So sorry I am a day late. I'm home with my sick daughter and just haven't had time or energy to open the laptop.
But I do hope you enjoy this chapter!
In the week leading up to Christmas, Hermione's flat had become an unexpected sanctuary, buzzing with warmth and laughter as they prepared for the holiday. It was a quiet joy to experience everyday moments with both Rose and Draco, and despite the hectic season, there was a sense of peace in the air.
The kitchen was filled with the warm, spicy scent of ginger and cinnamon, wrapping around them like a blanket as they decorated the gingerbread men. Rose was leaning over the counter, her little tongue sticking out as she concentrated on getting the icing just right on each cookie. She had insisted on making each gingerbread wizard look "extra fancy," as she put it, complete with robes, hats, and tiny buttons.
Draco was at her side, watching her with an amused smile. He held the piping bag steady for her as she added intricate swirls, his other hand resting on the counter where it occasionally brushed Hermione's, sending a small thrill through her. She found herself glancing at him more often than necessary, marvelling at how easily he fit into this picture—here in her small, cosy kitchen, rolling up his sleeves and carefully steadying Rose's hands with the gentlest patience she had ever seen.
"Looking festive there, Granger," Draco murmured to Hermione, noticing her watchful gaze as she pulled another tray from the oven. He leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek that made her cheeks flush with warmth.
Hermione smiled, catching his eye as she passed him a plate of freshly baked cookies. "Thanks," she replied softly, her voice touched with both gratitude and disbelief. Watching Draco with Rose, she felt her heart swell with a mix of joy and wonder. This was a life she'd never imagined, yet here they were, making it together, and it felt more natural than anything she'd known before.
Rose let out a little huff, looking up at them with a mock-frown. "Mummy, Draco! No kissing in the kitchen—it's a cookie zone!" She scrunched her nose in exaggerated disapproval, though her eyes sparkled with delight.
Draco chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, Rose, no more kissing in the cookie zone. We'll keep it professional." He winked at Hermione, who bit back a laugh, giving him a playful nudge as she placed the cooling tray down.
Rose grinned, pleased to have set the kitchen rules, and went back to decorating. "Draco, can you make this one look like Professor McGonagall?" she asked, holding up a gingerbread wizard with only half an iced robe. "She's my favourite!"
Draco's face softened as he took the gingerbread wizard from her, kneeling down to get on eye level with Rose. "Well, we can give her a very fancy robe," he said, carefully squeezing the icing to add delicate swirls along the hem. "And maybe a matching hat. Professor McGonagall deserves the best."
Rose watched in fascination as he worked, her eyes wide with admiration. "I wish she could see it! She'd probably give us points," she whispered conspiratorially, as if they were pulling off a marvellous feat right there in the kitchen.
"Well, we're definitely at least earning points for style," Draco replied, grinning as he held up the gingerbread likeness for Rose's approval. "What do you think, Rose? Does it pass?"
Rose nodded vigorously, clapping her hands. "Yes! It's perfect, Draco. She looks just like Professor McGonagall!"
Hermione chuckled, marvelling at how the two of them could get so involved in such a simple activity. She leaned against the counter, her heart swelling as she watched the way they interacted. There was something so profoundly comforting about it—the warmth, the laughter, the shared moments that made it feel like they had always been this little family.
When they finally ran out of gingerbread, Draco wiped his flour-dusted hands on a towel, turning to her with a satisfied smile. "Looks like we're done here."
Hermione glanced around at the sea of decorated cookies that filled every available counter space, each one more elaborate than the last. "It's like a gingerbread army," she laughed. "I think Rose's cousins at the Burrow will be well fed. They'll have enough for the rest of the year!"
Rose gave a sleepy smile, leaning into Hermione as her energy began to wane. "Do you think they will like them, Mummy? I love them!"
"Of course, sweetheart," Hermione replied, ruffling her daughter's hair gently. "You and Draco have done an amazing job."
She looked over at Draco, her eyes soft. His face still held a dusting of flour, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, giving him a relaxed look that she found impossibly endearing. She reached up to brush a stray bit of flour from his cheek, her fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary.
"Thanks for this," she whispered, her voice filled with genuine appreciation. "For all of this."
Draco's eyes softened as he looked at her, his hand finding hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Anytime, love," he replied, his tone low and earnest. "I wouldn't have it any other way." And before Rose could catch them, he leaned down and placed a sweet, lingering kiss on her lips, pulling her closer for just a moment.
They both pulled back, smiling, as Rose tugged on their hands, claiming her place between them as they headed toward bedtime. The kitchen was a mess, with flour and icing smudges on the counter, but Hermione wouldn't have changed a thing. They had created memories that would stay with them, memories filled with warmth, laughter, and the promise of many more evenings like this one.
The next morning, Hermione sat with Draco and Rose by the fire, sipping hot chocolate from their mugs while the room filled with the scent of cinnamon and cloves. She looked over at Rose, who was cradling her cup with both hands, sipping eagerly, and had to smile. This Christmas was shaping up to be something truly special, filled with quiet family moments she hadn't allowed herself to hope for in a long time.
As Rose looked up from her drink, her eyes bright with excitement, she spoke up. "Mummy, we still need a Christmas tree!" Her enthusiasm broke the quiet, filling the room with her energy.
Hermione exchanged a quick glance with Draco, her smile mirroring Rose's excitement. "You're absolutely right, sweetheart. I suppose we've left that a bit late." But as the words left her mouth, she felt a pang of guilt. She'd been so swept up in the unexpected newness of Draco's presence that the tree had been pushed aside.
Draco set his cup down and leaned back, a playful gleam in his eye. "Well, there's no shortage of trees at the Manor," he said, a hint of mischief in his tone. "The grounds are practically filled with them."
Rose's face lit up at the idea, her eyes wide with awe. "Can we go, Mummy? Can we get a tree from there?"
The question hung in the air, and Hermione felt her chest tighten slightly, her mind drifting back to the memories she associated with the Manor grounds. Her gaze shifted to Draco, feeling the weight of the unspoken hesitation between them. The grounds were beautiful, yes, and she wanted Rose to experience it, but there was history there—wounds she hadn't touched in years.
Draco's gaze softened as he watched her, fully aware of what she was thinking without her having to say a word. Slowly, he reached across, his hand finding hers with gentle insistence. His thumb brushed over her knuckles in a steady, comforting rhythm, grounding her in the present. Hermione glanced down at their joined hands, feeling her pulse calm in response to his touch. It was a small gesture, but it communicated everything she needed to hear.
"We don't have to go inside," he murmured, his voice low and reassuring. "We can Apparate straight to the grounds, just a quick visit. I promise." There was a softness in his eyes, an unspoken understanding that made her feel seen, her hesitation respected.
Their eyes held for a moment, an entire conversation passing between them. He knew this wasn't just about a tree—it was about trust, about laying aside past hurts and finding a way forward together. She could see in his gaze that he understood the weight of her decision, and he would never ask more of her than she was ready to give.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione gave him a small, grateful smile. "Alright, let's do it," she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear. "I trust you." Her words seemed to hang in the air, carrying more meaning than either of them could express.
"Alright, we can go tomorrow then." Draco's lips curved in a gentle smile, his hand squeezing hers in silent appreciation. There was a warmth there, a reassurance that told her she was safe with him. Rose, oblivious to the quiet exchange, clapped her hands with excitement, eager to start their adventure.
Hermione held Draco's gaze for a beat longer, the depth of her gratitude clear in her eyes. It wasn't just about the Manor, she realised; it was about the way Draco had slowly, patiently woven himself into her life, understanding her fears and her doubts without pressing her too hard. This moment was a promise, a silent vow of the new beginning they were both hoping to build.
Draco stepped out of Hermione's ensuite bathroom, a cloud of steam trailing behind him, the warmth quickly mingling with the crisp morning chill from the slightly cracked window. The familiar scent of her lavender and chamomile shampoo clung to him, grounding him in the comforting surroundings. His gaze fell on Hermione, standing by the wardrobe as she tugged a soft, cream-coloured sweater over her head. Her long curls tumbled out, catching the morning light that filtered in through the window. There was an undeniable ease in the scene, one that felt surprisingly natural. Somehow, he thought, her room had begun to feel like a place where he belonged.
He hadn't anticipated spending so much time here, but each day, it seemed to become more of a home to him. Rose had quickly accepted him as part of the routine, often excitedly pulling him into morning chats about her friends and her latest interests. She'd made it so simple, Draco mused, as he slipped on his shirt and trousers, buckling his belt before fastening his cufflinks. Glancing over at Hermione, he felt a familiar warmth settle in his chest as he took her in, her focus entirely on adjusting the collar of her blouse in the mirror.
He stepped closer, his hand reaching out instinctively. His fingers brushed her cheek before he gently cupped her face, his thumbs skimming over her cheekbones in a touch that was at once tender and intimate. Hermione's eyes flicked up to meet his, her expression softening into a warm smile that made his pulse quicken. Leaning in, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, letting the moment linger. She leaned into him, her hand moving to rest lightly on his chest as she responded, the familiar warmth of her touch igniting something deep within him.
When they finally pulled back, their foreheads rested against each other for a brief moment, eyes closed, both savouring the quiet intimacy. His hand remained on her cheek, his thumb tracing gentle circles just below her cheekbone.
"Mornings like these… I could get used to them," he murmured, his lips curving into a quiet smile.
Hermione chuckled softly, reaching up to smooth a damp strand of his hair. "Maybe I already have," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of amusement, though her eyes reflected something deeper. She met his gaze, and for a moment, there was an unspoken understanding between them. This was more than just a routine. They both knew it was growing into something steady, something solid they both wanted but hadn't dared to put into words.
Draco's smile widened, and he tilted his head, brushing his thumb over her cheek. "So, you don't mind sharing your space with a Slytherin, then?"
She rolled her eyes playfully. "I think I've had my fair share of Slytherins in my life," she replied, giving him a teasing nudge. "But, you might be the one exception I don't mind keeping around."
He smirked, enjoying the banter. "An honour, truly."
Hermione laughed, her hand still resting on his chest, her fingers absently tracing the fabric of his shirt. "I'd hope so. You've settled in quite well, you know. Rose has been chattering about her new 'routine' with you at breakfast. It's… sweet."
The mention of Rose brought a smile to Draco's face, softening his gaze. "She makes it all too easy. Merlin knows, I didn't expect to be up at dawn learning about enchanted marshmallows and which of her cousins can make the best chocolate frog jumps." He paused, looking at Hermione with something earnest in his expression. "She's really something, Hermione. I know she's the centre of your world, and I just… I don't take that lightly."
Hermione's hand came up to cover his, squeezing gently. "I know, Draco. And that means everything." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but he could see the sincerity in her gaze, the trust she had begun to place in him.
He leaned down and kissed her again, slower this time, letting his lips linger on hers, silently reassuring her that he felt the same.
Draco exhaled softly as he stepped back, letting his hands fall to his sides, though a part of him wanted to keep holding her. He hesitated for a moment, watching Hermione as she absently smoothed the hem of her sweater, her fingers grazing the soft fabric in a way that told him she was still lost in thought. The quiet intimacy of the morning lingered between them, but something nagged at him.
He exhaled through his nose, glancing toward the window where pale winter light crept across the floorboards. "About the Christmas tree," he said, keeping his voice even, careful. "Are you sure you want to go to Malfoy Manor for it?"
Hermione looked up, her golden-brown eyes flickering with curiosity.
Draco dragged a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back as he tried to find the right words. "I didn't really think before I suggested it. We could just as easily go somewhere else." He shrugged, forcing a casualness he didn't quite feel. "A market, the countryside—wherever you'd prefer." His gaze sharpened on her face, watching for the slightest shift in her expression. "I'd never force you to go back there. Ever."
The silence stretched between them.
Draco swallowed. He hadn't meant to sound so damn serious about it, but the thought of her stepping foot on that land— his land—without feeling completely in control of that choice left something sour in his stomach. He'd seen what it did to her, what it still did to her, and he wasn't about to be the reason she carried that weight again.
Then, Hermione did something he wasn't expecting.
She reached for him.
Her fingers curled around his, warm and steady, her touch grounding in a way that made his breath hitch before he could stop it.
"Draco," she said softly, and there was something in her voice that made his chest ache. "That means a lot to me. That you'd put my feelings first."
His grip tightened before he could help himself, thumb grazing over the back of her hand, tracing absent patterns against her skin. He could feel the slight tremor in her fingers, not from fear, but from the weight of the moment.
"I'll be fine," she continued, and he knew she meant it. There was steel beneath the softness, the same quiet resilience that had always made her impossible to ignore. "We're just going to be outside. And Rose is looking forward to it." She paused, biting her lip, before exhaling slowly. "Maybe it's time I made some better memories there."
Draco barely moved, but something inside him shifted.
Not because he thought she owed it to herself to rewrite history, and certainly not because he believed Malfoy Manor deserved any kind of redemption. But because this — her —facing it on her terms, with him at her side, was something he hadn't even let himself hope for.
His throat felt tight as he lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a slow, deliberate kiss against her knuckles. He lingered there, allowing himself the indulgence of the moment, of the way she let him hold her like this.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more certain.
"Alright," he murmured against her skin. "Then we'll make some better memories."
After breakfast, coats and scarves were gathered with the familiar hum of excitement filling the hallway. The sky outside was a soft grey, snowflakes drifting lazily down and blanketing the street below in a fresh layer of white. Hermione, wrapping a thick scarf around Rose's neck, leaned down to zip up her daughter's coat.
"Alright, let's make sure you're bundled up properly," she said, smiling as Rose wiggled excitedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
"Hold still, Rose," Draco added, chuckling as he knelt beside her, holding out her little mittens. "I'll help with these," he said, sliding her hands carefully into the mittens. He checked the fit, tugging them snugly over her wrists before adjusting her scarf once more for good measure. "There. Don't want you turning into a snowman before we even reach the tree."
Rose giggled, squirming happily in her coat. "Thank you, Draco! Now can we go?" she asked, her bright eyes darting between him and Hermione. "Please?"
Draco straightened, pulling on his own gloves and casting an amused glance out the window at the snow swirling down outside. "All set, Rose?" he asked, watching as she continued bouncing on her toes, her cheeks already pink with excitement.
"Yes!" Rose exclaimed, grinning up at them as she tugged her hat down a bit. "Let's go find our tree!"
Draco turned to Hermione, a warm smile spreading across his face as he reached for her hand. "Ready for a bit of Christmas adventure?" he asked, his eyes meeting hers with a hint of playful mischief.
Hermione smiled, her gaze softening as she linked her gloved hand with his. "Lead the way, then," she replied, her voice light with anticipation.
They stepped outside, their boots crunching through the fresh snow. The cold nipped at their noses, but Rose's giggles and eager chatter kept the air around them warm. Draco bent down, lifting her up into his arms as she kicked her legs playfully.
"Up we go," he murmured, adjusting her weight as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Rose clung to him, still squirming in her excitement.
"Are we going to Apparate, Mummy?" Rose asked, her eyes wide as she looked down at Hermione.
"Yes, we are," Hermione replied, reaching up to brush a stray curl from Rose's forehead. "You know the drill, sweetheart. Hold on tight to Draco."
Draco offered his free hand to Hermione, pulling her close to his side as they exchanged a quick, reassuring smile. Then, in one swift, familiar motion, they Apparated, landing just beyond the ward line of the Manor grounds. The air was colder here, crisp and clear, and the snow lay undisturbed in thick drifts across the landscape.
The towering trees and manicured grounds stretched out around them, and Draco felt a small pang of nostalgia mixed with something else—a nervous flutter he couldn't quite name. This place, so steeped in his family's history, felt strangely different now with Rose and Hermione by his side. But the familiar tug of magic welcomed him home, and for the first time in years, it didn't feel empty.
Rose, now standing between them, turned to Hermione with a look of pure delight. "Do you think we'll find the biggest tree, Mummy?"
Hermione laughed, her voice light with amusement. "Well, let's see what we can find. But remember, it has to fit in the living room, so maybe not the biggest tree here," she teased, reaching down to tap Rose's nose.
Rose giggled, bouncing in with her hands in theirs. "But it has to be tall! And pretty!"
"We'll find one that's tall and pretty," Draco assured her, feeling a swell of warmth at the simplicity of the moment.
They walked through the forest, Rose darting around, her laughter and enthusiasm contagious as she marvelled at the towering pines. Snow blanketed the ground, soft and undisturbed, and as she skipped from tree to tree, she pointed excitedly. "I want a big one!" she announced, her eyes bright with excitement.
Draco chuckled, his breath visible in the cold air. "I don't think Mummy's flat can handle the biggest one in the forest, Rose," he said gently, sharing an amused look with Hermione. "Maybe we should aim for something a bit more… reasonable?"
Rose pouted briefly but then gave a decisive nod, already spotting another tree a few feet away. It was slender enough to fit their space but tall enough to meet her standards for grandeur. "This one!" she declared, looking between Draco and Hermione as if she'd discovered a hidden treasure.
With a smile, Draco pulled out his wand, casting a quick slicing spell to sever the base cleanly. Rose clapped her gloved hands in delight, fluffing the branches as best she could with her small hands. "It's perfect!" she announced, but Hermione didn't respond right away.
Draco noticed Hermione standing still, her gaze unfocused, directed toward something just beyond the line of trees. His own eyes followed her line of sight until they landed on a stone structure, half-shrouded in branches and snow—Malfoy Mausoleum. It sat there in silent solitude, familiar yet heavy with memories he'd kept buried.
He sensed Hermione's quiet yearning to go closer, an unspoken understanding passing between them. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, her fingers barely pressing into his coat, yet urging him forward. Though he knew this was a moment she wanted to share with him, a sense of dread crept into his chest, growing heavier with each step. Every inch closer felt like peeling back a layer of carefully constructed distance he'd built from the past.
Finally, they reached the mausoleum. Its cold stone exterior was as imposing as ever, but today it felt different. The snow softened the lines, casting it in a quiet, almost gentle light. Hermione's hand was warm in his, grounding him as he hesitated in the doorway.
Together, they entered, their footsteps echoing softly on the stone. They approached Lucius's grave first, the carved marble as cold and unyielding as he remembered his father. Draco's gaze lingered on the name etched into the stone, memories of a complicated legacy rising unbidden. But as they moved past, Hermione's hand slipped into his, offering silent support, and he let himself be drawn toward the smaller plaque nearby, the one he tried hardest to avoid.
His son's grave was modest, just a simple stone marking the life that had been so brief. Draco felt a sharp pang in his chest, a surge of raw grief that he hadn't let himself feel in so long. The name they'd chosen, Scorpius , surfaced in his mind, a name filled with hope for the future that never came to be. He swallowed hard, the intensity of his sorrow pulling him under.
"We were going to call him Scorpius," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as though speaking the name too loudly would disturb the stillness.
Hermione's hand tightened around his, her touch grounding but gentle. "It's a beautiful name," she said softly, her words sincere and full of understanding. But even her comforting presence couldn't ease the ache that surged within him.
In the past months, the sorrow had receded, gradually overshadowed by the light and joy that Rose and Hermione had brought into his life. But standing here, seeing the stone marker bearing the name of his lost son, a deep guilt gnawed at him. His happiness had been creeping in, filling spaces that were once reserved for grief, and now he felt as though he'd betrayed the child he'd never had the chance to know. Scorpius had deserved to be mourned, and yet here he was, allowing that sorrow to be eclipsed by a new life, a new family.
Hermione seemed to sense the conflict churning within him. She moved closer, her arms wrapping around him gently, her embrace offering the steady reassurance he hadn't realised he needed. Draco let himself sink into her warmth, his chin resting against her hair as he closed his eyes. If Hermione let him, he would continue to love Rose as his own, but he was sure that he would never want to father a child of his own again.
With a shaky breath, he turned away from the grave, the lingering ache becoming more noticeable. He felt Hermione's hand slip back into his, her thumb brushing lightly against his knuckles as they stepped outside, letting the fresh, cold air fill his lungs.
As they prepared to leave with their chosen tree, Draco levitated it carefully, steering it toward the ward line. Just then, a figure appeared in the doorway of the Manor—a familiar silhouette wrapped in a thick, fur-lined cloak. Narcissa made her way across the snow-dusted grounds, her expression as poised as ever, though her gaze softened slightly as she reached them.
"Mother," Draco greeted, stepping forward, a flicker of concern flashing across his face. "What are you doing outside in this weather? You should be resting indoors."
Narcissa raised an elegant brow, the corners of her lips lifting in a faintly amused smile. "I assure you, Draco, I'm quite capable of handling a little winter chill. But," she glanced over at Hermione and Rose, "I wanted to come and see your chosen tree. It seems you've selected quite a lovely one."
Hermione inclined her head politely. "Hello, Mrs Malfoy," she said, her voice calm yet holding an air of politeness as she approached with Rose.
"Please call me Narcissa, dear". Hermione gave his mother a small nod before Narcissa's gaze settled on Rose, softening in a way that surprised Draco. "And you must be Rose," she said warmly. "I'm pleased to meet you. I do hope you found the tree you wanted?"
Rose nodded eagerly, clutching the edge of her scarf as she gave a shy smile. "Yes! It's perfect. Thank you, Mrs Malfoy."
Draco, observing the exchange, felt a swell of gratitude toward his mother. Despite the past, she was meeting them halfway, accepting this new part of his life. Glancing at Hermione, he could sense the slight tension in her stance, her eyes betraying a hint of unease.
Turning to his mother, Draco kept his tone light. "We'd better be on our way before the snow picks up again," he said gently, taking Hermione's hand in his own. But before he could make their goodbyes, Narcissa spoke.
"Why don't you all come inside for some tea?" Narcissa suggested, her gaze shifting between them. There was a hopeful note in her voice, one Draco hadn't heard in years.
For a moment, Draco hesitated. He didn't want to put Hermione in an uncomfortable situation, and he knew the memories the Manor held for her. "That's kind, Mother, but we really must get the tree back to Hermione's flat," he said, hoping the gentleness of his tone would soften the refusal.
But Narcissa's expression faltered, the faintest trace of disappointment flickering across her face. She recovered quickly, her mask of composure returning, but Draco felt the sting of his words.
Before he could say anything more, Hermione stepped forward, clearing her throat slightly. "Perhaps we could come by on the 24th," she blurted, glancing at Draco as if seeking his approval. "For a small Christmas celebration, if that's alright?"
Narcissa's eyes brightened, her composure giving way to a rare warmth. "That would be wonderful," she replied, a genuine smile gracing her lips. "I'd be delighted to have you all here."
Draco looked down at Hermione, both surprised and grateful for her suggestion. She returned his gaze, a subtle nod of reassurance telling him that she understood the importance of this moment for both him and his mother.
Narcissa offered a nod to Rose, who waved back with a small grin. "We'll see you soon, then," she said, her tone hopeful. "Draco, may I speak with you for a moment?"
Draco lingered as Narcissa motioned for him to stay back, watching as Hermione took Rose a few steps away, holding her daughter's hand and talking softly as they admired the snow-covered grounds. When he turned to his mother, her gaze was piercing, softened only by a hint of concern.
"I saw you leaving the mausoleum," she began, her voice as gentle as it was probing. "I know those ghosts well, Draco. And I could see them across your face." She reached out, placing a gloved hand on his arm, her touch warm despite the winter chill. "You know as well as I do… what letting that grief consume you again would mean, not just for you but for Rose… for Miss Granger."
Draco held her gaze, his jaw tightening as he absorbed her words. He couldn't hide the lingering shadows that had surfaced, the weight of his son's memory suddenly stark against the happiness he'd found with Hermione and Rose. "It's difficult, Mother," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Being happy while carrying that loss."
Narcissa nodded, her expression tinged with understanding and something close to sadness. "When you first told me about this relationship," she said, a faint smile softening her features, "I won't lie—I was shocked. But… seeing you happier, more alive… it's been a gift, Draco. I had almost forgotten what it was like to see you this way. And it's brought life back to me too."
Draco's throat tightened. He hadn't realised just how much his mother had noticed his change or how deeply it had affected her. Her gentle words seemed to lift some of the heaviness in his chest, as though her approval was one of the final pieces he needed to let go of the guilt that had kept him tethered to the past.
"I've been in that darkness, Draco," Narcissa continued, her voice unwavering. "And I know how it gnaws away at you, how it can feel as if it's all you have left. But Rose, Miss Granger… they've brought you a new beginning. Don't let that darkness take this from you."
Draco nodded, his gaze shifting momentarily toward Hermione and Rose. Rose laughed at something Hermione said, her cheeks flushed with cold, and for a moment, the warmth of that scene melted the shadows clinging to him. "I know," he replied softly, finally meeting his mother's eyes with a conflicted expression. "But I can't just forget him."
A quiet, sad smile curved Narcissa's lips as she gave his arm a final, gentle squeeze. "You don't have to, my love." Unshed tears threatened to spill, and Draco couldn't stay under the intense gaze of his mother's eyes.
So Draco turned toward Hermione and Rose, raising a hand in a small wave to call them back. They both turned, and as they walked toward him, he caught his mother's gaze one last time, a silent plea passed from her to him.
"Goodbye, Narcissa," Hermione said, a quiet grace in her voice as she took Draco's hand. He wrapped his arm protectively around Hermione and Rose, holding them close as they turned to leave.
As they Apparated back to the warmth of Hermione's flat, Draco felt a turmoil of emotions wash over him, and he excused himself to the kitchen as Hermione and Rose began rumbling through the Christmas decorations. He would not come apart in front of them, they did not deserve to be sucked into his inner madness.