. Our family can be complete, if that's what you want. But if it isn't …" Draco shrugged. "Perhaps consider an expansion."
"I will consider it."
Draco's face lit up when he asked, "Truly?"
"Truly, but I need time, Draco. We're not married, and I'm trying to find the courage to return to BBC. This time last week, I was a broken mess of a person. I still need time to heal."
"I understand. Take the time you need."
"Oh?" Hermione wondered, "Why are you so amenable?"
Draco smiled and squeezed her waist just a bit tighter.
"I need time to find a ring."