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“Go on, then,” Draco said. He forced his voice to stay neutral, detached. Cool. He could be cool.
His daughter turned without a second glance and sprinted towards the brick wall of Platform 9 3/4, and—well, he wasn’t cool. He had perhaps never been cool. What even was cool? Cool was nothing. He’d never wanted it. He was beyond it. He had no qualms about abandoning the pretence of cool if it meant he could chase after her, right now. Immediately.
“Give it a second,” Hermione said, hand on his elbow. “You don’t want to crash into her on the other side.”
“But I can’t see her anymore,” he whined.
"You can do this,” she said.
“I don’t want to.” He tried to pull away, but she held fast to his cloak. “Oh come on, it’s been—“
His protest died as she flashed him a knee-weakening grin, then rushed to the wall, beating him through.
“Damn it, Granger!” he yelled after her. She flipped him the middle finger on her way through. The hand was the last part of her body to disappear. He shook his head. The two of them, honestly. Entirely impossible.
He strolled casually through the platform wall with a wide, shameless smile.
Rose and Hermione were waiting for him, sort of. Not waiting for him in a ‘standing still, watching for you with anticipation’ sort of way. More of a ‘oh, you’re here too, how convenient’ sort of way.
“Once upon a time,” he began, and pointedly ignored the way Rose rolled her eyes heavenward, “you literally ran into my arms. You hadn’t seen me for a few hours and you were so excited to see me again.”
“I was, like, four,” she said.
“I held you like this,” Draco continued, and held his arms in front of him in a loose and narrow circle. “Your whole body fit in there.”
“Mom,” Rose said, “if my friends see him crying, I’m telling you right now, I will pretend I don’t know either of you.”
“Pull yourself together, Malfoy,” Hermione scolded.
“She used to stand on my feet,” he said. “We used to dance around the Manor.”
“Look, it’s Uncle Harry,” Rose said, waving in the air. “UNCLE HARRY!” She turned back to Draco. “You don’t want to be blubbering in front of Uncle Harry, do you?”
“Uncle Harry can sod right off,” Draco muttered, but quietly. Rose loved her uncle, and her uncle’s ridiculous son, Albus. He looked around. So many children, all of them ridiculous.
Except his Rose, of course. She was perfect.
“Albus!” Rose squealed, and a squealing voice answered, “Rose!” and there was altogether too much squealing.
Draco turned to Hermione instead.
“She used to want me to squish her,” he lamented. “And kiss her all over her face. Remember that? The squish-kiss? Except she couldn’t say it right? So it was skish?”
Hermione sighed. “I loved skish.”
Rose and Albus had moved on to comparing Chocolate Frog Cards. Harry stepped towards the two of them, making as if he was going to comment on some wizard or witch, but the children saw him coming and angled their bodies closer together, shutting him out.
He made his way over towards Hermione, instead. Draco wiped his eyes on his sleeve. Harry pointedly looked away.
“It’s nearly time,” Hermione said. “Let’s walk the children up to their carriage.”
“No,” he said, pouting. “Why would I help the child to leave me forever?”
Hermione looked up to the sky, muttering something like give me strength, and headed over to Rose and Albus. The sound of the five-minute boarding whistle pierced the air. Harry walked beside her, chatting away, as if there were things to talk about, normal things. Taxes. The weather. Quidditch. Maybe—he shuddered—football.
Draco pulled the luggage cart after them, suffering terribly.
“You have your trunk?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Your wand?”
“It’s right here.”
“If you’ve forgotten anything, or you find you need some—“
“I’ll owl you, and you’ll send it right over.”
“It won’t be any trouble.”
“I’ll be fine, Dad. I have everything I need.”
He did, too. For now. For approximately three more minutes, he, too, had everything he needed. Everything he needed was standing right here on the platform with him. Hermione at his side. Rose in front of him, ready to walk away, leaving him categorically without everything he needed.
“All right. If you’re sure.”
“Merlin, Dad, the world’s not ending. I’ll see you at Christmas.”
“And if you need something before Christmas—“
The whistle interrupted him. Hermione stepped forward.
“Be safe, my love,” she said, opening her arms. Rose stepped in to the circle of her affection and gallantly accepted a kiss on the top of her head. “I can’t wait to hear about everything you’ve learned in class.”
“Bye, Mum,” she said, and turned to Draco. “Bye, Dad!” she said with a wave, and stepped on to the train.
He stood there, arms only having just started to open up for a hug, but she was already through the carriage door. Already pulling her trunk up behind her.
His heart was doing something painful.
She caught his gaze, and in her eyes—a spark, a brilliant dagger of light—and she was laughing.
“Just kidding, oh my god, your face!” she squealed, and dropped the handle of her trunk, and ran—blessed gods, thank Merlin—into his arms. Still laughing, laughing at him, and he loved it. His heart grew two sizes. He loved her even more than he had a minute ago, his teasing, knife-sharp daughter.
“Skish!!” she said, her voice muffled by his robes, and he squeezed her as tight as he could, and peppered kisses all over her curly blonde hair. “Okay, okay, okay,” she complained, still laughing.
“Okay,” he agreed, letting her go, and letting his tears fall freely while she boarded the train, for real this time. Not even caring if he was witnessed, Uncle Harry be damned.
And then it was all happening quickly: Rose and Albus on the train, faces at the windows, hands waving and shrinking as it took them away, off towards the castle and all that meant. Classes, friendships, adventures; the rest of their lives.
Draco and Hermione held hands on the platform and watched them go, swaying a little on their feet with the immensity of their feelings. Harry sniffed into his sleeve, and Draco pretended not to hear. Draco wiped his cheeks, and Harry cleared his throat.
“Well,” Harry said, “I don’t know about you two, but I could use a Butterbeer.”
“God, yes,” Hermione said. She turned to Draco. “Are you coming, or are you going to stand here and cry all day?”
“It’s tempting,” he grumbled, but he allowed himself to be led forward. And his wife, the light of his heart, teased him mercilessly for the whole walk down to the pub, and he loved her all the more for it.