This is one of my favourite chapters so far!

It had been a particularly quiet evening in Hermione's flat. She was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner while Rose played nearby with her dolls. The soft hum of domestic life filled the space, the gentle clattering of dishes and Rose's cheerful chatter providing a comforting rhythm. But when the knock came at the door, sharp and unexpected, Hermione's stomach twisted with a mixture of surprise and unease.

She wiped her hands on a towel and made her way to the door. The last person she expected to see standing there was Ron. His tall frame filled the doorway, looking somewhat awkward, as if he didn't quite know how to fit into this moment.

"Hermione," he greeted, his voice slightly strained. "Can I come in?"

Hermione's breath hitched as she took him in—his familiar features, but with a weariness she hadn't noticed before. She stepped aside, allowing him to enter. Rose, hearing her father's voice, ran into the room, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed, her tiny feet pounding against the floor as she launched herself at him.

Ron knelt down, catching her in his arms with a grin, but Hermione could sense the subtle stiffness in his movements. "Hey, Rosebud," he said softly, hugging her close. "Missed you, sweetheart."

Hermione stood back, watching the scene with a mix of emotions. She wanted to feel relieved that he had finally shown up after weeks of distance, but the familiar tension gnawed at her. She knew this wasn't going to be the visit Rose hoped for.

Ron rose to his feet, still holding Rose's hand. "I thought I'd come by and see her," he said, glancing at Hermione. "It's been… busy with the new baby and everything."

Hermione nodded, her arms folding over her chest protectively. "I know," she said, her tone clipped. She tried to keep the frustration from creeping into her voice. "But she's missed you, Ron. A lot."

Rose, blissfully unaware of the adult tensions swirling around her, tugged on Ron's hand. "Can you stay for dinner, Daddy? Mummy's making spaghetti!"

Ron hesitated, the moment of silence heavier than it should have been. He glanced at Hermione, and she could already see the answer forming in his eyes before he spoke.

"Not tonight, Rose," Ron said gently. "I've got to get back. The baby's not been sleeping well, and…" He trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

Hermione felt her stomach drop as Rose's face fell. Her little shoulders slumped, and she looked down at her feet, the excitement fading from her voice. "Oh," she mumbled, her grip on Ron's hand loosening. "Okay…"

The silence that followed was suffocating. Hermione watched as Ron knelt down to Rose's level, offering a half-hearted smile. "I'll come back soon, yeah? We'll have a whole day together."

Hermione couldn't stand it any longer. "Ron," she said, her voice tight. "She's heard that before."

Ron's face flickered with guilt, but it quickly shifted into something more defensive. "I'm doing my best, Hermione. Things are just… complicated right now."

"Complicated?" Hermione repeated, her eyes narrowing. "Rose doesn't understand 'complicated.' She only understands that her father isn't here when he promises to be."

The words hung between them like a sharp-edged blade. Ron stood up, frustration creeping into his expression. "Iam trying," he insisted, though his voice lacked conviction. "You think it's easy? Balancing everything?"

Hermione's jaw tightened, and she had to take a breath to calm herself. "I know it's not easy, Ron. But this isn't about us anymore—it's about her. She needs you to be present."

Rose, sensing the tension, had moved back towards her toys, quietly playing by herself. The sight of her daughter's small form, trying to distract herself from the grown-up conflict, broke Hermione's heart a little more.

Ron glanced at Rose, his guilt evident, but Hermione could tell he wasn't going to change. "I'll come by next week," he said, his voice softer now. "I'll spend the whole day with her. I promise."

Hermione didn't respond. She couldn't. She had heard those words too many times, and each time, they held less meaning. She simply nodded, though the hollowness of the gesture made her feel even more isolated.

With a quick goodbye to Rose, Ron left, his departure as sudden as his arrival. Hermione closed the door behind him, the sound of it shutting ringing in the now-quiet flat. She leaned against it for a moment, closing her eyes and letting out a long breath.

"Mummy?" Rose's small voice broke the silence, and Hermione opened her eyes to see her daughter looking up at her. "Is Daddy going to come back soon?"

Hermione's throat tightened as she knelt down to Rose's level. "I hope so, sweetheart," she whispered, gently brushing a curl away from Rose's face. "But we're going to have a lovely evening, just you and me, okay?"

Rose nodded, though Hermione could see the disappointment still lingering in her daughter's eyes. It was a look Hermione had grown all too familiar with.

Later that night, after Rose had fallen asleep, Hermione sat alone on the sofa, the remnants of dinner left untouched. She stared at the flickering flames in the fireplace, her mind drifting. The isolation she felt, the constant strain of being the only one holding everything together, weighed heavily on her. Ron's absence wasn't just physical—it was emotional. He was slipping further away, and every time he broke a promise to Rose, it only deepened that distance.

The following Thursday Diagon Alley bustled with its usual array of colourful witches, wizards, and magical wares. The autumn breeze carried the scent of fresh parchment and brewed potions, while the clatter of footsteps on cobblestones added a familiar rhythm to the busy day. Draco and Blaise Zabini were walking side by side, the former with his hands casually in his pockets, and the latter eyeing the surrounding shops with an air of disdain.

"Honestly, Draco," Blaise drawled, adjusting his finely tailored cloak, "why is it so impossible to find a decent set of robes in this place? I've been everywhere—Madam Malkin's, Twilfitt and Tatting's—it's all so… provincial." He waved a hand dismissively as if the entire Alley was beneath him.

Draco smirked, casting a sidelong glance at his friend. "You've spent too much time in Italy. Not everything can be Tuscan silks and enchanted tailoring."

Blaise scoffed, his brow furrowing in genuine discontent. "Italy understands sophistication. I come back here, and I'm offered the same, tired black cloaks. Honestly, it's depressing."

Draco chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Perhaps the wizarding world hasn't yet caught up with your impeccable taste, Zabini."

Blaise shot him a look of mock offence. "Don't act like you don't miss it either. I've seen you in those Italian robes—far more comfortable than the stiff British cuts you're stuck with now."

"True enough," Draco admitted with a smirk. "But I'm hardly the fashion connoisseur you are. I've got other things on my mind."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Like your new hobby? Coffee dates with Granger?" He pronounced her name with exaggerated curiosity, clearly enjoying Draco's discomfort.

Draco's expression stiffened for just a moment before he rolled his eyes, trying to brush it off. "It's not a 'coffee date', Zabini. It's—"

"A standing coffee appointment, then," Blaise interrupted, the grin never leaving his face. "Very proper. Very... regular."

Draco shot him a flat look, though his lips twitched with amusement. "If you must know, we've had a few conversations. That's all."

Blaise let out a low chuckle. "And those conversations just happen to keep recurring? I'm sure there's nothing interesting at all about them. Nothing that keeps you coming back."

"Don't push your luck," Draco muttered, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him with a faint smirk. He had never expected his meetings with Hermione to become a point of teasing, but then again, Blaise had a talent for picking up on the smallest details and turning them into endless amusement.

"Oh, I'm not pushing anything," Blaise said with a wave of his hand. "I just find it fascinating. Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, having coffee in some quaint Muggle café. It's practically the headline of a gossip column. Shall I informThe Daily Prophet?"

"Merlin, no," Draco replied dryly. "The last thing I need is Skeeter showing up with a Quick-Quotes Quill."

Blaise grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "No, but admit it—she's got you hooked. A Gryffindor, Draco? Quite the change from your usual tastes."

Draco ignored the jab, though there was no denying that something had shifted in his interactions with Hermione. It wasn't something he wanted to examine too closely, especially not with Blaise hovering like a vulture over the idea.

As they continued down the street, Draco's eyes caught sight of something—or rather, someone—just ahead. His stomach tightened involuntarily.

Astoria.

She was walking toward them, her posture as graceful as ever, her hair tied back elegantly, her robes pristine and fitting her slender frame perfectly. But it wasn't the sight of her that made Draco's heart twist—it was the large ruby glinting on her ring finger. She didn't seem to notice them at first, her head tilted slightly as she spoke with a friend beside her, but the moment her eyes met Draco's, her expression froze for the briefest moment.

"Ah," Blaise murmured, his voice lowering as he followed Draco's gaze. "Now, this is interesting."

Draco's jaw tightened as Astoria's eyes flicked from him to Blaise, then back again. There was no warmth in her expression—no hostility either—just a cool, distant acknowledgement. The kind you'd give to someone who no longer mattered in your life.

"Draco," she greeted, her voice smooth, almost polite.

"Astoria," Draco replied, his voice equally cool, though something inside him clenched at the sight of her. His eyes betrayed him for just a moment, darting to the ruby on her finger.

Blaise, ever the tactful one, raised an eyebrow. "Astoria. Always a pleasure." His gaze briefly lingered on the ring as well, though he made no comment, for once exercising restraint.

Astoria gave Blaise a small nod, her gaze returning to Draco. "It's been a while," she remarked, her eyes holding his in a way that made his throat tighten. "I didn't expect to run into you today."

Draco's lips pressed into a thin line, his mind racing. He didn't want this. Not here, not now. "Nor did I."

Her eyes flicked to the ruby once more, almost as if she knew he'd noticed. "Well," she said softly, her tone unreadable, "I hope you're well, Draco."

Draco managed a stiff nod, his words stuck in his throat. "I am," he finally forced out, though the lie felt heavy. "You look… well."

Astoria's smile was faint but courteous, though her eyes revealed little emotion. "Thank you."

The moment dragged on uncomfortably, and Blaise, sensing the tension, cleared his throat. "It was good to see you, Astoria," he said smoothly, his hand lightly gripping Draco's arm as if to guide him away from the situation.

Astoria nodded again, her gaze drifting away as she resumed her walk with her friend, leaving Draco standing frozen for just a second longer before Blaise gently pulled him forward.

"Well," Blaise said with a dry chuckle as they continued down the street, "that was awkward."

Draco said nothing for a moment, his mind still whirling with the image of Astoria and the ruby that had glinted so prominently on her hand. "That was… unexpected," he muttered.

"I'd say," Blaise replied, his tone sympathetic but teasing. "But I suppose it was bound to happen eventually. New rings, new beginnings."

Draco's jaw tightened, but he gave a short nod. "Let's just get this over with. I've got somewhere to be."

Blaise shot him a knowing look, but for once, kept his teasing to himself. As they made their way through Diagon Alley, Draco couldn't shake the bitter taste in his mouth—the ghost of Astoria's presence lingering far longer than he liked.

At lunchtime Hermione found herself in the same Muggle café she had agreed to meet Malfoy at for coffee. But this time, the exhaustion of the past few days had caught up with her, and rather than just a quick chat over drinks, she needed an actual meal.

Malfoy arrived shortly after her, his usual composed demeanour intact as he removed his cloak and sat down across from her. He gave her a once-over, raising an eyebrow.

"You look… different," he remarked, his voice neutral but tinged with curiosity. "Rough day?"

Hermione sighed, offering a weary smile as she placed her order for a sandwich and salad with the waitress. "You could say that."

Malfoy watched her for a moment, his gaze steady but not probing. He didn't press, didn't demand an explanation, and for that Hermione was grateful. Still, something about his calm presence made her feel like she could speak freely.

"It's Ron," she said finally, her fingers absentmindedly toying with the edge of her napkin. "He came by earlier this week."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "I see. And how did that go?"

Hermione let out a humourless laugh. "About as well as you'd expect. He made more promises to Rose that I know he won't keep. And I'm just… I'm so tired of it."

The food arrived, giving Hermione a brief pause, and she took a bite of her sandwich before continuing. "He always says he'll spend more time with her, that he'll make an effort. But it never happens. Something always comes up—his new baby, his new family." Her voice wavered slightly, and she quickly took a sip of water to steady herself.

Malfoy leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he considered her words. "He's prioritising them over Rose," he said, his tone flat, but there was something in his voice—an edge of frustration.

Hermione looked up at him, surprised by the intensity in his eyes. "Yes," she admitted softly. "I know he's not a bad person, but… he's not there for her. Not really. And it's breaking her heart."

Malfoy's fingers tapped lightly against the table, the only sign of the emotion he was holding back. "That's unacceptable," he muttered, almost to himself.

Hermione blinked, taken aback by the vehemence in his voice. She hadn't expected him to be this invested. "It's complicated," she said, though the words felt hollow even to her.

Malfoy's eyes met hers, sharp and direct. "Complicated or not, Rose needs someone who will be there for her. For you."

Hermione's heart clenched at his words, the raw truth of them cutting deeper than she wanted to admit. She had always known Rose deserved more than broken promises and fleeting visits, but hearing someone else tell her that she deserved it too—it made her feel a bit better.

"I don't know what to do anymore," Hermione confessed quietly, her gaze dropping to her plate. "I can't make him stay. I can't force him to be a better father."

Malfoy was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. "No. But you can be there for her. And you are."

Hermione looked up, meeting his grey eyes. There was something in his gaze—something she hadn't expected. Understanding, yes, but also a quiet reassurance. It wasn't pity, and it wasn't judgement. It was simply someone acknowledging the weight she carried.

"You're doing everything you can," Malfoy continued, his tone measured. "That's more than enough."

For a moment, the tension in Hermione's chest eased, just a little. She felt seen—truly seen—in a way she hadn't in a long time. She hadn't realised how much she needed that until now.

"Thank you," she murmured, offering him a small, grateful smile.

Malfoy gave a slight nod, his expression softening. "I'm not sure why Weasley can't see what he's missing," he added, almost offhandedly. "But you should never feel responsible."

Hermione chuckled, though there was little humour in it. "I used to think we'd figure it out, you know? That even after everything, we could make it work for Rose. But now…"

Malfoy's lips pressed into a thin line. "People change," he said simply, his eyes flicking to the window, watching as a light rain began to fall outside. "And sometimes they don't. Not in the way you need them to."

The truth of his words hung between them, and Hermione found herself nodding. "Yes," she whispered. "I suppose you're right."

They fell into a companionable silence after that, the clink of cutlery and the soft hum of the café filling the space between them. Hermione focused on her food, but her mind was still swirling with everything she had shared—and everything Malfoy had said in return. There was something oddly comforting about talking to him. He didn't offer false reassurances, and he didn't try to fix things for her. He just listened, and that was enough.

As they finished their meal, Hermione leaned back in her chair, feeling the heaviness of the past week beginning to lift. She hadn't expected lunch with Draco to make her feel better, but somehow, it had.

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly, giving him a rueful smile. "I didn't mean to dump all of this on you."

Malfoy shook his head. "Don't apologise. If you needed to talk, you needed to talk. Besides," he added, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips, "it was more interesting than listening to Zabini complain about the lack of decent robes in Diagon Alley."

Hermione laughed, the sound light and genuine, and for the first time in days, she felt a little less burdened by everything.

"Thank you," she said again, more sincerely this time.

Malfoy nodded, his expression softening. "Anytime, Granger."

As they stood up to leave, Hermione felt a small but significant shift between them. Whatever this was—this unexpected connection—it was becoming something real. Something she found herself relying on, even if it scared her a little.

And as they stepped out into the rain, Hermione couldn't help but wonder where this newfound understanding with Draco Malfoy would lead.

That evening, Hermione sat on the edge of Rose's bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm light over the room. Rose was tucked beneath her floral duvet, her eyes wide with fascination as Hermione read the last few lines ofThe Tales of Beedle the Bard. Rose had always loved this particular story—The Fountain of Fair Fortune—and Hermione's gentle voice wove through the words, calming her daughter as sleep slowly began to take hold. When she finally closed the book, she leaned down to press a kiss on Rose's forehead. "Goodnight, love," she whispered, smoothing a curl away from Rose's face. "Sweet dreams." Rose mumbled a sleepy reply, her eyelids fluttering shut as Hermione quietly slipped out of the room.

In the living room, Hermione poured herself a glass of red wine and sank into the sofa with a long, tired sigh. The flat was quiet now, save for the soft murmur of the television as she mindlessly flipped through channels, letting the dull noise fill the silence. Her eyes wandered to the letter on the coffee table—a note from Ron. He had written to say he'd have time to spend half a day with Rose on Saturday.Half a day.Hermione stared at the letter for a moment, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. She took a sip of her wine, trying to push the irritation away, but it lingered, heavy and ever-present.

As she sat there, her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Malfoy. In the last few weeks, he had become a surprising presence in her life. Their conversations—what had started as chance encounters—were now something she found herself looking forward to. He had been there, listening, offering his quiet support without asking for anything in return. There was no judgement, no expectations. Just... understanding.

It was strange. She never thought she'd find comfort in Malfoy's company. But there it was, an undeniable shift in how she saw him. And now, with Ron continuing to let her down, Draco's steady presence had become something she found herself leaning on more and more.

The realisation both intrigued and scared her. Was she truly allowing herself to rely on Malfoy? The boy who once tormented her in school now felt like an anchor in her life, keeping her steady in a way she hadn't expected.

Hermione leaned back, the weight of her thoughts heavy in the silence. She knew she couldn't ignore the growing connection between them, even if it made her uneasy. But as the days passed, and Ron continued to drift away, that connection—fragile and unexpected as it was—became something she found herself holding on to.

Later that evening, Draco sat alone in his private suite at Malfoy Manor, a glass of Ogdens Old Firewhisky in hand, the faint amber glow of the liquid catching the firelight. The room was dimly lit, the flames from the hearth casting flickering shadows across the dark wood panelling and rich, leather furniture. Draco leaned back in his leather armchair, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames as he took a slow sip of the whisky, feeling its warmth spread through him.

He couldn't stop thinking about the unexpected encounter with Astoria earlier that day. The sight of her with that ruby on her finger had stirred something inside him—a mix of emotions he hadn't quite anticipated. Not anger, not even heartbreak, but a dull sense of loss, as though seeing her move on so definitively had solidified the end of something that had already been over for a long time. It wasn't the ring itself that bothered him, but the finality it represented. She was no longer the woman he had been married to, no longer the woman who had once shared his home, his life.

A small sigh escaped him as he swirled the whisky in his glass, his thoughts drifting to Granger. He had thought about telling her about running into Astoria, but when they'd met for lunch earlier, she had clearly needed to talk about her own frustrations with Weasley. He had listened, understanding the weight of her words, the pain she carried as she tried to navigate co-parenting with someone who was barely present. In a strange way, he found it easier to listen to her than to confront his own emotions about Astoria.

Perhaps next time, he thought, leaning forward slightly, the leather of the chair creaking softly beneath him. Perhaps next time he would ask her how it had been, seeing Weasley for the first time after their divorce. He knew her situation was different—far more complicated, with Rose involved and the constant reminders of their shared life. But there was something about the way she handled it, the resilience in her, that intrigued him. Maybe she could help him understand how to handle his own unresolved feelings about Astoria.

But of course, he mused,there was no comparing their situations.Granger had a child with Weasley, which meant she couldn't sever ties completely. That connection would always be there, a shared responsibility, even if the love between them had faded. Draco, on the other hand, had nothing binding him to Astoria. No children, no shared commitments. Just memories, both good and bad, and now the sight of her moving on so clearly, while he remained in the same, cold manor he'd always called home.

Draco set the glass down on the small table beside him and stood, stretching his shoulders as he walked towards the large window overlooking the estate grounds. The moonlight bathed the gardens in silver, casting long shadows over the meticulously trimmed hedges and stone paths. The stillness of the night usually brought him peace, but tonight, it only amplified the quiet in his life. The quiet that had been there long before Astoria had left.

He exhaled slowly, pulling his dressing gown closer around him as he turned away from the window. The fire was beginning to die down, the embers glowing faintly in the hearth. Draco decided it was time to retire for the night. He had spent enough time reflecting on things he couldn't change.

Heading into the adjoining bedroom, he undressed with the methodical precision he always employed, hanging his robes neatly in the wardrobe before pulling on a pair of comfortable pyjamas. His thoughts still lingered on Granger as he climbed into bed. She was an unexpected presence in his life, and one he found himself thinking about more often than he intended. There was something about the way she understood the complexities of life, of loss, even if their circumstances were different.

He settled into the soft sheets, pulling the blankets over himself. The room was bathed in shadows now, the fire in the other room almost completely extinguished. As he lay there, staring up at the ornate ceiling, Draco's mind wandered back to the day's events—Astoria's cool demeanour, the sharp glint of the ruby, and Granger's troubled face as she spoke about Weasley.

Maybe next time, he would ask her more. Maybe next time, he would let himself open up a little more, just as she had.

With a final deep breath, Draco closed his eyes and let sleep take him, his mind finally quieting as the weight of the day slowly faded into the stillness of the night.

Surprise! Astoria messes with Draco's psyche.