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The Cormorant was a beautiful vintage muggle sleeper steam train. Faithfully restored in its original emerald green paint and golden finishings, its website touted it as a ‘blast from the past’ luxury experience.
Hermione slid the door to her compartment abruptly shut scant inches from her nose, cutting off her line of sight to the cabin- and occupant- within. The panes rattled in protest at their rough treatment.
Blast from the past . Understatement of the century.
-
The carriage attendant was cheery and friendly even as she cut down Hermione’s request to be moved to a different compartment. They were fully booked, they informed her. Fully boarded, to boot. They assured her that if she had any issues with the conduct of any other passenger, she was welcome to report it to the crew.
-
Closing her fingers around the handle of the compartment door, Hermione takes a deep, cleansing breath before opening it and stepping inside.
She immediately turns her back to the other occupant and pushes her bags into the racks above her seat. When she finally does swing back around and withdraws a book from the pocket of her coat, Draco Malfoy’s face is carefully blank.
A faint light comes on in the recesses of her brain, flashing a warning. She immediately snuffs it out without investigating the source and sits.
Because beside Malfoy is the man in miniature. With rounder, chubby cheeks and wide, inquisitive eyes. Hermione has seen enough of the society section of the Prophet to know that the little four-year old is Scorpius Malfoy. He greets her with an open face and a polite smile.
“Hello, miss!”
Scorpius is missing a front tooth.
With a jolt and a whistle, the train departs.
-
She is staring, and she doesn’t even realise it until Malfoy meets her gaze, scowls and a dry remark breaks the tension in the compartment like shattering glass.
“Have you been Confunded?”
Chastised, Hermione chews the inside of her cheek in a mixture of irritation and embarrassment and hides her face behind her book. She fixates on the section on winter transplantation methods for Asphodel as she hears Scorpius quietly admonish his father for being rude.
-
The packet of licorice wands crinkles obscenely loudly in the space as Malfoy fishes for one, breaking it in half and handing one end to his son. The crinkling continues as he leans to complete his crossword, newspaper open on the surface between their seats.
Tension and irritation at the sound drag Hermione from her book and she snaps the cover closed abruptly. Malfoy ignores her, pocketing the packet and carving a solution into the grids. Hermione scowls.
“Nine down is ‘pillock’.” She says, without looking at the hint, and because the jab at him makes her feel better.
Malfoy purses his lips and doesn’t even spare her a glance.
-
Two hours into the trip, Scorpius shuffles down from his seat and withdraws a small carrier from the space underneath. He fishes out a small, round tuft of pale blue fluff and begins to pet it.
When the little boy extends the Pygmy Puff to her and introduces it as “Harold, but I call him Harry,” a startled, endlessly amused noise squeaks past Hermione’s lips before she can contain it.
Scorpius seems to take the sound as approval and returns to his seat with Harold in his arms before placing the Puff down on his father’s lap. Malfoy’s lips thin and his jaw sets. Hermione hastily returns to her book.
-
The lemon bars are fragrant as Hermione removes them from their container. Scorpius perks up and tries, in that way that only children can, to ask for one without actually asking.
The crumbs of the biscuit base cover the boy’s lap, the seat, Harold and Malfoy as the four-year old smushes half of the bar into the corner of his father’s mouth, insistent that he try some, too.
Malfoy takes the offered half with a pinched expression, not meeting her eye.
He is then subjected to a little elbow in the side from his son as Scorpius says a pointed “ Thank-you, miss .” innocently intended to cue his father.
Malfoy thanks her quietly.
-
The snow-storm shifts the scenery outside the train to a canvas of pure white as the locomotive grinds to a halt. The Tannoy in the ceiling crackles to life, startling Scorpius. A voice informs them that the tracks ahead have iced over, and that they will be taking a brief pause in their journey to wait for the worst of the storm to pass.
Wordlessly, Malfoy stands and pulls the folded blankets from their storage space. He shakes one out and begins to wrap Scorpius up before handing Hermione the other. Puzzled that he would not simply conjure another blanket, Hermione ponders a sudden recollection of his sentencing as he sits back down and gazes out the window.
He would be nearly seven years into his ten-year wand ban.
The wandless warming charm comes easily as she whispers it into the quiet.
Malfoy’s eyes slide to hers as her magic washes over him.
-
The tea set from the trolley is fine white china, steam curling from the hot earl grey within. Hermione can’t restrain her reaction to her first sip of the bitter, over-steeped blend. She reaches for the sugar, adds three cubes, and sips again. Malfoy drinks his tea with a neutral expression.
Malfoy unfolds himself from his seat as she places her cup back on its saucer. He gathers the tea service back up onto its tray and takes it with him as he leaves the compartment. Scorpius watches his father leave, then scoops Harold up and begins to talk to the Pygmy Puff about the snow.
Malfoy returns a short while later with the tea service in his hands as the train begins to move again.
This time, when she sips from the silver-rimmed cup, it is brewed perfectly.
-
Hermione is engrossed in a particular section of her Herbology text when a little hand, followed by a little body, joins her on her seat. When she places the text down, she sees that Scorpius has abandoned his picture-book copy of Tom Thumb and is peering intently at the cover of her book.
“Is that a magic book?” Scorpius asks her, running his finger along the embossed title. Magical Plant Transplantation and Hybridisation. Malfoy is tense, his own book lying forgotten on the table as he watches Hermione and Scorpius carefully.
“It is,” Hermione picks her tone and words cautiously, noting Malfoy’s edginess. “It’s a book about magical plants. Would you like to see?”
Scorpius’ pale blonde head bobs excitedly as he nods, leaning to trace the penciled lines of an illustration of Dittany with a stubby little finger. Hermione takes a deep, steadying breath and begins to read to him.
-
Dinner service is delivered to their compartment in a disappointingly bland spread of roasted lamb and vegetables. The meat is pale and dry, the vegetables cold and soft, and the little boy seated back with his father is scrunching his nose in distaste. Hermione can’t help but laugh when Scorpius eyes her shrewdly and asks for another lemon bar.
And if Malfoy’s quiet chuckle rattles her, she does her best not to show it.
-
Scorpius dozes peacefully against his father as the tempus Hermione casts calls the hour 9pm. Malfoy’s eyes snag on her wand as she stows it back away.
Harold is balled up in his flat palm, and Malfoy’s thumb strokes the Pygmy Puff as Hermione draws the blanket tighter around herself. She leans her cheek against the cold smoothness of the window and stares out into the dark.
-
When she wakes again, Malfoy has made the bed on his side of the compartment for his son and her face is icy.
The elder blond is leaning against the divider of the compartment, upright at the foot of Scorpius’ sleeping form. The chill in the space makes her skin prickle as she observes the uncomfortable angle of Malfoy’s neck and the unexpected spectacle of his relaxed expression.
In sleep, all the lines and tension in his face have been smoothed away and the angle of his body is softer. The little light flickers back on in the foggy, sleepy recesses of her mind.
She summons her wand and wordlessly conjures the man a blanket. She floats it over to him and places it down.
The instant the blanket touches Malfoy, he jolts violently into awareness.
She gasps quietly and grips her wand tighter. The blanket pools at his feet as he jerks to standing. His expression is stunned and on-edge as his eyes swivel around the room before settling on her.
The wild, panicked look in his eyes slowly fades as he seems to gather himself for a moment. He takes a slow, deep breath.
Without uttering a sound, Malfoy looks between her and the blanket now pooled on the floor, gathers the fabric up and places it over his son and exits the compartment.
The lock activates with a quiet ‘ snick’.
-
Hermione is careful to throw up a ward to alert her if Scorpius wakes as she follows his father. She cannot identify the draw to go after Malfoy, but her body answers the call like siren-song.
Her shoes hush along the carpet as she makes her way through the carriages and the freezing galleys between. Lights on in compartments she passes give the halls a warm glow. The train creaks, huffs and chugs dutifully under foot as she moves.
-
The dining car is warm, dimly lit and almost empty. An attendant at the bar sleepily polishes a glass with a clean rag and a gentleman in a bowler hat snores lightly from a nearby booth.
Glasses tinkle musically in their cabinets as the carriage sways and pitches gently. The attendant greets her with a nod.
Craning to look, she spies a white-blond head tucked into a booth at the other end of the carriage. Malfoy is nursing another cup of tea between his hands. He sits alone.
Hermione requests a cup for herself from the attendant, thanks him and carefully carries it on its saucer over to the booth.
Malfoy looks up from his tea, then down and away just as quickly. His fingers flex around the handle of the cup once and his shoulders draw into a hard line. His jaw ticks once, twice, as she sits.
She sips her tea and sighs at the bitter bite of it. Malfoy moves slowly to offer her a sugar cube from the bowl, and her saucer rasps across the table as she pushes her tea over to receive it.
The cube dissolves slowly into the liquid while she watches.
The wind whistles against the window beside them. The silence between them stretches against the backdrop of gentle jazz music, and light snores from three booths down. Hermione finds an odd peace in it, feeling tension she hadn’t noticed she was carrying ebb away.
“Thank-you.” She says, and he places the sugar tongs back into their bowl with a nod.
‘You’re welcome.” He replies.
The unsaid hangs heavy between them. She feels it materialising and pushing its way into the space. The coffee machine at the bar purges in a gentle hiss.
“I-” Malfoy starts, then stops. His brow furrows and his hand balls into a fist on the tabletop. Hermione sips her tea and shakes her head.
“In the morning.” She says, and it is her turn to look away when he shifts at her interruption. Grey eyes pierce her like pins in a butterfly.
Outside the carriage, the night passes in a blanket of sleeted darkness. Soon, the sky will streak with hues of blue, peach and pink and the landscape will welcome the warmth of the sunrise. But for now, all is cool and dark and quiet.
“Tell me in the morning.”