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In the early spring, eight-year-old Lyra Malfoy could always be found spending her mornings in the gardens. Of course, one has to explain which gardens - there were about a dozen different demarcated patches dedicated to any number of species of flora. There was the massive herb garden, used for cooking and potions; a vegetable garden for fresh produce; a wildflower garden over by the pond; neat meticulous annuals, planted in patterns and borders around the beds; the award-winning rose garden, Narcissa’s thorned and thornless empire.
But none of those intrigued Lyra more than the perennial garden, tucked away at the centre of the hedgerow maze. From the first time she made it to the centre without her brother’s help, she was drawn to it like a bee to honey. Last summer, she begged her grandmother for permission to weed and replant any dead flowers, promising to take care of them all through the season.
This morning was no different: when Draco asked Millsie where his daughter was, the answer was always the same: “I reckon she’s where she always is - in the maze garden, Master Draco.”
“Ah, ok,” was always the stock reply. Draco didn’t know why he continued to ask, but he couldn’t stop himself. He enjoyed the routine of the mundane after all the years of uncertainty, the stress of not knowing if he was going to live or die, or just shatter under the pressure. Knowing the answer to the same question he asked every day was comforting.
****
Lyra was on her knees, carefully moving aside leaves and blooms to pull tiny weeds and clover. She wasn’t allowed to use magic yet, so everything was done by hand. But Lyra didn’t mind. There was something about making a flower bed colourful and clean that she couldn’t resist.
Once she finished, she sat back on her haunches to observe her work. Her eye caught a splash of purple in the back of the bed, peeking out from under the boxwood. She moved the branches out of the way and gasped in delight.
Pansies! They were blooming this year! She and her grandmother had planted them last year; she was told they wouldn’t bloom right away. She had waited patiently all year and now she was being rewarded. She gingerly reached for a sprig of the tricolour flower. Once plucked, she felt dew drip from the petals, falling like a teardrop on her other hand.
She ran back to the house and straight to her grandmother’s rooms.
“Grandmother! The pansies! They’re blooming!” She burst into the room (she was the only one allowed to do so) and jumped on the huge four poster bed. Narcissa Malfoy was sitting up, enjoying her tea and toast, reading The Prophet. She looked sternly at her granddaughter for a second. Then her face softened and she patted the space beside her.
“Now, Lyra, darling, you know you shouldn’t be running through the house, yelling loudly. That’s not what we taught you,” she admonished. Lyra completely ignored her.
“Look!!” She thrust the bouquet into Narcissa’s face. “They bloomed just like you said!”
Narcissa had to lean back to get a better look, and she held Lyra’s hand steady. Feeling the dampness, she looked quickly over to her granddaughter.
“Your hands are wet, my dear,” she said, in her voice that meant “they’re wet, but it’s ok.”
“Oh, never mind that, that’s just leftover from the dew. Aren’t they bee-yoo-tee-ful?”
“Yes, of course they are.” She conjured a small vase, used her wand to fill it with water and said, “May I?”
“Sure!” was the spirited reply. Narcissa reached for the flowers, but instead of taking them, waited for Lyra to give them to her.
“Lyra, do you see that large book on the very bottom shelf over there?” Narcissa pointed towards the bookshelves next to her secretary. The desk was almost 200 years old and the shelves not that much newer. They held all the books she brought with her to the Manor when she married Lucius.
“This one?” Lyra pulled the book off the shelf and lugged it over to her grandmother’s bed. She looked at the title and tried to read it.
Flowers Around the World and Their Meanings
“Yes,” Narcissa said, “It’s never too early to learn the origins and meanings of the flowers, any flowers really, but especially the flowers here at the manor.”
Lyra hopped back onto the bed and curled up next to Narcissa as she thumbed through the book to the page she wanted.
“Ahh, here we are,” she said triumphantly, “the pansy.”
Lyra looked at the page in awe. “There are so many meanings, Grandmother, how can all these stand for one flower?”
“Well, if you were to give a flower, you might pick what feeling or emotion you want to express and then look for the flower that matches it. Let’s see,” Narcissa said as she perused the page.
“What are they, what are they?” Lyra was so excited.
“Some of the names include Heart’s Ease, Johnny Jump Up, and Garden Violet. I’ve heard of all of those. And some of the meanings are: cheerfulness, fondness, remembrance, togetherness. There’s also some folklore about it as well: the petals are shaped like a heart and so are thought to cure a broken heart; they are used in Celtic love potions; and wear a tri-colour pansy, that’s what we have here, to attract love.” Narcissa looked down at the page and then looked at the pansies in their little vase.
“Are you going to keep them in here?” Lyra wasn’t sure she wanted to keep them hidden from everyone. “You don’t want to put them in the small parlour where we have tea?”
“No, I think they would look lovely sitting right on that windowsill. Don’t worry, Lyra, there will be other blooms, I’m sure. We can put those in the parlour.”
She let Lyra put the pansies in the vase and then watched as her beloved granddaughter skipped to the window. She swallowed a sigh and pushed down the foreboding she was feeling.
“Will you come see the maze garden later today, Grandmother?” Lyra turned to ask.
“Of course, dear. How about after lunch and your lessons?” Narcissa suggested.
Lyra let out a huff and pouted. Narcissa raised an eyebrow and then Lyra shrugged her shoulders.
“Oh, all right. I hate lessons, though.” She crossed her arms and tilted her head in such a way that Narcissa caught her breath. Her hair may be the fine white blonde of the Malfoys, but her expressions and personality were all Hermione, and never more than in that moment. She chuckled.
“Now, don’t let your mother hear you say that,” Narcissa warned.
“Oh, don’t worry, I know how she feels, believe me,” Lyra sighed. “I just don’t see the point of learning all this magical history when I can’t even use a wand yet.”
“Well, remember your mother did not even know about magic at your age. I’m sure she just wants you to have all the advantages she didn’t.” Narcissa put down her cup and called for her elf.
“Now, go clean yourself up and make sure you’ve done your reading, my dear,” she said, indicating their time was up, “I have a full day today and must make myself presentable.” She stood from the bed and began to walk to the loo when she was hit around the middle with a 3-stone missile.
“Oof! Lyra, whatever…?” Narcissa asked as she pried Lyra’s hands from around her waist.
“I just wanted to hug you, OK? I can only do it here, so you just have to put up with it.” Lyra reached for her again and this time Narcissa allowed it, wrapping her arms around her as she smiled. This impetuous, impulsive and adorable little girl broke through all of her pureblood upbringing and she wouldn’t have it any other way. If only it would last.
***
Later that night
Draco was beyond worried. It was not like Hermione to work late without telling him. She usually sent her patronus, an Antipodean Opaleye, to let the household know, but tonight, there was no such sighting.
He had sent the children to bed, promising that their mother would come in and say goodnight when she got home. They didn’t put up much of a fuss; with Draco being the work-from-home parent, he had a much more direct impact on their daily lives than their mother or stepmother. In his desire to shed the strict, dismal upbringing he’d had through Lucius, Draco was firm, but gentle, listening to everything they told him, negotiating their bedtimes, refereeing their disagreements and being the parent that could be counted on to always be there.
Not that Scorpius and Lyra didn’t love Hermione to distraction. Scorpius was only two when Astoria died, left with only vague memories of soft arms and a gentle voice that went along with a sweet, but frail, face. Lyra, of course, had the advantage of having had eight years (plus nine months) with Hermione and, although she looked much like her father, she had the personality and brilliance of her mother. There were many nights when Hermione and Draco worried about her reaching adolescence and what battles they could foresee between mother and daughter. Privately, Hermione was relieved to know she would be at Hogwarts most of the year, while Draco was dreading her absence. She made the manor a lively, wonderful place to live, effectively banishing all of the ghosts and nightmares that plagued the estate since 1998.
Draco was just about to call Potter, having paced a hole in the floor of his study and swallowed down two firewhiskys, when he heard a floo call come in. He hurried over to it, and through the green flames he saw Harry’s face. Immediately, he knew it wasn’t good.
“Draco—” the voice on the other end stuttered and cracked.
Draco’s heart plummeted. Only one other time had Harry called him by his first name: when he embraced him at Astoria’s funeral.
“Out with it, Potter.” His voice was curt, unable to pull up the shields of occlusion quickly enough.
Harry cleared his throat. “There’s been an accident.”
***
Not ten minutes after Harry had given the details about the explosion in the Department of Mysteries, Ginny stepped through the floo in Draco’s study.
She looked around and couldn’t find Draco anywhere. Thinking maybe he’d gone to wake the children or Narcissa, she started for the door when she saw a patch of blond hair close to the floor.
“Draco?” Ginny dropped to her knees next to Draco’s huddled form. He was leaning against a wall, arms wrapped around his legs, head buried between them, glass with whisky dangling from one hand. He did not move when she called his name.
Carefully, she extracted the glass from his fingers and drank the last swallow herself. Setting the glass aside, she positioned herself against the wall shoulder to shoulder with Draco, making sure he knew someone was there.
They sat for several minutes, each lost in their own grief. He, the love of his life; she, losing her best friend since she was eleven. Neither one cried; they just sat. Stunned.
Finally, Draco raised his head, and looked at the hand that had been holding the glass.
“Don’t drink my whisky, Weasley.”
Ginny jumped a bit at his sudden statement. “It’s still Potter, and it was either me or the carpet, Malfoy.”
She looked at his profile. The years had been good to him, once he got out of Azkaban and was able to put everything behind him. It had been hard, trying to redeem his family name, but he’d had many supporters, including her. She had been Hermione’s maid of honour at their wedding, only agreeing after she had a brutal discussion with Draco.
“If you hurt her, Ferret, and I mean verbally, physically or emotionally, I won’t just hex you like I did that night in Umbridge’s office. I will make it infinitely more painful and permanent. I may even steal a wand and use an Unforgivable.”
Draco’s eyes widened in surprise. “That was you?” Then he laughed and held up his hands in supplication. “Do not worry, Weasley—”
“It’s Potter.”
“Whatever. As I was saying, don’t worry. I am more likely the one to suffer. She throws a mean punch, you know. I don’t intend to ever, ever , harm her, hurt her, or in any way cause her pain. She is the one good thing in my life and I’d like to hold on to that. I don’t know why she loves me, but apparently she does.”
“Because you’re a good person, Malfoy. And she sees how hard you’ve worked and knows you mean it sincerely. Plus, I think she’s had a bit of a crush on you since, oh I don’t know, since my husband put you in the hospital wing your sixth year.”
Once again, Draco stared at her in shock. But before he could respond—
“Plus, you’re ridiculously fit. And hot.”
He turned scarlet.
He looked at his wife’s best friend. His friend. He bit his lip to keep it from trembling, but he couldn’t stop the tears welling up and spilling over down his cheeks.
“Ginny, what am I going to do?” His voice stuttered. Ginny’s breath caught on a sob at hearing him use her first name. She pulled his head towards her.
“I don’t know, Draco. I don’t know.”
A sob tore through him and he just dropped his head down onto her lap and let the tears have their way.
Ginny comforted him as best she could, trying not to let her own emotions, her own loss, take over. This was his time. He was going to have so many more moments to struggle through than she was. He needed this time to let the reality sink in and wrap his head around the fact that, for the second time, he had lost his wife. Only this one hurt so much more. She stroked his hair and rubbed circles between his shaking shoulder blades.
When he was finally spent, he lifted his head and she handed him a handkerchief she transfigured from the whisky glass. He took it gratefully. After blowing his nose and a deep breath, he sat all the way up.
He looked at Ginny and almost started weeping again. Her face was blotchy, her eyes were red and her lip trembled.
He immediately put his arm around her and pulled her close. She began to sob loudly, doing what he wished he could have done but had been taught over and over to repress; that it was unseemly and weak for a man to express the full range of his emotions.
“Ssh, it will be okay, Ginny,” he said. Only because he was spent, he realised, was he able to offer her a modicum of comfort. “It will be okay.”
Eventually, she reached an end and Draco handed her a clean handkerchief. She looked at him doubtfully.
“It’s from my pocket, Weasley. Did you think I scourgified yours?”
She took it and gave a small laugh. “Well, no, I guess not.” When she’d taken care of herself, she let her head hit the wall and sighed.
Draco did likewise, then turned to her. “What’s next?”
***
What came next was quite possibly the hardest thing Draco had ever done in his entire life.
Ginny stayed in his study while he woke Narcissa. He had shown her where the estate paperwork and their wills were and she began to look through them. The Malfoy-Granger family was an open book to Ginny and Draco had no apprehension of sharing them with her.
He trudged heavily up the stairs to Narcissa’s rooms. Deja-vu shuddered through him except this time, it wasn’t something he’d felt was happening again; it had already happened.
His marriage to Astoria was arranged and somewhat estranged. They had come to a detente with the realisation that the primary reason for the nuptials was to sire an heir. Draco knew about Astoria’s blood curse and accepted the fact that he would probably be a widower with a young son.
It happened just as he’d predicted. Astoria died two years after Scorpius’s birth; she existed for her son just long enough for him to miss her presence, having to rely on only faintly pleasant memories of her.
The difference this time was he had two children to explain that their mother was gone. He wasn’t sure he could bear it.
He knocked on his mother’s door and entered quietly.
“She’s gone, isn’t she?” came a voice from deep inside the cloistered four-poster.
Draco stumbled then shook his head, yes . He’d learned to never underestimate his mother’s penchant for clairvoyance. When he found out she’d lied to the Dark Lord (he couldn’t stop thinking of him that way), he marvelled at her bravery, but later realised she knew things before others did.
He parted the curtains and crawled onto the bed and then into Narcissa’s arms. All he wanted to do was pretend he was a child again, safe in the arms of the one person who truly loved him. After allowing himself a few moments of self pity, he pulled back and sat up.
He explained what he knew, and she nodded.
“Will you help me tell the children?”
***
It rained the day of the funeral. Draco took that as a sign that everyone and everything was weeping for their loss.
He, Narcissa, Scorpius and Lyra made the front row of mourners, flanked by the house elves. Behind them were the Potters, the Weasleys, Gryffindors and Slytherins, and at the back were members of the Ministry as well as the staff at Hogwarts.
There wasn’t much of a ceremony. Kingsley spoke briefly as did Minerva McGonagall. Harry couldn’t say anything without completely breaking down, so Ginny represented the remaining two-thirds of the Golden Trio.
“Hermione was my first female friend; hell, my first female anything after Mum,” a small chuckle ran through the crowd, “and then she became my best friend. I thought it was hard when she and Harry and Ron left after Bill and Fleur’s wedding; not knowing when I would see any of them again, if I would ever see any of them again.” She stopped for a moment to gather herself. “This, though,” she turned and looked at the family burial ground, “ this is going to take some getting used to. Not seeing her come through the floo; not watching her with her godchildren, no longer having to help her escape the press.” Again, nods and chuckles, then she cleared her throat, “I’m never going to get used to this. But, with Merlin as my witness, I won’t let you, Draco, or Scorp or Lyra or Narcissa—I will be there for you, whenever and however you need me.”
Ginny’s voice hitched as both Scorpius and Lyra broke free of their father and grandmother, running and throwing their arms around her. She knelt to embrace them both and buried her head in their hair. After a moment, she looked up at Draco and her heart broke as she saw him trying, and failing, to keep his composure. She stood up and reached out to him. He took hers and squeezed it, then leaned in.
“Thank you for not calling me Ferret, Weasley,” he whispered in her ear. It was exactly what she needed at that moment. She barked out a laugh.
“It’s Potter, and you’re welcome,” she said. She shepherded the children back to stand next to him, and embraced Narcissa.
When they broke apart, Narcissa said, “Thank you, for all you do for the children. And for my son.”
Ginny just nodded, unable to speak herself.
***
Until the next full moon, as was the custom in the Wizarding world, Draco and his family secluded themselves in the manor, mourning Hermione. There were good days and bad days, As the weeks went on, the good days began to overtake the bad.
Ginny was the only adult they saw from outside the Manor; she often brought Albus and Lily Luna with her to play with Scorpius and Lyra. She had tea with Narcissa and firewhisky with Draco. It was during this time that she told Draco and Narcissa that she and Harry had separated.
“There was trouble after James was born,” she told them one night after the children had gone to bed “He had a hard time adjusting to fatherhood, you know, since he never had any sort of father figure until he went to Hogwarts. And Albus’s birth just made things worse. By the time Lily Luna was born, it was apparent that he was not able to be the parent he wanted to be, so he just threw himself into Auror work.
“Remember when he was injured taking down Dolohov? He didn’t have to be on that mission. He actually replaced someone — took someone off the roster and replaced them with himself. Well, that was the last straw for me. Putting himself voluntarily in harm’s way like that? There was no earthly reason for it. Sometimes I swear he has a death wish. Or maybe he just can’t turn off the part of his brain that keeps telling him he has to fight every battle and save everyone.”
She sniffed a moment and Draco handed her his handkerchief. “Thanks.”
Once composed, she continued. “So I told him I couldn’t sit around and wait to be told if he was injured or dead. He had a choice to make.” She paused.
“And he made the wrong one.” She drank her water and looked at her hosts. “I’m sorry, I’m supposed to be cheering you up.”
“No, no, it’s perfectly fine,” Narcissa said, before Draco could respond in the same vein, “I’m so sorry you are going through this; you need someone to talk to as well. We’re happy to be here for you.”
***
One day, a month after the full moon, Draco floo-called Ginny.
“Hey, Draco, is something wrong? Is it the children?” Ginny was slightly alarmed because he never called her.
“No, no, everything is fine,” he said, “well, as fine as it could be given the circumstances. No, I just wondered if, well, if—” he stumbled, and shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok, Draco, take your time.” Ginny had an idea of what he was going to ask her, but she did not want to be presumptuous.
“Uh,” Draco began, before clearing his throat, “I was wondering if you would help me go through Hermione’s things. You know, decide what to keep, what to donate, what would be good to give the children later on?”
Ginny was taken aback. “I’d be happy to,, but are you sure you don’t want your mother to help?”
Draco shook his head. “No, I’d rather not go through Hermione’s unmentionables with my mother.” He turned so red, Ginny couldn’t help but giggle.
“Well, I guess I can see why not.” Ginny was still laughing at the thought of prim and proper Narcissa seeing Hermione’s lingerie. She’d helped her pick some of it out once upon a time. Narcissa would not be amused.
“Of course, I’ll help you,” she said. “When do you want to start?”
***
It took a week to go through Hermione’s clothes and jewellery. There were numerous pieces of jewellery that Hermione had either brought with her, or had bought after their marriage; they separated out Malfoy pieces and Draco readied them to go back into the vault at Gringotts. Draco kept her wedding and engagement rings in his own box of valuables; he had commissioned both of them made specifically for her, knowing that she wouldn’t want something from the vaults. Her signet ring he held for Lyra.
“Draco, look at this piece,” Ginny called to him from the table in his suite of rooms. Draco walked over and picked up the brooch in Ginny’s hand. It was a cloisonné piece—an enamelled tricolour pansy with gold accents.
“I remember this. She told me it was her grandmother’s, gifted to her when she was twelve. Pansy is—was her favourite flower.” He held it gently, his thumb absently rubbing the flower.
“It’s beautiful,” Ginny said quietly. “We can set it aside for you to decide later.”
“No,” Draco said firmly, “I’m going to save this for Lyra. She loves the pansies in the maze garden. She’ll be thrilled.”
Ginny nodded and went back to her sorting.
***
Once they finished the clothes, they moved on to Hermione’s books. That took longer than her clothing and jewellery combined. Draco and Ginny laughed over the fact that she had kept every single textbook she ever owned, from Transfiguration in their first year to her international policies book from her Master's program at Oxford. Plus papers and essays. And her legendary review guides.
One of the last books Draco pulled off the shelf was The Complete Works of William Shakespeare .
Draco looked at the edge and noticed there were numerous places where it appeared something had been inserted. He opened the first one and discovered a small bouquet of sweetheart roses pressed between the pages.
“I think this was the first bouquet of flowers I sent her for Valentine’s Day. Anonymously. I didn’t want to jeopardise our friendship in case she didn’t feel the same way. I told her much later and she claimed she never knew who sent them.”
“I knew that was you! Wait, was it before or after I hexed you?”
Draco burst out laughing. “That was you? I thought it was some Hufflepuff who had it out for me.”
“Nope,” Ginny said, winking at him, “I saw you looking over at her during lunch and thought you were up to no good. I hexed you under the table. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
They laughed some more as Draco continued to leaf through Shakespeare. His sharp intake of breath had Ginny snapping her head up from the book she was looking over.
“Ginny, look at this,” he said as he pulled an old pressed sprig of pansies from the pages.
“Oooh, those are pretty!” She took the flowers out of his hand and looked at them closely. “Was this anywhere special?”
Draco nodded, not sure if he could speak. He took a deep breath and said, “It was pressed at the first page of A Winter’s Tale . That’s where her name came from— Hermione, Queen of Sicilia. Maybe her mother put this in when she had Hermione.”
He sat down on the bed, looking intensely at the sprig of flowers. Ginny got up and sat next to him. When he laid his head on her shoulder, she put her arm around him, and they sat in silence, just looking at the blossoms.
***
After they had gone through Hermione’s things, they had more or less established a routine. A couple times a week, Ginny would come over, they would have lunch and then either sort through something, or just talk. Usually they talked about Hermione’s exploits at Hogwarts:. S.P.E.W., her abysmal failure at freeing the house elves, her continuous badgering of Ron and Harry to do their homework.
“So, are you telling me that your brother and Potter killed a troll for her first year, but couldn’t finish an essay for Binns without her nagging them?”
“Yup. That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Ginny picked up her tea and sipped it.
“Well, I for one, am glad the Sorting Hat put Potter in Gryffindor and not Slytherin, like ithe apparently wanted to.”
“I cannot imagine Harry in Slytherin. You all would have eaten him alive,” Ginny mused.
“Yes, I believe we would have,” Draco smirked. “I’ve often thought Hermione would have been a good Slytherin. Some of the thingsexploits she told me about, even Slytherins wouldn’t have been that sneaky.”
“Oh, you must be talking about Rita Skeeter,” Ginny laughed, then poked him. “It’s your fault you know; she told me that you were the one feeding that bitch all those lies about her.”
“Yes, I know, and believe me, I’ve paid the price for that. Many, many times over.”
They continued to talk and suddenly Draco blurted out, “When did you change your mind about me? And—and me being with Hermione?”
Ginny put her cup down and steepled her hands. She thought for a moment.
“I could see you two were really good together. You’re both brilliant, well read, and can be funny when the time is right,” she laughed. “The way you looked at her when you thought she wasn’t looking and the way she looked at you—I could just tell you were soulmates. You both had this aura about you when you were together. I always wished Harry and I had that aura,” she added wistfully, “Harry just wanted a family, and I wanted to be out from under my mother’s thumb.”
Draco wasn’t sure what to say. He was shocked at what Ginny had said about he and Hermione, but saddened at her revelations about her and Harry. He’d always thought they were meant for each other. Apparently not.
Ginny cleared her throat. “I guess the first time I realised you were trying to help, maybe to redeem yourself for what you did; well, I should have hated you because of Bill, but after sixth year with the Carrows and Snape in charge, I couldn’t find it in myself to do it.”
“What do you mean? I was just trying to stay alive, like everybody else,” Draco said, growing uncomfortable.
“Don’t even pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Ferret,” Ginny retorted. “We all knew what you did for the first years when the Carrows made them practise dummies for the cruciatus curse. After that first week, the crying and the injuries seemed to lessen, and they didn’t want to tell us at first, but little Eloise Stickley told us that the skinny blond Slytherin jumped in front of her and took the curse instead. And then, some first year boy from Hufflepuff said you gave him ways to make it look like he was being crucio’d and that you would only cast it lightly. I believe his words were, ‘bloke was right, worked like a charm’,” Ginny finished.
Draco shifted in his seat, embarrassed at having his small attempts to ameliorate the situation called out.
“It was nothing, really, Weasley—,”
“It’s still Potter.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “It was just some hints and I think with Eloise I must have tripped. Do you really think I would have thrown myself in front of a curse like that?’
Ginny squinted her eyes and looked at him intently. “Yes, I do. Anyway, what you did that year changed my mind about you. I never actually saw you do it, mind you, but enough kids told us about that ‘skinny blond kid’ that we knew it had to be you.”
Draco was quiet for a long time. “It was such a small thing, I hardly did anything.”
“I know several first years who don’t think that way.”
***
One evening, Draco was going through the drawers of Hermione’s desk and came across a packet of what looked to be letters. He untied the ribbon and realised they were letters she’d written to him. The dates indicated that she wrote them while he was in Azkaban. One for every week he was there. He poured himself a firewhisky and sat down in his study to read.
By the time he’d read about half and then skimmed the rest, all 104 of them, he was about five sheets to the wind. After pacing about, he found himself stumbling through the floo to Ginny’s.
“Malfoy! What the hell are you doing here?” Ginny had been sitting in her favourite chair in the sitting room at Grimmauld Place and jumped out of her skin when he came through. She put down the book she’d been reading and quickly leaped forward, grabbing Draco’s arm to steady him.
After he righted himself, he handed her the letters without a word.
She took them and started to flip through. She looked back at Draco with a question in her eyes.
“Are these — ?”
“Letters she wrote but never sent while I was in Azkaban?” he finished her question, “Yeah.”
She pulled him over to the settee and made him sit.
“You smell like a distillery, Malfoy,” she said disdainfully, “I think you need some tea.”
She turned to go, but Draco, for all his drunken clumsiness, still had the reflexes of a seeker and grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
“You knew about them?”
Ginny looked down at Draco and saw the plaintive look on his face. He was confused and she didn’t have the heart to not tell him. She sat down next to him and handed the letters back.
“Yes,” she admitted.
“Why didn’t she send them? Wait, why did she write them in the first place?”
“Draco, she was in love with you even then, can’t you see?”
Draco’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What? No. That didn’t happen until much later.” He looked away and then back at Ginny. “Right?”
“I think it happened sometime during your sixth year. Right around the time Harry Sectumsempra’d you. She spent the better part of that year telling Harry that there was no way you could be a Death Eater, you were too young. She was livid when he used that curse on you when he admitted not knowing what it would do. Even after the fact, when she told me about it, she was still so angry with him; I seriously thought it might have permanently damaged their friendship.”
“But why didn’t she send them?” Draco was still curious.
“She tried. After the third one was returned, Harry was dispatched to tell her that you weren’t allowed to receive any communications, written or otherwise, for the duration of your sentence. He was in the Auror program at that point, so you know, low man on the ladder got the shite work. She was furious. But,” Ginny paused and looked at the letters still in Draco’s hand, “it looks like she kept writing. I wonder why she never gave them to you afterward.”
Draco was quiet for quite some time, trying to take in this completely new twist to his life.
Ginny got up and walked over to a chest of drawers on the other side of the room. She rifled through one of them and pulled out a rolled up parchment. She handed it to him.
“What’s this?” Draco took the parchment and looked up at Ginny.
“Just read it.”
“I don’t think I can,” he said, suddenly feeling like he was buried under a ton of bricks. “I’ve had a lot to drink, you know.”
“Hence the distillery,” Ginny reminded him. “Oh, all right. But remember, I was only sixteen.”
She proceeded to read him a letter that she had written on his behalf to the Wizengamot. It was laced with vitriol regarding his sentence of two years in Azkaban. She wrote that, having worked with him during their final year at Hogwarts, she could see he was merely a product of his upbringing and that, once he realised that his views were wrong, he threw himself into redeeming himself. She went on to say how many children he helped escape torture and how many times he was tortured by the Carrows because he stood up to them. She told them about a time when he stumbled into the Room of Requirement, bleeding from his nose and trembling uncontrollably. He’d been crucio’d for fifteen minutes (FIFTEEN MINUTES! She emphasised it.) and didn’t know where to go.
Yes, he was wrong to let Death Eaters into the castle, but if they had known Bellatrix Lestrange like he did, they would have done the same thing. She was terrifying. And, besides, he didn’t kill the headmaster, that was Snape (“you know, just in case someone on the Wizengamot had just crawled out from under the rock where they lived”) and if they put all the children of Death Eaters in Azkaban because of their fathers, well, there probably wouldn’t be a Slytherin left to attend Hogwarts.
When she finished, she looked at him, face a little flushed with embarrassment. “You know you were the only Slytherin our age we ever let into the Room of Requirement?”
“No…” Draco said, “I mean, I never saw any other Slytherins there, except the first years I brought you.”
He looked at her with new, though still fairly inebriated, eyes. Unable to think of anything to say and deciding that he would unpack all of these revelations later, he leaned over and kissed her. He pulled away suddenly, completely shocked at what he had just done.
“Sorry, that was uncall —”
“Fuck it.” Ginny cut him off and fisted his shirt, pulling him back to her and kissing him intensely. He wrapped his arms around her and tilted his head so he could slot his lips against hers more fully. She placed both arms on his chest, holding onto his shirt, ready in case he should decide to be a gentleman.
They dispensed with the typical path of intense kissing and opened their mouths immediately, as if they knew what they wanted. Tongues vied for dominance and moans and verbalised sighs were heard. Ginny moved her hands up to his neck and ran her fingers through his hair. He cupped her face with one hand while the other caressed her back.
Finally, Ginny had to break the kiss to get a breath. She decided that it was as good a time as any, and giggled when Draco tried to follow her with his mouth, eyes still closed. Belatedly realising that she stopped for a reason, he opened his eyes and immediately put some distance between them.
“Fuck, Ginny, I should have never —” Once again he was cut off, this time with a finger to his lips.
“Shh, shh, shh,” she said as if she was calming a child, “I only pulled away because I didn’t want this to be something you were going to regret in the morning. You are still rather pissed, you know.”
Draco ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at it in frustration. “What the fuck have I done? I’m not even six months widowed and I’ve just snogged my wife’s married best friend. I need to go.”
With that, he jumped up and floo’d out of the room before Ginny could stop him.
He doesn’t even know my divorce was final today.
Ginny anticipated the next few meetings were going to be awkward, but she wasn’t going to let him avoid her forever.
***
Lyra mourned in her own way. She spent hours in the gardens on the estate, weeding, deadheading, pruning, feeding all of the flora and nurturing them. Everyone, more or less, left her alone - they all had their own ways of grieving.
One morning, she discovered a new flower in the maze garden. She’d never seen it before, but knew that sometimes there could be “volunteers” that just sort of sprang up out of nowhere and bloomed. This was a tall, spiky plant and each stem had five or six blossoms on it. They were several different colours - pink, red, yellow, white and even purple. She carefully cut one of the stems and ran to the house to show Narcissa.
But when she got up to her grandmother’s rooms, they were empty. Not sure what to do next, she looked around for something she could use as a vase and her eyes locked on the book of flower meanings that she and Grandmother had looked at before. Setting the flower on Narcissa’s dressing table bench, she pulled the book out from the shelf.
Lyra sat down in the middle of the room and began looking through the book to see if she could recognize the flower she’d brought her grandmother. Quickly, she found it and discovered it was called a Glad-i-o-lus. She skimmed its names and meanings and looked at the flower, thinking that it definitely fit the description. Then she flipped through some more pages and landed on the page about pansies. She took a closer look at the names and meanings; when she got to the folklore, she stopped and put her hand to her mouth in horror.
For there it said, “There is a superstition that if a viola tri-colour is picked while still wet with dew, there will be death of a loved one, and weeping until the next full moon.”
No, that can’t be right…I can’t have…could I have? Lyra’s eyes filled with tears and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Not even thinking of what she was doing, she ran out of the room, leaving the book in the middle of the floor, the new flower all but forgotten.
She ran out of the house and straight to the maze garden. She began ripping out every pansy that was blooming under the hedgerows, yelling and crying.
“Miss Ginevra! You have to come quickly. Miss Lyra is in trouble!” Lacey, Narcissa’s house elf had apparated into the library, where Ginny was having tea and looking through a few leftover books that belonged to Hermione, but had somehow made their way to the stacks.
“Oh my goodness, Lacey, slow down and tell me what’s going on,” Ginny said as she took the house elf by the hands and looked her right in the eyes.
“I was on the back porch and I saw this flash of something run out the door. They were yelling and crying and so I followed them. It was Miss Lyra and she was going through the maze, heading straight to the garden. Lacey thinks Miss Lyra is just upset over her mother, so Lacey was not going to interrupt. But then I heard her saying she killed her, over and over again. That’s when I decided to come find you, Miss Ginevra. You would know what to do.”
“Quickly, Lacey, can you apparate me to her?” Ginny stood up and was already grabbing on to the house elf’s arm.
“Yes, ma’am, hold tight.” CRACK! They landed just outside the maze. Lacey gestured for her to go in. Luckily, Ginny had been through the maze several times, and went straight for the centre. She was not prepared for what she saw.
Every pansy in the garden had been ripped out of the ground and tossed into a pile. Lyra was standing over them, sobbing and repeatedly saying, although much softer now, “I did this. I killed her.”
“Lyra, honey, what’s going on?” Ginny started softly. When Lyra turned towards the sound of the voice, her face crumpled and she ran straight into Ginny’s arms.
“Ginny, I killed my mother! I did!” the eight-year-old sobbed inconsolably.
“Now why do you say that, sweetie?” Ginny was trying to understand.
“If you pick a pansy that still has dew on it, someone will die! I picked one and showed it to Grandmother, and that night, Mummy died!” A new torrent of sobbing began.
“Oh, darling,” Ginny said, she sat on the ground and pulled Lyra into her lap. They sat there for quite some time, Ginny rocking the little girl as she let her emotions come to the surface.
“Lyra, you did not kill your mother,” Ginny said emphatically. “What you may have read or heard is an old wives’ tale, a bit of an old story that most of the time isn’t true and is said to scare people. It is just a coincidence that you picked that flower that day. That’s all.”
“No, it happened, though,” Lyra cried, not relinquishing her stance one iota. “I picked the flower and it had dew on it. Grandmother even said something about it getting the bed clothes wet. Then we looked up the meanings and symbols and they were all really nice.”
“Did your grandmother tell you about this?” Ginny didn’t think Narcissa would do that, but she wasn’t sure how else Lyra might have seized on that particular myth.
“No, she didn’t,” Lyra protested.
“Ok, I believe you,” Ginny acquiesced. “Let’s go back inside and we can get a glass of water and a tissue. Is that alright with you?”
Still hiccuping from the crying, Lyra nodded her head and got off Ginny’s lap. Ginny took her hand and together they made their way back to the house.
In the kitchens, Ginny got a glass of water for Lyra and waited for her to drink it. Then she handed her a tissue and helped her blow her nose. When they passed Lacey on the way out of the kitchens, Ginny mouthed to her, “get Master Draco, please.” The elf nodded but waited until they were in the front hall before she apparated.
Ginny led Lyra to the library and they both sat down on one of the sofas in front of the fireplace. She pulled her goddaughter into her lap and rubbed her back. Lyra was much calmer, but she jumped at the CRACK! of apparition and looked up. Her expression of surprise turned into one of fear and sadness as she saw Draco walk slowly towards the pair of them.
He knelt in front of his daughter and she put her arms around his neck.
“Daddy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” she pleaded through a fresh wave of tears, “it’s all my fault.”
Having been apprised by Lacey of some of what had transpired, Draco gently pulled Lyra away from him and tilted her chin up.
“Oh, Merlin, Lyra,” he began, his own voice hitching, “you did nothing wrong. There is nothing about Mummy’s death that could possibly be your fault.”
“But I picked the pansy and it had dew on it,” she said, “that means someone is going to die.”
“Sweetheart, that could have been anybody,” Draco said, trying to explain how cause did not always have the desired (or undesired) effect, “lots of people died that day, and it could have meant any one of them. Chances are nobody was hurt because you picked a wet pansy.”
He pulled her back into a hug and stroked her hair until she was calm.
When Lyra looked back up at Draco again, she said, “Ginny said that it was just a story, a wives’ something or other. That it was said just to scare people.”
“She’s absolutely right,” Draco said, looking at Ginny over the top of his daughter’s head, “it can also be a pretend explanation for something bad happening, so that you don’t feel so bad. Like when you lost your scoop of ice cream at Fortescue’s that one time, we said it was because the ice cream wasn’t set on your cone very well, and rolled off, when really, you just tripped.”
Lyra thought about that for a moment, and then nodded her head. “So what happened to Mummy would have happened whether I picked the pansy or not?” Her hopeful face broke Draco’s heart.
“Yes, baby, sometimes things happen and we can’t find any rhyme or reason for it. It just happens,” he said, barely managing to keep his emotions tamped down.
***
Ginny watched this whole interaction with a heart that swelled with love and happiness. After everyone was feeling better, she excused herself. When Draco asked her why she was leaving, she just told him that he needed to spend some time with Lyra. But she would be back.
She floo’d home and fell apart at the kitchen table. Albus, hearing her, came in.
“What’s wrong, Mum?” he asked her. “Were you just at the Manor?”
Ginny wiped her eyes. “Yes, I was. Lyra had a little breakdown.”
Albus sat down at the table and Ginny told him what happened. When she finished, both were silent for a moment.
“You’re thinking about Draco and Dad aren’t you?” Albus asked.
Ginny shouldn’t have been, but she was always quietly amazed at her son’s intuition and perception of things, especially where she was concerned. She knew he was like her little bodyguard, not keeping her safe from physical threats, but protecting her heart. She was going to miss him so much when he went off to Hogwarts next year.
“Yes. I know I shouldn’t, but I just can’t help wishing that your father was as patient and caring with you three as Draco is with his. And, don’t get me wrong, your dad wasn’t a bad father, he just had absolutely no idea how to be a fantastic one. Draco’s plan was mainly to not do anything that his father did. He was so worried he would be a bad one, that he went out of his way to be the polar opposite. Draco has a lot of his mother in him.”
Albus looked at Ginny for a long moment and she felt as though he were staring into her soul.
She wasn’t sure what he would find there, but she knew whatever he said would soothe her
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Albus asked.
That was not what she was expecting. Ginny gaped at him, mouth opening and closing as she tried to think of something to say. In the end, she gave up and decided to just tell him the truth.
“Yes, I think I am,” she admitted, “but you have to swear to me that you won’t tell a soul. I have no idea what his feelings are for me, and honestly, it’s too soon; if I expressed myself now, it would be unbelievably selfish on my part.”
“I won’t say anything, Mum. You know I won’t.” Albus’s personality was such that he garnered a lot of trust from his friends and family, and along with that came secrets. If he were older and a Slytherin, he’d be fabulously wealthy.
“I know you won’t Al,” Ginny smiled and reached for him. He let himself be pulled into her embrace, and hugged her back. “Let’s just see how this goes. Deal?”
“Deal.”
***
Three months later
Ginny and all of her children were at the Manor, enjoying a picnic lunch over by the lake on the property. It was a very warm day for Britain, and after the meal, the children changed and went to play in the lake. Admonishing her sons to keep an eye on Lily Luna, she turned to Draco.
“Well, how are you feeling? You’ve accomplished an incredible amount in the last three months. Do you have any sense of closure?”
Draco looked at Ginny, trying to see if there was an ulterior motive there. He couldn’t tell if there really wasn’t one, or if she was just good at hiding her real feelings, like he used to be.
“Oh, Ginny, I haven’t really performed a self-assessment,” he quipped.
“I don’t think you need a self-assessment, Draco, I think you just need to look at your children.”
They both looked towards the lake at their combined brood. All five of them had been affected by the loss of a parent over the last half year; even though Harry wasn’t dead, his children hardly saw him and when he did it was all very surface level. He was married to and father of his career.
And Ginny was okay with that.
Scorpius and Lyra were thriving, in spite of the heart wrenching event that took their mother away from them. Of course, there were always nights when one or both of them ended up in Draco’s bed, one on either side, curled up with an arm thrown over his chest, and his arms hugging them as well. But they were coming in less and less; Draco was beginning to miss having someone in his bed.
“They’re doing all right. Aren’t they?” Draco mused, “all five of them.” He stole a glance at Ginny, and she smiled back.
**
“Scorpius, look at them,” Albus said. He was in the centre of the lake, well out of earshot of his Mum and Draco. “What did I tell you?”
Scorpius followed Albus’s gaze to where the two adults were lounging in the grass, talking and laughing. He squinted for a long moment and then looked back at his best friend.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he reluctantly agreed. “Merlin, has anybody ever had three mothers?” He winked at Albus goodnaturedly.
***
A few weeks later, Scorpius and Lyra found Draco and Ginny in Hermione’s study. It was early evening and the Potter children were with Harry for an unexpected outing, leaving Ginny free to spend time at the Manor.
“Dad, Lyra and I want to talk to you about something,” Scorpius began.
Draco looked at his son with mild surprise and Ginny stood up immediately.
“Well, that’s my cue,” Ginny said, “I’ll see you—”
“Actually, Ginny, this involves you too,” Lyra piped up. She looked at her brother and he nodded.
“Oh, okay then,” she said, puzzled, but she sat back down, a little further away from Draco than she had been before she’d gotten up.
“Go ahead, Scorp,” Draco said, sitting up a little straighter and patting the sofa on either side, so the children could sit.
“Well, we’ve been noticing that you two have been spending a lot of time together. I know, Ginny, you were helping Dad out with Mum’s things, but the last couple months it feels like it’s more than that.” Scorpius started to blush and Lyra rescued him.
“What Scorp means to say,” she continued for him, “is that we’re ok with it. We love Ginny, we love the kids and we just want you to be happy, Daddy.” She nuzzled her head on his chest and Draco looked over her head at Ginny, who was trying not to cry.
“Yeah, what she said,” Scorpius said sheepishly. “So are you?”
“Are we what?” Draco asked, ready to give his son a little ribbing.
Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Are you serious about each other?”
Merlin, he sounds so old, Draco thought. I thought Albus was the old soul; he must be rubbing off on him.
He looked at Ginny who gave him an ‘ it’s your call, but I’m fine with it’ look.
“Well obviously, we didn’t plan for this to happen—”
Scorpius snorted. He and Lyra looked at each other like, yeah, right, if you say so.
“Seriously,” Draco said, “we’ve been friends, even apart from your mother. Someday we’ll tell you all about our 6th and 7th year at Hogwarts. Yes, we are serious. But,” he said very emphatically “we are taking our time. There is no rush and I want to make sure everyone is as comfortable with this development as you two seem to be. Okay?”
Lyra leaped up and wrapped her arms around Draco’s neck for a fierce hug. Then she broke away and crawled over to Ginny and sat in her lap.
“I love you, Ginny,” she said, before making herself at home.
“Oh, I love you, too, peanut,” Ginny replied, “Lily Luna is going to be so excited that we’re all going to be closer. She loves you like a sister already.”
“She does?” Lyra looked at Ginny with wonder in her eyes. She’d never thought about someone looking up to her, having always been the baby and following everyone around.
“She does.”
After a few more minutes of cuddling, Draco suggested that they get ready for bed and that he’d be up in a few minutes. That spawned a few moments of endless ribbing. Lyra made kissy faces at him and Scorpius smiled and winked at them.
Once the blushes had disappeared from their faces, Draco and Ginny gravitated back towards each other.
“Well, that was unexpected,” Draco said. He looked at Ginny expecting corroboration. What he got was a very sly smirk instead. “What? Do you know something I don’t?”
“Well, that night that Lyra had her breakdown, I went home and fell apart. I’d discovered that I was hopelessly in love with you. As a man, as a friend and as a father, you have exceeded all my expectations. I was crying at the kitchen table when Albus walked in. I told him what happened and he immediately picked up on the fact that I was comparing you to Harry.”
Draco waited for her to continue with a little trepidation. To have bested Harry at anything would be no small feat.
“And?” he blurted out.
“Well, I saw how you explained everything and comforted Lyra and just wished that Harry’d had even a sliver of the empathy you had for that little girl. I knew then I was in love with you. And so did Albus. He promised to keep my secret until the time was right.”
“Apparently our children knew the time was right before we did,” Draco smirked. He leaned forward and took Ginny’s chin in his hand and kissed her gently, tenderly. “I love you, Ginny Potter.” He started to kiss her again, but―
“It’s Weasley.” Ginny managed to say it with a straight face, but as she started to crack up, she grabbed Draco by the neck and pulled him in for a fierce, possessive, claiming kiss.
Draco rolled his eyes. “I just never get it right, do it?”
“Maybe because it’s never been quite right, has it?’ Ginny gave him a look that spoke volumes about what she wanted her future to look like.
They continued kissing until a small voice from the top of the stairs called out, “Daddy! Come on!”
***
A year and a half later, Lyra walked down the aisle of the manor conservatory carrying a bouquet of pansies without any dew on them, leading Ginny to Draco.
Lyra had told Ginny she wanted to carry them, not because of their meaning to Hermione, but because one of the other names for the flower was “stepmother.”
Ginny couldn’t say no.