Chapter Text
Their kiss during the Battle of Hogwarts was the fire in each of them finally brought to life by the uncertainty of whether they would live or die, whether they would have to see the light of day without the other by their side. Ron, the one with the emotional range of a teaspoon, gathered every ounce of courage in that teaspoon and went in for the kiss, knees weak with relief that Hermione didn’t pull away. And Hermione, the one with the intuition of a mother on steroids, gathered Ron in her arms and wouldn’t let him go because the kiss was everything she was waiting for and more ever since the day Ron won his first quidditch match against Slytherin. The only thing they regretted after pulling away that day was that they realize the depth of their love sooner.
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And now your song is on repeat
And I'm dancin' on to your heartbeat
And when you're gone, I feel incomplete
So if you want the truth
I just wanna be part of your symphony
Will you hold me tight and not let go?
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Draco Malfoy watched Ron and Hermione usher their kids through the barrier to Platform 9 ¾. Another generation of redheads off to Hogwarts. He eyed his own son, pale and skinny like Draco, push his precariously balanced trolley forward through the throng of Muggles rushing to catch their train on Platforms 9 and 10.
“Excuse me, sir, could I see your tickets?” A station officer held out his hand expectantly.
“If you must,” Draco said and fished a single ticket out of his coat pocket. “We’re only seeing our son off, then my wife and I will be on our way.”
The station officer studied the ticket carefully, as if trying to decide if there was something wrong with it, but finally handed it back without protest. “Your platform is just this way,” he gestured vaguely and walked off.
Draco nudged his son forward again, curling a stiff arm around his wife’s waist. She leaned away from his touch. They hadn’t spoken more than a few words to each other in a while, not since she found Scorpius packing his things for Hogwarts the week before he was due to leave. The boy had an infamous reputation to overcome because of his father’s actions nineteen years ago, she hardly wanted to send him off to the same school Draco had attended, but was resigned to idea with the hope that the professors at Hogwarts would be kind and understanding to Scorpius and fend off any students who threatened him. He was not his father, just as Draco was not his.
The couple spent many nights before Scorpius was even of age to attend any school of magic arguing about whether Scorpius should go to Hogwarts or if he should go to a different school to avoid putting any weight on him to follow exactly in his father’s footsteps. Draco wanted Scorpius to go somewhere else from the start, saying he would not subject his son to the same cursed school, but Astoria insisted it would be worse at another school. All the other students would see was what their parents read in the papers, he wouldn’t be given the chance to separate himself from fact or fiction before they tore him apart.
A whoosh and the Malfoy family was through the barrier.
He immediately spotted Ron and Hermione, and Harry and the Weasley girl (Ginny, he reminded himself), having their final goodbyes off to one side, the pride in each of their eyes as they looked at each of their children. Draco wished he could feel the same for his son. He noticed them staring back and Ron locked eyes with him in the moment before he forced himself to nod curtly and turn away to focus again on the small family he built. The three friends chose to fight for what was right and they were rewarded well for their efforts. A traitor should not be afforded the same. He was satisfied with his life, his wife, his son, but something nagged him in the corner of his brain when Ron looked at him like that.
Draco handed his son his train ticket. “Be good this year, eh? Make sure the other students know your name.” He didn’t need to tell his son that, Scorpius was always good and the other students probably knew who he was just by looking at him, but he didn’t know what else to say. His father had never said anything else.
Scorpius nodded. “Of course, Father.”
“Scorpius, do you have everything? Your robes? Your wand?” Astoria fussed with the collar of Scorpius’ white dress shirt, pressing the starched flaps to his sweater and wedging his tie up a little higher.
“Yes Mother, I have them, and all of my books,” Scorpius replied, pointing to each of the things on the trolley to prove it. “And the extra parchment you wanted me to pack so I can write you.”
She pulled him in for a side hug and kissed the top of his head. “Very good.”
Scorpius looked so small on the busy platform, even smaller in Astoria’s arms. Draco held out his arms and Scorpius hugged him briefly, too. Then they pushed him onto the Hogwart’s Express and saw to it that everything on his trolley made it onto the train. As the train pulled out of the station, Draco and Astoria stood on the platform hands not quite touching, praying to anything or anyone that would still listen that their son would come home safe for Christmas.
Friends and family of the departed wizards began to Apparate away from Platform 9 ¾, returning to whatever it is they do with their lives when their children are away at school. Draco glanced at the Weasleys and the Potters again, who were conversing and clinging to their respective partners, tucking their children who were too young to leave between them. Astoria placed a hand on his shoulder, then she’s gone too, Apparated to her office at the Ministry.
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, still had everything Draco didn’t.
He only blamed his father a little bit for the disgrace the Malfoy name now held. His unwavering faith in a force too weak to form a physical self cost the family their good fame and fortune, and now they lived in shame in their own manor that was once a point of pride.
“Draco!”
Hermione was calling to him and she approached when he barely looked in her direction, choosing instead to check to make sure his jacket was securely buttoned up to his chin before he returned to his job sorting artifacts at Borgin & Burkes. She called his name again and he looked up for good this time, curious to know why she would bother talking to him after all he put her through at Hogwarts.
“Draco, it’s good to see you,” Hermione said to him. “Your son--Scorpius, wasn’t it--he’s off for his first year at Hogwarts?” She waited for him to answer.
“Y-Yes, that’s right. Don’t know if I can say the same about you and Weasley,” he replied. “Certainly expected, what with the number of mu-children you have.” Or are planning to have. Draco stumbled over himself, the word mudbloods coming too easily to his tongue. Children not born of pure blood were not to be scorned anymore in his house. Some of the decision was influence from his wife’s family, who were of pure blood but never held the same deep hatred for those who were not, but most of the decision was made purely on the fact that wizards were wizards, no matter where they came from.
Hermione waved for the others to join them. “Come have a drink with us.”
“It’s half past eleven on a Friday, Granger.”
“That’s Weasley-Granger now, Malfoy.” Ron reached them first out of the group and slid his arm loosely around Hermione’s waist with an easy but wide grin. Draco hated how Hermione relaxed into the motion, trying not to think about how his own wife had cringed. “Only joking, we hyphenated. It’s Granger-Weasley now. Are you coming for drinks?”
The full group--Hermione, Ron, Harry, Ginny, and two kids he wasn’t sure who belonged to who--were standing around Draco now, waiting for his response.
“As I was telling Granger, it’s only half past eleven on a Friday,” he said.
“We have children with us, it’s only for butterbeer,” said Hermione, not bothering to correct him.
Harry put a firm hand on his arm and said in that enveloping voice that trapped just about everyone he came in contact with, “Join us.”
Draco swallowed, his eyes narrowing involuntarily. “If you insist, Potter.”
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The tavern was loud and every noise echoed in Draco’s mind. He much preferred the quiet inn he usually holed up in on the nights Astoria had members of her family over and they looked at him like he was a lost puppy and whispered to each other when they thought he wasn’t looking. The group had immediately snagged a few tables and pushed them together when they arrived, Hermione and Ginny going off to procure enough butterbeers for seven.
“So what have you been doing since you ran off sniveling after the Battle?” Ron asked, leaning over crossed arms on the table. An amused smirk sat squarely on his face as if he had been waiting years to ask the question.
Harry slapped his arm. “Come on Ron, be nice.”
“What? It’s true,” Ron whined
“We agreed--”
Draco cleared his throat and interrupted them. “I’ve, uh, I’ve been working at Borgin and Burke’s.”
Ron’s attention shifted back to him. “Doing what, exactly?”
“Sorting and archiving artifacts. Some of them have rightful owners or unnecessary hexes on them, it is my job to return them or remove the hex.”
“A perfectly respectable job,” said Hermione as she set down four butterbeers in front of them. Ginny was close behind with the remaining three butterbeers.
Hermione sat to the left of Ron and Harry, directly across from Draco, and Ginny sat between Draco and the children.
“Bet you’ve encountered some real nasty hexes,” said Ginny as she took a sip of her butterbeer.
“There was one time I had to chase an old lady down the street while dancing because she stole a necklace and I had just opened a chest of cursed toys. I slept fourteen hours that night and my back was sore for days.” Draco scowled at the memory.
“Sounds vaguely like a case I had to wrap up,” said Harry. “Was that back in April?”
“Yes, it was,” he muttered. The last thing he wanted was for Harry to witness yet another embarrassing act; luckily it only sounded like Harry did the paperwork, he didn’t actually see anything.
“I heard Mr. Borgin was thinking of closing up the shop soon,” said Ginny.
Hermione nudged Draco’s foot under the table. “Is that why you’re sorting everything out?”
The announcement had been on the Daily Prophet front cover, the oldest wizarding antique shop in London closing and Mr. Borgin was retiring. When asked if Mr. Burke was in agreement about the decision, it was not determined if Mr. Burke had a say in the matter or he was even still alive to put in a word at all.
“I was actually thinking of purchasing the shop from him myself,” replied Draco. “A lot of the artifacts belong to families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and I’m sure they’ll be wanting it all back once I tell them it’s theirs.”
Ron clapped a hand on Draco’s shoulder and said to Harry, “You were right mate.”
“About what?” Draco asked.
“You’ve gone soft,” said Ron to him.
Draco sputtered in protest as the other adults at the table burst out laughing, the children tugging on Ginny’s sleeve asking what was so funny.
“It looks good on you,” Ron assured him through the noise, leaning back over his arms again. Draco’s grey eyes met Ron’s blue ones and he couldn’t look away. Something about Ron’s gaze held him there and it showed Draco that there was more to Ron than that daft boy he knew at school.
Hermione hooked her arm through Ron’s and leaned on the table as well. She kissed Ron’s cheek and the trance was broken; Ron turned back to the conversation and Draco stared at his hands in his lap. He wasn’t sure how long they had been staring at each other, but it was long enough, the others were already deep in debate over the pros and cons of the latest world-class broomstick released.
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“Give it back, Hugo!” Lily yelled across the yard. She chased her cousin on foot while he flew off on his new broomstick.
It was Hugo’s birthday, and the Weasley-Grangers were hosting a birthday party at their house. Harry was supposed to be there, but he was called away on urgent Auror business. Draco was left to face the rest of Harry’s family without Harry as a buffer. So far it hadn’t been so bad, Ron and Hermione were pleasant enough, and Ginny as well. They asked him how Scorpius was doing at Hogwarts and didn’t mind that he hadn’t brought a gift for Hugo. It wasn’t that Draco forgot to bring one, he just didn’t know what the boy liked and he wasn’t going to be the awkward family friend trying to fit in any more than he already was. He could exactly bring something from the shop, could he? All the things there were likely to kill the boy and he couldn’t have that, not when his time with the people he despised so much growing up were beginning to feel like a home away from home.
The trio and Ginny (he had to find a better name for the group of them) invited Draco to various outings with them after their time at the tavern on September 1. Now, in late fall, as the trees stood bare in preparation for winter, Draco felt like this was how things could have been if he hadn’t been so eager to please his father and the Dark Lord. They had a regular dinner date every Saturday, sometimes Astoria came, sometimes she didn’t; she didn’t take to the Potter crew (there it is) as much as he did.
“Hugo, let your cousin have a turn,” Hermione called from the porch where she was talking to Draco.
Draco took a drink of his wine. “He’s going to be one heck of a quidditch player if he keeps that up.”
“Indeed.” She sighed with a proud smile, her eyes tracking Hugo through the air. “But for now, he needs to learn how to share.” Hermione left Draco alone on the porch.
Now Draco sighed, and took another long drink of his wine, wishing not for the first time that Harry had not been called away for work so that he could keep Draco company. Though, he supposed he should stop using Harry as a safety net, the man already had enough people counting on him for too long. Draco knew what that was like, at least in short term, he couldn’t imagine the weight of it for seven years.
He entered the house to find Ron. Ginny had him cornered in the kitchen cutting carrots for dinner, and he was complaining about how there were spells for that and why wasn’t Hermione doing it instead.
“Would you rather be cutting up carrots or watching the kids?” Ginny challenged him. Ron gave her a look of disgust. “That’s what I thought. Keep chopping.”
“I can help,” Draco said, setting his drink on the counter.
Ginny didn’t miss a beat. She set down her knife and wiped her hands on a towel. “See? He doesn’t complain. Have fun you two.” And with that, she was out of the kitchen.
Draco removed his suit jacket and laid it over one of the kitchen chairs. He carefully rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, pocketing his silver cufflinks as not to lose them. Then he picked up the knife and held it over the squash Ginny had been working on. The knife bit into the skin of the fruit, then Draco set down the knife.
Ron stopped mid-chop when he noticed Draco wasn’t moving. “What’s the matter Malfoy?”
There was no point in hiding it. Better to admit it right away than drag it out, Ron would only make fun of him even more for not wanting to say anything. “Well you see I’ve...I’ve never actually done this before.”
“Chopped vegetables?”
“...Yes.”
“Blimey, Draco. Even my mum made me chop vegetables and she--”
“Just show me how and we can move on, okay?” Draco wouldn’t let himself break. The anxiety built up inside of him that his childhood was not as it should have been and his mother never taught him how to survive without a house elf like the Weasleys. He was defenseless on his own and--Draco stilled his trembling hand.
Ron seemed to be working out his options, wondering if he should tease Draco further or just let it go. He picked up his knife again. “You have to keep your fingers out of the way, yeah? Tuck them in like this.” He demonstrated on the carrot and Draco copied his position on his squash. “Then you take the knife in sort of a rocking motion and follow through at the end.” He demonstrated again, quickly slicing three pieces off in rapid fire. “Easy.”
Easy. Draco made a tentative cut. He didn’t manage to slice all the way through, his touch was too light, and he hacked through to get the last bit off. The piece of squash flew off the counter. Both of their heads snapped to follow the flying object, watching it roll under the stove and out of sight.
“Erm...I think you’re gonna need a bit more practice,” said Ron, failing to stop the smile forming on his face.
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“You want us to spend Christmas with the Potter boy?” Astoria cried. “You don’t honestly think--” The sound her fork clattering on the table echoed in their spacious and modestly decorated dining room.
“It will be good for Scorpius,” Draco said as calmly as he could. “He’s becoming friends with Albus, we shouldn’t keep them from seeing each other over the holiday.”
“Then we won’t be keeping then from anything, I will. I refuse to have our son spent time with the young Potter so long as I have any say in it.” Astoria stood up from the long table. “Goodnight Draco.” She made her way out of the dining room and Draco heard her heels clicking on the stone steps up to their bedroom. A door slammed.
Draco sighed. Their son would be home in three weeks and he thought he should approach the topic early so that they could get their shouting matches out of the way before they had to welcome Scorpius home. Astoria and Draco argued most nights now, over big things and little things, but mostly it was how much time he was spending with the Potter crew. Sometimes their nights ended in Astoria retiring early; others, they screamed late into the night, the house elves retreating to their sleeping quarters in the kitchen.
He continued to eat his meal as an elf cleared Astoria’s plate away. Another elf came into the room holding something in his hand.
“A letter from the Weasley-Grangers, Master Malfoy. Just arrived by owl.” It had taken some coaxing to get the house elves to call them the Weasley-Grangers, they all insisted on using terminology Draco’s father used to refer to them, but Draco kept pushing until they no longer called them those things.
“Bring it here.” Draco took the letter and broke the seal:
You have been invited to the Weasley-Granger Christmas celebration on December 25th of this year. Please bring your cheer and good tidings, and please limit your number of guests to 3. Send an owl to notify us of your attendance before December 1st. Happy Holidays! Ron, Hermione, Rose, and Hugo Weasley-Granger.
There was a glittering Christmas tree next to the family’s names at the bottom.
Draco sighed again. It was a good thing Astoria did not know the letter arrived before she went to bed. He was going to the celebration, of course, the Weasley-Grangers had been kinder and more welcoming than any other family in his life, once they got past the awkwardness of being former rivals. Astoria could do as she liked.
“Parchment,” he said to the elf who gave him the letter. “And a quill.”
“Of course, Master Malfoy, which quill would you like to use?”
He stared at the empty chair across from him for a moment. “On second thought, I’ll go get them myself.” He ate one last bite off of his plate, wiped his mouth on his napkin, and stood from his chair. No time like the present to get on board with Granger’s plan to treat house elves better.
“Yes, Master Malfoy.”