Happiness is a Warm Gun
. . . required to join for service with The Colours. . .
The letter falls to the table as Draco leans his head on his hands.
Hermione reads it, then walks around the table to hug him to her swelling stomach.
7 April. 1917
Darling,
I am happy to hear all is well. I am fighting this dominant feeling for home
when you tell me of our beautiful son, how he is growing by the day.
It gnaws at my heart. . .
He looks at the photograph of his wife and son under his pillow. He stares until his eyes burn.
16 August. 1917
Hermione sits at the table bandaging her hands.
Her reassignment to assist in assembling artillery is harsher on her skin than textiles.
Scorpius is in his chair gumming soggy bread.
Her head snaps up at a rap on the door.
A courier greets her and hands her a telegram.
Her blood freezes and she feels faint.
She doesn’t wait for him to finish his sentence of sympathy before she shuts the door and opens it.
Mrs. Malfoy,
We regret to inform you…
5 June. 1917
Blood drips from Draco’s brow into his eyes as he turns quickly and runs back for his weapon.
They come from behind.
2 May. 1918
She’s pinning sheets to her clothes line, Scorpius is on his belly on a blanket close by.
She glances at him, admiring how his hair shines in the sun like his father’s.
She turns back to the sheets and freezes when she catches a vision of Draco through the linens blowing in the wind.
She clenches her eyes shut and inhales deeply, willing away her tears.
She looks back at Scorpius to see that he’s looking in the same direction. Her breath catches as she hears his deep voice,
“Hello, Darling.”