This is part of a double post! Have you not yet read Chapter 5: Rose's Innocent Curiosity? Then go one back and read that one first!
Love to my husband for the feedback.
It was late afternoon, and a soft drizzle had settled over London, making the air outside Hermione's flat feel damp and heavy. The rhythmic patter of rain against the window was usually comforting to her, a quiet backdrop to the end of a long day. But tonight, it only added to the dull ache in her chest. The flat was warm, the fire crackling in the hearth, but the warmth didn't seem to reach her as she sat at the kitchen table, absentmindedly stirring her tea.
Hermione sat at the kitchen table, her eyes scanning the short letter in her hands, the familiar script making her stomach twist. The owl from Ron had arrived that morning, and though she had hoped for better news, she already knew what it would say.
Sorry, Hermione. Something's come up. I'll have to push my usual day with Rose to next week. I'll make it up to her, I promise.
The words felt hollow, a promise that had been broken far too many times before. Hermione let out a quiet sigh, setting the letter down on the table beside her tea. She glanced at the opposite side of the table, where Rose was colouring, unaware that yet another visit with her father had been postponed. Again. The frustration and sadness welled up inside her, but she pushed it down.
Hermione watched her daughter, her curls tumbling down around her face, looking so much like a miniature version of herself. But there were obvious traces of Ron in her too—the cheeky grin, the way her nose wrinkled when she was deep in thought, and the bright colour of her hair. It was in these quiet moments that Hermione's heart ached the most. Ron's absence was becoming more noticeable, and Rose had begun to ask questions Hermione wasn't ready to answer.
"Mummy?" Rose's voice broke through her thoughts, soft and innocent.
Hermione looked up, her throat tightening slightly as she met Rose's bright eyes. "Yes, love?"
Rose paused, her crayon hovering over the page, her brow furrowed. "What does Daddy's letter say?"
Hermione's heart sank. It was the question she had been dreading—the one that seemed to come up more frequently these days. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to smile, though it felt strained. "He will have to move your day together, darling. Daddy's very busy."
Rose's face fell slightly, but she kept colouring, her small fingers gripping the crayon a little tighter. "But he promised he'd come soon," she said quietly, her voice filled with a hopeful innocence that twisted something deep in Hermione's chest.
"I know," Hermione replied, her voice softer now. She reached across the table to place a hand on Rose's, squeezing gently. "He loves you very much, Rose. It's just… things are different now."
Rose frowned, her gaze dropping to her colouring book as she mulled over her mother's words. "But why doesn't he come like he used to? Before he had the new baby?"
The question hung in the air like a weight Hermione couldn't lift. How could she explain something so complicated to a four-year-old? How could she make Rose understand that Ron's distance wasn't her fault, that he had simply drifted further and further away, wrapped up in his new life with his new wife and child?
Hermione's grip on her tea tightened. It wasn't just the pain of explaining Ron's absence to Rose that stung—it was the growing frustration, the anger that she tried to suppress but couldn't entirely shake. Ron had made promises, not just to her but to Rose, and he had been breaking them over and over. Each time Hermione saw the disappointment on her daughter's face, it felt like a fresh wound.
She tried to keep her voice steady. "Sometimes grown-ups get busy with their lives, Rose. But I promise, when he can, Daddy will come and see you."
Rose nodded, though her small frown remained. "Okay," she said, her voice quieter than before. She turned back to her colouring, though the enthusiasm from earlier had faded.
Hermione watched her for a moment, her heart heavy with guilt and sadness. It wasn't fair. Rose shouldn't have to navigate these feelings at such a young age. She deserved better than this half-involvement from Ron, this constant sense of waiting.
The past few months had been a stark contrast. The more distant Ron became, the more frequently they ran into Draco Malfoy. It was almost absurd, how often they crossed paths now—whether at Flourish and Blotts , or the ice cream parlour, or even just walking down Diagon Alley. Malfoy, of all people. And yet, every time they encountered him, he was kind to Rose in a way that made Hermione's head spin.
Ron, the man she had once thought would be there for Rose every step of the way, was slipping further from their lives. And then there was Malfoy, appearing at unexpected moments, sometimes saying little, but always offering a quiet presence, steady and unassuming. He was a juxtaposition to the memory of Ron, whose presence felt more and more like a ghost from the past.
Hermione let out a long sigh, her mind drifting back to the last time they had seen Malfoy. Rose had been talking about him since, asking questions about the "nice man" who seemed to pop up whenever they went out. And as much as Hermione had tried to brush it off, it was becoming harder to ignore.
"Mummy?" Rose spoke up again, pulling Hermione from her thoughts.
"Yes, love?" Hermione asked, her voice gentler this time.
"Why don't we see Daddy as much, but we see Mr Malfoy lots?"
Hermione's stomach twisted at the question. Rose had noticed the pattern, of course—children always did. "We just… happen to run into Mr Malfoy a lot, that's all," Hermione said, trying to keep her tone casual. "But Daddy and Mr Malfoy are very different people."
Rose tilted her head, looking thoughtful. "But why doesn't Daddy come and see us? Does he not want to anymore?"
The innocent question struck Hermione harder than she expected, and she had to fight to keep her emotions in check. "Daddy wants to, Rose," she said carefully, though the words felt bitter on her tongue. "He's just… he is busy taking care of your baby brother right now."
Rose didn't seem fully satisfied with the answer, but she nodded slowly and returned to her colouring. Hermione sat there, feeling more frustrated and isolated than ever. It wasn't just Ron's absence that hurt—it was the way it made her feel like she was navigating all of this alone, constantly trying to protect Rose from the reality of it all.
The fire crackled softly in the background as Hermione stared into her untouched tea, the weight of it all pressing down on her. She loved Rose with everything she had, and she would do anything to make her feel secure and happy. But no matter how much she tried to compensate for Ron's absence, it was clear that the empty space he had left was growing larger, and it was affecting Rose more than Hermione had hoped.
It wasn't fair, she thought to herself, her hand clenching around the mug. It wasn't fair to Rose, or to her. She had tried so hard to make things work with Ron, but it had all fallen apart, and now she was left picking up the pieces. And even now, years later, she still carried the weight of that failure, the loneliness creeping in around her like the rain outside her window.
A soft tap at the window pulled her from her thoughts. Hermione stood, her mind still heavy with worry as she made her way to the window. When she opened the hatch, there was a delivery—an owl from the Ministry, more work to do.
She closed the window behind her, leaning against the wall for a moment, closing her eyes. Another reminder of how stretched thin she was, how much she was trying to balance. Between her work at the Ministry, raising Rose, and navigating the absence of Ron, it felt like there was no room left for her own feelings, her own sense of loss.
And then there was Malfoy, lingering in the back of her mind like an unresolved thought. It made no sense—of all people, he was the one who seemed to appear when she needed some kind of stability.
Shaking her head, Hermione pushed the thought away. It didn't matter. What mattered now was Rose, and finding a way to shield her from the emotional absence Ron had created. Because even if Draco Malfoy had stepped into their lives more than expected, Hermione knew she couldn't rely on anyone but herself to make things right for her daughter.
But as she returned to the kitchen, her thoughts heavy with unanswered questions, Hermione couldn't help but wonder how much longer she could do this alone.
It was an overcast day in Muggle London, the sky heavy with grey clouds that threatened rain at any moment. Malfoy had never had much reason to venture into the Muggle parts of the city, but today, he found himself here for a meeting regarding some rare potion ingredients from a Muggle supplier. He kept his head down as he moved through the unfamiliar streets, his thoughts distant, wandering to places he rarely let them go.
As he rounded a quiet corner near a small park, Malfoy froze, his gaze landing on a familiar figure sitting on a bench, her head tilted slightly as she watched Rose play a few feet away. Granger. One of the few times he ventured into Muggle London himself. He hesitated as always, considering turning back, but Granger glanced up, her eyes widening in surprise as they locked onto his.
"Malfoy?" she said, rising from the bench, her tone much more curious than anything else. "What are you doing here?"
Draco's usual instinct to retreat was there, but something in Granger's expression—tired eyes and dark circles—made him pause. He shrugged, forcing a casual tone. "Business. And you?"
Granger gestured to Rose, who was chasing a ball across the grass. "Taking Rose out to play for a bit. She needed some fresh air, and… well, it's not too far from our place."
The small park was quiet, tucked away from the bustling city. A few other families lingered on the grass, but it was peaceful enough that the noise of the city felt distant. Draco glanced at Rose, watching as her laughter echoed through the air. He felt a strange tug in his chest, an echo of something long buried.
"You don't seem the type to wander into Muggle London," Granger added, offering him a small smile that surprised him with its lack of judgement.
Draco let out a faint huff, half amused by her remark. "Not usually my forte," he replied, though there was no sharpness in his tone. He looked away, his gaze wandering as he searched for something to deflect the sudden tension building inside him. "Astoria preferred it," he said quietly, almost to himself.
Granger's smile faded, her curiosity clearly piqued by the sudden mention of Draco's ex-wife. "Astoria?" she asked gently.
Draco hadn't meant to say anything. He hadn't spoken her name in what felt like a lifetime. But now that it was out, the words seemed to hang between them, waiting for more. He cleared his throat, his voice quieter than usual. "She liked coming into Muggle areas. It… helped her feel less tied to everything. Less suffocated by the past, I suppose."
Granger's gaze softened, the usual guardedness in her eyes giving way to something more understanding. "I didn't know that," she said softly. "I always wondered what happened after Hogwarts, but..."
Draco glanced at her, surprised at the lack of hesitation in his next words. "We were married for a few years. It was… fine. But we lost a child," he said, the weight of those words heavier than he'd expected, the familiar ache settling in his chest. "He—he didn't survive the birth."
The world seemed to slow around them, the distant noise of the park fading into the background. Granger's eyes widened in shock, but she said nothing for a moment, her hand reaching up to press gently against her chest as if trying to process the weight of what he had just shared.
"Draco," she murmured softly, his name sounded odd yet fitting coming from her, and her voice filled with genuine sympathy. "I… I had no idea. I'm so sorry."
He nodded stiffly, unsure why he had let himself say it, unsure why it didn't feel as wrong as it should. "Astoria… she couldn't handle it. Not that I could either. We tried, but she left. I didn't stop her."
As the words lingered in the air, Draco felt an unfamiliar sensation—a faint lightness in his chest, as if speaking the truth had chipped away at a weight he hadn't realized he was still carrying. He'd never said it aloud like that before, not even to himself. It was unsettling, yet oddly freeing, the way unburdening a secret could feel like both a risk and a relief.
Granger stepped closer, her voice soft but insistent. "That must have been… incredibly difficult. I can't even imagine."
Draco's jaw tightened as he stared out at the park, trying to keep himself together. "It was," he admitted, the words clipped but honest. "And I suppose I've just… learned to live with it."
Granger watched him for a long moment, the weight of his confession hanging between them. There was no pity in her expression, only understanding, a quiet empathy that Draco wasn't sure he had ever expected to find from her.
Rose's laughter suddenly rang out again, breaking the silence. They both turned to see her, still chasing after the ball, oblivious to the heavy conversation happening just a few feet away. Draco's gaze lingered on her for a moment, the tightness in his chest growing.
"She reminds me… of what could have been," Draco admitted quietly, surprising himself with the words. It was something he had never said aloud, not even to himself, but seeing Rose's carefree innocence always stirred something in him—a reminder of the child he had lost, the life that had slipped away from him.
Granger's eyes softened further, her own heart aching at his quiet vulnerability. "You've been very kind to her," she said gently. "She talks about you, you know. Every time we run into you, she always says how 'nice' you are."
Draco let out a small, almost bitter chuckle. "I don't know about 'nice.'"
"Well," Granger said, her tone soft but firm, "you're certainly different than you were back at Hogwarts."
Draco turned to her, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You mean I'm not a complete prat anymore?"
Granger gave a small laugh, shaking her head. "No, you're not."
The tension between them faded slightly, replaced by a shared understanding that neither of them had anticipated. Draco, still caught off guard by his own openness, didn't know how to respond to the sudden ease in their conversation. For so long, he had kept everyone at arm's length, but here, in the middle of Muggle London, he had let a piece of his past slip out.
He glanced at Granger again, her expression soft and genuine. There was no judgement, no sharp retort—just the quiet understanding of two people who had both been through their own losses.
"Malfoy," Granger said quietly, "I know we don't really know each other, not in any real sense, but… if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here."
Draco raised an eyebrow, half-amused and half-touched by the offer. "What, a heart-to-heart with Granger? That would be something."
Granger rolled her eyes, but her smile remained. "I'm serious. Sometimes it helps to talk."
Draco didn't respond immediately, his gaze drifting back to Rose, who was now running towards them with the ball in her hands. As she approached, her wide grin lighting up her face, Draco felt something unfamiliar settle within him—a sense of calm, of connection.
"I'll… keep that in mind," he said finally, his voice low but sincere.
Rose ran up to them, holding the ball out proudly. "Mummy, I caught it!"
Granger smiled warmly at her daughter before glancing back at Draco. "We should go," she said, though there was no rush in her tone. "But I'll see you around, Malfoy."
Draco nodded, watching as Granger and Rose turned to leave. Rose shouted back a "Bye Mr. Malfoy!" As he stood there, alone again, the weight of his earlier confession still heavy in the air, he realised that something had shifted between them. For the first time in years, he had let someone in, if only for a moment. And strangely, it hadn't felt as terrible as he'd expected.
As the clouds overhead darkened and the rain began to fall softly, Draco turned and walked away, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.
Hermione couldn't stop thinking about their encounter in the park. Malfoy's unexpected vulnerability had caught her off guard, revealing a side of him she hadn't imagined existed beneath his cold, detached exterior. That brief moment in Muggle London—where he had opened up about Astoria and their lost child—had shifted something between them. It was as if a veil had been lifted, allowing her to see the man behind the name, behind the reputation.
She found herself thinking about him more often than she cared to admit, not with judgement or suspicion, but with curiosity. Draco Malfoy, the boy who had once called her names, was far more complex than she had ever realised. The thought surprised her, unsettled her even, but there it was—a growing sense of empathy and understanding for someone she'd never thought she could relate to.
Their next meeting came not long after, in Diagon Alley again, though this time it wasn't just a fleeting encounter. Hermione had taken Rose for another outing, this time to pick up some supplies for her homeschooling, when they ran into Malfoy near the stationery shop. She had expected the usual polite exchange and retreat, but to her surprise, Malfoy lingered. Rose, delighted to see him as always, ran up to him, her excitement evident.
"Mr Malfoy!" Rose beamed, tugging at his sleeve. "Mummy said I can get a new quill for my schoolwork."
Malfoy smiled faintly, kneeling slightly to meet her at eye level. "A new quill? That sounds important. Do you know which one you want?"
Rose nodded enthusiastically. "The pink one! It's the best one, but it's got feathers on it, and Mummy said it might be too much for school."
Malfoy chuckled, standing back up to meet Hermione's amused gaze. "I'd say a pink quill with feathers is a bold choice," he remarked, his tone lighter than she was used to.
Hermione smiled, her tension easing as she joined in the conversation. "It's certainly… distinctive. But I think we can compromise on something a bit more practical." She looked down at Rose. "Go on, love, choose something sensible."
As Rose wandered into the shop, leaving them alone for a moment, Hermione turned to Malfoy, feeling a subtle shift in the air between them. There was no longer the awkwardness that had characterised their previous encounters. Instead, a quiet understanding lingered, something that had grown from their recent conversations.
"Thanks for being so kind to her," Hermione said softly, surprising herself with the sincerity in her voice. "She really looks up to you."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, looking almost uncomfortable with the compliment. "I'm not exactly a role model," he muttered, though there was no bitterness in his tone, just an honest admission of how he saw himself.
Hermione shook her head, her voice gentle but firm. "You're more of one than you think."
Malfoy looked away, clearly unsure how to respond. Silence settled between them, not heavy but contemplative, until Hermione broke it.
"What you said the other day… about Astoria, and your son…" she hesitated, unsure whether to tread this path, but Malfoy didn't stop her. "I just wanted to say, I'm really sorry you had to go through that. I can't imagine how hard it must have been."
Malfoy's expression remained unreadable for a moment, his eyes distant as though he were somewhere else entirely. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he sighed. "It was… difficult," he admitted quietly. "It's not something I've ever really talked about, but—" He stopped, as if catching himself.
Hermione nodded, sensing his struggle. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," she offered gently.
"No," Malfoy said after a pause, surprising them both. "It's… it's fine. It's just not something I'm used to. Talking."
Hermione smiled softly. "I understand. But I also think that sometimes it helps to voice things… even the uncomfortable ones. It doesn't make it go away, but it can make the weight a little easier to carry."
Draco's gaze flicked back to her, and for the first time in their years of knowing each other—even through their awkward history—he saw her not as Granger the know-it-all, or Granger the war hero, but as Granger, a person who had her own struggles, her own burdens. There was something about her presence that made him feel less guarded, less burdened by the need to keep everyone at arm's length.
"I think I've gotten used to carrying things on my own," Draco said quietly, surprising himself with the admission. His voice was low, almost resigned. "It's easier that way."
Granger's expression softened, her empathy clear. "I know what you mean," she said. "I've had to do that too. With Ron… well, it's not been easy. Especially with Rose."
Draco looked at her, surprised by her candour. She rarely spoke about Ron, and Draco had never asked, sensing the tension in that part of her life. But now, with the veil of formality between them slowly lifting, she seemed willing to open up as well.
"He's been distant," Granger continued, her voice filled with a quiet sadness. "Caught up in his new family, I suppose. It's been hard on Rose, not seeing him as much as she'd like."
Draco frowned slightly. "He's not… there?" he asked, his voice betraying more surprise than he'd intended.
Granger shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Not like he used to be. It's… complicated."
A strange pang of empathy tugged at Draco. He had never been close to Weasley, nor had he imagined he would ever feel anything akin to sympathy for Granger's marital struggles, but hearing the pain in her voice, he couldn't help but feel for her. He knew what it was like to lose someone, even if his circumstances had been different.
"I didn't know," Draco said quietly, unsure what else to offer.
Granger smiled sadly. "It's not something I talk about much. I just… keep going, I suppose. For Rose."
Draco understood that. The need to keep going, even when everything felt like it was falling apart. He had been doing it for years, shutting down his emotions, avoiding connections that might force him to confront his grief. But standing there with Granger, talking about their struggles as if they were old friends instead of former rivals, it felt different. The barriers he had so carefully constructed were beginning to crack, and strangely, he didn't feel the immediate need to rebuild them.
Just then, Rose came bounding out of the shop, holding a new quill—pink, of course, though with far fewer feathers than she had originally wanted. "Look, Mummy! It's perfect!"
Granger laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from Rose's face. "It's lovely, darling."
Draco watched the interaction, feeling a sense of warmth he hadn't expected. There was something about the way Granger and Rose fit together so effortlessly, something that stirred a quiet longing in him—a reminder of what could have been, yes, but also a recognition of the connection they shared, something he hadn't experienced in years.
As they stood there, the conversation lighter now, Rose chattering away about her new quill, Draco found himself lingering just a little longer than usual. The coldness that had always defined his interactions with Granger had begun to melt, replaced by a tentative understanding. They weren't friends—not yet—but there was a bridge forming between them, built on shared struggles and the slow unravelling of their guarded exteriors.
And as they parted ways that afternoon, Draco couldn't help but feel that the walls he had spent so long building around himself were no longer quite so impenetrable. Not with Hermione Granger standing on the other side, quietly offering a hand.
I would say Act 1 is done. We will now be moving on to Act 2. I am excited!