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She heard the clattering of the large, iron clad door being pushed open before she saw him. After almost three months, his shoulders had slumped forward, his chapped lips pressed tightly, as if not even the heavy fur coat over his shoulders could shield him from the bone-deep coldness that surrounded the small island.
There was no sun hovering over the omnipresent dark clouds. No warmth on the slippery slopes made of dark stone or on the freezing water always braking against the shore-line.
The first time she went to that place, the sound of the waves had been so loud, she swore the water was about to crash through the fortress and begin gathering against her thighs.
She could still feel anxiety churning on her stomach at the sound, her heartbeat going faster as her magic wavered around her – ready to pounce at any sign of danger. It was like being at the brink of drowning on a parched piece of land. So dry not even slime accumulated against the walls.
Azkaban .
From Hebrew, Abbadon , which could be roughly translated into “the depths of hell”.
The name had never felt so appropriate before.
“He said you’d come.”
Hermione blinked, her gaze turning sharply from the large glassless windows to fall once more on Cormack’s hunched figure.
She remembered him as a cocky, grinning youth with sunshine hair and more confidence then common sense.
Now, even his hair looked dulled, as if the prison had sucked all the color from his figure, leaving him gray and wilting in front of her.
“Potter" he explained at her slightly confused expression “He told me you’d make it here before…” He averted his eyes, his next words lost amidst the overall gloom and hopelessness exhaled by the building.
Hermione just nodded. A single, curt gesture.
She didn’t need his words to know what he was thinking about at that moment.
It had made the headline of every single major newspaper around the world. Even the Daily Prophet had gone to the trouble and printed an extra edition for that same afternoon – one she had made sure to burn beyond ashes as soon as the words registered on her mind.
“Harry is a good person” she whispered back, wincing as even the smallest of sounds felt too loud, echoing on the empty space around them.
“He's been coming here too, whenever he can” Cormack agreed quietly, sounding both resigned and baffled by the other wizard’s gesture “He said he wanted to be here with you, but…”
“Yes, I heard” she nodded, trying to suppress a defeated sigh “There was another sighting this morning, near Newcastle. Robard believes they have finally found a lead on the Lestranges.”
“Let's hope it doesn’t turn to be another fool’s errand, then” Cormack breathed out, looking much older than his twenty two years “Merlin knows we could all use some good news at this point.”
“Yes" Hermione mumbled, letting the weight of the last couple of years set (if only for a moment) over her shoulders. “Yes, we could…”.
Sometimes – on the bad days, when it was hard to even open her eyes in the morning and get out of bed – she didn’t know how much more they could all stomach before finally giving up on that country.
After Harry had somehow managed to defeat Voldemort (and all the dead-not-dead debacle had been cleared between them), Hermione had thought that it was it. That the difficult times were finally past them and so they could all start building a new life for themselves – preferably one so ordinary she would want to roll her eyes over it at least once a week.
In a better reality, she would've had time to figure out whatever it was that had been happening between Ron and herself (even if she could already notice the first tendrils of regret now that they were both out of some adrenaline-induced high), Harry would for once in his life be able to just take a moment and live without some dark wizard chasing after him and trying to end his life at every corner. The Weasleys would heal – their society would mourn and hurt, but they would all grow stronger for it.
That world... That lass than one per cent possibility... It was the reason she had fought for so long. So that other muggleborns in the future didn’t have to question their place in the magical world. So that her friends could have a tomorrow with her. That was the entire driving force during the best part of her life!
Unfortunately, though, things hadn’t ended up happening quite as she expected.
The months following the downfall of the Dark Lord had been… Hard – as expected. What she didn’t expect, though, was that the upheaval following the Battle of Hogwarts would turn out to be even worst than the fight itself.
Of course, it was ridiculous to even think that the remaining Death Eaters would go down quietly with their master (it was foolish in so. Many. Levels).
What followed was a literal witch hunt, one that Hermione herself found a bit distasteful sometimes... Still, it was what it was, and leaving those fanatic followers of the Dark Lord on the loose wasn't exactly a viable option either.
Unfortunately, Hermione didn’t take long to understood that she had miscalculated on another very important point.
For not a single moment had she taken a step back to consider what would they all do if their main plan – to install Kingsley as temporary Minister of Magic to give their world enough time to stabilize – wasn’t a viable option anymore.
And that was exactly when things started spiraling out of control.
They had all underestimated the extension of the damage two incompetent Prime Ministers had inflicted to their political system, and when incompetency was combined with high-ranking officials that turned out to be under Voldemort's rule...
It had been chaos.
And because things could never go wrong one at a time, just when they were trying to save the Ministry, the sightings begun. All over England, Death Eaters ame out of hiding, wrecking havoc everywhere they went.
The highest, most powerful families that used to be the spinal-cord of their society were either on trial or facing a lif sentence on Azkaban, while most of the civilizais were rebelling against the Order of the Phoenix and their curfews, regulations and urgent measures. Sometimes, it was so stifling Hermione had to remind herself she wasn’t under Umbridge’s thumb anymore.
At some point, amongst their obsessive hunt against dark practitioners, the Ministry had also lost the support of their biggest financial contributors, which meant their coffers were empty and the rebuilding stagnated before it even had a chance to begin. People didn’t trust them, (doesn't matter from each side of the war).
To topple everything, the Auror’s office had been almost entirely wiped out during the months following the Battle of Hogwarts, with the few survivors constantly out around the country chasing what was left of the Dark Lord’s associates or trying to control the increasing number of mobs and rebel groups whose only intent seemed to be to spread as much destruction as possible.
With their departments bare and no incoming money, there was no-one to attend reports of street fights, thefts, domestic violence, or even to watch over the squirming legion of Dementors going quickly out of control.
The first time one of those monsters had made a victim – a young boy, walking with his mother on Diagon Alley on a bright Sunday morning – new contingency plans had been called forth, with the Ministry engaging every single volunteer with minimum fighting skills to help replenish their hanks.
Hermione had once suggested calling for a few favors through the American and French Embassies – two of the few that had survived the war – but neither of them had been willing to raise themselves as possible targets on the agenda of a group of psychotic mass murderers that not even the Elites of their government had been able to contain.
With the number of mutilated bodies pilling higher every day, those who still had any financial support started leaving England, fleeing to the continent in the dead of the night – sometimes in small groups, sometimes alone.
It wasn’t uncommon anymore to see vagrant children rummaging the dark alleys and sinuous streets of their world, being left behind by parents or guardians that couldn’t afford to keep them or even turned orphans from the constant squirmishes popping out everywhere.
Everything just felt wrong, leaving a dark, bitter taste on the back of her throat.
Harry and Ron, of course, had been the first ones to join the new task force created to hunt down any remaining Death Eater (being just too eager to go on another great crusade against Voldemort’s underlings to even stop and consider any of her arguments to why it was a terrible idea – not the least one being that they were woefully unprepared teenagers that had a tendency to shoot first and ask questions latter), but they weren’t the only ones trying to help.
Neville and Luna had been some of the most earnest in their efforts. During the week, they could be seen coordinating the new Community Guards patrolling the streets and trying to appease any possible trouble between the citizens. At the weekends, though, Neville would spend hours and hours brewing potions and growing plants for Saint Mungus’s quickly disappearing stock of medicine.
Others like Parvati, Padma – and even Lila Brown – who had been, until recently, responsible for a few odd jobs here and there, where now mainly focused on helping Cho in turning old family Manors that had been confiscated by the government (most of them, like Nott and Zabini's Manors, were taken as spoils of war from people who where believed to not have a place between them anymore) into temporary dormitories and orphanages for the children and the homeless.
Ginny had been going out to fight with Harry, until the morning sickness and fainting spells begun.
As far as Hermione was concerned, it wasn’t the best time to bring a baby into the world (like she had made sure to yell at her best friend’s regretful face when he started freaking out on her while holding an almost-empty bootle of firewhisky), but it was what it was.
They would deal with it like they always did.
Together. One day at a time.
“Harry sent me an owl yesterday” she told Cormack eventually, forcing her mind back to the present “He didn’t elaborate, though – on the proceedings. Just said he had asked to see me before his sentence was…” she stopped, voice catching on the tight knot on her throat.
Cormack just shrugged, the lines of tension still marring his forehead and the corner of his lips.
Hermione frowned at the sight. He had really aged a lot on those few odd years.
They all had, really – even Harry.
There was a reticence, an almost eerily understanding between them sometimes, like they could see the horrors playing on each others minds whenever the nightmares would follow them throughout the day.
Ron usually tried to understand, but there was simply something about being literally marked by an event – with lines over your skin that would never fade like memories did – that he couldn’t quite grasp.
Their pain, while equally deep, was still different in many ways.
It was also on those moments that she usually caught herself considering if it had even been worth it – all the fight. Wouldn’t it have been better to just give up long ago? Stop fighting so hard against a destiny that seemed to want her dead at every corner, if that was what expected her at the end of the road?
Was this – this devastated land – their reward for never loosing faith?
She knew the answer to that, of course. Anything was preferable to the reign of terror Voldemort would've brought upon the world. Still... Sometimes, on the worst times, It simply didn't feel fair.
“Yes.” Cormack agreed, blinking the mist away from his seemingly dazed eyes “Yes, I heard. I know. It is just… Gods, this all just feels, I don’t know” he sighed, apparently lost for words “Maybe I’ve been in this place for far too long, maybe it’s just downed on me that I’m seeing the monsters we fought being replaced by people that were supposed to protect us, but instead there is just so much death, I… And the worst” he laughed, the sound hollowed and self-degrading “And the worst is that I didn’t even like him! It wasn’t supposed to be so bloody difficult!”
Hermione just lowered her gaze, emotion stinging in the back of her eyes as her throat closed.
“You know our history” she mumbled eventually “mine and Harry's really… You know we weren't exactly in friendly terms with him… But he is still a victim here. We saw each other grow, we fought and survived, seeing the best and the worst this world had to offer… This was supposed to be our new beginning, to all of us. It’s not something we can just shrug off, doesn’t matter how much sense it makes or not, Cormack.”
The blonde nodded, running his fingers through his dishelved hair, the tresses almost reaching his eyes.
“Yeah… Harry said something similar earlier… He said that he and Malfoy were two sides of the same coin.”.
Hermione nodded, remembering her last conversation with her best friend, when Harry had been decided to barge into the Ministry and confront Kingsley about his recent choices on how to deal with Voldemort deserters.
“ I can actually see it ” he had said, his voice barely louder than a whisper “ If he had been brought up by the Dursley's… If I had been Lucius Malfoy’s son… Did he do much different than we did Hermione? Can we blame his choices, when that was the only choices he knew? ”
“Harry, I…” she had hesitated, not knowing what to say “I know what you mean, and after all I did to protect my parents, I can’t blame him for his part on the war. But Harry” she looked at him, her eyes searching his “He had Hogwarts. He could have looked closer, could have tried, asked for help… I don’t know. He had opportunities…”
“But he didn’t Mione, not really” he interrupted, his voice heavy with guilt “Think Hermione… From our first encounter, we had already drawn the lines. We never made an effort to know him or see past the prejudices of his family name. The Slytherins always only had each other, none of us barely knew their names. If he had tried, would we believe him? And if we didn’t where would he go? To whom would he turn to? He wouldn’t have his friends anymore, there is no coming back from questioning such old beliefs, and he wouldn’t have us either… It’s just…”
“He was a child” she mumbled, not knowing if the words were for his or her benefit “It was not his fault. Not all of it… And part is also on us.”
The sound of Cormack’s voice brought Hermione’s attention back so suddenly that she had to blink away the daze on her eyes to try and understand what he was saying.
“… knew but, Merlin, I didn’t really expect you to show up. To be honest, I still don’t know whether it was a good idea, Granger.”
“I understand” she mumbled, sounding a little more exasperated than necessary. "Despite what the Daily Prophet seems to think, though, I don't plan my every move wondering what the gossip lines will write next about me."
But the problem was, she herself didn’t quite know why she had decided to come once more – after all the shouting and finger pointing experienced the last time she had been in this place.
Still, when she was about to leave to work, there was a small voice in the back of her mind that simply wouldn’t allow her to walk into that hearth without going to see him one last time. It was the same soft voice that now made her eyes stray to the metal door, left only slightly open.
Besides, as Harry's owl had mentioned... He had asked to see her.
It wasn't something that ever happened before, and to be honest, Hermione couldn't help but being curious about the request.
“How much time does he have, Cormack?”
“A couple hours, probably less…” for all that he tried to look unfazed about the subject change, his voice was still clipped, clearly denouncing his discomfort “I think they just want to be done with this – and, to be honest, I can’t blame them. It is clear that, at this point, Shacklebolt is just trying to appease the public, and since the last riot on Wiltshire…”
Hermione felt her eyes begin to burn, a stab of pain hitting against her chest as she remembered the black and white image printed on a somber Wednesday morning by the Daily Prophet. There had been no witty headlines, no provocative titles, not even insinuating words on that edition of the newspaper. There was only the large photo, covering at least half of the front page, the fire ragging in tones of silver and white as Malfoy Manor was burned to the ground – along with many of the perpetrators – by fyending fire.
The words “Cursed Fire destroys 3rd Home from an Ancient and Noble Family Destroyed this Month ”, printed in simple, straight black letters, had felt so final and ominous that if she hadn’t read Skitter’s name on the bottom of the article, she would never have credited it to the usually flighty witch.
“They are scared” she agreed slowly, making sure that her voice was strong and clear enough before uttering another word “But this is neither an excuse nor the solution. Kingsley has either become desperate or stupid if he thinks bowing down at this point will appease the people.”
None of them had to voice out that, between those two options, the chosen path was definitely the later.
“I know you tried to reason with him – I mean, bloody hell, after that stunt you pulled I think there isn’t a single member of the wizard community that didn’t hear of it” her former classmate mumbled with an exasperated nod “But I don’t think it would be wise for you to try that again Hermione… Not when Harry is not here to shield you from the backlash.”
Hermione could only sigh, the sound tired even to her ears. But he was right. She didn’t have any more cards to play.
Not when even being one third of the Golden Trio and the Brightest Witch of her Age seemed not to be enough.
And besides, that last “stunt”, as he so aptly described it, had already cost her enough. Images of a furious Hermione facing the Wizengamot (or what was left of it) had made front page of almost every newspaper on that part of the continent. The words “ If you think this makes any of you better than Voldemort, it does not! You are just another bunch of coward, prejudiced fools, no better than those we fought so hard against – and you are making a bloody mistake! ” had been repeated everywhere she went ad exhaustion, with versions of it turning into headlines and quotes all around the country (their favorite, until that moment, seemed to be “ You are making a bloody mistake! ” – and even being someone that didn’t usually curse, much less in public and in front of figures of authority, Hermione had confessed, if only to herself, that it sounded just as good as it had felt to say it to their faces. She could even admit to it being quite catchy).
Harry had also tried to plead for many of their Slytherin classmates to the older wizards, mainly after Theo Nott’s entire family had been whipped out and the Parkinsons became the Ministry’s next target, but to no avail. There was no reasoning with a bunch of bloodthirsty people that wanted vengeance for sons, daughters and grandchildren lost in the crossfire.
The damage was simply too big.
Still, both of them had kept doing whatever they could without openly defying the Court’s sentence (hence their frequent ventures to Azkaban).
Unfortunately, when Ronald found out she had been going to see a particular blonde Slytherin in prison, that also meant an end to their relationship (if it could be called that). Even if things between them hadn’t been so bad, she didn’t think the fall out that had probably ended any shred of respect left between them could hurt much more.
‘ I will not keep consorting with some Death Eater’s whore! ’
Rationally, she knew the war had left him bitter (there was just so much damage anyone could take before crumbling) and that, at that moment, it was probably the pain and a life-time of prejudice talking, but it sure as hell didn’t make it less hurtful to hear.
Even Harry, that usually left the two alone to sort out their problems, had punched the ginger out of the way before shouting for him to go cool off somewhere else.
It hadn’t helped the growing awkwardness between the two best-friends – and with a baby now on the way…
“I suppose he is waiting?”
“He is.” Cormack answered easily, as if he didn’t notice how high and strangled those few words had sounded “He’s been waiting since morning… Not that it means much here. It seams we can only go from dark to darker on this bloody island.”
Despite her misgivings, Hermione couldn’t help the small chuckle that left her lips at his words.
But the whistling winds and the putrid odor of unwashed bodies and decay carried on the air was fast to make her sober up once more.
Steeling herself once more, she took a final deep, fortifying breath before going forward.
All the while, as her right hand instinctively reached out for a wand that was not there anymore (according to the prison’s security measures) she tried to convince herself that it was fine. That everything was going to be fine.
Even if every fiber and bone on her body insisted on scream that it all was so damn wrong.
—
He didn’t turn to look at her when the door closed at her back.
His eyes, always clear and sharp, were turned away from her, gaze fixed on the large, gray walls of the cell. His usually immaculate clothing had been substituted by decaying pieces of dirty uniform, their brownish hue only making his alabaster skin look even more pale under the dimm lighting.
She didn’t want to look too closely at his hair, though. She could see a few strands had escaped the strip of leather tied near the base of his slim neck, but even then, Hermione couldn’t make herself really look at the mated appearance of usually impeccable silvery-blond hair. She didn’t know if the lack of a cut was in memory of his father or simply an imposition of his current location. Hermione still remembered how much care he put on that hair, since their first year… It was one of the few jabs Harry and Ron used that were really able to rib at the Slytherin.
Unable to keep standing still like that on the small, cold room, Hermione squirmed, her gaze landing on the chair put directly in front of his own, both separated by an unbalanced, wooden table.
“I suppose I should invite you the seat”.
Her head snapped up, eyes wide in surprise at the sound of his voice.
It sounded rough, slightly broken at the edges and more caustic than she remembered – but the drawl… The laziness, it was still there.
“Hello, Malfoy” she finally said, ignoring his words “I heard you asked to talk to me.”
“So it seems" he agreed on that same haulty, self-entitled tone that used to irk her so much at school. All the while, though, his eyes were still averted.
She sighed, her heart starting to beat violently against her chest at his detached manner.
“Malfoy, I…” she stuttered, voice caught in the tight knot on her throat “If there’s anything I can do for you, please just tell me. I know you said you didn’t want it, but I can still try and talk with Kingsley once more. It probably doesn’t sesm so right now, but he is a good man – a just man, we just need more ti-”
“So, you won’t seat, then” he interrupted her on that same bored, drawling tone “A pity. My mom taught me to never leave a lady standing like this… Of course, I’m sure you can pardon my rudeness if I myself remain seated – given the circumstances.”
He held up an arm, just slightly – high enough only for her to hear the tinkling of his chains, the abraized, burnt skin under the dark grey shackles shining like a large splutter of red pain on a white canvas.
It felt so vivid, almost as if the color was shouting at her, screaming until her ears begun to whistle.
A lump formed on her throat.
“Draco…”
“ DON’T! "
She jumped, taken completely off-guard as his closed fists banged against the tabletop, leaving the furniture tremblings and his breathing erratic.
“Don’t. Call me that name again” he continued in a low hiss, his head now turned her direction, but still facing down “Not… Not here…”.
His voice faltered, engulfing the trembling ‘ please ' she could almost see forming on his lips.
“What can I do?” she repeated, her voice barely louder than a whisper “This is not what we were fighting for… Dra-” she stopped herself, body trembling “They can’t condemn a 17 years old boy for trying to stay alive.”
“Ah, but that is the thing you insist in not understand, Brightest Witch of Our Age” he said, sarcasm dripping from his every word “The moment the sorting hat put me on Slytherin, I was already trialed and found guilty… Hell, the moment I was born my father’s son, there was no judgment to be passed.”
At those words, a moment of tense silence stretched between the two.
Hermione didn’t dare look at him anymore, the truth of that simple fact slowly sinking in into her mind.
At school, It had all always felt so intense… Their enemity, the “evil" Slytherins, the 'righteous' Griffindors… She’d had to go through a war to understand that they were all children. Only kids that wanted so much to fit in, just like her. In retrospection, the school – and Dumbledore, particularly – had never made much of an effort to try and breach the years of prejudice between the students.
It’d been left to fester – and fester it did, until all reason had been burnt down by the fever.
“I heard about the fire” Hermione looked up, surprised at the low, almost soft tone of his voice “I had to know, and Potter isn’t exactly the cooperative type. Blaise. Did he really…” his mouth closed tight, eyelids shutting over his clear eyes as if the movement could shield him from the weight of her answer.
Hermione felt her own eyes closing at another stab of guilt hitting her straight through the chest.
“He tried to stop them. The mob” she explained, hands shaking slightly at her sides “But they were beyond reason at that point, and things escalated before our team could reach them. He… He was lost on the fire.”
“I see” he finally whispered in a tight voice, shoulders falling in a defeated movement.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t help. We- I had been trying to track their movements all week. We wanted to talk and maybe, I don’t know, reach a compromise, make them stop. I thought we had more time, but…”.
It wasn’t a question, but it didn’t stop him from answering with another uncompromising “hum”.
“And that brings us to the purpose of your visit” he continued on, eyes locked on his dirty finger nails as he played with his hand “I don’t know what travesty you concocted on that head of yours to justify yours actions of late, but make no mistake, Granger, I'm not some martyr, or a reformed wizard needing salvation. I was never one of the good guys. I’m a Death Eater, and I carry the Mark to prove it. I don’t need anyone’s pity, much less from someone like you.”
She winced.
“Malfoy, I don’t…”
“So, you will understand" he cut her carelessly "when I ask you to stop trying to save me. I’m not your project, nor do I intend to be a charity case” he finally lifted his face, his clear, hollowed eyes drilling onto hers “Whatever it is you think you owe me–" his gave faltered, eyes darting to the door as if to make sure they were not being overheard "– You don't. Any debts between us have already been paid. You are free”
You are free.
Could it be so simples? Just three words, and all her guilt would be brushed away?
Draco had saved her… Them . He had saved them all back at Malfoy Manor, when he refused to reveal who they were. Even though she could still remember how his eyes widened only slightly when they fell upon her bruised, dirty face. There was no mistaking that glint of recognition.
Without Draco Malfoy, there would’ve been no Harry Potter to save their world. And still, that same world demanded his head until Kingsley could not circumvent the situation any longer.
Before she could say anything, Hermione felt it – a slight tug. Almost a caress, against her mind shields.
It wasn't an attack, far from it. It was an invitation. A request.
A last, desperate measure.
“I understand” she said slowly, fighting the tears trying to slid down her face as a new knowledge settled deep inside her mind. “Draco, I…”
Just as she was about to say – even though she didn’t quite know what was about to leave her lips – Cormack’s head popped up inside, his face grave and shoulders tense being enough to tell her what was about to happen.
“It is time”.
Hermione tried to breath through a sob, but didn’t know how much success she had had when her old classmate suddenly appeared beside her, his large hand settling on her shoulders in silent comfort.
“I think you should probably wait outside” he suggested gently, not commenting on the trail of tears now freely running down her cheeks.
“Yes… You should go." Malfoy whispered, averting his gaze "There is nothing for you here anymore, Granger.”
At the sound of his voice, Hermione turned once again to him, and what she saw there, on that last moment, almost made her crumble to the floor as her knees gave way.
She could clearly read it in his eyes. The sadness, the guilt, the hopes for a future he could never have now.
There is nothing for you here anymore…
He had lost everything. His family, his name, his heirloom, his freedom…
Draco had nothing to offer her but that last glance, a small look into his shattered soul, and a wish – one so guarded, so life-changing, that Hermione wondered if anyone had ever even gotten close to know exactly who was Draco Malfoy.
It sounded like a lonely, exhausting experience.
Unfortunately, that realization had come too late for her.
The moment the sorting hat put me on Slytherin, I was already trialed and found guilty.
His words whispered against her ears, his voice filling the space all around her as she closed her eyes, turning with painfully slow movements to leave the room, the sound of her shoes so loud on the stillness of the moment that they seemed to drown anything else.
Someone opened the iron door from outside, the screeching noise almost making her jump.
Just before it was closed once again behind her back, she thought she heard a small, whispered voice reaching her mind again – almost like a caress – but it was over so soon she decided to credit it to an overactive brain and exhaustion.
The next morning, Harry would find her hiding on her small apartment on the outskirts of London, sat on the floor with her back against the white walls as she clutched a large bottle of fire whiskey on one hand.
On the other, the Daily Prophet was barely recognizable after almost being torn to pieces. Still, it didn’t matter how hard she shut her eyelids or how much she drank, the words printed in black ink seemed to be branded against the back of her mind with fire and iron.
Draco Malfoy Kissed: The Tragic End of the Malfoy and Black Lineage.
All the while, as Harry drank with her and ranted and cried by her side, that small voice kept whispering at her mind, it’s words haunting her sleep and making her heart ache until all breath seemed to be being punched out of her.
I’m sorry… I’m so sorry...
Meanwhile, on her room, carefully preserved under a powerful stasis spell, Scorpius Granger slept undisturbed.
Years later, Scorpius would wake up to the Wizarding World once more. He would be the cherished, only child of the Brightest Witch of her Age, raised alongside James and Albus Potter as their parents watched over them.
Harry's divorce would make the headlines for months. People would speculate the wizard's close relationship with the new Minister of Magic, Ms. Granger, yet, nothing ever would be found to prove there was anything other than friendship between them.
The world was still a hard, unforgiving place, but it was better. It was healing.
Hermione didn't know whether she would ever tell Scorpius about his origins, if she would ever tell him the story of another blond, tall wizard that once walked the halls of Hogwarts under red and silver vests. Maybe one day, when he was older... Maybe one day, when people were kinder...
During the years, there were many instances she could see Draco on Scorpius. It was on the way he frowned, the way he would complain at getting his little hands dirty... Even how he would clutch to her legs and look petulantly at any ministry agent that disturbed their moments alone.
But that day, as she waved him goodbye on King's Cross station for the first time, Harry finishing putting the kids begs inside the train, she couldn't help but think – if only to herself – that there was something of her in him too.
His hair, his face, his posture, it was all Draco.
But that smile? His grin as the train parted and he joined his friends on the Wagon to play explosive snap?
That, Hermione thought, feeling her heart warm up, that was all her.