The Next Generation
Draco’s POV
There were few things in life Draco Malfoy feared.
Unrest in the Wizengamot? Handled.
Foreign negotiation gone sideways? Please.
His mother’s disapproval? Navigated since childhood.
But this?
This was hell.
Because standing on the front steps of Malfoy Manor—smiling, red-haired, and defiantly barefoot—was Rose Weasley.
And beside her, completely at ease, stood Scorpius Malfoy. His son. His brilliant, well-mannered, promising heir—
Looking at Rose like she’d pulled the stars from the sky just for him.
Draco closed the curtains so hard he nearly tore the fabric.
Inside the Manor – 12 Minutes Later
Draco stormed into the study.
Hermione, in the same armchair she always curled into, didn’t even flinch. She was sipping tea and marking essays for the Hogwarts Muggle Studies review board.
“You knew,” he snapped.
She didn’t look up. “I suspected.”
“She’s a Weasley.”
Hermione hummed. “Mmhm.”
“A Weasley, Hermione.”
She finally glanced at him over the rim of her cup. “Your memory is excellent. Maybe try using it for perspective.”
He gaped. “Our son is in love with Ron’s daughter!”
Hermione arched a brow. “You’re acting like it’s a curse.”
“It is!” he hissed. “It’s red hair and rules and righteous fury—Ron in a skirt.”
Hermione tried—she really tried—not to laugh.
“Draco.”
“No,” he ranted, pacing. “You don’t understand. Do you have any idea how Ron is going to react? He’s going to—he’s going to—”
As If on Cue…
The fireplace roared.
Green flames. Heavy footsteps. And a voice full of dread.
“WHERE IS SHE?!”
Hermione closed her eyes for a beat. “And there’s Ron.”
Draco turned. “Weasley.”
Ron stood in the drawing room, face flushed, eyes wide. “Is it true?!”
Hermione didn’t move from her seat. “Hello, Ron.”
“Don’t you ‘Hello, Ron’ me—my daughter told me she’s in love with his son.”
He pointed dramatically at Draco.
Draco folded his arms. “He could do worse.”
“WORSE?! She’s seventeen, Malfoy!”
“And he’s eighteen.”
“I’m not discussing numbers with you!”
“Then why are you yelling in my house?”
Ron took a step forward. “You listen to me—my daughter is not going to—”
“Ron.” Hermione’s voice was sharp. “Breathe.”
Ron froze.
Hermione stood, calm as ever, and walked toward the two men who had once tried to kill each other in a war—and were now locked in a full dad standoff.
She looked between them. “Are either of you aware that Rose and Scorpius are sitting outside, likely watching you melt down through the window?”
Ron glanced toward the window. Flushed deeper.
Hermione turned to Draco. “And you—when you fell in love with me, I didn’t throw a tantrum.”
“You hexed me.”
“That’s different.”
Draco huffed. “You were a Muggle-born. She’s a Weasley.”
Hermione smirked. “So you do see the difference now.”
Draco groaned, running a hand through his hair.
Ron still looked mildly feral, pacing like he needed to duel someone—or build a time turner.
“She’s my baby girl,” he muttered.
Hermione softened. “And he’s our son.”
The room fell still.
Then Draco spoke. Quiet. Defeated. “He looks at her the way I looked at you.”
Ron’s expression twisted. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Hermione pressed her lips together to hide her laugh. “And yet, here we are. Married. Happy. With kids. Not dead.”
Draco muttered, “Debatable.”
She took his hand. “You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“And you’ll love her, too.”
He groaned again. “Merlin, I already do. She told me off last week for underestimating the reach of anti-creature legislation. Quoted three sources and a prophet op-ed. I nearly cried.”
“She’s Hermione,” Ron said glumly.
“Exactly,” Hermione smiled.
Later, at the Garden Table
Scorpius held Rose’s hand under the table.
Draco saw it. So did Ron.
Neither said anything.
Mostly because Hermione was watching them both like a hawk.
Draco leaned toward Ron, voice low. “We’re going to be related.”
Ron took a long sip of wine. “I’m going to need stronger alcohol.”
Draco’s gaze drifted to his son. The same son who had once cried over a broken broom, who now sat there grinning like he held the sun in his hands.
He looked at Rose the way Draco had once looked at Hermione—in awe.
In love.
Draco sighed, resigned.
“This is going to be hell.”
Hermione leaned in, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Welcome to parenthood, love.”