Becoming

Draco thought waking up with Hermione in her home had been a delight, but there was something so supremely comforting about seeing her sleeping in his own bed. Ensconced within the familiar sounds and smells that accompanied a quiet morning in the Malfoy household, Draco was pleasantly surprised by how easily she just seemed to fit there. Her curls were uncovered and spread across his pillows (Draco felt mildly sheepish last night when he realised he hadn’t thought to find one of her wraps and she’d been at the mercy of his – albeit superb quality, because he was still a bit of a snob in some ways, thank you very much – pillowcase). In the pale morning light that filtered in through the curtains, tiny strands of deep bronze shone in her tresses. It was a small and simple thing, he mused, but he loved it nonetheless.

Draco eased himself from the bed as gently as he could, doing his best not to wake her (years of practice with Scorpius had prepared him well), and padded from the room. While he was perfectly content to allow Hermione a Sunday-morning lie-in, yesterday’s post was sitting on his desk in the study and weighing heavily on his mind – he was eager to get that task over with for the day.

With a fresh carafe and mug of coffee to one side and the radio in the corner tuned to a slightly staticky station (Draco was just grateful the thing operated within his wards, to be frank, and gladly put up with the occasional buzzing), he dove in with an admittedly unhealthy amount of trepidation.

It took him longer than he would have liked to get through the letters, as there were few missives that didn’t aim to wound either spirit or body. Thanks to old Gregor, there were no lingering curses on the parchment, but many included some fairly imaginative and – in some cases – deeply discomfiting strings of swearing. These letters were promptly ripped in quarters and set aside in a growing stack that would be making its way into the fireplace before lunch. He was on the last three or four letters when Hermione made an appearance in the doorway.

“Good morning.”

Draco jumped, nearly knocking his cup of coffee to the floor with a jerking elbow before he caught himself.

“Erm, good morning. Sorry. How are you feeling? Did you sleep alright?”

Draco felt his face grow heated as he fumbled his words like a first year. Hermione merely smiled softly at him.

“I’m alright. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Draco waved a dismissive hand, pushing the latest letter aside as Hermione made her way to the squashy armchair Draco kept in the corner of the study. He watched her as she moved through the room with complete ease, folding herself into the chair carefully. When she settled, he watched as she wandlessly conjured up a mug of her own and tipped it toward the half-full carafe in an unspoken question.

“It’s not decaffeinated.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “No, I expect not. It’s only half eight.”

“You said you weren’t allowed it.”

“Draco, I know. But I’m a grown person and can make my own decisions. I spoke with Pansy about it last night, and she said as long as I monitor myself to be sure, a spot of coffee here or there shouldn't even make a dent with the potions regimen in place.”

Draco waffled, his anxiety over her health ultimately winning over his desire to keep his tongue. He snapped his fingers, banishing his carafe to the kitchen. The squeaked sound of dismay that escaped Hermione almost made him reconsider, but he stayed on course.

“If you give me five minutes, I’ll make a fresh pot of half-caff and you can have that.” Well, perhaps it would be a bit less than "half" caff, if he were honest, but he wouldn't be sharing that with her.

Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed at him, but gave in and placed her mug on the small table next to the chair.

“You’d better have biscuits in if you’re going to deprive me of caffeine.”

“Scorp and I made a batch of cinnamon biscuits the other night. Will those suffice?”

Hermione made a big show of contemplating his offer, tapping her chin with a finger and furrowing her brow. Draco tried and failed to hold back a smirk.

“Crisp ones, or chewy ones?” she inquired with a deadly serious tone.

“Crisp ones. Or I’ve probably got some digestives in the top of the cupboard.”

“Crisp cinnamon biscuits, please.” The grin that split her face made Draco’s stomach flutter, and he immediately stood to collect their breakfast biscuits.

He was back within four minutes, quite thankful for the magic that helped speed along the coffee-brewing process. Hermione had moved to a standing position next to his desk, her bare toes wiggling into the pile of the rug as she rocked back and forth on her heels. With one hand propped on her lower back, she was using the shelf of her belly to prop up the bottom of a file. She was reading intently, her eyes squinted and brows furrowed.

"Hope you don't mind. This file had my name on a sticky."

Recognition bloomed: the Selkie sanctuary proposal.

"Not at all. I wanted your opinion."

"Personal or professional?" She looked up at him, her mouth twitching as she held back a smile.

"Depends on your hourly rate, I suppose."

She arched a challenging brow at him, lips pressed tightly together to stop a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "You couldn't afford me, Malfoy."

He snorted amusedly. "Do you accept biscuits and coffee or do you need a cheque?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"Whether you knew about my fondness for cinnamon biscuits or if this is a happy coincidence." She took the proffered plate and immediately bit off half of one of the confections, a happy hum leaving her throat.

Draco smiled sheepishly, feeling his cheeks pinken once more. He mumbled his answer, half hoping she wouldn't catch it. "You used to eat cinnamon in your porridge, and you'd put it in your coffee on the weekends in fifth year."

A broad, slow smile spread across her face, lighting up the room and dashing any hope she wouldn't have heard him.

"Watching me, were you?"

"You heard me. I shan't say any more on it," Draco responded, slipping into an old, familiar snobbish affectation.

Hermione snorted a laugh, nibbling a bite off the edge of the biscuit and humming appreciatively.

"Well, I suppose biscuits and coffee are good for an hour of my time, so long as they come with your company."

"Gladly."

Draco poured them each a mug of coffee from the fresh carafe, and Hermione accepted it with a murmured thanks. She settled back in the squashy chair and tossed the file back on his desk.

"Tell me about the proposal? I didn't see my glasses in the bag you packed me and I'd rather not force a headache by reading further."

Draco mentally berated himself for not thinking of the thick-framed lenses. They had been sitting on top of her chest of drawers, but he hadn't spared them a second glance in his haste to return.

"Sorry, didn't think to grab them."

"It's not normally a problem. I only wear them when I've been reading a lot or when I'm having a flare, but don't want to push my luck today. You can read it to me instead." She settled back into the chair, resting her steaming mug on the top of her belly and offering him another smile.

Draco returned it, opened the file, and did just that.

Hermione offered a few suggestions and questions, and Draco jotted them down to have his team clarify with the applicant before approval. Most of the concerns were about security and warding, which Draco knew were only vaguely addressed in the application itself. Altogether, Draco rather thought the sanctuary would be getting a sizeable grant, even without most of the clarifications suggested by Hermione.

They whiled away another half hour or so talking about the other grant applicants in the neat folders on his desk before Hermione grimaced. She cleared her throat, failing to mask her sharp intake of breath.

"Alright there, Granger?" Draco's brow furrowed, and he tensed in preparation – for what, though, he wasn't quite sure.

"Yes, I'm fine. Just a twinge in my arm."

"I'll grab your salve."

"No, it's alright. Just the one. If it gets worse I'll put it on. I've got to get going, anyway."

Draco pushed down his burgeoning anxiety: Granger knows her body best.

"Where are you off to?"

"A shower, for starters," she laughed lightly. "Then I've got about a dozen case files I want to review before arguments open this week. And that's not even touching the pile of contract drafts my assistant Flooed over on Friday that need my sign-off."

"Do you work on Sundays often?"

Hermione shrugged dismissively. "When needed, but usually not. I suppose I'm trying to get ahead of some of the more mundane things before the Wizengamot session takes over my life. Ben is lovely and very helpful, of course, but he's not yet licensed so the final bits and oversight fall to me still."

"Is it really just the two of you doing all that work?"

Hermione drained the last dregs of coffee from her mug and sighed.

"Yes, but that's not to say we're overworked. I may be in high demand in certain circles, but I know how to say no when I need to. I've not got more clients than I can handle."

"I recall in our youth you couldn't say no to a flea."

"Had something to prove back then, didn't I? Coming in with less than a year of knowing about the entire magical world, and having to start from basics like a toddler, what with developing intuition and just seeing how things worked day-to-day. It's like being kidnapped and dropped into a new country where you don't know the language or the customs and you're expected to just find your way without further instruction. Getting used to it was hard enough without all the pureblood vitriol I was dealing with. That's a whole lot of fear, loneliness, and desperation. If I took on too much, let my friends walk over me a bit trying to fit in somewhere I was being told I wasn't good enough to be in – well, that's hardly out of the ordinary, is it?"

Draco was silent, contemplating her answer and guilt fizzling at the edge of his mind at the acknowledgement of his own contributions to that pressure.

"It wasn't easy, and the adjustment was hardly immediate. And then the day I finally meet other people my age who were the same – well, they weren't all the same, were they? There were only two other Muggle-borns in our year and while I was in the same house as Dean, I didn't even know about Justin till months later, because all this upheaval happens right before I'm sorted based on what a hat thinks are my defining characteristics, and spend what seems to be the rest of my life being judged by those house associations?" Hermione scoffed, then continued. "You sleep, eat, learn, think with your housemates, and the judgement for crossing house lines that first year is ridiculous, not to mention the Chamber business second year. I was so upset when I found out we'd have so little interaction with the rest of the school outside our houses. Dean and I weren't close, so Justin was the only other student in our year I could have shared that experience of transition and isolation with, and I didn't even get to speak to him one-on-one till the Christmas hols. When the first barbs tossed my way for being a typical Gryffindor started, it just made me more frustrated and determined to learn more, do more, be more. I wasn't a hatstall for no reason, either, you know. Being a Gryffindor isn't my entire personality, but the whole wizarding world seemed to think it should be at the time. That damned hat told me it wouldn't put me in Slytherin because of prejudices, and I argued with it for a bit," Hermione chuckled a dry laugh. "The stubbornness probably only reinforced its opinion that I belonged in Gryffindor, but it wasn't for lack of ambition or loyalty or academic longing that I wasn't slated for a different house."

Hermione seemed to realize she'd gone a bit off-topic in her rant, but Draco found he rather didn't care, leaning forward on his desk attentively. He nodded for her to continue and Hermione rolled on.

"Add on to it that I was coming from a place in the Muggle world where I already faced prejudice for my skin colour and for all the odd things that happened around me because of magic… Well, all that to say there was never really an option for me to be mediocre or say no here in the magical world, because it would be seen as a reflection of my inadequacy based on the circumstances of my birth. In the end, Gryffindors could be just as prejudiced as Slytherins, especially if they'd never met any other Muggle-born students. They may not necessarily have been coming at it from the blood supremacy mindset, but there was still judgement for not knowing this world, or otherwise being treated as a novelty in it."

"Like Weasley did you."

Hermione looked taken aback, physically recoiling from his words in surprise.

"Was it that obvious?"

"That you only meant anything to him when you were being extraordinary, or when your Muggle heritage was useful? Absolutely."

Hermione fell silent, and Draco began to regret his choice of words. Guilt scratched at the back of his throat, and he opened his mouth to say something – what, he didn't know – when Hermione visibly deflated in front of him.

"I suppose you're right. I don't think he necessarily meant harm, but he never cared that he caused it."

"Like last night?" Draco uttered the question with little thought.

Hermione gave a sad smile, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

"No. No, last night he absolutely meant to hurt me."

"What did he say, Granger?"

She blew out a sigh, dropping her hand to rub across her belly.

"Exactly what you'd expect, I imagine. Called me a Death Eater's whore, a traitor to 'my own kind.'" Hermione snorted derisively. "Still not sure whether he meant Muggles in general, my family, or his family. Nevermind that no one else in his family really seems to care – just him."

"He sounds half like the hate mail I'm getting, if I'm honest." Draco gestured at the pile of torn parchment awaiting the grate. "Only the other side of that coin. 'Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. A disservice to my family, unworthy of my status. Corrupting you, blackmailing you, planning to kill you – you get the gist."

Hermione suddenly looked far more tired than she had when the conversation started, and Draco knew his visage would be much the same.

"We knew it wouldn't be easy," was all she could offer into the tense atmosphere.

The next days blew by in a whirlwind. Scorpius bounced off the walls the entire afternoon after Draco collected him from the Notts, and they were both grateful for a return to their schedule on Monday. Draco spent a fair bit of time at his office, making sure everyone was adjusting to the new post wards and meeting with his team about the grant applications (the Selkie one was unanimously supported).

Hermione begged off their dinner date that week, disappointingly, but the first days of the Wizengamot hearings had run long and she was exhausted – recesses were called infuriatingly often, as the staunch old families that populated the chamber had a well-earned reputation for drawing things out impossibly long when they were reluctant to hear the arguments. As a result, Hermione was in the chambers from half eight each morning until well past seven each evening, and she had little energy to spare. Draco had wanted to meet her there in the mornings to show support, but the Ministry atrium had been so mobbed with a mix of protesters and press that he'd scarcely been able to do more than catch her eye and nod reassuringly at her.

The press largely ignored him after the first few rebuffs of their questions, and most settled for sneering his way disdainfully. There were a few headlines Theo handed over with a smirk – Besotted Bad Boy at Granger's Beck and Call was one of Theo's personal favorites, while Draco got a chuckle out of one rather sensational article that proclaimed he was secretly a werewolf and was Howling for Hermione during the trials. Mostly, though, he scarcely merited a throwaway insult amid the rest of the gossip, and he was very pleased that the coverage hadn't spurred an uptick in hateful post.

In fact, the post in general had begun to lessen over the course of the week, though the occasional note managed to surprise him. The most shocking letter came not in a threat, but in the form of a handwritten note from Molly Weasley inviting him and Scorpius to join her and her husband for evening tea on Thursday. A postscript at the bottom indicated Hermione would join them when her proceedings wrapped up, and it was that which cemented his acceptance. Hermione's metal card note assured him she would be there as soon as she could and that it would only be the Weasley parents – though she admitted there was the possible drop-in by the eldest Weasley son or his wife, as their children were at Hogwarts and they popped by a couple times each week to look in on the elders.

Draco was left feeling quite restless leading up to the tea. He rather thought he could handle meeting the Weasleys again, but he was quite nervous to face their judgement. Though Hermione told him he absolutely didn't need to bring anything, as Molly Weasley still hadn't shaken her habit of cooking for a dozen or two family members, Draco still wanted to ace this first impression and he and Scorpius spent some time Thursday preparing some biscuits.

For all that Hermione didn't talk about her own family, he knew the Weasleys were near and dear to her, and Draco felt as if he had to pass their muster. Scorpius also seemed to be feeding off his energy, as he seemed a bit more fidgety than usual as the two Malfoys prepared for their visit. It may have been nerves at the prospect of travel, though, as Scorp very rarely went anywhere new. Draco did his best to prepare him to meet the family, reminding him that the Weasleys were the grandparents to some of Mia's nieces and nephews, but Scorp didn't seem to fully grasp the connection – Draco supposed that as he hadn't met any of the Weasley or Potter kids that he didn't really have a solid frame of reference.

Therefore, it was with bellies full of butterflies, a bottle of wine and a tin of fresh biscuits tucked under an elbow, and Noodle the stuffed Welsh Green in hand that they set out. First, to the Notts' home to get outside Draco's tight Floo restrictions, and then on to Devon from there.

Calling out for "the Burrow" felt somewhat odd in Draco's mouth, but stepping out from the Floo into the Weasleys' home was nothing short of nerve-wracking (despite the quarter-dose of Mind Healer-ordered Calming Draught he had taken ahead of the trip).

Scorp tumbled out onto the hearth a couple steps ahead of him, gazing around in wonder. Draco found himself doing the same, for the magical household he just stepped into was so very different from the home he grew up in. The sensation and smell of unfamiliar magic permeated the air as much as did the smell of something delicious cooking away in another room. Unlike the cold, austere magic that filled the Manor in his youth – and later, the darkness that defined it – the Burrow teemed with life and a fizzing, happy energy. Knitting needles were casting on all by themselves in a corner next to a massive basket of multicoloured balls of yarn, and framed photographs filled every bit of wall space left uncovered by bookshelves or furniture. The furniture itself was old and saggy, but gave off a strong sense of comfort that was echoed in the many quilts and knitted pillow shams tossed across them. An old Victrola played softly-crackling music from somewhere in the room. It felt a bit like the Scamander place, but less the menagerie of potentially dangerous creatures.

Behind them, the fire returned to its normal, cheery crackling just as the Weasley matriarch stepped into the room. Although she was short in stature, she had a large presence that filled the space immediately.

Draco had a strong impression of cosiness and warmth as Molly Weasley seized his shoulder gently and tugged him down to place a quick kiss on his cheek. "Draco! So glad you're here. Arthur will be back in just a mo' – he popped out to the shed for something. And this must be Scorpius!"

Draco had scarcely uttered a greeting in return before Molly had dropped her attention to Scorp, who was gazing around the house in astonishment.

"Hi," Scorp breathed out distractedly. He tightened his grip on Noodle with one hand, and stuck out the other one for an adorably shy handshake.

"Hello there!" Molly returned with a kind smile, grasping his hand with a soft shake. "My name is Molly. And who do we have here?" she asked, gesturing to his stuffie.

"Noodle," Scorp said solemnly. "He's a Welsh Green, and he met a real dragon!"

"That would be dear Penny, wouldn't it?"

Draco knew the Weasleys had a Quidditch team or two worth of grandchildren by now and were therefore quite practised at communicating with young children, but he wasn't wholly prepared for how easily Molly had drawn Scorpius into conversation. Scorpius immediately took her offered hand as Molly led the two Malfoys into the kitchen, chattering about dragons.

Molly settled Scorpius into one of the motley assortment of chairs at the scrubbed wooden table just as Arthur Weasley let himself in through the garden door, toeing off a pair of mismatched wellies and tossing a toboggan to a bench near the kitchen fire. Snowflakes speckled his crooked glasses, and he offered Scorpius a warm smile as the young Malfoy sized up the new arrival.

"Hullo there, young man," Arthur said, returning Scorpius' offered handshake.

"Hi. Who are you?"

Draco opened his mouth to gently correct Scorp's manners, but Arthur spoke before he could interject.

"My name is Arthur, my boy. And what's yours?"

"My name's Scorpius. And that's my dad," he responded, chucking a thumb in Draco's direction.

Arthur chuckled and nodded, turning his attention to Draco. "Hello again, Mr. Malfoy. It has been quite a while since we've last seen each other."

"Draco, please," he offered with a handshake. "Yes, it has. I hope you're both keeping well," he projected to the Weasleys at large.

"Can't complain, dearie. We're staying busy, especially with a new grandbaby on the way. Hermione didn't give us much notice," Molly chuckled amicably, "but I wager I'll have your receiving set done here soon."

Draco felt a lump rise in his throat. The affection in her statement wasn't unnoticed, even if they weren't wholeheartedly in approval of his and Granger's relationship.

"Thank you. I didn't have much notice either, frankly."

Molly and Arthur both smiled at him, and Arthur sat down next to Scorpius to engage him in quiet conversation about Noodle. Draco felt the telltale fuzziness of a muffling charm wall off Scorpius' tender ears as Molly took him by the elbow and led him toward the bench top in the kitchen. After taking the tin of biscuits from him with a smile and thanks, she busied herself with pulling out mismatched teacups and saucers to hand him one-by-one. Draco steeled himself for what seemed to be a coming confrontation.

"Yes, Hermione told us it was a surprise all around," she sighed. "I can't say we aren't worried about her – what with having been on her own and her health – but she's got a good head on her shoulders, our Hermione. And she sings your praises with your son – says he's quite lovely."

"It's been a general rule of thumb that if it's how I was raised, it's not how I raised him, and won't be how we raise Sage." Draco attempted a self-deprecating joke that was more truth than not, smiling half-heartedly. The matriarch's comment about Hermione being alone rankled in his mind.

Molly opened her mouth and closed it in surprise, but soldiered on placatingly. "I can't say I agreed with the way Narcissa and your father reared you, but they made the decisions that they thought were best. And it seems you've turned out just fine in the end."

"I've been trying," Draco settled on saying, his response feeling lame on his tongue.

"It takes a certain strength of character to decide to make different choices than your parents wished for," Molly said with a sigh before rambling on. "I know you don't want or need my opinion – my own children tell me I offer it up too often – but that you're stepping up to care for that baby despite the strict traditions you were raised with means the world to those of us who love Hermione. I can't say I love that you two aren't married, of course, but Hermione has been adamant that she doesn't see it as a hindrance, and I know it's old-fashioned – my children never shy away from telling me I'm out of touch. The Prewetts still kept to a lot of the old customs in my day, after all, and you know well how some of those ideals are hard to shake. I am trying, dear, so please forgive me if I slip up," she lamented before pivoting back on a hairpin turn. "My Aunt Lucretia was a Black, so I am well aware of how some of the old families liked to treat babes born out of wedlock, though we Prewetts never took to that."

Draco felt a hot wave of discomfort roll down his spine: he, too, was aware of the Black family's historic penchant for extreme ostracization and the occasional infanticide.

"You'll know all about the family tree and Lucy, of course – I know Narcissa would have taught you just as she was. Aunt Lucy's marrying my Uncle Iggy wasn't looked upon too kindly by her parents, but she and Iggy were a love match, of course (though I'm sure you heard differently). But since Lucy was the second daughter, they didn't care too much so long as he was a pureblood. I was told her parents actually felt it was best she never had any children of her own to risk further sullying the Black family name. I never knew where Narcissa stood on the whole thing, as she would have rather choked on an acromantula egg than even admit I tutored her in Charms my seventh year, but in my recollection she never was so outspoken as Bellatrix."

Draco kept silent, leaning his hip against the cupboard and focusing on the new information about his family Molly was sharing. Earnest, rambling honesty seemed the only course with Molly Weasley, and for that he was grateful. He rather got the impression she rarely got to talk about her family – to his knowledge, there were no other Prewetts left in the country after the war.

"After Andromeda left to marry her Ted, they stayed with Aunt Lucy for a bit before her brother – ah, no, he was her cousin," Molly chuckled. "Too many Blacks marrying their cousins to keep track. Anyway, Lucy's cousin Alphard still had control of some of the Black properties and he stripped one down to the bones to sell to some Muggles, and that money bought Andy and Ted their cottage. I didn't see them as often as I'd have liked, because I was already pregnant with my second by the time Andy announced her Dora. They didn't leave the house much when Bellatrix was in the country, because Bellatrix was always looking for a reason to do or say something nasty. But I know Andy missed your mother the most and tried to keep in touch even after the whole disownment, so she can't have been so bad."

"I believe she did the best she could," Draco added, breaking his silence. "My father didn't make it easy."

Molly sighed, a frown creasing her brow and drawing sour lines around her mouth. "Yes, Lucius Malfoy was never an easy person to be around, let alone please. I don't remember him much from school, but my brothers couldn't stand him. He was the most awful Head Boy, according to them, though my brothers didn't exactly make that job easy for anyone. They were such mischief-makers, they drove all the prefects batty."

Molly seemed to fall into a wave of nostalgia then, leaning her back against the cupboard and allowing a small smile to grace her face, softening her round features. She seemed to simultaneously age and shine with youth as she lost herself in a memory.

Shaking herself out of it with a tutting noise, she continued. "But your father has always grasped power anywhere he could, and I think he saw your mother as another opportunity. I wasn't exactly welcome in most of the pureblood socials, but one hears things at the odd tea or sewing circles – the old biddies do love a spot of gossip. After Andy left, the word among the old families was that your mother's original betrothal contract was broken by the other family – the Crabbes, perhaps? I can't remember – and he saw his chance to secure a connection to the Black family. They accepted his offer without even consulting your mother because they were so grateful someone was willing. They didn't want to risk another daughter making her own choice, and they married her off to Lucius as soon as she came of age – it was scarcely six months after the contract was announced in the paper. She was still in her seventh year, if I remember correctly, but that wasn't quite so unusual in our day."

Silence fell for a moment as Molly ran her hands down the front of her apron repetitively in a nervous manner, as if she were contemplating her next words carefully.

"Andy was so scared for your mother when she didn't have a child in those first few years – the Malfoys had a reputation, you see, and your grandfather made it well-known that Malfoy wives were only as useful as the heirs they provided."

Draco knew a test when he saw one, and an echo of his words to Daphne rattled around in his brain. I'll make peace with every Weasley in Britain. Whatever it takes. Luckily, this test was an easy one, and the truth spilled from his lips.

"It's never been about heirs for me. I know my marriage wasn't the best situation, but we did the best with the situation we had, and we both wanted Scorpius , very much. Being a father is my greatest joy, and given the Malfoy history, Hermione's pregnancy is quite a happy event, though a surprise after generations of Malfoys," he chuckled. "To me, there was never a question about being here now, once she told me. I am lucky and honoured Hermione is allowing me to be involved in any way."

Molly nodded decisively, whipping out her wand to levitate the various trays and platters of cakes and sandwiches. She thrust a cosy-covered teapot into his hands and urged him back toward Arthur and Scorpius.

"Good. That's wonderful to hear, Draco." Approval rang true in each word.

"What's wonderful, Dad?"

They had evidently pierced the bubble of the muffling charm, for Scorpius looked up at him with a piercing gaze, ripping his attention away from Mr. Weasley and the little yellow duck toy they were examining together.

"That we're all so excited to meet your sister," Draco answered plainly.

"You'll meet my sister too?" Scorpius asked shrewdly, narrowing his eyes at Molly and Arthur in turn.

"Of course, dearie. We can't wait to have another grandbaby around."

Scorpius looked confused. "Are you Mia's mum?"

Molly cast a questioning glance at Draco, who shrugged and nodded for her to go on.

"Sort of. Mia spent a lot of time here with my children when they were growing up, and since Mia's mum and dad aren't with us any longer, she calls me Mum, and she calls Arthur her Da."

"Do you remember Mia telling you that she had a friend who had six brothers?" Draco added with a smile he hoped was encouraging. At Scorp's nod he continues. "Well, Molly and Arthur are that friend's mum and dad. They chose each other to be family."

"That's right! We raised seven children here in this house and Mia was here all the time in the summers and holidays. So now we've got lots of grandbabies," Arthur interjected proudly.

He and Molly started plating up delicious-looking sandwiches full of roast and little savory puddings, and strategically pushing the sweet buns and cakes just out of Scorp's reach with a practiced ease. A plate of cheese toasties was also handy – the Weasleys were clearly well-versed in the foibles of a child's palate.

"So you're my sister's Granny and Grandpa because Mia chose you?" Scorpius asked a few moments later, trying to sort it out in his head.

"Yes. But they call us Nana and Gramps, so I imagine Sage will too, someday."

"But you won't be my Nana and Gramps?" he asked in a small voice.

Emotion choked Draco for a moment, blocking his throat and bursting in his chest. This sweet boy, so full of love for everyone and wanting a large family.

Molly was looking at Draco in question, waiting for his lead, and he nodded his head as vigorously as he could whilst swallowing down the lump.

"Of course we will," Molly said kindly. She reached out to hold Scorp's small hand in hers. "We would be so very happy if you were one of our grandchildren, too. We would love to be your Nana and Gramps if you would like that."

Scorpius smiled up at the Weasley parents with a brilliant grin. "Good. Can I have a cake, Nana?"

Draco chuckled, covering his emotional response as best he could. "Dinner first, Scorp. Then you can have a cake or a biscuit."