Archive of Our Own

It was a beautiful day - for this time of year - and Angie Rain was going to spend it on the front garden if it killed her.

Just as soon as she tidied her hair a bit. She fluffed the greying strands with her fingertips, tucking a bit here and there, buttoned her wool coat and seized the gardening bucket in one gloved hand. Couldn't be too long, or her subject might disappear. No self-respecting meddler could look herself in the eye if she let this lad get away unquestioned! She shut the front door firmly behind her, picking around the potted herbs on the steps to plunk down her tools by the front patch.

It was not, strictly speaking, a garden, but she'd sworn fifteen years ago she'd convince it to yield to her shovel and by Jove, it would yield!

She eyed the handsome young man again as Angie began the pretense of weeding. Tall, with cropped hair - platinum blond, my my, with matching eyebrows - and grey eyes, a dark coat buttoned to his throat against the chill falling just past his hip. He leaned against the lamp post, expression stoic as he looked at her newest neighbor's flat.

Young Elizabeth Wilkens had moved in a year ago, alone and near-ready to pop, and since then had become Angie's latest puzzle. A single mother (such a shame) with, it seemed, no friends, and had taken months (and quite a bit of tips on caring for the baby) to pry even the slightest details out of. She received mail from a "Harry Potter (care of Dudley Dursley)" over in Surrey on occasion but received no male visitors, (perhaps Harry was an uncle of hers?) and choked up when asked about the gorgeous little babe's father. Angie had, by now, begun to assume the receptionist was a young widow (truly, a shame).

It occurred to Angie as she watched the stranger that she'd potentially assumed wrong - dear little Scorpius was finally growing out of the stage of resembling Winston Churchill and seemed a bit like this young man.

"Can I help you, dear?" She sat up on her haunches.

The second thought that occurred to her was that he wasn't slouching into the post for the appearance - he startled a bit, grey eyes snapping to her, shifting his arms. Somehow she hadn't noticed until now - two of those arm canes - no, arm crutches, that was it, Barb had used them after her surgery - cuffed around his forearms. It was like the walking sticks had a personalized... how had that radio show put it... Someone Else's Problem field. Her eyes had slid off them until he began mincing her way.

His right leg was better than his left, bending at the knee with each step, while for the other he put both crutches forward and rotated his hip. He was quite quick about it too. She hadn't ever seen anyone with canes or crutches walk with a back that straight before, from the waist up one could take a photo and almost pretend they were for show.

A proud man, perhaps, and likely a recent injury, how terrible.

"Pardon me-" ooh, he spoke with a posh accent, "-does a woman with a baby live here?" He gestured at Miss Wilken's flat with his head. "A bit taller than you, brown eyes, untamable dark hair?"

Well the eyes and height were correct, but Miss Wilkens had straight hair, and anyway, she didn't know this young man. "Don't know if I can help, dear. I haven't seen you around here before, are you a neighbor's son?" Maybe Maude Harris' mysterious Australian nephew was real. "You wouldn't happen to know your girl's name, would you?"

He inspected her a moment, eyes icy as his head tipped to one side. Angie felt slightly nervous, but she'd been staring down posh boys since she could walk, and this one was young enough to be her grandson. She tipped her head to look down her nose at him.

"Hermione," he finally said flatly. Hermione... where had she heard that? "She's-" he started again. "She was my fiancé."

Not even close to being 'Elizabeth' but this would be quite the tale to tell the other neighbors. Angie raised her eyebrows and pressed him a bit. "Was?"

The handsome boy looked away, towards the darkened windows. Liz was at work at the moment, though it seemed he didn't know that. "My father... drove her off," he admitted grudgingly.

"And you just let him walk over you? Really! What IS the world coming to!" She tutted at him, garden fork in one hand as she crossed her arms. What a pushover, just letting his (likely rich) father get between them - and he thought himself old enough to marry.

The boy drew himself up a little taller somehow, face frosted over again. "I was in a coma, madam," he drawled. Angie pursed her lips in response, mulling over if she believed it and if that justified letting his wife-to-be go. Really, let young people have one excuse and next thing you knew they were running off to Canada with their secretaries like Barb's second-eldest's brother-in-law and buying expensive red cars.

"And just how long ago was this?"

"I was brought out of it six months ago. I believe she... left... thirteen months ago."

"Well, if you're going to wait that long, no wonder you can't find her!" She ducked to inspect her tool bucket, peeling off her gardening gloves for the moment. He was staring flatly, angrily, as if she were missing something obvious, but Angie knew what she said. Her cousin Bill got married in a wheelchair and a neck brace after his car accident, she didn't see why this lad would wait six months after a coma to go looking for his pregnant fiance.

Unless, of course, they were engaged because she was pregnant. Got himself cold feet, let her run, trying to come undo his mistake. Oh, Angie would have so much to discuss at the next knit circle.

"Is Hermione here or not?" he finally demanded, stamping one crutch slightly for emphasis.

"No one in this neighborhood by that name. Young mother next door, I could ask if she knows anyone, but can't guarantee anything."

The blond leaned hard into one handle, lifting a hand to run his fingers through his hair, eying her. A moment later, looking exhausted, he pulled an envelope from his coat pocket. "If you see her, give her this. Please," he added in a rough whisper. He passed it over the low fence. Something about him endeared her at that moment.

"I'll consider it, dear." Angie waited until he was too far off to stop her before flipping over the envelope. It was thick, nearly square, with no stamps or addresses, sealed with wax - really, it was like something from a BBC production. Maybe he was a romantic, or his Hermione was. A letter M was embossed in it.

Angie carefully cracked it open - the paper inside was thick, smooth, as expensive as his handwriting. Nearly calligraphy, in a green ink so dark it was nearly black. She'd have to save this to show young Jenny across the street when she complained about cursive again.

Hermione-

I'll start off with the apologies. I'm sorry it's taken this long to reach you. I'm sorry my father threatened you and our child

Threatened! A baby! Angie felt a sharp anger, tutting loudly in disgust as she read. Young M should have mentioned that. Drove off, indeed!

I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, wasn't there to intervene. I'm sorry we missed the wedding after all that planning. You were going mental managing the details.

I miss you. When I stopped hearing you beside the hospital bed I wished I could scream - you were the only one to talk to me, not about me. You were all I could think about when I began to be lucid again - you and him.

I think it's a boy. There were some moments that slipped back into dreams without a single cue, but I remember watching us over your shoulder. You held my hand to your body and asked if I could feel our son kicking. You looked cross but your voice was gentle. You said if I didn't wake before he arrived you'd name him Scorpius.

Joke's on you if you did - I like it.

I won't demand you come back - I understand a lot has changed - but if you'd like to talk there's a cafe down the street from the flat I think is yours. I'll be there Saturday at noon, just once. We could say goodbye properly, at least.

Yours always,

D.L.M

Angie read the letter a few times, trying to glean as much as she could from it. Her eyes watered as she read his last sentence. A tragedy, a lovely tragedy. With a babe with a name like Scorpius, Elizabeth could only be the Hermione he was looking for. Imagine, threatened by her future father-in-law, so afraid she fled and changed her name! Properly, Angie hoped, she was working under it, and all the more terrifying if so. Liz was such a lonely, wary girl, Angie was sure she'd simply flee again if the letter turned up in the mailbox without context.

Besides, the broken seal was a bit suspect.

Angie worked at her clay patch as she waited and planned, breaking up the compacted earth either side of a struggling flower stalk. This spring the daffodils would take, come hell or high water, and the rose would take off. She'd get young Miss Wilkens' side of the story, maybe convince her to go see her young man, have tea with Barb, take a dinner to old Mrs. Jameson down the street, then-

"Oh, Elizabeth, dear!" She stood as quickly as creaky knees would allow. Miss Wilkens, having come home from a half-day and already picked up Scorpius from the Stouts down the street, paused half up her steps. Elizabeth had straight hair, but it was often wavy by the end of a damp day, and she thought about DLM's description - untameable.

"I'm very sorry, Mrs Rain, but I must-"

"A man came by asking about a woman and a babe, and he left a letter."

Elizabeth froze, glancing over her steps and Angie's fence. "A man?"

"Handsome young man, blond hair, walked with a strong limp." Angie held up the envelope. "Would you like a cuppa? Bout to put the kettle on, and you could tell me what's troubling you."

Snared.

Young Wilkens came around the fence and into her living room, setting her darling chubby babe on the couch. Angie told her all about the young stranger: the lovely face, the things he said, what she thought about it, finally holding out the letter to the ashen-face mother. "'Course he was asking for a wild-haired woman named Hermione, told him I didn't know one."

"Thank you." She glared a bit at the opened envelope. Angie smiled gently. He handed it to an old woman, he had to know she would snoop.

A sea of emotions tumbled across the girl's face as she read - and reread, and reread. The half-finished tea was entirely abandoned. Angie fed tiny bits of jam-topped biscuit to Scorpius.

"He looked quite sincere, dear. I suppose he's the boy's father?"

"Yes." Liz's face was drawn tight, lip chewed to bits. Usually Angie fussed at her for that, but the girl's eyes were bright with tears.

"Would you like me to go with you?"

"Go-go with?"

"Well of course. Can't simply let him get away without a confrontation. Honestly, waiting six months! And if it's not a simple meeting I'll be with you." She poured herself another cup of tea with a fresh bag. Perhaps wait to tell Barb this one, in case Elizabeth-Hermione lost her nerve. "Now, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?"

On Saturday morning, Angie tended her much more successful back garden, waiting on her neighbor. Jenny Peters, a very mature ten-year-old, had agreed to watch the baby again. She could hear Liz fussing nervously from all the way in her own yard.

Maybe she should help Liz with her garden, poor thing had a collection of odd weeds.

She'd just washed up when promptly at noon Elizabeth knocked at the door. "Oh, dear. Come in." She stepped back, still drying her hands on a tea towel.

Elizabeth had curls. That did explain the lovely ringlets little Scorpius bore. In a clean red jumper and dark jeans, the young mother looked ready for weekly shopping more than anything.

"But we'll be late, Mrs. Rain."

Angie shot her an irritated look, gesturing. Elizabeth-Hermione sighed and stepped in, settling on the couch again when prompted. "Just a moment, Elizabeth, dear." She had to get up and down stairs, and her knees weren't young anymore. Barb and Maude were harping on her to get surgery, but the thought of someone digging about in her kneecaps made her feel queasy so she'd continued to brush it off.

She returned clutching a few hairpins.

"Mrs. Rain?"

"You should always go in at the advantage, my dear," she told her, coaxing Liz to turn so Angie could reach her wild curls better. "Right now, you have two. The first is that he is waiting on you, and the more he waits the more off-balance we can catch him." She gathered the upper layers of curls, separating them gently from the rest to gather in a lovely bun and began to thread the pearl-topped pins through the strands.

"The second?" Elizabeth-Hermione prompted. Hermione was in a Shakespeare play, wasn't she? Not one that Angie had read, however, so where...

"That you are absolutely gorgeous. There." Elizabeth inspected her reflection in the darkened telly screen, cheeks flushing a bit. Now she was a casual sort of elegant. "Stiff upper lip, that's a dear. Let's go have a talk with your once-man."

They walked slowly to the corner cafe, Angie leaning on the offered arm and Liz inspecting shadows like she expected danger to leap out at any moment. Poor dear, what had she been through?

The bells on the door were mysteriously absent, just like Beth had hinted they would be earlier that week, so they made it through the doorway without the young man spotting them. He was sitting at a table with his seat angled to watch the walk from door to counter but staring into the ceramic cup he clutched with both hands. There was that same look Angie had taken for stoic - it wasn’t. His soul had vacated, his body simply hadn't caught up to the fact. Definitely a romantic, he probably had a collection of wax colors and real feather quills hidden in his desk.

Elizabeth-Hermione stopped, and Angie looked up as the young lady pressed her hand to her mouth, eyes teary. "Draco."

Oh, a family of romantics, then. At least it wasn't 'Drake', Draco had a bit of elegance to it. It was very French and Italian all at the same time.

"Steady, luv-" but the reminder came too late. Elizabeth had said it louder and bolted to the young lord, who leaned on the table to stand. Angie grimaced as the pair collided and immediately crashed to the ground. Perhaps she shouldn't have undersold the limp. Still, what an adorable sight, Liz cradling the back of his head, Draco with his arm wrapped firmly around her, other arm propping them barely off the ground. Angie shook her head with a smile, approaching the counter.

"Afternoon, Angie. What'll it be?" Beth looked up from inspecting the pastry case.

"Darjeeling for me, I think. And..." She looked back. Well, now it was starting to get inappropriate, laying on the floor like that. "Perhaps an Earl Grey for Miss Wilkens." They giggled together at the joke.

Draco said something in response to a nervous whisper, "My balance is-" Nonexistent. "-still recovering."

"Still - oh God, I'm sorry, I - let me-" They watched her glare at him, pushing firmly against the floor. "Draco, you're making a scene."

"You made a scene, I'm following along." But he let her go and other patrons hurried to help them, gathering the crutches that now lacked their SEP field, righting the chairs, hovering about as he eased into a seat on his own. Angie took her cue from the heartbroken look Elizabeth-Hermione - or maybe just Hermione - gave the walking sticks, plunking herself down into the third chair. Draco looked at her warily, hand freezing at his side for a moment. (Perhaps Mister Peters was right, he'd seen the boy through the window and thought him former military or law enforcement, what a distinctly odd motion)

She met the wary look with a mild frown. "Yes, lad?"

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, tone distinctly displeased.

"You showed up, sniffing about for my young Liz and her sweet babe, and you really expected to meet her alone? For shame, young man. Trying to get alone with a lady such as herself - what IS the world coming to!"

He had the manners to at least duck his head in shame, even if his eyes were still a bit distrustful.

Hermione pushed her chair in a bit further. "I wouldn't have come if it weren't for Mrs Rain."

That changed his tune. Tension sloughed off his shoulders, an apology written in his grimace, though he opted to straighten his napkin instead of say it.

Beth brought their cups and a new tray of cream and sugar out to them. "Darjeeling for you, Angie, and-"

"-but I didn't order-" Angie placed her hand over Hermione's to stop her protest.

"-Earl Grey for Miss Wilkens."

Hermione took it with a confused thanks, beginning to stir cream into it. Draco looked down into his own tea and suddenly smirked. Oh, clever boy, he'd got the joke.

"Liz Wilkens... How did you come up with that?"

"I don't know what you mean." Hermione checked her tea.

"Because you don't pick at random. You exhaust libraries researching before you make choices, Granger-"

Angie's mug froze partway to her lips. It couldn't be...

"Hermione Granger!"

The young couple froze, heads snapping to her with equal wariness, hands reaching across the table, but Angie was far too excited to be concerned.

"It is you, isn't it! Doctors Rob and Jean's daughter! You're alive! Beth! Remember the dentists with the charity clinic work, vanished in '97! The Grangers! It's their daughter!" People turned for a moment, Beth hurrying back out from behind her counter.

“It… Oh, with the curls I can see it, I knew Rob back from our secondary days, you know. I last saw you when you were just a wee scrap reading encyclopedias in their office!” Beth dashed a hand across her eyes and slid a plate onto the table. “That’s for you too, luv. Got to mind the counter again.”

Young Hermione’s eyes were shadowed now, her hand tangled with Draco’s. “They never did turn up, their neighbors assumed all three of you must have disappeared taking you to your last year at boarding school-” she noted how Draco’s fingers tightened around Hermione’s, how she leaned a little more towards him. “Such a shame. Lot of good people went missing that year. Never mind all that. Supposed to be talking about the present, aren’t you?”

There had been vanishings and murders splashed all over in 1997, and while the gossip and rumors had whirled for months after it trickled off, the Grangers had remained a fate unknown. Perhaps they’d been murdered, yes, and the girl had simply lacked the will to come back, let strangers sell off their home and possessions. But the girl had survived!

Angie pushed the plate a little closer. “Eat your cake, Beth makes a lovely ganache.”

Hermione picked at a forkful, eyes dark up until she tasted it. She was still nursing occasionally, after all, the instinctive hunger was stronger than any emotion known to man or woman. “So… How long have you been..”

“Six months. I… had to… relearn a lot.” He glanced at the crutches as he said this.

They were still holding hands, Angie noted, her right in his left.

“I’m sorry, I should have-”

“-Should have what? Been there? My father threatened you. Done more? The hospital had to bend rules to let you even visit.”

“But after… Harry wrote and said they’d successfully brought you out of… that state. I should have...” Oh, mysterious Harry Potter knew this Draco boy? He had to be elderly, sending his letters in care of someone else. An uncle? A grandfather? Or maybe he was… simple? Or…

“No. You did exactly what you should.” His other hand started to reach, and Angie cleared her throat. It fell back to the table. Good. No improper behavior while she was here, the lass hadn’t agreed to even be his friend, never mind be intimate. In public, no less.

Hermione continued to pace her way through the cake slice as silence fell.

“You said in the letter you weren’t sure if the babe’s even a boy. Aren’t you the slightest bit curious?” Draco glared at Angie. “If you didn’t want me to read it, dear, you should have said so. I couldn’t just hand it to her without making sure it was appropriate.”

As Hermione was occupied with eating, Angie told him all about baby Scorpius, who had just finished cutting his first teeth, using furniture to pull himself up and cruise wobbly paths, how Hermione worked as a receptionist but came home faithfully to collect him from whoever watched him that day, and really he was such an easy babe compared to Angie’s son – he’d been colicky, nothing like his sisters at all…

Draco and Hermione said only a little to each other, words almost coded, but the way they continued to curl their fingers together said plenty. When her darjeeling was finished, Angie collected Draco’s empty cup. “You wouldn’t mind seeing us home, would you, that’s a dear.”

The pair both looked alarmed, as if she’d asked him to dance on a rooftop, but an agreement slid out of him anyway.

“Draco, you really don’t have to-”

Angie was already moving her chair so he could stand safely. “Of course he will, it’s only proper.” She fussed with his coat sleeves as he slid his arms into the crutch cuffs. It was a luxuriously soft wool, and it must have been tailored to him – much like the crutches. Posh boys, they never failed to find ways to make everything expensive. Couldn’t just use the grey NHS ones, no, had to get ones carved of black wood and silvery metal.

He walked them home, Angie’s arm tucked into Miss Granger’s – oh, the knitting club would have fits once she told them – the sound of his crutches the only noise. Miss Granger was chewing her lip. Her young man was concentrating on walking or not breathing loudly or managing his bad leg (seemed it was a bit better today, or maybe he was trying to impress). Angie was thinking of who to tell first about today.

When they reached the stairs to Miss Granger’s home, a thought struck her. She slipped her arm free, retreating with a murmured thanks as the pair looked anywhere but each other.

Give them a moment to talk while she nipped across the street. Jenny answered the door holding the babe – her grandfather must have been taking a nap.

“Mrs Rain! Oh good, er… Oh, is that who she was going to meet?” Jenny was clearly a bit starstruck. She’d never seen what posh boys could grow into before – when they were handsome, they were entirely, from the exacting haircuts to the unpriceable shoes.

“Oh, yes, that’s Draco, lovely young man, I’ll tell you all about it later, now, where’s the babe's things?”

“That’s right!” Jenny ducked behind the door, so Angie watched them. They were talking now in earnest, eyes fixed on each other, Hermione’s hands ceasing an endless wringing at her jumper hem to prop on her hips, then his head tilting like when he’d given Angie that glacier-calving glare…

There it was. A moment of truth. They suddenly smiled at each other.

“Mrs Rain...”

“What-oh, give him here, then.”

Jenny bit her own lip slightly. “Mrs Rain… He walked.”

“My goodness! Have you told anyone?” Oh, this was about to be amazing, if Scorpius played along. Jenny shook her head. “Good. It’ll be our little secret. That’s a lesson for you – if the parents aren’t there, you never see a babe’s first.” She took the accomplished little blond boy from Jenny’s arms. “Give Arthur my love, and this is for you.” She handed her a ten-pound in trade. (A grumpy man, Mister Peters, but doing his best to raise his granddaughter on his pension, her parents had also been victims of the never-found killers in ‘97, such a tragedy that was...)

She crossed the street more carefully now, though their road was always quiet at this time of day. No reason to alarm his nervous young mum. Scorpius babbled and cooed in her ear, chewing his fist. Now that it no longer hurt he was quite amazed at his new teeth. Hermione had hugged her man properly now, gently, and he’d folded around her as best he could while still staying upright. One hand lingered on his wrist, voice lilting in a question.

“-couldn’t be dispelled with a finite incant ,” he said. That sounded foreign, maybe it was some sort of new slang, or technology. Did he work in technology? Seemed all the rich boys did these days, despite what happened in 2000, treated it like the future.

“Well, Miss Wilk- Miss Granger, I mean, just popped over to Jenny and look who was waiting with her! You know I can’t see him without getting him a bit of apple jam, so I’ll take him next door with me first, but of course he has to see his Mummy.”

Scorpius squealed in delight, reaching one damp hand for Hermione who summoned a wry smile and then suddenly untangled a bit from her young man, looking at him. Draco was staring at his son, face suddenly quite readable – wonder and fear in his eyes, throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Is…?” He looked down at Miss Granger.

“Yes, that’s Scorpius.”

“Shouldn’t chew your lip like that, Liz – Hermione, pardon me – it’ll fall right off one day.”

The much-abused lower lip popped out of her mouth with a question. “Do you want to hold him?”

Draco’s expression morphed entirely into panic, looking down at his crutches and up to her with large motions.

Angie sighed. “Oh, just sit on the stoop, dear, if you’re that afraid. He’s a baby, not priceless china. Not even a newborn.” Because he needed to be reminded what he missed. He looked like he planned to snap something back, but Hermione’s hands were back on her hips.

“Draco Malfoy, sit down. ”

Oh, he was French. Hermione knew how to pick a man, didn’t she? Angie supposed it made sense, a doctors’ daughter should have expensive tastes in some fashion.

The young would-be lord meekly sat on the steps, stretching his legs to rearrange them a bit with his hands. Angie made as if to approach and hand off the wiggling boy and then paused. “You know, I think… Yes, do you think you can? I think you can.” She lowered him to the ground, holding his little hands gently in hers.

“Are… My books say-” Hermione went to go grab him only for Malfoy to jab her side with his elbow.

She expected him to hold on for a few steps, but he must have gotten in a few more practice walks before today because the babe immediately let go, arms out for balance.

“Go on, luv, go to Mummy and Da.”

Having gotten his bearings he smiled and toddled the meter distance. Scorpius hadn’t known an unfriendly face his entire little life, and Hermione was scrunched wide-eyed against this stranger, so he went right up and grabbed Draco’s knee with both hands for balance.

“Not shy, are you?” he asked quietly, more observation than question. Angie smiled smugly. She had eighty years under her belt, she’d known when she’d seen their hands clasped the entire time at the cafe they were going to try again, she’d known by how Hermione’s young man had hung on every word that he would want to be a father. She’d just sped things up a bit, that was all. Skip the messy bit where there was weeks of stuttered conversation and fraught hours alone overthinking and watching the baby from across the room like a startled cat. With slow hands Draco picked up the bouncing boy, pulling Scorpius close and sitting him on his thigh.

“How-” Miss Granger interrupted him by crying, kissing the blond curls. “Is something...” Draco had one eyebrow raised but kept both hands on the child.

“You walked! Did you-I’m so proud! Draco, he walked!”

“Yes...” The lightbulb finally turned on upstairs. “Has he not… walked before?”

Hermione shook her head – the pins were starting to work loose, Angie noted.

“I’ll just nip over for my apple jam, then. Back in a tick.” She left the two amazed parents on the step. Absolutely time to go visit Barb, this news would not wait!

A week later and the news spreading like fire, she was out working the back garden. Mister Malfoy was sitting on the back step watching his boy explore. Usually she’d consider the fact that he had barely left Miss Granger’s home highly inappropriate, but they DID already have a baby, not like it could get more improper. He was spending the time she worked taking care of Scorpius, so he wasn’t a layabout either. Though Angie had found it amusing when she’d peeked through the kitchen window from her old office earlier in the week and saw him staring at the electric kettle like it had personally insulted him. Probably had servants make all his tea growing up, she’d said to Barb, who agreed. What good was it, being a rich posh boy if you couldn’t even work an electric kettle?

“You knew he’d do that, didn’t you?” Draco asked, fishing something out of Scorpius’ mouth.

“Try to eat a rock? Of course, deary, babes put everything in their mouths.”

“Walk. You knew he would, you were relying on it. You knew how she’d react.”

She looked up from her rosemary. Scorpius squealed and tried to retrieve – yes, that was in fact a pebble. Draco tossed it into a neglected flowerbed and immediately pulled a stuffed toy shaped like an owl from somewhere to distract him.

“Oh, it was all him, can’t make a little mite like him take orders from anyone. But… I might have nudged.” She smiled at them. Scorpius was banging the owl on his father’s crutches, amused by something about the motion. Draco gave her a look of respect.

“I appreciate it.” He looked his boy over. “Your mum will be home soon. Let’s go get washed up.” Arranging his crutches, he hauled himself up. “Are… Are infants always sticky?”

“It’s not forever, I promise.” She watched him herd Scorpius indoors – it was a rather unique method, being as his arms were busy. What a lovely little family they were becoming.

Two weeks after that, someone knocked on her door in the evening. She peeked through her window and hummed, straightening her housecoat before she opened the door. “Mister Malfoy, what a surprise.”

“Good evening, Mrs Rain. Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all! Would you like to come in?”

He shook his head. “I’ll just be a moment. Are you busy this Thursday?”

She paused to think. Well, she was supposed to take dinner to Mrs Jameson, but that wasn’t until evening… “I might be available.”

“I need your assistance.”

“Oh?” The meddler senses tingled.

“We’ve decided to get married Thursday in the register office, but I can’t convince her to wear anything nice. Says she doesn’t have time. Could you help?”

“Married! My god!” She clasped her hands. “That’s wonderful! Have you picked witnesses?”

“Oh dear, I suppose Scorpius is too young, isn’t he?” Draco drawled, eyebrows arched. “We’ll have to figure that out. Do you think you could manage to get her into something other than a jumper?” He had the makings of a fine meddler.

“Of course! Oh, and I’ll make my almond biscuits! Congratulations, luvs!”

“We’ll see you Thursday afternoon. Goodnight, Mrs Rain.”

“Goodnight, dear boy.” She closed the door and immediately tottered to the phone. Her daughter Mary was about Hermione’s size… “Mary, dear, it’s Mum… yes, I know it’s a bit late – oh, really? Oh, that’s wonderful. My dear, would you happen to have a few nice dresses about? Oh, well, you remember the Grangers, those lovely dentists, disappeared about eight years back? Well you’ll never believe...”

The next day she went right to Barb and then to Maude Harris, telling them all about her mission to find a wedding outfit in a hurry. Maude told the Stouts she wouldn’t be over for her weekly because she was going to young Hermione’s wedding, while Barb told all about it to Beth when stopping in for her usual scone and gossip. Mary Stout told Mrs Jameson, who told everyone who visited her and insisted she would be loaning her little tiara to Miss Hermione. Beth told the Peters, and Jenny knocked to announce she wanted to watch Scorpius during the ceremony. Angie, who was telling Edna about the dresses her daughter had brought over, watched Miss Granger’s baffled expression and called Jenny over for a thumbprint shortbread with a helping of praise.

Edna joined Agatha Stout in discussing the coming event with Fred Johnson and his wife Aggie, who were both wonders with a cake tin and a pastry bag - even if Fred did have to pretend he wasn’t interested in attending. Fred talked about the groom with Arthur Peters, and they agreed he must be military after Angie stopped by their fence conversation to mention his odd habit of brushing a hand at his thigh when startled, though they couldn’t agree what branch. Then Arthur had mentioned that he thought perhaps Hermione was as well, and that set off quite the debate.

All in all, it was quite the crowd gathered in Angie’s home late Thursday morning as she went to collect the happy couple.

“Really, Mrs Rain, it’s just a register’s ceremony, there’s no need...” Hermione had tried to say, but her man was smirking and carrying the nappy bag, so she trailed after Angie into her living room. “What… Why are...”

“Well you’re finally gettin’ married, aren’t yeh?” Mary Stout said, pulling her further in. “Heard all about it from me mum, said she’d been told he was hospitalized and his family doesn’t want yeh to marry since you’re not old money so they threatened you with death and worse-”

“Not far off,” Draco muttered.

“-but! He’s defying them and making it official, innit he? We all had to come see.” Mary sighed, blushing. “Rather romantic, you know.”

“I… But who told...” Hermione looked dizzily at the crowd, face flushed, before whirling on the would-be lord. “Draco!”

He leaned against the wall and inspected his nails. “Hermione.”

“Did you… How did you – I know you did this!”

“You said you didn’t have time to find an outfit, so I asked Mrs Rain. I couldn’t very well leave out what it was for. It seems she exhausted all avenues to find you something suitable, she really has outdone herself.”

Angie fanned herself at the praise, smiling primly as Hermione’s face flushed deeper, anger or embarrassment choking itself out with nowhere to go.

“Well… I...” the bride stammered.

Mrs Jameson sat forward in the armchair. “You weren’t planning to hide it from your neighbors, Miss Wilkens?”

“Of course not, Mrs Jameson, I just...”

Peters bent to whisper to Mrs Jameson while Hermione tried to chew her lip again.

“Hermione, the lip chewing,” Agatha Stout chided, while Angie simply tutted at the poor habit.

Angie was moving her umbrella stand as Mrs Jameson declared, “Oh, is she really? Are you really the Grangers’ daughter? They fixed my grandson’s broken front tooth, you know, saved him and his mam just so much trouble. The kindest pair, those two.”

“Th-thank you.”

Mrs Jameson wrapped a gnarled hand around her delicate teacup. “Didn’t go into dentistry?”

“I’m… I’m afraid not...”

“But you went to a boarding school in Scotland, didn’t you? Read in the papers they thought you all disappeared on the drive up, were your grades all in order?” Mrs Jameson looked about - Angie realized she had forgotten to set out the lemon wedges.

“Top of every class,” Draco remarked to no one and everyone. Oh, they were boarding school sweethearts, how terribly romantic.

“And you?” Jenny asked.

“Second. Except in the ones that didn’t matter.”

“Well, alright, where’s these outfits?” Hermione interrupted, strangely nervous again as she handed Scorpius to Mary Stout. “There’s someone meeting us at the register's, I don’t want to be late.”

“What, are you driving together?” Aggie asked.

“Yes, obvious-”

“Absolutely not!” Aggie snapped.

“Shant allow it!” Edna agreed.

Mister Peters cleared his throat. “One of us will drive him. Bad luck, you know.”

“Oh for – it’s not a wedding! It’s a legal ceremony! ”

They brooked no argument and Aggie began to tug her into the old office to review the dresses.

“I suppose I could take him,” Agatha offered.

“Oh, no, I’m his neighbor,” though perhaps not much longer, “I can do it.”

“I suppose I must offer,” Fred grumbled.

Mister Peters cleared his throat again.

“Cough drop, Arthur?” Edna held out a tin. This had Draco smirking slightly again. Really, how could a man on crutches with a nappy bag look that attractive? If she’d been forty years younger…

Arthur squinted at Edna, he never liked her sense of humor. “He won’t fit in your cars, unless you’re planning to rip out the seats. I’ll take him.”

“If you insist, Mister...” Draco prompted.

Arthur approached. “Peters.”

“Very well, Mister Peters, if you insist.”

Mister Peters pulled out his car keys. “What branch?”

Draco tilted his head slightly. “Pardon?” Angie leaned in a bit.

“Branch. Of service?” Arthur must have still been debating with Fred.

He glanced uneasily in the direction his bride had gone. Miss Granger peaked around the cracked door to interrupt, “I’m afraid we’re not at liberty to discuss professional histories, Mister Peters.” That was a very practiced sentence, and it lit so many little fires of curiosity.

“Professional histories, plural, Miss Granger?” Angie asked, prodding. Hermione blanched a bit, clearly not meaning to let that slip, and ducked behind the door again. It closed and they began to twitter.

“Plural! Oh, I must know.”

“Think she went into something after her parents… you know?”

“Oh, you must tell us something, Draco,” Angie wheedled.

He looked over her head at the photos on her wall. “She’s very accomplished, quite a lot of projects had to come to a standstill without her to run them. And I’m supposed to start desk duty next month.”

Ooh, maybe he was injured in the field! With his bride on base, waiting for him to return only to find him in the hospital wing...

Mister Peters shook his car keys meaningfully. “Right, let’s get going. Jenny.”

Jenny begged the baby from Mary, waved goodbye to the adults, and hurried after them. Arthur held the door for Mister Malfoy, who kept glancing back at the granddaughter toting Scorpius.

“She’s been watching him longer than you have. Mind the steps-” the door shut.

The next half hour was a rush of gossip and theories while they tried to wrestle the curls and Miss Granger attempted her makeup. She’d chosen a light blue one with long sleeves, smoothing the fabric with a nostalgic smile every few minutes. Hair was pinned, the little tiara was given one last polish, the dress was both borrowed and blue…

“And this… Is yours to keep,” Mary said, passing over a little velvet bag. “One of Jack’s pieces, I know you admire them.” It was a rearing lioness carved of wood, set on a circle of a second wood color, pendant hanging from a cord with a pair of wood beads as stops. “Ash, oak, and thorn, like the Kipling poem. It just seems… you.” It was fierce, full of pride. Miss Granger held it carefully and slid the beads to widen the loop, Edna helping guide it around the barely restrained hair. The oak disc hung just below her collarbones, where everyone could see it. There was a scar that cut across the bones, starting at the base of her neck. Angie would have to ask later - was it from her secret career? Or when her parents died! Oh dear, had she seen it happen? Or maybe after...

It was a struggle to find parking, even with shared cars, and the young bride looked ready to resume chewing her lip in spite of the chiding by the time they hurried through the door.

There was a young man waiting with the groom and Mister Peters – dark hair, middle height, lanky, green eyes behind round glasses that he fidgeted with. His suit fit well, but the way he held himself and the fabric… Clearly not a posh boy. Gorgeous, not a posh boy. Too gentle.

“Harry!”

“Hermione, there you are! Thought something had happened.” He approached and they hugged, Harry carefully placing his hands on her upper back. Wedding band on his ring finger. “You look well. Was worried, you know, barely answered any letters, and not like I could call...”

“I’ve been busy, Harry. It’s been a… A long year. But, never mind that. You found the office okay?”

“No. I circled for ages until I saw Malfoy, just followed him – startled the hell out of him, though.”

“Harry!” But she was laughing as she cuffed his shoulder.

“And who’s this, lass?”

“Oh! This is my best friend, Harry Potter. We met in school. Harry, these are my neighbors.” Best friends with a boy, what a… a… well, okay, couldn't actually have turned out improper, he was married to someone else and clearly wasn't Scorpius's Da. Still.

“Same school you met your Draco? How do I get into your school?” Edna joked.

Draco was just staring. He didn’t come out of it until Mrs Jameson was finally settled in the front row of seats and Jenny had convinced Scorpius to gum a binkie, when Jeremy was explaining the proceedings. “And then – Mister Malfoy!”

“Oi, Malfoy! You listening?” Mister Potter called, standing off to the side.

“Hm? No.” But he finally tore his eyes from his bride, who flushed yet again that day.

“And…” Jeremy skimmed the papers in the book he held only to slam it shut. “Alright, the bride indicated there were short vows, and that she actually read the instructions I gave her, if you get lost it’s not my fault. Are there rings?”

“No,” Hermione said, at the same time that her young man said, “Yes, actually.” He ducked his head and widened his stance, reaching to pull a chain from around his neck. Two bands dangled from it.

It went beautifully from there. Of course, they hadn’t actually picked a second witness, eventually resulting in poor frustrated Jeremy yelling above the widespread argument that Angie would be signing, and Scorpius suddenly announced he needed a clean nappy and a runabout by screaming, but really. It was all quite beautiful.

“Here, quick, before it starts raining again,” the Potter boy told his friends as they exited, pulling a disposable camera from his pocket. Scorpius, who’d been wiggling his way down the steps one at a time, was deposited in Hermione’s arms. “Little closer… Promised Gin I’d get at least one picture.”

Draco, of course, ruined the first by turning his head to kiss his new wife’s temple. The second went better. The trio tried to drift behind the rest, so Angie pretended her trick knee was acting up.

“Think it’ll work?” Harry asked.

“It’s Muggle,” was that some more posh boy slang? “But it’s still a legal ceremony, they have to respect it.”

“And you’re fine doing it this way?”

“Honestly, Harry, the wedding is just a party to go with it, we can hold one any time we like, or a vow renewal,” Hermione said, as if that were obvious.

“Oh? You worked yourself up into a state of madness planning the original, and now it’s just a party?” That was Draco again.

“Oh, hush.”

Angie faked a slight hobble.

“Are you going to move back now?” Harry asked.

She had to strain a bit to hear Hermione’s response. “I… We’re thinking about it, Harry, but...”

“Not before you’re ready, Granger.” Draco was oddly affectionate about her last name, how interesting. “Alright there, Mrs Rain?”

“Oh, yes, dear, just my knees. Not what they used to be.” She turned to look at them.

“Of course.” He looked to the dark-haired boy. “Potter.”

“What? Why me?”

Draco raised his eyebrows. Potter huffed and muttered, but came up to offer an arm to her. She took it with a smile. Ooh, the muscle on this young man. She made sure he rode in her car.

Perry Stout had done exactly as his mum had asked, swinging by to set up the food as he went from job to uni, and he’d only swiped a few sweets for the trouble. Fred and Aggie had baked a modestly sized cake and decorated it to the nines, as everyone knew they would. No gifts, and only a few bottles of wine to go around, but they smiled and gossiped, trying to ply knowledge out of the couple or their mysterious friend. He took photos and constantly tried to brush his fringe over a forehead scar shaped like lightning. His hair disagreed with the placement.

Only half the knitting circle attended, it ran over discussing the lurid details.

It was another lovely day – for the time of year – when the Malfoys moved out. Angie was surprised it took ten days, but Draco had reservations about it. She’d know, he complained over the garden wall about it as he entertained Scorpius. Angie sat on her step soaking in the rays of weak sun as they skittered by, and Draco sat with her nursing a cuppa and looking distinctly put out. Harry and Hermione and a lovely redhead named Ginny arranged boxes in a large vehicle.

“Can I help you, dear?”

“I’m useless, Mrs Rain.”

“Well, I don’t know where you get ideas like that, you’re supervising quite well.” Scorpius was trying to leave handprints in the clay patch, which had suddenly started to yield real growth this week.

“I can’t even help my wife move. How am I supposed to-” He sighed into the tea.

“The same ways you found her and arranged a wedding, I expect. You’re a clever, meddling young man. It may not be getting shot in foreign lands on life-or-death missions-”

“That’s not what happened.”

“-but it’s still living and continuing to move forward. Now, I expect you to write, since it seems you can’t call.”

“Your perception is astounding as always, Mrs Rain. I will see what can be arranged.”

“And little Jenny Peters will be heartbroken if she can’t see her mite occasionally.”

“I suspect we’ll be seeing quite a lot more of her, actually.” He looked at the worn home across the street. “Bit of a secret for now, but I think she might be getting an invitation to the same boarding school we attended. On scholarship.”

“Oh?”

“I guarantee nothing, it’s why it’s a secret. Spots are limited, and you can’t transfer in, so we don’t want to get her hopes up.”

Their Jenny, at an exclusive Scottish boarding school, that clearly led into secretive government positions – the thought made Angie shiver with excitement. “This is what I mean, meddling. Getting Jenny a spot in such good schooling.”

“That’s not the meddling.”

Angie thought for a moment as Scorpius threw his owl at the fence, babbling as he retrieved it. “The scholarship?”

He said nothing, reaching for the owl as it plunked down at his feet, but there was the slightest flicker that might have been a smile.

“Fa, fa,” Scorpius babbled, testing those new front teeth, looking from the owl to his father.

“Oh, fly it again? Alright.” He pulled a bit of string from his pockets – really, the things he managed to pull from them, it was like a magician’s trick, he always had what he needed – and did a sort of complex cat’s cradle around the toy, letting it dangle below his hand. Scorpius giggled.

Before long the last personal effects had been packed. A company was coming to collect the big things, apparently, but Hermione had wanted to move these herself. Books, mostly. The young lady loved her books. Draco had eased back up, Ginny Potter had been cuddling the baby with an adoring expression, and they were all gathered on the other side of her fence. Angie held out two more books – recommended by the local shop just a few streets away.

Hermione furrowed her brows. “What’s this?”

“Oh, you’ll love it, it’s for the babe.”

Harry took them because his were the only empty hands. “Where’s My Cow… and… Thud.”

“Got to start them young, you know. Pratchett’s a wonderful author, bit like that Adams fellow with the radio play. It’s his children’s book and the companion novel.”

The Potter looked so adorable when he was baffled. “Companion… novel? Don’t you mean-”

Draco cut him off with, “Mrs Rain always means what she says, Potter.” He looked her in the eye, irises much warmer than when she’d first met him. “Thank you for everything.”

“I’ll miss you, do stop in for a cuppa soon. Oh-”

Jenny, who’d said she didn’t want to see them off, had changed her mind. She dashed across the street, hugging Hermione tightly, reaching up to wag a hand at Scorpius, hesitating at Draco before curtsying. He inclined his head back.

“Don’t… Don’t be too long! Or I’ll worry!”

Jenny dashed away.

“Her parents were murdered in ‘97, you know, terrible year, lost a lot of good people that year. Not yet three, her parents had left her with a sitter they say – were only supposed to be gone a few hours to visit with Arthur’s wife in hospital. Found 'em a week later. Or...” She leaned in. “What was left. They think the killer sicked dogs on them, just terrible.” The Potters looked wide-eyed in the direction the girl had fled, but they didn’t show nearly the horror people usually had. These special military types really did see it all.

“On that cheery note, we should get on our way.” Hermione began to herd them towards the car. “Mrs Rain?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for everything. For all the help with Scorpius and.. and bringing me back to Draco.”

“Oh, it was all you, dear. I just… gave you a little nudge.”