Enjoy this chapter filled with Hermione, Draco and Rose!
A small cosy pub in Muggle London had become the new regular haunt for Hermione and Draco. It was tucked away on a quiet street, away from the bustling crowds, offering the perfect level of anonymity. The warm, wood-panelled walls, soft lighting, and crackling fireplace made it feel like a haven from the cold December weather outside. Their standing coffee appointment had gradually evolved into lunch, a quiet space where they could talk without being interrupted by the world they both belonged to, but often wished to escape.
It was the first Thursday of December, and the pub was beginning to feel festive, with a few Christmas decorations draped over the mantelpiece and the smell of roasted chestnuts wafting in from the street. Hermione sipped her tea while Malfoy sat opposite her, poking at his shepherd's pie with a half-hearted interest.
They had been discussing Wizarding politics for most of the meal, which had begun as casual chat but quickly shifted into more pointed discussions about the state of things at the Ministry. It was easy to talk about work, to stay on safe ground, but underneath their conversation, Hermione could feel the shift in their dynamic. They had become... something more than mere acquaintances.
Malfoy looked up from his plate, his grey eyes reflecting the flickering light from the nearby fire. "The Wizengamot's been a disaster lately. Too many people stuck in old ways of thinking," he muttered, shaking his head slightly. "It's like they can't see the damage they're doing by refusing to adapt."
Hermione nodded, swirling her spoon in her tea. "It's frustrating, to say the least. I've been pushing for reform, but it's like trying to move a mountain with your bare hands." She sighed, then added with a wry smile, "But I suppose that's what I signed up for."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. "I can't imagine anything less challenging would have satisfied you, Granger."
She smirked at him, taking a sip of her tea. "You're probably right."
Malfoy leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful as he studied Hermione over the rim of his glass. The firelight danced in his grey eyes, softening the usual sharpness in his gaze. "Granger," he began, his voice measured, "I've been meaning to ask you something."
Hermione arched an eyebrow, setting her teacup down carefully. "That sounds ominous."
He smirked faintly, though the amusement didn't fully reach his eyes. "What's the other Weasleys' take on… Weasley's absence in Rose's life? And the Potters, for that matter?"
The question hung in the air between them, heavy and unspoken until now. Hermione's fingers brushed the edge of her saucer, her gaze drifting toward the fire. "It's… complicated," she admitted, her voice quiet but steady. "Ron used to be such a devoted father. When Rose was little, he was always there. But after he started dating Susan, things started to shift."
Malfoy frowned, his brows drawing together. "Because of her?"
"Not just her," Hermione clarified, her tone thoughtful. "When Susan got pregnant with Hugo, Ron's priorities naturally shifted. At first, it felt like he was trying to juggle everything—being a father to Rose, supporting Susan, and preparing for another child. But somewhere along the way, he started to focus more on his new family."
She glanced at Malfoy, noting the faint furrow of disapproval on his brow. "Everyone was furious with him at first," she continued, a hint of frustration creeping into her voice. "Molly especially. She adores Rose, and she couldn't understand how Ron could let his attention waver. Ginny was livid too—she's always been fiercely protective of me and Rose."
Malfoy's jaw tightened. "And yet?"
Hermione sighed, leaning back against her chair. "And yet… they also see him trying to do right by Susan and Hugo. He's built a life with her, and I think, in their own way, they understand he can only be in one place at a time. They know it's not perfect, but they also know it's not entirely fair to expect him to divide himself equally."
The flicker of the fire cast shadows across Malfoy's face as he mulled this over. "That doesn't make it good enough," he said bluntly. "He still has a responsibility to Rose."
"I know," Hermione replied, her voice tinged with weariness. "And there are times when it all feels overwhelming. But at the same time… Molly is always there for me. And Ginny and Harry as well. They help when they can, and they support me when Ron falters."
Malfoy studied her, the hard edges of his expression softening slightly. "Still," he said after a moment, his tone quieter now, "it seems unfair that so much of it falls on you."
Hermione's lips curved into a small, wry smile. "That's life, isn't it? But I'm not alone. I have my family, my friends… and Rose. She's worth every bit of it."
Malfoy's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. Finally, he inclined his head slightly. "You're remarkable, you know that?"
Hermione laughed softly, the sound warm despite the gravity of the conversation. "You've mentioned that once or twice."
He smirked, lifting his glass in a small toast. "Merlin, I must be losing it."
They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, the sounds of the pub around them creating a gentle hum of background noise. Hermione glanced at Malfoy, noting how much more at ease he seemed these days—at least outwardly. There was still a shadow in his eyes that hadn't faded, a lingering grief that she sensed more than saw, but being here, away from the weight of their shared past, seemed to lift some of the burden from his shoulders.
It was in this moment, sitting in the cosy warmth of the pub, that Hermione felt a sudden impulse—something that had been building in the back of her mind but that she hadn't yet voiced.
She put her teacup down, and before she could second-guess herself, the words were out of her mouth. "Why don't you come over for dinner tomorrow? Rose would love to see you again, and... well, I think it would be nice."
Malfoy's fork paused mid-air, and he blinked at her, clearly taken aback by the sudden invitation. His gaze flickered with surprise, and for a moment, Hermione wondered if she had overstepped. But then, his expression softened, a brief flicker of something unreadable passing over his features before he set his fork down carefully.
"Dinner?" he repeated, as though he were testing the word.
Hermione felt a twinge of nervousness, but she nodded, trying to keep her tone casual. "Yes. You've spent time with us in the city, but I thought... maybe it would be nice for Rose to see you somewhere more familiar. And I don't know, you might enjoy it. You've seemed—" She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "You've seemed... like you could use some company lately."
Malfoy didn't respond immediately, and Hermione suddenly felt the weight of the moment. She hadn't planned to invite him, and now that she had, she realised how much this meant. It wasn't just about Rose—it was about the connection they had built over the last few months, the shared silences, the unspoken understanding of their mutual loneliness.
Malfoy finally leaned back in his chair, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. "I suppose I have been a bit... isolated," he admitted, his voice low but thoughtful. "It's easy to get used to the silence at the Manor, but I'm not sure it's always good for me."
Hermione felt a pang of sympathy. She knew what it was like to feel isolated, to retreat into the safety of her own space, away from the people who might ask too many questions. But with Rose, she didn't have that luxury. She couldn't let herself disappear into her own thoughts.
"You don't have to be alone all the time," she said gently. "Rose wants to see you." Biting her tongue, Hermione didn't add that she would like it too.
Malfoy looked up at that, his expression softening at the mention of Rose. There was something in the way he reacted when Hermione spoke about her daughter—an unspoken bond that seemed to tug at him. Hermione wondered how much of that was tied to the child he had lost, the one he had never had the chance to know.
After a brief pause, he nodded slowly. "All right," he said quietly. "Dinner sounds... nice."
Hermione smiled, feeling a strange mix of relief and anticipation. "Good. It's settled, then. You'll come by at seven?"
Malfoy gave her a small smile in return, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Seven it is."
They resumed their conversation, but the air between them felt lighter somehow, as though a small barrier had been broken down. Hermione couldn't quite explain it, but there was a sense of something shifting—of them moving from a shared routine into something more personal. Something neither of them had expected.
As they finished their lunch and gathered their things to leave, Hermione caught a glimpse of Malfoy's face, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. She couldn't help but feel that perhaps, in this quiet moment, she had given him something he hadn't even realised he needed—an invitation to be part of something more than just their fleeting meetings. An invitation to be part of her life, and by extension, Rose's.
Hermione stood in front of her wardrobe, feeling uncharacteristically flustered. It was absurd, really—she was just having Malfoy over for dinner, not attending some grand event. And yet, here she was, staring at her clothes as if it were a date. She shook her head at the thought, a flush creeping up her neck as she scolded herself for even considering it.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered under her breath, rifling through her blouses. "It's not a date. It's just dinner... with Malfoy." The name sounded different now, more familiar than she would have thought months ago.
After trying on a few options, she caught herself obsessing over the way certain fabrics draped or whether a particular shade of blue brought out her eyes. She groaned in frustration. Why was she putting so much thought into this? It wasn't as if Malfoy cared what she wore. He was coming to see Rose as much as her, if not more.
Finally, she settled on something comfortable but still nice—a simple but elegant dark green jumper paired with well-fitted jeans. It wasn't too casual, but it wasn't trying too hard either. She glanced at herself in the mirror, smoothing down her hair. It was good enough.
Hermione gave herself a firm nod, trying to shake off the last traces of nervousness. "It's just dinner," she reminded herself again, as if that would help calm the butterflies in her stomach. But as she walked out of the bedroom and into the living room, the fluttering remained.
Rose was already waiting in the kitchen, perched on a chair with an air of excitement. "Is Draco coming soon, Mummy?" she asked eagerly, her eyes wide with anticipation.
Hermione smiled, grateful for Rose's enthusiasm to distract her. "Yes, he'll be here soon. Let's set the table while we wait."
Rose hopped down from the chair, practically bouncing as she grabbed a stack of plates. Together, they moved around the small dining area, setting out the cutlery and glasses, Rose taking her job very seriously as she placed each piece just so. Hermione smiled fondly at her daughter's enthusiasm, but she couldn't quite shake the slight twinge of nerves in her chest.
The kitchen was warm with the smell of Spaghetti Puttanesca simmering on the stove, the tang of tomatoes, olives, and anchovies filling the air. Hermione had chosen the dish because it was simple but flavourful—one of her favourites. She wasn't sure what Malfoy's tastes were, but she hoped he'd enjoy it. Why am I worrying about this? she thought to herself, feeling another flush of embarrassment rise.
As she stirred the sauce, she found herself glancing at the clock more frequently than necessary. Rose, meanwhile, hummed happily to herself as she set the final pieces on the table, her little hands adjusting the glasses so they were perfectly aligned.
"Do you think Draco likes pasta?" Rose asked suddenly, looking up at Hermione with a curious tilt of her head.
"I'm sure he does," Hermione replied, suppressing a small laugh. "Besides, it's hard to go wrong with Spaghetti Puttanesca."
Rose beamed, clearly satisfied with that answer, and returned to her task. Hermione finished stirring the sauce, wiping her hands on a towel as she took a deep breath. The table was set, the food was nearly ready, and all that was left was for Malfoy to arrive.
As she stood there in the warm glow of the kitchen, she realised how much this dinner meant—not just for Rose, but for herself as well. It wasn't just about the meal. It was about welcoming Malfoy into their home, into the rhythm of their lives, and the thought both excited and unsettled her in ways she hadn't anticipated.
Brushing a stray curl behind her ear, Hermione stepped back from the stove, glancing once more at the clock. Any moment now.
Draco stepped out of the Floo and into Granger's flat, brushing a bit of ash from his shoulder as he straightened himself. He wore a tailored black overcoat over a crisp white shirt, his trousers perfectly pressed, and his dark green scarf neatly tucked around his neck. The smart, understated outfit gave him his usual air of refinement, but it was clear from the way his fingers fidgeted with the scarf that he felt a bit out of place. The warmth of the room enveloped him instantly, the familiar scent of something rich and tomatoey simmering in the air. He had brought a bottle of wine for the adults and a small box of sugar quills for Rose, hoping it was an appropriate gesture. His hands tightened slightly around the gifts, a strange nervousness flitting through him—an unfamiliar feeling, but one he hadn't been able to shake since he had agreed to come.
He looked up to find Granger already standing there, a welcoming smile on her face that, for some reason, made him feel slightly less uneasy. His eyes briefly swept over her, taking in her outfit—a simple but fitted jumper in a deep green, and well-fitted jeans that clung to her curves in a way that momentarily caught him off guard. He had seen her wear similar outfits on their excursions with Rose before, but here, in the intimate warmth of her home, it felt different. There was something about the way the soft fabric hugged her figure that stirred an unexpected awareness in him.
Draco quickly averted his gaze, silently chastising himself for the brief flicker of distraction. This was just a casual dinner—nothing more. He forced himself to meet her eyes again, hoping his expression remained neutral, though he couldn't entirely shake the small flutter of discomfort that had crept in.
"Good evening," he said smoothly, trying to regain his composure, his voice a little too formal, though he managed a small smile in return.
"Hi," Granger greeted warmly, brushing a loose curl behind her ear. "I'm glad you made it. Rose has been bouncing off the walls with excitement."
Draco glanced around, noticing the neatly set table and the inviting atmosphere of the flat. It felt homely—far from the cold, empty halls of Malfoy Manor. Warm, he thought, though he wasn't sure he could remember the last time he had experienced such a sensation.
"I brought this," Draco said, holding out the bottle of wine. "I wasn't sure what would go with the dinner, but this seemed decent enough."
Granger's smile widened as she accepted the bottle. "That's lovely, thank you. And you really didn't have to—"
"And these are for Rose," Draco added, holding out the small box of sugar quills, cutting off her protest. "I thought she might like them."
Rose, who had been hovering nearby, rushed forward with wide eyes the moment she heard her name. "For me?" she exclaimed, her excitement palpable. "I love sugar quills!"
Draco smiled, feeling some of the tension in his chest ease at her joy. "I'm glad to hear it," he replied. "I wasn't sure what sweets you liked."
Granger chuckled softly, looking amused as she watched her daughter's enthusiasm. "Funny enough, those are actually my favourite too. I used to sneak them into the library at Hogwarts."
Draco raised an eyebrow, surprised by the admission. "Granger, sneaking sweets into the library? That's almost shocking."
Granger laughed lightly, and for a moment, the air between them felt light and easy. But the underlying tension remained, hanging in the background like an unspoken question. There was still the awareness that this dinner was something different—something outside their usual meetings in Muggle London.
"Come on, let's get started," Granger said, ushering them towards the table. "Dinner's ready."
They all sat down, Draco settling into his chair while Rose eagerly took her place, already unwrapping one of the sugar quills with a grin. The table was simple but welcoming—a large bowl of Spaghetti Puttanesca in the centre, bread fresh from the oven, and glasses of wine ready to be poured.
Draco watched as Granger dished out the pasta, the domesticity of it all feeling strangely foreign to him. He couldn't remember the last time he had been part of something so... normal. The Manor had always been a cold place, meals served by house-elves, conversations stiff and formal. Here, everything felt closer, warmer, even if the tension still lingered just beneath the surface.
As they began eating, the clatter of forks and the hum of Rose's excited chatter filled the air. Draco found himself glancing at Granger more often than he intended, watching the way she interacted with Rose, the way she softened when she looked at her daughter.
"So, Draco," Granger said after a while, her tone more casual than it had been earlier, "Rose tells me you're quite the storyteller. Apparently, your explanation of dinosaurs was more interesting than the museum guide's."
Draco smiled slightly, though he felt the warmth of embarrassment creeping up his neck. "She might be exaggerating. I simply told her a few things I remembered from our visit."
"Oh, it was brilliant!" Rose piped up, her mouth half full of spaghetti. "Draco knows everything about dinosaurs!"
Draco chuckled lightly, feeling more at ease as Rose's enthusiasm chipped away at the formality of the evening. "I wouldn't go that far, Rose," he said, offering her a small smile. "But I'm glad you enjoyed it."
Granger's eyes softened as she looked between the two of them, and Draco couldn't help but feel that strange sense of belonging creep up on him again—something he hadn't experienced in a very long time.
The conversation continued, mostly driven by Rose's animated recounting of her latest adventures at the Burrow and her plans to teach her mother everything about Quidditch. Granger exchanged a few teasing remarks with Draco about his childhood at Hogwarts, and for brief moments, the tension faded into something else—something warm and familiar, like the sense of family he had once taken for granted but lost long ago.
Still, there were moments of silence that felt heavier than the rest, moments when Draco's thoughts drifted to what he had lost—Astoria, their child—and how strange it was to find a glimmer of comfort in this flat, with these people. His gaze occasionally flickered to Rose, who laughed so easily, her innocence filling the room with light.
As they finished the meal, Draco couldn't shake the warmth that had settled over him, even as the old ache lingered beneath it. For the first time in years, he felt something like belonging. It was fragile, tentative, but it was there. And it terrified him.
Granger stood to clear the plates, and Draco instinctively reached for his glass of wine, needing something to ground him. "Dinner was excellent," he said quietly, glancing at her as she began gathering the dishes. "Thank you for inviting me."
Granger looked at him over her shoulder, her expression soft and sincere. "I'm glad you came. It's nice to have you here."
Draco didn't reply immediately, unsure of how to express the strange mix of gratitude and fear that was building inside him. Instead, he simply nodded, taking a sip of wine and letting the warmth of the evening settle over him, trying to hold onto this rare feeling of connection, even if just for a little while longer.
After dinner, they moved into the living room, the warmth of the flat surrounding them like a comforting blanket. The table had been cleared, and now a freshly baked apple pie sat on the coffee table, its sweet scent filling the air. Draco sat on the sofa, watching as Granger sliced the pie with careful precision, serving it onto small plates. Rose had already made herself comfortable on the floor nearby, happily colouring in her book, her tongue poking out in concentration as she selected each crayon.
Draco took the plate Granger handed him and nodded his thanks. The atmosphere had shifted slightly since dinner. It felt more relaxed now, the earlier tension easing away as they settled into a comfortable rhythm.
"Thank you," Draco said quietly, taking a small bite of the pie. It was warm and perfectly spiced, the flaky crust giving way to sweet, cinnamon-laced apples. "This is... very good."
Granger smiled as she sat down beside him, her own plate balanced on her lap. "I'm glad you like it. It's a recipe I picked up ages ago—one of my favourites, actually."
Draco nodded, though his attention was momentarily pulled towards Rose, who was humming quietly to herself as she coloured in a bright green dragon. The casual domesticity of it all felt strange to him, yet comforting in a way he hadn't expected.
As they ate, their conversation drifted back to familiar ground—potions. It was an easy topic for Draco, and one that brought back a sense of control and familiarity.
"I've been working on a modified version of the Wolfsbane Potion," Draco said eventually, breaking the silence. His voice was casual, but there was a hint of pride in it. "I'm trying to find a way to make the effects last longer, so that those afflicted don't need to take it every month."
Granger looked up from her plate, her interest piqued. "Really? That's incredibly difficult to adjust. How far along are you?"
Draco leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful. "I've managed to extend it by a few days, but the stability is the issue. It works, but then it degrades too quickly."
Granger nodded, considering his words. "That's impressive, though. Even a few days is a major improvement. Have you tried altering the balance of aconite?"
Draco smiled faintly, appreciating that she knew enough to ask the right questions. "That's exactly what I've been experimenting with. A different method of extraction seems to help, but it still needs refining. The problem is, it's so temperamental."
Granger's eyes lit up with curiosity. "It always is with Wolfsbane. But I've never heard of anyone trying to extend its effectiveness. You could be on to something, Draco."
He shrugged, though there was a hint of satisfaction in his expression. "We'll see. It's a long process, but it's worth it."
Rose, still content with her colouring, suddenly looked up. "Mummy, is it bedtime soon?" she asked, her voice soft but drowsy.
Granger glanced at the clock on the wall and gave a gentle sigh. "Yes, darling. It's time to head to bed."
Draco shifted in his seat as Rose stood up and padded over to her mother. But to his surprise, she stopped in front of him, her wide eyes looking up at him with a sleepy smile.
"Goodnight, Draco," she said sweetly before wrapping her small arms around him in a hug.
Draco froze, completely taken aback by the gesture. He hadn't expected it—this innocent show of affection. His arms hung awkwardly at his sides for a brief moment, unsure of what to do, before he hesitantly patted her back, his fingers brushing against her curls. It was such a small thing, and yet it hit him with an unexpected force, stirring something deep inside that he had long buried.
"Goodnight, Rose," he said quietly, his voice a little rougher than usual as she pulled away.
Rose yawned, her tiredness catching up with her, and turned to Granger. "Can you read me the dragon story tonight?"
Granger smiled down at her. "Of course, sweetheart. Off you go, and I'll be along in a minute."
As Rose wandered towards her bedroom, Granger turned to Draco. "I'll just put her to bed…." She hesitated for a moment, her gaze meeting his in a way that felt... significant. "Wait for me? I'd like to chat before you leave."
Draco nodded, still a little shaken by Rose's hug but trying to compose himself. "Of course," he murmured.
He watched as Granger followed Rose down the hallway, the soft padding of their footsteps fading as they disappeared into one of the rooms. Draco sat back, exhaling slowly. His mind still lingered on the small, unexpected embrace Rose had given him. It was such a simple act, yet it had cracked something inside him, stirring memories he had tried so hard to keep at bay.
He looked around the room, at the warmth of the space, the remnants of apple pie on the coffee table, and the half-finished colouring book Rose had left behind. It felt... safe. And for the first time in years, Draco realised he didn't feel like a visitor. He felt, perhaps, something closer to belonging.
He took a slow breath, trying to steady himself as he waited for Granger to return, unsure of what they would talk about but knowing that this moment, like so many others lately, was quietly changing him.
A short while later, the soft creak of floorboards announced Granger's return. She appeared in the doorway with a gentle smile, her footsteps light as she crossed the room.
"Rose is out like a light," she said, still smiling as she sat back down. She hesitated for a moment, then added, "Would you like a glass of Ogdens Finest? I keep a bottle here for... well, special occasions."
Draco raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the offer. "Special occasions?" he repeated, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone.
Granger gave a small, playful shrug as she stood and walked over to the sideboard. "I figured having you over for dinner might qualify," she said, her voice teasing but sincere as she retrieved the bottle and two glasses. "Unless you'd prefer tea."
Draco shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Ogdens will do just fine."
She returned with two glasses, handing one to Draco before settling back into her seat on the sofa. The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, but instead filled with the quiet understanding that had developed between them. The fire flickered, casting a soft glow around the room, and Draco found himself grateful for the calm, for the simple comfort of the moment.
They sat like that for a few minutes, each sipping their drinks in companionable quiet. It was only when Granger broke the silence, her voice soft but steady, that Draco looked over at her again.
"Would you like to come by again on Sunday?" she asked, her tone light but with an undercurrent of hope. "Rose would love to see you again, and... well, we could do brunch. Something casual."
Draco blinked, momentarily surprised by the invitation. It wasn't that he hadn't enjoyed the evening—he had, more than he had expected—but he hadn't anticipated being invited back so soon. And yet, as he considered her offer, he realised that the thought of returning didn't unsettle him. In fact, it was the opposite.
"I'd like that," he said after a pause, his voice quiet but genuine. "Brunch sounds... nice."
Granger smiled, a warmth in her expression that mirrored the firelight. "Great. It's settled then."
Draco nodded, taking another sip of Ogdens as the conversation faded into another comfortable silence.
As the evening began to wind down, the warmth of the fire and the quiet conversation left a comforting stillness between them. Draco drained the last of his Ogdens, setting the glass down carefully on the coffee table. He glanced at Granger, who was looking equally at ease, yet there was a certain something in her eyes—a lingering warmth that mirrored the glow of the room.
"I suppose I should be heading off," Draco said softly, breaking the silence. "It's getting late."
Granger nodded, though there was a flicker of something in her expression—perhaps reluctance to see the evening end. "Thank you for coming, Draco. It's been… nice."
Draco smiled, a real one this time, though it was small and understated. "It has. The dinner was wonderful, truly." He paused for a moment, as if weighing his next words. "And Rose... she's wonderful too."
Granger laughed softly, a hint of pride in her voice. "She is. I'm glad you got to spend some time with her."
Draco rose from the sofa, straightening his coat as he moved towards the Floo. Granger followed, and as they reached the fireplace, she turned to him with a smile. "Sunday then?"
He nodded, his gaze holding hers for just a moment longer than necessary. "Sunday. Brunch."
Granger opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything else, the soft sound of small footsteps caught their attention. Rose appeared in the doorway, her eyes half-closed with sleep but her voice clear as she spoke.
"Goodnight, Draco," she murmured, her sleepy gaze meeting his.
Draco's expression softened, caught off guard by the late appearance of Rose once again. "Goodnight, Rose," he replied, his voice gentler than he had intended.
With a soft smile, Granger guided Rose back to her bedroom, leaving Draco to stand by the Floo for a moment, absorbing the warmth of the flat and the strange sense of calm it brought him. When Granger returned, she gave him a soft smile, almost as if she was already looking forward to Sunday.
Draco stepped into the hearth, taking a pinch of Floo powder from the small bowl nearby. "Thank you again, Granger," he said, his voice low but sincere.
Granger smiled, watching as he tossed the powder into the flames, which roared green in response. "Safe travels, Draco," she said softly, her words carrying more weight than just a simple farewell.
With one last look at her, Draco murmured, "Malfoy Manor," and the flames engulfed him, whisking him away into the night.
As he stepped out into the familiar, cold grandeur of his own home, Draco found the stark contrast between the warmth of Granger's flat and the empty halls of the Manor more jarring than ever before. The warmth he had felt lingered as if trying to follow him, and as he moved deeper into the silent house, a thought crossed his mind:
For the first time in a long while, he was looking forward to returning somewhere. To her. To Rose. To something that almost felt like… home.
It is important to understand, that Ron didn't become a worse parent to Rose on purpose, or out of spite with Hermione. They split on decent enough terms. Ron's life took a turn and he started a new family with Susan. Him and Susan, and now Hugo, live together as a family unit, and naturally he will spend more time with them than Rose.
Should Hermione ever find someone else *cough cough* that person would also naturally become a bigger part of Rose's life than Ron.
As a child of divorce myself, we were naturally with my mom more than my dad. And for a while my stepdad was much more a father-figure to me and my brother than my dad. As we grew older and became more independant that changed of course. And now, a decade later, I see my actual dad more than my stepdad. Anyways, my point is, even though I am painting Ron as the antagonist to a certain point, I don't think I would call him a shit parent. Just... someone who needs to put in a bit more effort.