Becoming

Draco could taste the scotch on her lips as he pulled her face to his forcefully. She froze for a moment as his lips pressed against hers, and then her hands were winding around his neck and burying into the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. Draco groaned into her mouth as she opened her lips to his seeking tongue, and he dropped his hands to the swell of her bum. The silk of her dress slipped under his fingers as he played his fingers over the curve of her hips and down to cup her arse. She arched into him, pressing her breasts against his chest. Draco swore he could feel her heartbeat as he backed her slowly into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

The low lights in the room played across her face as the woman in his arms broke the kiss to take in their surroundings. She gasped, her pupils blown out as her eyes roved the tall shelves, and in response Draco growled and dropped his mouth to her throat. The column of her neck bent under his ministrations, and he sunk his teeth into the tender flesh where her neck met her shoulder. The low moan she issued had him dragging the skirts of her gown up frantically. His hands made contact with the smooth flesh of her thighs and he nearly came in his trousers at the stilted gasp she let out as his hand trailed higher…

Draco tugged aside the gusset of her lacy underthings to graze the soft, damp flesh of her core and --

BANG!

Draco awoke with a start, and muttered a curse as he bolted up in bed. He grasped at his bedside table, searching for his wand and trying desperately to shake the fog of sleep from his head.

“Lumos.”

Draco’s lit wand illuminated the walls and windows of his bedroom. On one of his window ledges, a tawny owl was pecking hard at the glass.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered darkly as he pulled himself out of the tangle of sheets. As he opened the window, the owl screeched at him impatiently and stuck its leg out for him to take the scroll tied to it. As he fumbled with the parchment, the owl pecked at his fingers impatiently.

“Calm down, you ruddy beast. It’s just gone four in the morning, give me a mo’ to get this off you.”

It made a noise of discontent but stilled, and when he finally removed the scroll, it flew past him into his bedroom to perch atop the hangings of his bed. Clearly, the missive would require his response before the impatient bird would leave.

Rubbing a hand over the scruff on his face, Draco resigned himself to an early morning and waved his hand to light the lamps. Sitting down on the bench at the foot of his bed, he unrolled the scroll.

Malfoy –

I know we parted on less than pleasant terms when we last spoke, but I need to meet with you at your convenience this week to discuss something of great importance. I will be available at any time of your choosing but ask that you agree to meet me at my offices. They are warded for privacy and security, so you need not be concerned about your presence becoming known. Please send your availability back with Gertrude when you receive this, so that I may reschedule any other appointments as necessary.

-H. Granger

Draco groaned and dropped his head into his hands. After a long moment while Draco’s mind raced, the owl – Gertrude, he supposed – let out a petulant screech. Draco shushed the bird and stood, pulling a light dressing gown over his pyjamas.

When he made to leave the room, the owl flapped its wings in annoyance.

“Just hold on, you rude brute. I need to grab my scheduler from my office. I’ll be back with your answer in a minute.”

Draco padded down the hallway and stairs in silence, careful not to wake any other residents of the house. When he was safely shut into his office on the main floor, he sat at his desk and tossed the missive onto his blotter. What in the world would Hermione Granger possibly need from him?

Draco supposed it had been no coincidence that he had been dreaming of their last encounter at the Ministry’s commemorative War Memorial Ball in May. The night had been a fluke, he had told himself, borne of too many drinks at the depressing event and a challenge that the Malfoy library paled in comparison to the Hogwarts library. They hadn’t even removed their clothes before Draco had her pinned against a shelf in his ancestral home’s library as he fucked her into oblivion. After, she had straightened her gown but hadn’t bothered to locate her knickers. He had made a rude comment without thinking, and she had breezed out of his old family home in an instant. He hadn’t heard from her in the six months since. On top of that, considering how frequently she had been in the Daily Prophet in the last year, he was surprised she hadn’t been pictured recently.

Draco hadn’t reached out, of course. It was not an event that would be repeated, particularly after their last words, though he would be lying if he said the memory hadn’t haunted him regularly for months. As evidenced by his dream tonight.

Draco sat forward in his chair and tugged his scheduler toward him. Studying it for a moment, he sighed again. His week was unfortunately quite busy, but a niggling thought at the back of his mind told him that the sooner he could get this over with, the better it would be for both of them.

“Tomorrow it is,” he muttered, cursing to himself. With an elegant fountain pen, Draco wrote out a short response.

Granger,

Due to other obligations, the only time I can be available is tomorrow after three. I will be arriving via Floo.

D.M.

Draco couldn’t help the sinking feeling that consumed him as he sent off his response with Gertrude. He spent the morning wallowing in his discomfort.

At precisely 2:59 pm the next day, Draco stepped out of the Floo in Hermione’s private offices. She had made a name for herself in the last decade as a legal advisor and solicitor in both the magical and Muggle world. She had sat her A-levels in Muggle London after finishing her NEWTs (so he had heard), and had – in true Granger fashion – managed to complete an accelerated law program at both the Muggle and magical colleges of Oxford. After a few frustrating years at the Ministry, Hermione had gone into practice for herself. She took both magical and Muggle clients, and had represented a number of creature rights groups in front of the Wizengamot – quite successfully, Draco conceded, as several archaic laws had been overturned and new precedent created.

This would account for her spacious offices. Draco stepped from the hearth in a small antechamber, and could see Hermione sitting behind her desk in the adjoining room. Hermione looked up and caught his eye, nodding her acknowledgement, and gestured for him to come take a seat.

The leather armchairs in front of her desk were comfortable, if old-fashioned. The room was cosy and lined with bookshelves, and Draco felt it suited her. As he sat, Hermione spoke for the first time.

“If you’ll please give me a moment to finish my notes from my prior appointment, I want to get this down before we begin.”

Draco nodded, and Hermione continued to scribble notes in a thick notepad laying open on her desk. Draco hadn’t so much as caught a glimpse of her in person since May, and so took the opportunity to study her.

Her wild, dark curls, which had bounced free of their coif as he had pressed her against the bookshelves all those months ago, today were twisted into a tight plait that lay over her shoulder. She dressed in smart Muggle clothes, and Draco admired the way the rich blue colour of her blouse played against the caramel tones of her skin. She wore a long, knit cardigan over the blouse – a thick, drapey piece that looked soft and warm. She looked strained, upon close inspection. There was a tightness to her lips, and Draco could see the shadows under her eyes and the crease between her eyebrows seemed to be a permanent feature. Her face was thinner, her cheeks a little gaunt compared to the last time he had seen her up close.

Draco turned his attention to her hands as she continued to write on the pad of paper in the folio. She used a Muggle pen, something light and flimsy looking but that made strong, bold marks across the page. Her cuticles were a little ragged, he noted as she finally paused in her writing. She clicked something at the top of her pen, and Draco watched the nib disappear into the housing of the pen in a curious way. Closing the folio and placing the pen on top of it, Hermione leaned back against the back of her chair and lifted her eyes to meet his once more.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

“You can thank me after you explain what it is I’m doing here, Granger,” Draco drawled. Though he no longer sneered at her as he had done in his youth, even he could detect the pompous tone in his voice. He wondered if she could sense his discomfort and if she understood why.

Hermione took a deep breath, her shoulders lifting and then falling in a resigned way.

“I’ve got something I need to discuss with you that I cannot put off any longer. I need to provide you with some private information that must not leave this room. With your consent, we will enter into a magical agreement that the things we discuss will be rendered confidential.”

“I will agree to your terms,” Draco said slowly, eyeing her carefully.

“Thank you.” She waved her hand, and a piece of bright white paper appeared on the desk in front of him. He leaned forward to peruse it as she continued. “This is my standard confidentiality agreement, but you’ll find that in signing it, you are entering a magical contract, and only those details which we agree to share will be able to be discussed with outside parties. Should you have a lawyer you wish to retain for any reason as a result of this meeting and you enter into a business contract with them, this agreement will allow you to discuss the details of our dealings with them, and the binding magic will extend to them and they will not be able to speak of the details, either.”

Draco’s eyebrows rose as he perused the contract. “Impressive, Granger.”

“I didn’t get where I am by being inept, Malfoy.”

Draco nodded, reaching for her curious pen as he finished reading the details. He clicked the pen with unveiled amusement, and signed the contract. Hermione leaned over the desk and took it from him, signing her name below his before snapping her fingers. The contract disappeared, and Draco felt a wave of magic wash over him in a rush of tingles.

“Thank you for your agreement, Malfoy. Now, I would ask that you let me get into this next bit before I, frankly, lose my nerve. Please save your questions, if possible, and I promise I will answer them to the best of my ability.”

“Go on then.”

She met his eyes again, and Draco saw something indiscernible in their dark brown depths. Fear? Trepidation?

“As you know, I was tortured by your aunt for an extensive period of time.” Hermione said it so flippantly that Draco almost didn’t register her words. “In my recovery after the final battle, I was evaluated and treated intensively by Healers at St. Mungo’s, because I experienced a number of symptoms and side effects that they weren’t able to immediately identify. I had tremors, unexplained internal bleeding, magical and hormonal fluctuations. Through some experimentation and research, the Healers were able to determine that the spells I took during the war, particularly the night we were captured, caused some of my organs irreparable damage. Something was slowly eating away at me inside, like acid. By the time the Healers identified the curse – which took some weeks, unfortunately – it necessitated that I have surgery because they were able to stop the curse’s progress, but I had dying tissue in my body. Are you familiar with surgery?”

Draco shook his head.

“Surgery is a type of Muggle medicine where they cut you open with sharp tools to work inside your body.” Hermione continued matter-of-factly. “So, the Healers at St. Mungo’s were able to put me in contact with a French Muggle doctor who was married to one of the Healers at a magical hospital in Paris, and they were able to arrange for me to have emergency surgery in the magical hospital there. They had to remove quite a bit of dead tissue, but some things they were able to salvage. When I came out of anaesthesia – Muggle sleeping draughts,” Hermione broke in at seeing his confusion, “they told me that my life would be different moving forward. I can’t eat acidic foods very often because I lost my gallbladder. I won’t ever be able to take up running because they removed a love from my lung. I’ve had to cut most meats out of my diet because my intestines were damaged and they had to take chunks out, so my digestion is off. And they also informed me that they had to remove parts of my reproductive organs and that it would be nearly impossible for me to ever have my own child. They deemed that it would be 'up to the magic' if I were ever to carry.”

Draco was silent, but he could feel his own pulse quicken. A pit of guilt roiled in his chest, tightening the longer he dwelled on what had happened to her in his own ancestral home.

“The reason all of this is important, you see…”

Draco watched as Hermione’s professional facade began to falter. She could no longer meet his eyes, and she was twisting her fingers together on top of her desk. She spun a silver filigreed ring around her left pointer as if expressing a nervous tic.

“The night of the Memorial Ball was the first time I’d been with anyone in quite a while.” Hearing her say it caused a frisson up his spine, and a startling warmth settled in his stomach as he again pictured her pressed up against the bookshelves, the smell of leather and parchment strong as he bit down on her neck.

“What is it, Granger?” Draco sounded more calm than he felt.

Hermione put her palms flat on her desk and pushed to her feet. Her hands shook slightly as she pulled slightly at the open front of her cardigan. It fell to either side of her abdomen, and as she angled herself in front of him, Draco felt his mouth go dry.

Hermione Granger was quite obviously pregnant.

Draco couldn’t breathe for a moment. He felt his entire body go cold, and then hot in an instant. He rubbed his face with his hand, pressing his fingers into his eyeballs slightly, and then looked back at Hermione. His gaze travelled up from her rounded belly and wide hips to meet her worried, distraught gaze.

“So.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure –?”

“I haven’t exactly been sleeping around, Malfoy, and there hasn’t been anyone since. I know it was the night I was with you – we never cast a charm. But I do have the potion prepared for a paternity test, so we can get that out of the way.” She sounded almost vicious in her brusque tone. She opened a desk drawer and pulled out a small vial. She placed it on the desk in front of him. “A hair will do to confirm, if you wish, but it’s more reliable with blood.”

Draco stared at the thick blue sludge in the vial.

“Granger,” he started slowly. “I just –”

“It’s alright,” she said quietly. “I can understand this has put you in an awkward position. It’s why we’re here, actually.” Hermione shifted some documents on her desk and pulled a thin folder from a stack. She hesitated, then slid it across the desk to him.

“I drew up a contract. Well, several.” She sat back down, wrapping her sweater around the swell of her belly protectively. “I’m not expecting or requesting for you to contribute financially, though I am prepared to share custody with you after further discussion. That folder,” she nodded at it, though Draco still hadn’t touched it or the vial, “has a proposed custody arrangement, but it’s also something we can alter to suit both of our needs after this meeting, if that is what you wish to do. It also has a document for you to sign over your parental rights, if that’s the path you choose. The legal precedent at play with that one will require you to do the paternity test, though. There’s also a contract that would keep either of us from discussing your identity as the father, should you choose that. Again, the paternity test would be needed.”

Draco was silent for another beat. He closed his eyes.

“It’s November. Six months.”

Hermione drew in a shaky breath. “Yes.”

“It took you six months to tell me?”

“Well, frankly, I didn’t even find out till just a few weeks ago.”

“How is that possible?”

“Because of the surgery, I, uh, I don’t have my cycle regularly. It only happens every once in a while, maybe two or three times a year, and it’s unpredictable. So I didn’t suspect anything till someone made a comment about my looking pregnant. It took me a while to get up the courage for the test.”

“And the first thing you do is write up a bloody contract.” His words came out a little harsher than he intended. Hermione winced.

“This wasn’t exactly planned, Malfoy. I have been told for years that it was nearly impossible for me to have children and all my personal Healers recommended I never try. I had long since made my peace with that. I am focused on my career, and on the life I’m building on my own. So finding out I was pregnant was quite the unpleasant shock,” she laughed mirthlessly. “Even more of a shock that I didn’t have a miscarriage. I had been planning to terminate it, because I knew with my medical history it would be unlikely both of us would make it, and I've never been particularly enthusiastic about becoming a parent. But after half a dozen appointments, the pregnancy looks fairly healthy and my Healer is optimistic there won't be a medical necessity, and I decided I’d be continuing the pregnancy and hope for the best. And out of respect for your situation with your family and your obligations, I felt it best to give you all your options.”

“Obligations. Of course.” He finally dragged his gaze back to her. He could read the fear in her face. The resignation lingering behind it. A thrill worked its way up his spine. He couldn't help the sinking feeling that this was too good to be true.

“I understand if you need to take some time to think about it and review the contracts. To decide what course of action you want to take –”

“To hell with the bloody contracts,” Draco spluttered. “Granger, I am going to take the paternity test, but I want to tell you why. I’ve been told my entire life that Malfoys can only have a single heir. A single child. And Scorpius is four years old. This shouldn’t be possible, it goes against generations of family history. My mother even whispered it was a curse on the Malfoy line, maybe something prophetic,” he rasped. He swallowed, his gaze falling onto the vial again.

“So to be quite frank, I’m having a bit of trouble wrapping my head around this here. After Astoria died, I wasn’t planning to ever remarry, and I knew I’d never have any more children. So to suddenly hear I’m going to be a father again, and that Scorp has a chance at having the type of family I never did, a sibling... Merlin. I just – I need to see it with my own eyes.”

Draco leant forward and swiped the small vial off the desk. With shaking fingers, he removed the stopper and drew his wand. He conjured a small, sharp pin, and pricked the tip of one of his fingers. He and Hermione both stared as the bead of brilliant red welled up on his pale skin. He squeezed his finger above the mouth of the vial.

“Three drops would be best,” Hermione said in a small voice. Draco nodded absently and watched as one – two – three drops fell into the blue potion. He stoppered it immediately and shook the small vial. In his hand, the potion darkened, and then suddenly morphed into a liquid gold colour. Draco wrapped the tiny bottle into his hand and pressed his fist to his trembling lips. He took several deep breaths, willing away the tears that pricked at the corners of his eyes and thickened his throat. He knew the theory, had brewed this potion as part of his mastery all those years ago. And that gold liquid was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

When he had steeled himself, Draco looked up at her. The fear and resignation on her features had been replaced with concern. With a tiny bit of hope.

“Whe – when are you due?” His voice felt thick with emotion.

“If all goes well, near the end of January or early February. But my Healer expects it will probably be on the nearer end of that range, if not sooner.”

Draco’s mind was whirling. “You said – earlier – you said it was going fairly well?”

“Yes. As well as can be expected. The baby is on the small side, but it’s not unexpected because of my other health issues and because I hadn't had any prenatal care for the first months. My own oxygen levels are low because of my lung damage, so it's something we're watching closely. I’ve got weekly appointments with my personal Healer right now just to monitor her and make sure nothing else concerning pops up. I’m taking potions to help.”

Draco’s stomach jumped into his throat, and he felt suddenly dizzy.

“Her?”

“Ah, yes. The tests showed the baby is female.”

“A daughter.” Draco dragged a shaking hand over his face, his mouth stretching in a foolish grin. “I’m having a daughter.”

It was several minutes before Draco was able to compose himself enough to ask further questions.

“Are you feeling alright, Granger?”

“I’m relieved you haven’t taken this poorly.”

“I meant physically. You don’t look well, to be frank.”

Hermione cast around, not meeting his eyes. Her hands fell to her bump and rubbed through her shirt. “I can’t say that the pregnancy has been easy,” she stated slowly. “In retrospect, I was having a lot of symptoms that I was attributing to other issues. The nausea was a lot worse than usual, and there were a few weeks where I couldn’t keep anything down at all, but it eased up. I thought it was just stress worsening my normal symptoms. Now, it’s mostly discomfort, but it’s tolerable.”

“Are you sure?” Draco’s heart squeezed in his chest.

She nodded absently, and they lapsed into silence for a few moments.

"Granger,” he started. “I – I know this is probably all in the bloody contracts, and I promise you I will read them if you want me to, but I need to hear you say it. What is it that you want?”

She stared at him, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she found the words she was searching for.

“I’d like to find a way to co-parent. I want her to know you, to have a relationship with Scorpius. But I think I’d like her to live with just me, at least at first, since you and I don’t currently have a relationship to speak of.” Hermione eyed him warily. Draco hadn’t expected her final statement to hurt, but he felt a sharp tug on his heart.

“And when she gets older?”

“It may change as we work things out. We’ll share time. We can trade off weekends, and we can talk and plan things together. I –” Hermione paused for a breath. “I don’t want it to feel like a business deal, like we have to manage our time with her and meet certain requirements. I don’t want to have to plan out her days on a strict timetable so that you have her every Tuesday and every third weekend, or whatever. But I’m prepared for it if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“I’d – I’d like to spend as much time together as possible, after she’s here. And if I can be involved before… I'd really like that." Draco heard his own voice crack with emotion. "But we can talk through details as we come to them. Do you have childcare set up? And plans for her birth?”

“I’m still working through a lot of those factors,” she said slowly. “I obviously won’t be able to take too much time off, as I do have obligations here, but I’m holding off on taking new clients at the moment so that I can better manage my time after the birth.”

She paused.

“I won’t be able to start looking for childcare options without going public with my pregnancy, though. As soon as I start sniffing around or placing ads looking for help, the media will be all over it. And I’ve been doing a pretty good job of staying out of the papers this last month, but I won’t be able to do that forever.”

“Are you planning to go public soon?” The question Draco really wanted to ask stuck in his throat. Will you admit that she’s mine?

“The timing entirely depends on you now,” Hermione said quietly. More unspoken questions ran under her words. Do you want to claim her? “This is something you have a say in. But I will have to in the next couple of weeks, I imagine. I can’t hide it forever. I’m trying to do most of my appointments via Floo call and all contracts are being reviewed via owl, but it’s starting to impact my business and I need to be able to have in-person meetings. I have a big case before the courts very soon.”

Draco nodded. “I understand.”

“To be honest, Malfoy, I’d like to get ahead of the papers and release a statement and maybe some photos to Luna. She can run them in the Quibbler and I can deny further interviews. I won’t be able to dodge all the bullets –”

“What?”

“-- that the Prophet and Witch Weekly will have out for me, but at least they’ll be able to pull quotes or something. Oh!” Hermione smiled tiredly as she registered his confusion. “Sorry, it’s a Muggle phrase. I guess the equivalent would be dodging metaphorical curses or bludgers or something? I won’t be able to get around all the slander and gossip, but I can maybe dodge the worst of it if I just come out with it before the reporters start sniffing ‘round. I can at least head off the rumours that her father is one of the Weasleys or Harry or something.”

“We can release a statement. If you’d like it to run in the Quibbler, that’s fine, but I do also have some contacts within the Prophet if we’d like it to run at the same time.”

“We?”

Draco eyed her, suddenly wary after the slip of the tongue. Her eyes were unreadable as she scrutinised him, eyebrows raised. And Draco’s decision was spilling from his lips.

“Yeah, Granger. We. I don’t want to hide her from the world. This is one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten.” His eyes dropped to her abdomen, where he could barely see the broadening of her stomach over the top of her desk.

She was silent. Draco felt his heart drop, and he felt the familiar sting of guilt.

“I mean,” he tried to backtrack, “if you’re comfortable with it. I know having a Death Eater’s child will ruin your reputation. I don’t want to cause you any more pain, Granger.”

Her silence was deafening, but when he finally gathered the courage to look back up at her, he saw her eyes were bright and fierce.

“Draco Malfoy,” she started, her voice low and quavering. “I think you know better than anybody that I believe the decisions we were forced to make during a literal war should not define us forever. We – we did the best we could with the lots we were handed. We’ve talked about this.” Her voice broke. “We spent weeks arguing over this after your trial. All those letters we wrote, honestly. I don’t blame you for the choices you had to make, and you’ve apologised for the things you did during school. So please, drop it.” Her voice was pleading but her gaze unwavering.

Unable to speak around the sudden lump in his throat. He nodded quickly.

After a minute or so of silence while they collected themselves – wiping tear tracks and taking deep breaths.

“I’m not ashamed of you, Draco.” Her voice was quiet, and her use of his first name did not go unnoticed. “And she won’t be either. We’ll release a statement to the Prophet and I'll set something up with the Quibnler. I’ll draft something up and we can work on it later. I’d like to run it before the holiday events ramp up so that the press won’t have as much time to focus on me with all the balls and things happening around Yule and the new year.”

“Makes sense. I’ll – Scorpius will be with his aunt and grandparents next weekend. They take him once a month or so, ever since Astoria passed. If you’d like to meet again, we can work something out and prepare it for release.”

Hermione nodded. There was another stretch of silence.

“Uh, so my Healer uses some Muggle technology, too. It means I have a sort of photograph of her, if – if you’d like to see.”

Draco nodded, his neck cracking with his enthusiasm. Hermione stood from her desk and walked over to where her coat hung from a coat tree. She dug around in the breast pocket of the blue woollen coat and withdrew a folded strip of paper.

Striding over to him, Draco saw her hesitate before deciding to sit in the armchair next to him rather than across the desk. As she perched on the edge of the seat, she handed him the paper.

It felt flimsy, and the series of black and grey blotches on it were confusing. He stared at them for a long moment, and then it clicked. He saw a face in profile. A hand. Maybe – maybe a foot? There were words on it too, and some diagrams. He looked up at Hermione.

“They’re called ultrasounds, or sonograms,” she explained. “They use this sort of wand to send sound waves into my abdomen, and the echoes that come back are turned into these pictures. It’s a very interesting technology, and it’s standard practice to use them to take measurements and make sure the baby is growing at the right rate.”

“This is beautiful.” His head was down again, and he touched a trembling finger to one of the photos to trace the profile of her nose. “She’s beautiful.” He turned to look at her, and he couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

“Do you have a name picked out already?”

Hermione offered him a smile. “I have a couple that I like, but I thought perhaps you might want to have some input.”

“What names?”

“Well, I know there’s a tradition on your mother’s side to name children after constellations –”

“That's not necessary,” he interjected.

“-- but I’ve looked through a lot of names in our old astronomy textbooks. Most of the names would be quite horrid for a child. Neville suggested the name Sage.”

“Longbottom?” Draco was confused.

Hermione simply nodded. “He was the person who thought I might be pregnant. He’s a close friend, and his partner is also expecting, so he was a bit sensitive to it, I guess you would say. He convinced me to take some tests, and he and Hannah are the only ones I’ve really spoken to about this.”

“‘Does he know –?”

“Yes. He’s one of my closest friends. Is that a problem?”

Draco shook his head. “I don’t have a problem with Longbottom. But I was just as horrible to him as I was to you. I don’t want to be a problem in your relationships with your friends.” He traced his thumb over his daughter’s profile again.

Hermione shifted in her chair to turn more toward him. She leaned in further into his space. “I’m going to tell you this one more time today, Draco.” Her voice was low with warning. “And if you give him a chance I know you’ll find Neville agrees with me. Who you were as a sixteen year old prat doesn’t matter anymore. Our lives were completely upended and we all spent years being threatened and coerced into hurtful belief systems by people we trusted. We made it through. We grew up. We learned and changed our minds. And now more than ever we know that we can’t hold someone’s past – or their blood status – against them. What is important now is actions, and who you’re trying to be in the present.”

Hermione waited until Draco nodded his acknowledgement before sitting back in her seat. Her belly was quite visible from this angle, and Draco couldn’t tear his eyes from her.

“As I was saying, Neville suggested Sage. I do love the name, and I would like to use it as either her first name or a middle name. Do you have any names you would like to consider from your tradition?”

“Not particularly – I've never had cause to consider names for a daughter," Draco huffed in pleased disbelief. "Perhaps Elara or Celeste? But I like Sage. Sage and Scorpius sound good together.”

“They do,” Hermione agreed quietly, smiling at him. “And, it could be considered a feminisation of the Sagittarius constellation, to honour your family. I’d like to call her Sage, then.” She hesitated again, staring at him.

“Spit it out, Granger.”

“Her surname. I – I’d like to hyphenate it, if you would agree.”

Sage Granger-Malfoy.

“I’d like that.”

For the rest of the week, Draco found his attentions torn between Scorpius – who had just learned to ride his new toy broomstick – and the ultrasound photographs Hermione had duplicated for him before he left her offices, and which were now metaphorically burning a hole in his trouser pocket. He wanted very badly to tell Scorp that he was going to be a big brother, and it was constantly on the tip of his tongue. But telling him would mean his in-laws (or, however one should refer to the family of a dead spouse) would find out immediately, and he knew he wasn’t quite prepared for their questions – not with so much unsettled between himself and Granger. So Draco found himself lost in thought as the weekend drew to a close.

Astoria had been gone and buried for nearly two years, and Draco reflected on their time with respect but also some measure of indifference. Astoria had been the only candidate for him after the war, truth be told. His parents brokered his marriage contract before their sentencing, once he had been tried and was starting his probation. The previous candidate families – those who had been hangers-on prior to the rise of the madman – had all withdrawn. The Malfoys were either bad news, or seen as betraying the pureblood society. The Greengrass family had, after some discussion, offered up their younger daughter, Astoria.

Draco was so relieved to not be rotting in Azkaban that he bit his tongue and accepted his lot.

She was three years younger than Draco, and sickly. Her magic was weak, it was said, and there had been whispers of a curse placed upon her in youth by an enemy of the Greengrass family. They hadn’t bothered to broker a betrothal for her in her youth because she wasn’t expected to survive long into her adulthood, by all accounts. They had placed all their eggs in another basket, as it were, and sustained an image of neutrality during the wars in hopes of securing a better match for their firstborn. The elder Greengrass daughter, Daphne, had been a classmate of Draco’s, and he got on with her well enough, and Draco knew that Daphne had always been intended as the real power-match for the family. She had eventually been married off to a Belgian family with a lot of political power in the Ministry there. Daphne lived in Brussels now, and her parents had purchased a property there to spend summers with her.

In the end, Astoria was a better match than Draco could have hoped for. Astoria was kindly, and had a pretty face. She was a bit waifish and quiet, but well-read and intelligent. Their wedding was highly publicised but sparsely attended, and within a year of his father’s sentencing to the Kiss, they were wed on the Malfoy grounds. Astoria had barely left Hogwarts before they were mailing invitations.

Astoria grew more sickly every year. The only request that she ever made of Draco was that they try for a child sooner rather than later – Astoria wanted to be a mother while she had a chance. It had taken many years, but nearly five years ago they had been awestruck to learn of Scorpius’ impending arrival. Astoria thrived during her pregnancy, and lived every moment for Scorpius. She was a wonderful mother, doting and kind. She was calm, and always found beauty in small moments. Draco considered himself very lucky that Scorp took after her in his demeanour.

In the end, Astoria only had a few short years with Scorpius. She died shortly before his third birthday. Draco, while he had been relatively fond of Astoria during their marriage, was astounded by how hard her death had hit him initially. And he had suddenly found himself a single parent with no real support system, and he had to learn everything on his own. He had thrown himself into raising Scorp, and had taken a sabbatical from running Malfoy Corp to focus wholly on him – on making sure he grew up a better person than Draco himself had.

Draco was torn from his musings on that sunny Sunday afternoon by Scorp running up to him, his curly blonde hair windswept from flying. The toy broom only rose four or five feet from the ground, but Scorp was a strong flyer already and loved to go as fast as he could.

“Dad, can we have spasketti for dinner?”

“Spaghetti, Scorp,” Draco corrected gently. “And sure. Let’s go clean up and get it started.”

They made spaghetti together, Scorp standing next to the stove as Draco stirred the dried noodles into boiling water. Scorp spooned sauce out onto both of their plates, sloshing more onto the counter than his own plate, but Draco applauded his efforts all the same. It was a familiar and comforting meal, and Draco savoured every moment with Scorp.

That evening, after Scorp was read a story and tucked into his bed, Draco sat against his headboard staring at Sage’s tiny profile in the Muggle images. After some minutes of contemplation, he made his decision.

With some parchment and a quill from his bedside table, Draco scratched out a letter. He called for his owl, Brutus, and sent it off before he lost his nerve.

Granger,

Are you free one evening this week? I’d like to introduce you to Scorpius. Let me know if you’re willing, and we’ll have you over for dinner. Send word when you’re able.

-D.M.