Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1
Draco Malfoy was never surprised.
Not when his father reunited their family with darkness. Not when he was sentenced to five years in Azkaban after the war. Not even when his wife had died of a mysterious curse.
He supposed it was only karmic retribution for him to lose so much when he’d been the cause of so many other’s suffering for most of his life.
The only good thing that had come through it all unscathed was his son. Scorpius Malfoy was extraordinary—as Draco was happy to tell anyone who would listen—but even this did not surprise Draco; after all, Scorpius was a Malfoy.
So when the rambunctious young Slytherin wanted to celebrate the end of his first year at Hogwarts by going to the Weasley’s joke shop, on Draco’s birthday no less, he found he could not deny him.
As the pair strolled through the streets of Diagon Alley, Scorpius excitedly told his father all about his first year. About a friend named Al, about a pretty girl named Rose, and about his plans to become a fierce auror like the legend his teachers spoke of in hushed tones: Harry Potter.
Draco rolled his eyes. He hadn’t bothered to keep up with what Saint Potter and his band of misfits had done in the last twenty years, but he was not surprised that he’d still be spoken of as the Savior that Could Do No Wrong. Draco wasn’t stupid; he knew that Harry had saved them all. But he wondered if there’d ever come a time when the thought of the scar-headed boy didn’t make his nose wrinkle in irritation. How different his life could have been had he had Potter as a friend instead of Crabbe and Goyle—if his father had tried to protect him, sacrifice for him, instead of letting him be branded. If he hadn’t been tasked with killing their headmaster and condemned his godfather to death instead.
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew it did no good to dwell on the past, and so he rarely did. He’d rather focus on his son and marvel at how the boy could see the world with bright, innocent eyes. Despite the reputation that the Malfoy name carried—and even now it wasn’t untarnished—Draco tried to keep Scorpius’ world pure for as long as he could. He wanted his son to be seen for who he was outside of his father’s sins. Outside, even, of the Malfoy name. And everything wonderful about Scorpius was undoubtedly gifted to him by his late mother. A horrid time, the darkest in Draco’s life even including his Sixth Year, Astoria’s passing had nearly destroyed him. But not Scorpius. The boy was devastated of course, but he carried a light and compassion that Draco knew could never have come from his bloodline. And in her absence, as during her life, Draco protected Scorpius with every breath. Even Astoria’s death hadn’t broken the young boy’s spirit, and Draco would give his life before he allowed any harm to come to his son. He would not be surprised when Scorpius became a better man than he could ever have been; it would be the result of years of intentional teaching.
“Dad, look!” Scorpius exclaimed, grabbing Draco’s sleeve and pointing at the joke shop, drawing Draco from his reverie.
A genuine smile warmed Draco’s face. “All right then, go on.”
Scorpius bolted through the crowd and through the doors, nearly taking them off their hinges. Draco winced; he may not have felt the need to teach Scorpius the same strict etiquette he’d grown up with, but his own ingrained manners still made it hard to watch.
Draco stepped into the shop moments later, breathing deeply as the scent of sweets mixed with the sounds of laughter and created an atmosphere that imbued one simple thing: joy. Looking around, he saw scores of patrons crowded around different stations with various gags and giggle inducing gifts. He found himself smirking, impressed with how the twins had put their mischievous minds to a brilliant business model. Then his face fell, remembering that one of them had died. Another death on his tally, even if he hadn’t cast the hex himself. He swallowed hard. Maybe he shouldn’t be in the shop at all. Draco so rarely ventured into Diagon Alley; he couldn’t imagine the Weasleys wanting any reminders of Death Eaters in their own store.
Draco turned to look for his son, his mouth suddenly dry. His chest felt like it was caving in and he could feel the panic attack coming on. “Scorpius?” he called. This hadn’t happened in years. After their marriage, Astoria spent years trying to convince Draco that he was worthy of redemption, that he had good to give to the world, and didn’t have to hide from it. But he could never truly bring himself to believe her. She’d calmed many panic attacks when he first re-entered society, helping him see that after a while, no one really paid attention to him anymore. Everyone wanted to move on.
Still, he could feel the sweat on his palms. He forced himself to step against a wall and take a breath. No one gives two knuts that you’re here, Draco. The Weasleys aren’t going to throw you out on your arse in front of your son. They do not blame you for Fred’s death. You’re not that person anymore. You’ve changed. You’re doing a good job. He repeated the words Astoria would say to him over and over in his mind. Even though it had been five years since her death, her calm reasoning still gave him comfort.
Once he had regained his composure, Draco stepped off the wall with a clear head. Now that he wasn’t panicking, he could see Scorpius gleefully gathering an arm full of pranks and toys, rushing towards the counter before his spoils slipped from his overloaded arms. Draco smiled.
He turned towards the counter and stopped mid-step. There was a woman standing behind it with her back towards him, placing things on the shelves where more troublesome inventions were kept. She had flowing, violent curls almost down to her waist, and they seemed to catch the light with an iridescent shine. She wore a green tapered dress with long puffed sleeves and reminded him, just a bit, of a character he’d seen in a Muggle film once (he did enjoy those sometimes). She was the shopgirl Anne Shirley of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes.
Then she turned, hearing Scorpius’ purchases hit the counter, and Draco’s breath caught.
For the first time in forty-one years, Draco stood surprised.
Hermione Granger.
It was Hermione fucking Granger.
Of all the people in his youth that he felt the most shame for hurting, she was smack dab at the top of his list. He knew he’d been cruel and callous and arrogant, but she’d never let his ignorance stop her; she bested him every chance she got. And it ignited something in his very core that he still to this day didn’t understand.
And now…
Draco’s mouth hung open. He couldn’t tear his gaze from her face as she looked down at the items his son wanted to buy and smiled at him. His vision started to narrow at the edges and he realized he’d forgotten to breathe.
She was pretty. It was an instantaneous observation, perhaps one that didn’t mean much, but it was the first thing to pop into his head. She was pretty. When had she gotten so pretty? Had she always been and he’d just never noticed?
And more importantly, what was she doing here?
“Extendable ears, those come in quite handy. Excellent choice,” he heard her say to his son.
Scorpius turned around to look for his father and found him across the room. “Dad, Dad! Can I have five galleons for them? Please?” He bounced on his heels, bounding with energy.
Hermione’s eyes looked up to follow Scorpius’ gaze and saw Draco standing there, unmoving. Draco saw her chest rise as she gasped in recognition and then looked down at the little boy in front of the counter and back up at Draco again. Her head tilted to the side and a smile grew on her face that warmed Draco down to his stomach.
“How about this one’s on me?” Hermione handed the bag to Scorpius, his eyes wide.
Draco’s legs automatically carried him to the counter to stand behind his son, though he hardly remembered the conscious thought to move towards her. And still he stared.
“Really?” Scorpius shrieked. “Thanks!”
An easy smile graced her face, and her kindness for the son of a man she’d never liked nearly knocked him on his arse.
“What are you doing here, Granger?” Draco finally managed to ask.
She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time and tucked a curl behind her ear. “George needs some help during the busy season, and the Weasleys are like family. It’s a family shop, so…” she trailed off.
Draco stared at her. Had she always been so warm, so graceful, so...captivating. He wasn’t sure. But the start of a summer tan on her skin and her full curls that seemed to defy gravity held him in a trance and made him want to keep asking her questions to prolong the moment.
Scorpius had other plans.
“Come on dad, you have to meet Al and Rose!” And practically ran for the door.
Draco stared at her for a moment longer, then nodded his head in thanks.
Hermione clasped her hands behind her back and looked at him with a small smile that seemed to hold no hostility, no animosity—not a trace of the resentment or loathing she would easily owe him. It was just…kindness.
Realizing that he couldn’t keep staring at her forever, he gave a small pull of his lips in something resembling a smile back and turned to leave.
“Happy birthday, Draco,” he heard her say from behind him.
He looked over his shoulder, his mouth open in surprise once more, and nodded again.
---
The re-entry of Hermione Granger into his life and her subsequent knowledge of his birthday were not the last two surprises Draco had that day. Apparently it was to be the day that broke the norm ten times over, as he watched his son waltz up to his school friends and realized with a half-strangled laugh that “Al” was Potter’s son, and “Rose,” by the looks of her hair and freckles, must be one of the Weasley’s daughters.
Draco watched in—well, he’d gone past surprise at this point and turned the corner to utter shock—as Harry fucking Potter walked up to him and held out his hand.
“Malfoy,” the now older man said, palm extended towards Draco. Draco took note of the streaks of gray through Potter’s black hair, the more sophisticated glasses, and the well-fitted turtleneck. He looked nothing like the Harry Potter of his youth. Maybe he didn’t act like him either.
Draco stared for a beat too long, perplexed that he was finally going to shake Potter’s hand thirty years after his first pass at friendship. He saw the other man’s fingers twitch and realized he had to do something besides stare before the gesture was revoked. Draco quickly took his hand and the two men met each other’s gaze straight on as they slowly shook hands. Potter—Harry—clapped Draco on the shoulder, half-startling the blond man after the day he’d had.
“Looks like our kids did what we couldn’t do, huh?” he said, leaning into his space as he watched Scorpius and Al excitedly share the purchases they’d made.
Draco huffed out what sounded to his own ears like a disbelieving laugh. The day could not get any stranger. “Guess so.”
“I’m sorry about Astoria, mate.”
Draco heard the words reach his ears, but they felt foreign in that voice, one he really never heard anymore, and they felt stranger still coming to him from his childhood enemy. He turned to look at Harry.
“Yeah, thanks.” It wasn’t a very good answer, but Draco’s mind was reeling too fast to come up with anything better.
“Al talks about Scorpius all the time,” Harry continued. “They really seem to get on. I was terrified he’d be all alone in Slytherin, all his cousins are in Gryffindor, but your son apparently turned out to be his best friend.”
“Have you met my son before, Potter?” Draco asked, the words coming out harsher than he meant them.
Harry didn’t seem offended. “Only once, when I went up to the school to help Minerva with a Defense demonstration.” Harry ran his hand through his hair uncomfortably. “I hate the way they talk about me up there, they make me out to be some bloody idol. But I think once he saw that Al was embarrassed of me like any kid would be when their parent showed up at school, he realized I’m just another dad.”
Harry smiled at Draco and Draco found himself returning it, with an eye roll. His arms were still crossed protectively over his chest, but his shoulders had lowered.
“I’m...grateful, that your son has been a good friend to Scorpius,” Draco said slowly. “I always worry about him, but he seems happy.”
“It’s mutual, Malfoy. You two are welcome for dinner anytime. I know Al would love it, and Ginny makes a mean pot roast. We pop over to the Burrow a lot to use the quidditch field, too. I’m not sure if Scorpius flies—Al hates it, actually—but we still take them over a lot to see the family.”
“Scorp is great on a broom.” Draco beamed.
Harry nudged him with his shoulder and Draco stumbled a bit, flummoxed at the contact. He’d now talked to Harry Potter more in ten minutes than in his entire childhood, and he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“We should probably get back soon, but,” Draco took a breath, “I’m sure Scorp would love to visit Al during the summer. Send an owl.”
“Great,” Harry said, turning to the kids. “Come on, Al! I promised Aunty ’Mione we’d pick up a book for her. Say goodbye to Scorpius, we’ll see him soon I’m sure.”
Draco watched as the two boys swapped a few items from their bags of spoils. Scorpius waved a shy goodbye to Rose, who stood behind Al, clearly using her cousin as a shield for her nervous desire to hide. And then he ran over to Draco.
“Al traded me one of my Skiving Snack Boxes for Peruvian Darkness Powder! That’s a way better trade for me, but he doesn’t really need help hiding on account of his cloak and all,” Scorpius said.
Draco wasn’t sure he could take another moment in Diagon without the threat of enough surprises to bowl him over. He felt off kilter, but somehow…he didn’t mind it. Still, there was onl so much a bloke could take in a day. “We’d better get over to your grandmother’s for tea before she hexes us both. You know how she loves to dote.”
Scorpius laughed. Draco held out his hand to his son and Disapparated them both.
---
As Draco sat sipping tea in Narcissa’s garden, with Scorpius swinging his feet underneath the table as he munched on chocolate biscuits, the surreal feeling of the day crashed down on him and all he had were questions.
Why had Granger known his birthday? Why was Potter suddenly being so nice to him? Why hadn’t Scorpius told him that Al was Potter’s son? If Draco did try to interact with the Chosen One’s family, how long would it take before they inevitably remembered all the harm he’d caused them, what a prat he was, and he was no longer welcome in their world? Would they let Scorpius stay anyway? Draco didn’t mind being ostracized if his son was accepted.
“Draco, dear,” Narcissa started in her tone that always meant she was meddling. Draco refrained from rolling his eyes but continued to stare at the teacup in his hands. “Have you owled any of the witches I told you about over Easter?”
“Mother, I really don’t need you to play matchmaker for me. Scorpius and I are fine.”
Scorpius nodded, his mouth full of biscuit.
“Besides, I’m much too busy with work.” He wasn’t.
Narcissa gave him a disapproving stare. “It’s not good to be lonely, Draco. It will eat at your soul.”
“Then why haven’t you found someone now that Father is gone?” Draco winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He knew he had taken it too far, but he never seemed to be able to help himself when it came to things like this.
Unexpectedly, Narcissa smiled coyly. “Who says I haven’t?”
Draco raised one eyebrow, but she said no more.
Narcissa sipped her tea before passing Draco a square of lemon pastry. “Will you please at least owl one of them? How about the girl from France? She is rather pretty.”
A flash of curly hair and a green dress crossed Draco’s mind unbidden. A pretty witch, indeed.
“I don’t want you to end up all alone, Draco.” His mother frowned disapprovingly, holding out a square of lemon pastry towards her son.
Draco took the pastry and chewed it thoughtfully, his mind still filled with golden curls and kind eyes. “I’ll think about it.”