Chapter 4
“Draco bloody Malfoy, Mione! All polite as you like, calling me Healer Potter. God it was like a normal man had stolen his pointy pale face!” Harry was three pints in, sat across Hermione in the back corner of their favourite pub, which was in a village in the middle of nowhere in Somerset. They had discovered it on a walk one day about two years ago, and now they came as often as they could. The owner likely assumed they had moved into the neighbourhood, and they tried to keep talk of living in London to a minimum so they wouldn’t arouse suspicion.
“And he has a son, now?” Hermione asked, taking a sip from her second pint, content just to let Harry vent. He looked like he needed it.
Harry nodded, taking a long draught from his glass before continuing; “he does! Scorpius is five years old now, so he must have been born when Malfoy was twenty. And Malfoy himself said the birth was ‘unorthodox’. I didn’t even ask who his mother was, I dread to think…” Harry trailed off, searching for something scathing to say and realising he had nothing. The encounter with Malfoy that morning hadn’t left him with any ammunition against the bloke. In fact, Malfoy had been perfectly polite.
“He was a sweet boy, really. Face like a little angel, all blond hair and round cheeks and big baby eyes, like Teddy has. He was so sick, ‘Mione. I’ve not seen anything like it. It was like the life had been drained out of him, could barely move his own head.” Harry shook his head at the memory. He had no idea what was wrong with Scorpius, and it worried him, but it was pub night, the one night he left all his work problems behind.
“Anyway, how has your day been?” He asked Hermione, allowing her to vent about her day wrangling members of the Wizengamot to support her bill proposal about creature rights. He settled into his booth, gazing at Hermione’s animated face as she ranted about some miserly old man who was intent on trying to retain the same pre-war biases. He sometimes forgot, so wrapped up in Hermione’s brilliant mind, how beautiful his best friend was. Her dark skin glowed in the yellow lamplight, her hair twisted into a severe bun at the nape of her neck, with some fluffy baby hairs framing her forehead like a halo. She never wore makeup to work, and her office clothes were quite boring- a simple shirt and trousers- but she looked lovely nevertheless. Harry smiled. Ron was a lucky man.
“That sounds intense.” Harry responded when she’d finished, even though he hadn’t been fully listening. She heaved a sigh and nodded, taking another long drink from her glass.
They loved this pub because they only had cider on tap- seven taps of different types with different fruity flavours, and it got them quite giggly. Ron only drank beer, but the real reason he was never invited to these pub nights was because Hermione was so scared Harry would feel like a third-wheel, at the conception of her relationship with Ron, after the war, she demanded he get one evening each week for one-on-one time with them. It worked remarkably well, and now Harry and Hermione had pub night, and Harry and Ron had quidditch Saturdays, and they all had Sundays at the Burrow.
“God, work just gets a bit too much sometimes, I don’t want to think about it. Tell me more about Malfoy. I know you likely won't want to hear this but have you considered that he’s maybe just… changed? No, don’t get that look on your face, hear me out. He was awful at school, right? But that was school. And to be honest, we were all a little bit awful in our own ways. Your temper has come leaps and bounds since the, well, the war. And so has Ron’s insecurity, and my insufferableness. We’ve all changed, and matured, and Malfoy has a son now- that's bound to make someone grow up. Maybe he is just better. Children change your priorities, and if he’s raising- Scorpius, was it?- around muggles, then he can’t want them all dead.” Hermione raised an eyebrow at Harry, just daring him to argue with her. As much as he wanted to just for argument's sake, he had to admit that she was right. Malfoy looked broken that morning, watching his son’s every movement. And he wasn’t lying about the muggles, Harry hadn’t heard anything about Malfoy in years, and he would have known if Malfoy was around in wizarding Britain, and he also would have known if Malfoy had left the country.
“Maybe you’re right. I have a follow-up appointment with him next week. We’ll see what he’s like when he’s less worried about his son dying.” Harry conceded, and conversation moved onto other things.
***
“It’s been a terrible day, Maryam. I mean, I thought something was seriously wrong with Scorp, and then I get to the hospital and I come face to face with my least favourite person from my school days, and guess what? He’s the bloody doctor.” Draco groaned and ran a hand down his face. “I just, god. It’s just been one of those days.”
Maryam nodded and hummed sympathetically, staring at Draco from where she sat across from him at his dining table. Scorpius had been asleep all afternoon, and Draco had woken up from his own nap at about three in the afternoon, and Maryam had texted after Scorpius’ health, and Draco felt like company might help, so he’d invited her over for a cup of tea.
“I know, love. It's been a tough one. But Scorp has his medicine now, and you can relax a little bit, yeah? Did you take him to Southmead or BRI?” Maryam asked, reaching her hand out to clasp Draco’s over the table. He clung to her soft fingers gratefully, gazing at the contrast of her pale brown skin against his porcelaine white.
“Southmead.” Draco lied, hoping she wouldn’t ask any more specific questions.
“Mm. Well, it's lovely in there isn’t. At least you got to have a little adventure.” Maryam’s comment was typical of her- kind, understanding, but not overly sympathetic. She was a practical woman, with a daughter of her own who was Scorpius’ best friend. The children had gone to school together since nursery, and Draco had first met Maryam when Scorpius had been invited over for a playdate one day about two years ago. When Draco had gone to pick him up, Maryam had invited him inside for a cuppa and the pair left over three hours later. She was quite a few years older than him, and had clearly taken pity on the new single dad in his early twenties, because she had invited him and Scorpius round for dinner the next week, and then the next.
Draco and Maryam had been best friends ever since. Maryam was a shoulder to lean on. She always had leftovers waiting if Draco had had a long week at work and hadn’t had time to cook. She always had biscuits in her cake tin, and she always had a listening ear for his troubles. In return, Draco always had space for her daughter Zara on his and Scorp’s day trips to the beach or the park or the zoo, he always had legal advice when she needed help with her somewhat messy divorce, and he always had a cupboard full of exotic teas for when she came over.
“What would I do without you, Maryam?” Draco asked her, watching a pretty blush suffuse her cheeks. Maryam flicked the edge of her hijab over her shoulder and sniffed.
“You’d do just fine, Dray, but you’ll never be without me, so you needn’t worry.”
Draco smiled, and pushed the plates of biscuits towards her, and the two of them sat in companionable silence.