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“Dad…Dad…Dad…. DAAAAAAD!” Ten-year-old Scorpius Malfoy was trying desperately to capture his father’s attention as he struggled to right his Quidditch gear. When even his best whiny voice had failed to do so, he peered around to see what could have possibly captured the interest of his father so completely.
He followed his Dad’s eye line and was surprised to see him staring open-mouthed at his coach, Miss Hermione. Scorpius adored his Coach. She was funny and nice, and she always got them ice cream after practice. She had been so kind to him when he had arrived at the first practice three weeks ago with Millie and Max, the Malfoy house-elves, instead of a parent like everyone else on the team. Scorpius hated being reminded of his mother’s death. Coach had seemed to know this and made sure he didn’t feel out of place at all.
Scorpius loved playing on the Whinging Wolves, and he was nervous enough about his first game without his Dad gaping like a creepy git at his coach .
“Dad…Draco… oh for the love of Merlin, DRACO MALFOY. Stop staring at my coach and help me with these gloves.” Scorpius thrust his left hand into his Dad’s line of vision, laces completely askew.
Ignoring the veiled insult with a raised eyebrow, Draco set to lacing his son’s gloves. “You never told me your coach was Hermione Granger. Does she actually know your last name is Malfoy?”
“Of course she does, she not stupid. Please don’t get all weird about it. She’s really nice, Dad. She even said that I would get to have some time at Seeker, even though Jamie Potter’s been on the team the past two years and he plays Seeker.” Scorpius was getting increasingly exasperated by his Dad. “Don’t you work with her every day? You have to know how nice she is.”
Draco’s eyebrows seemed to rise even closer to his hairline. “You are playing on a team with Harry Potter’s spa…. child?”
Scorpius eyeballed his Dad and smirked. “Child…ren, oh father of mine. Al plays too although he is awful on a broom. You would think he’d be a natural, but he totally sucks, but in a good way.”
As Draco chuckled at his son, he was focused entirely on ensuring Scorpius’s helmet was secure and missed the soft fall of footsteps behind him. So, when Hermione spoke a loud, “Hey, Scorp, Malfoy,” he flinched like a Frankie First Year instead of the seasoned Auror he was.
Embarrassed by his reaction, Draco spoke without thinking. “Well, if it isn’t The Brightest Witch of The Age, come down from her gilded office to instruct our children on the finer art of Quidditch, a game I don’t believe you have ever played?”
As soon as he said it, Draco wished he could take it back. His son’s loud groan and Granger’s shocked face made him feel like the worst sort of pond scum. He started to apologize, reaching for her arm, “Look, Granger….”
“Malfoy”, Hermione hissed. “Regardless of your erroneous opinion of my abilities, the ONLY reason I am coaching your son or any of the other children on this team is that NONE of the parents stepped the hell up to volunteer. Harry and Ginny begged me to do it or the team would have had to fold. Now back the bloody hell up and take your hand off my arm before I hex you in front of your son. Scorpius dear, grab your broom. You’re starting.”
Draco stared after Hermione, who seemed to have instantly ignored him in favour of chatting animatedly with his son. Draco was quiet for a moment, his busy brain sorting through embarrassment at his spiteful words, pride for his son, and a gentle appreciation of how amazing Granger’s arse looked in those tight Quidditch pants tucked into black knee-high boots.
He knew he had been an absolute pillock, but he hated being embarrassed, and for it to happen in front of the witch he seemed to have developed a teeny, tiny, insignificant crush on made his natural charm leave him completely. Scorpius was right. He did work with Hermione and he did know she was indeed very nice . In fact, they got along really well at work. Potter constantly paired them together, and over the past few years, Draco came to appreciate both the Muggleborn’s work ethic and her innate kindness.
Once he found a seat in the stadium, Draco lowered his sunglasses and continued his perusal of Granger. Just as he was considering how long her legs were given her height, someone plopped into the seat next to him.
“She’s quite pretty, isn’t she?”
Draco glanced over at the intruder and snorted.
“Potter. What are you on about?”
Harry Potter wagged his finger at Draco. “Don’t think I can’t tell where your eyes are looking, my friend. While I will swear on a stack of bibles that Ginny’s is the only one I look at, Hermione’s arse is pretty spectacular.”
Lowering his glasses to peer at his boss, Draco feigned shock. “And you a married man, Potter. Colour me surprised. I didn’t think you and Granger had that sort of relationship.”
Harry laughed outright. “We don’t, Malfoy. Hermione is like my bossy older sister, but I am not blind, and my sister is a very pretty witch.” Fixing Draco with a knowing look, Harry continued. “She’s single, you know. Just in case you were wondering.”
“Gee thanks, Potter. It’s not like I don’t work with the witch every day. I know she’s currently single. But I doubt much longer if Morgan in Accounting has anything to say about it.”
Harry made a face. “Morgan is definitely not an option for Hermione. He’s so … nice .”
Laughing as Harry shuddered, Draco responded. “What? You don’t want a nice young man for your bestie?”
“Hermione would chew him up and spit him out, she needs someone more…. Go, Albus! Great block lad!!”
“Potter, he barely stayed on his broom. No offence but how is it possible that a child of yours and Ginny’s is so bad at Quidditch... Eyes on the horizon, Scorp!”
Keeping his eyes peeled on the action on the field, Harry chuckled.
“Yeah, poor Al. He’s mad for the game but is just ruddy awful. Part of the reason Ginny and I don’t coach anymore. Neither of us have any patience and it never ended well. Hermione is a godsend.”
“Speaking of Granger, how did she end up the coach of a pee-wee quidditch team? She hates Quidditch, can’t fly, and has no children.”
Harry laughed, rubbing a hand over his face. “A hell of a lot of begging, and a bloody large donation to her house-elf foundation. It’s also a plus that four of her godchildren are on the team.” Harry took a moment to follow the action on the field, then continued. “Honestly, turns out she’s a natural. Great with the kids, really organized, and because she doesn’t have a kid on the team no one gets heated about playing time. She’s fair and the kids idolize her. Trust me, she loves it more than she lets on.”
Draco had the grace to look abashed. “I may have been a bit of an arse to her earlier. I was aiming for my trademark droll sarcasm, but I think I may have crossed the line into dreary rudeness.”
“You may have been an arse?” Harry asked.
Slouching back in his seat, Draco agreed. “Okay, I was an absolute arse. It’s just Scorpius never told me who his coach was, then I find out it’s Granger, she startled ME, a seasoned Auror, and I was unpleasant. I hate being caught off guard.”
Harry took a moment to respond, giving Jamie and Al thumbs up as they flew past. “She thinks Scorpius is a pretty awesome kid. We all do. He’s kind to Al, gets his oddball sense of humour better than Jamie ever does. You know she would never be hurtful to him. She took all the kids to task when a couple made fun of him for arriving with house elves to practice. She likes him, you tosser, and she likes you.”
Draco groaned, “Now I feel even worse. She defends my kid and . . . what exactly did you just say?”
“Oh, the part where I said she likes you.”
“That would be the part, Potter. As in tolerating me for the sake of the job, or like likes me because I am devastatingly handsome and charming?”
“Malfoy, we are not having a conversation only fit for twelve-year-old girls. Let’s just say that there is nothing Hermione likes better than a well-delivered apology and an expert level of groveling. She always takes the kids to Fortescue’s after games, I am sure she wouldn’t mind another set of adult eyes on this unruly bunch.”
The two fathers fell into a companionable silence as they watched the rest of the game, watching their boys share the seeker role. When the match ended, Harry and Draco headed to the dugouts to grab their kid’s gear just in time to hear Hermione yell, “ Who wants ice cream ?” and the subsequent cheers, and yells, “ I do, I do .”
Draco watched as Potter leaned into Hermione with a hug, and a, “ Good game coach ,” taking a bit of extra time to mutter something in her ear. As he watched Hermione arch an eyebrow at him over Harry’s shoulder, Draco had the sneaking suspicion he was the subject matter of the whisperings.
While it would normally have bothered him, he found he couldn’t give a hippogriff’s damn when he saw Granger break out in a thousand galleon smile.
“Oi, Malfoy. I could use a hand with this lot. Want to join me for a bowl of Nasturtium Nugget?”
“It would be my pleasure, Granger, but I must insist on Volcanic Vanilla. Much more manly, you know.” Shuffling his feet, he schooled his face into what he hoped was his best hang dog expression. “Look, I wanted to apologize for earlier. I was an arse, and I never meant to….”
He never got to finish his apology, as Hermione had hooked her hand into the crook of his arm and interrupted.
“That wasn’t too hard now, was it, Malfoy?” Peering up into his face she teased. “Volcanic Vanilla, huh? I guess I can do plain vanilla with you.”
Draco quietly joked back. “Oh Hermione, I guarantee nothing between us will ever be plain vanilla.”
As she swatted his arm and laughed brightly, Draco felt better than he had in years.