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tedwardremus · 6 months ago

Note

For the:

One Hundred Prompt Ask (it’s not a Rick Roll 😏)

I’m having difficulties trying to ask for one, not sure which one to pick. I’d love to see how you write my favorite GryffinDorks- Ron/Hermione for the prompt:

16. "You have really cute freckles."

62. "Your tattoos suit you so well."

I admire the way you write your stories 💕

(also, is it fine if I send another? And I haven’t forgotten about your ask, just so you know 😉)

Thank you for sending a prompt from this list

(Send me a number and a pairing and I’ll write a drabble)

I haven't written Hermione or Ron in ages, like over a decade. So, I hope I did them justice.

(and yes you can always send me more asks)

Hermione came home late. Too late. She always tried to be home for the bedtime routine: brushing teeth and reading a bedtime story. All the books said it was important to maintain a routine, and reading at bedtime was not just bonding but also increased reading comprehension and instilled an appreciation for learning.

But this week, Hermione had been working on a new piece of difficult legislation—Equal Pay for Elves—and had stayed late at the office well past bedtime. Last night, even Ron was asleep by the time she got home, which set a huge sense of failure in the pit of her stomach.

She was clearly failing at being a good mother.

But as she climbed the dark stairs, she was surprised to see a light peeking from under the doorway of the hall bath. When she approached, she heard some soft murmuring.

“You have really cute freckles,” Ron said in a soothing tone on the other side of the door.

Hermione gently knocked and opened the door.

Rose was standing in the middle of the bathroom, her face red and puffy from crying. Her arms were stretched out, covered in colorful patterns. Various potion bottles were open on the counter, and Ron held a hand towel in his hand, running it up and down Rose’s arms, attempting to wipe the colorful stains off.

“What’s going on here? Why aren’t you in bed?” Hermione asked.

“Mummy!” Rose cried and pulled herself from Ron’s grasp to give Hermione a hug. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, and Daddy’s been helping take it off, but it won’t come off, and I made everything so much worse.” Rose hiccuped into Hermione’s robes, leaving tear stains and globs of mucus on the silk as Hermione knelt down to look Rose in the eye.

“What’s going on? What did you mess up?”

“Jamie said my freckles made me look dirty.”

“Which I said was stupid,” Ron interrupted, leaning on the sink with the towel now over his shoulder, “because the kid has just as many freckles as you. This whole family is spotted.”

Rose shook her head. “Not Mummy.”

Hermione pushed a bit of Rose’s hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. “No, I don’t have freckles, but you do, and they are very lovely.”

“Yeah, next time Jamie says something, just push him in the mud.” Hermione did her best to suppress a chuckle at Ron’s helpful suggestion.

“And the marks on your arms? You were trying to cover up your freckles?”

“I didn’t mean to.” Rose wiped her nose on the sleeve of her pajamas.

“A bit of accidental magic, that is,” Ron nodded toward their daughter’s arms. “I’ve been trying to get it off, but nothing is working.”

“That’s okay,” Hermione hugged Rose again and rubbed her back. “Your new tattoos suit you well, Rosie, but we’ll find a way to remove them. Accidental magic can always be reversed. Why don’t you go down to the kitchen, and we can look through my books together, and Daddy can make us some hot chocolate?”

Rose nodded solemnly and left the bathroom, slightly sniffling as she made her way out of the room.

Hermione stood up again and faced Ron, who was smiling endearingly at her. “What?” Hermione asked as Ron grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him.

“You are a very good mum, you know?”

“No, I’m not. I can’t even manage to get home in time for the bed routine.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re still an amazing mum.” Ron kissed the side of her head as they made their way out into the hall.

#harry potter fanfiction #ron weasley #hermione granger #ron x hermione #romione #rose weasley

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innuendork · 2 years ago

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Ron: Hermione, Rosie! Guess what happened! Hahahaha! I encountered Malfoy in the elevator today

Hermione: -as every day

Ron: And you know, we had a small talk on the way up to the 17th floor.

Hermione: I'm pretty sure any dictionary isn't strong enough to cover the meaning of "small talk" in your sentence.

Ron: Apparently, little Scorpius has grown up and will enable Draco to become a "father-in-law" in the near future. And Draco already looked like a much older and grumpy geezer! I almost consoled him. Poor old man!

Rose: Maybe he'll be consoled to learn that his future co-father-in-law is his elevator buddy.

Ron*betrayed*: What? Which elevator buddy?!

Rose:

Ron: Oh you mean me! For a second I thought the poor man has another elev-

Ron: Oh you mean me...

#ron and draco are elevator buddies #scorose #ron and draco #ron weasley #draco malfoy #draco and ron #rose weasley #scorpius malfoy #little scorpius #scorose headcanon #rose x scorpius #jeaolus ! hermione granger #dron

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diznam · 1 month ago

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Ehmsoyeahalittlebitofspicyscorose

#scorose #harry potter #my art #fanart #art #scorpius malfoy #rose weasley #ron weasley #hermione granger #rose x scorpius #hp next gen #scorose fanart

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rose-of-the-grave · 1 month ago

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The Great War: Chapter 5

Pairing: Mattheo x Reader

Hey everybody!! This one's a "bit" longer than the last chapter but I had so much fun writing it!!! I hope you all enjoy! As always I'm the author (please don't repost) <3

Masterlist Series Masterlist. Read on Ao3

Warnings: mild language, kissing, underage drinking (mentioned once), dancing, jealousy, Mattheo having difficulty processing emotions healthily

Word Count: 3457

Description: It's Halloween and Y/N gets invited to a Slytherin party but she already made plans with her friends. Can she do her mission and be a good friend without arousing suspicion or will it all come crumbling down?

Taglist: @sylveryfire, @undercover-smutlover, @relminnie

It had been a month since Riddle had gotten that detention during Astronomy class. She had soon discovered that they actually had a few classes together, he just didn’t show up. They never talked, not even when Pansy invited her to join them. Only for studying purposes though.

She had still made no headway with her mission, he was so unpredictable. Thankfully Professor Dumbledore hadn’t asked for any updates yet, she would hate to seem as if she hadn’t been doing anything.

Y/N had done her best to follow him but it seemed that all he did was smoke and hang out with his fellow Slytherins, causing mischief. They were only two months into school and Riddle along with his partners-in-crime had already cost Slytherin house five hundred points, points they had also won back with ease by simply answering questions in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Snape’s clear favoritism working in their favor.

Walking through the halls she nearly crashed into a certain old friend. He gave her a curt nod.

“Y/L/N.”

“Malfoy.”

They continued walking in their separate directions. A spectator would never have known how close of friends they used to be. Running around the Malfoy Manor playing hide and seek with Dobby. Back when life was simple. He had changed since then, no longer the boy who used to tell her of all of the grand adventures they would go on when they got to Hogwarts. Now he was the boy who teased them, insulted them. The boy who made her friends’ lives a living hell. She couldn’t forgive him for that.

All that was left between them now was a nostalgia for a friendship long since broken.

When she turned the corner she spotted a familiar head of curly brown hair and green robes. Finally. She watched as he crept through the hallway towards one of the abandoned wings. In such an immense castle, there were many classrooms that had been long forgotten. He ducked into one of the hidden pathways that Harry had been informed of when he got the Marauders Map.

To herself she muttered, “Where are you going?”

His footsteps echoed through the tunnel, masking her own. Keeping her steps in time with his, she trailed behind, hoping that his destination would be of interest to Professor Dumbledore and be something connected to his father’s return. It was doubtful that it would be anything of any real interest but maybe…

Quiet as a mouse she followed as he opened a door and stepped into the room behind it. Cloaked in shadows she crept up to the door, peaking through the crack to see what was behind. The smell of smoke wafted through the space between the door and the wall, the only sound that of his breaths. Then she heard it. It was far too quiet to tell but she thought she could hear music. An indiscernible melody barely audible through the door that separated them.

Shaking her head she turned and walked back to where she came from. Here she had been, hoping that he was up to something and all he was doing was smoking and listening to music. Gods, she felt so stupid. Did she honestly think that she would find anything of interest?

“The Smiths.” She realized aloud. That’s who he was listening to. Tucking away that insignificant piece of information, she walked back to the Gryffindor tower, her head hung low.

Walking straight past Hermione she sighed, taking a seat on her bed. Not saying anything she started rethinking her game plan. If Riddle was involved with Voldemort’s return, and he must be, he would cover his steps. The evidence would not be easy to find. She would need to find a way for the Slytherins to trust her more and quickly. Lost in her thoughts she barely heard her friend ask something.

“What?”

“You know you can always talk to me, right?” Hermione asked.

“Of course.” Y/N said, moving away, not meeting her best friend’s eyes.

Her flippant attitude only irked Hermione. Something was going on with her best friend and she intended to find out what.

“Y/N…” She gently placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“I’m fine, just really tired. Talk more in the morning?” Without waiting for her response she laid down on her side, pulling the covers over herself. “Good night.” With a flick of her wand her bedside light went out.

Watching her best friend lay there, facing the opposite direction, the covers rising up and down with every shaky breath as she pretended to be falling asleep Hermione stood there deep in thought. They had been friends for over five years now, she was of the opinion that she knew her best friend pretty well, maybe better than anyone else and yet there were moments. Moments where she looked over at Y/N and thought, who is this person? Lately she’d been acting odd, always sneaking off and having all of these study sessions. Maybe she was secretly dating someone? Hermione thought hopefully. She had been writing a lot of little notes that when questioned had simply said ‘it’s a secret’ with a little smile. Maybe it was someone in a different house? Although that was ridiculous, why would she think they wouldn’t accept someone from a different house? Unless it was Slytherin. None of them were ever nice to Gryffindors.

All of these what ifs swirled around in Hermione’s head until she eventually settled on the one that made the most sense. She was secretly dating someone in a different house who might not be a guy. Maybe she liked girls? Satisfied with that idea for now, she got ready to go to sleep.

The next morning Y/N awoke and everything was as if nothing had happened. Although Hermione has started giving her these really weird looks and acting like she knew something.

“What?”

Hermione gave her a blank look, “Huh?”

“Do I have something on my face or something?”

“No?”

“Are you sure cause you keep on giving me really funny looks like there’s something off.”

“Sorry, I must’ve spaced off or something. You don’t have anything on your face Y/N.”

Not entirely assured, she simply said, “Okay.”

In Divination class they were supposed to be reviewing for a test. It wasn’t actually a test. Professor Trelawney didn’t believe in tests. But she was required to give one so all it was was a few questions about basic material they had all first been taught back in third year. The study guide itself was only three questions that every student finished within the first five minutes of class.

“Your taste in music is shit.” Nott joked. Or at least Y/N thought he was joking. It was always so hard to tell.

Malfoy sneered, “And yours isn’t?”

“Whatever, at least I’m not the one who will be arriving unaccompanied.”

“Like I care.”

His friend snorted but let it rest.

After class while they were gathering their things Pansy stayed behind, waiting while her friends disappeared into the crowd on the staircase.

“Hey, you want to come?” Pansy asked.

Looking over at her, “To the party?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure? Won’t it be weird.”

Pansy rolled her eyes, “Who the fuck cares? It’s only weird if you make it weird. If you want to come, come, if you don’t want to, then don’t come. It’s that simple.”

“Okay, I guess?”

“Great, see you there!”

At lunch people were excitedly talking about All Hallow’s Eve. She remembered back in first year when Hermione had to explain the concept of Halloween and dressing up in costumes before she had overheard Ron and spent all of the feast in the bathroom before the troll came. Second year the four of them had decided to dress up. It had all been great fun but the best part, according to Harry, was the trick or treating. As a kid he never got to but his cousin had. Hermione, being the child of two dentists, had also never gotten the experience. Y/N and Ron had spent days meticulously planning to get some candy so they could all experience a version of it. Third year, once they were able to go to Hogsmeade, was when it truly became a tradition of sorts.

“I can’t believe it’s tomorrow!” Ron said excitedly.

“I know? We’ve already been at Hogwarts for two whole months!” Harry exclaimed. Time always passed quickly at school, rapidly leaving them at the end of spring and facing the return home.

“Time flies.” Y/N remarked.

“So, nine o’clock we meet in the room of requirement?”

Hermione nodded before taking a sip of water. “Nine.”

Standing up abruptly Y/N breezily said, “See you guys later.” Before walking out of the Great Hall leaving her friends staring after her with furrowed brows.

Finding a quiet place outside she pulled out a book and flipped to the pages her bookmark was nestled between. The birds chirping sweetly was the perfect background noise, the fountain drowning out any other noise.

The pages flew by as time went on, her mind fully focused on the plot of her book instead of her surroundings. Just when the double agent was revealed a shout broke the silence, piercing through her calm environment.

Grimacing, her eyes boring into the page she continued to read.

Whipping through the air a quaffle hit her square on the side of her head, the force of it nearly knocking her over. Setting her book down she picked up the quaffle. Moving to her feet she searched for its owner only to be met with a familiar smirk.

“You okay?”

Snarling, “Like you care.”

“Can I have my ball back?” He asked, trying to grab it.

Stealing it out of his grasp she shook her head. “Apologize.”

“Sorry, princess.” There was that infernal smirk again.

With gritted teeth she repeated herself. “Apologize like you actually mean it.”

“I am sincerely sorry.” She was about to relent when he smirked, “Princess.”

Pulling her arm back she threw the quaffle as far and as high as she could, clearing the surrounding trees and landing it squarely on top of a statue’s sharp sword. Perfect.

Riddle glared at her, his smirk wiped from his face. She gave him a coy smile before turning back to where her book rested on the ground.

Behind her she heard a muttered curse, “Fuck.”

Gritting her teeth she took a seat once more, opening her book. Her gaze refused to stray from her page. The yells from across the courtyard echoing in her eardrums. By the time she finished her book it was nearing dinner time so she got back up, dusting her robes off a bit as she walked inside.

In the privacy of the dorm room she put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, not having anything else more suitable for a party. Grabbing a coat in case of a chill she walked out and ran straight into Lavender.

“Oh, hey. Where are you off to?”

Keeping up with her lie she shrugged, “Study group.”

Brushing past the girl she headed out of Gryffindor tower and followed the corridors until she was just outside of the dungeons. The door was left ajar, music thumping through the stone walls, echoing through the corridor. Students of all ages were roaming around the Slytherin common room, some weren’t even Slytherin. In fact a significant number of them were Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs that she recognized from classes over the years.

Not a single Gryffindor was in sight. Weaving through the crowd she spotted a familiar head of silvery blonde hair. Switching directions she found a fellow sixth year student from Hufflepuff.

“Hey!” She shouted in greeting, her voice barely audible over the noise.

“Oh my god, hi! Imagine seeing you here?” The girl, Hannah, gave her a genuine smile, her eyes lit up. She was practically bouncing up and down like a rabbit. The girl gave her a quick hug before showing her to the table with all of the snacks and what looked like firewhiskey.

“So, how’d you manage an invitation? Gryffindors aren’t allowed to these parties last I heard.”

Taking a sip Y/N responded, “Pansy invited me. We sit together in Divination.”

“Oh. Okay cause I assumed that it was a rule or something that only certain Slytherins could invite people. I guess Pansy made the list.”

In a low, sort of mutter she echoed, “Guess so.”

As if on cue the Slytherin girl appeared, her black hair in a chic bob, the ends slightly curled. She was wearing a green top and a black skirt, paired with silver jewelry. Suddenly Y/N started to feel a bit self-conscious. Nearly everyone else was dressed somewhat nicely. Some of the guys were more casually attired though. Shrugging, she decided she didn’t care if she stuck out like a sore thumb.

Pansy gave her a small smile, “You came.”

“I sure did.”

“Oi, Parkinson. What’s she doing here?” Some Slytherin boy barked from where he sat on a couch. Malfoy turned his head to see that the she in question was indeed Y/N. Shaking his head he mentally berated Pansy, giving her a disappointed frown. She simply shot him a sweet smile in return.

Placing her hands on her hips she glared daggers at the Slytherin boy. “I invited her.”

“And who told you you could do that? It certainly wasn’t me.”

“I don’t need anyone’s permission.”

He shook his head, “Yes, you do.”

“Bullshit. She’s my friend.”

“She’s a Gryffindor! Slytherins aren’t friends with Gryffindors.” He glanced towards the others as if to say, “Come on, back me up here!”

“Whatever.”

Before he could respond an arm was casually slung across her shoulders. “She’s with me.”

Even if she hadn’t recognized his voice she would have known by their faces. All of them went blank. The Slytherin who had been harassing them was suddenly bowing and scraping as if that changed what he had just said.

“I apologize. We didn’t realize.”

“Don’t make that same mistake again.” Riddle warned.

Pulling her over to the side, away from that group he turned to face Pansy who had followed.

He gave her a pointed look, “You’re welcome.”

She rolled her eyes, “We didn’t need your help.”

“Well you got it.”

In a flat, sarcastic tone she gave him a reluctant, “Thanks.”

He gave her a smile before turning to Y/N.

“Don’t get in any more trouble, princess.”

She opened her mouth to respond but he walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

Seizing her hand, Pansy tugged her along onto the dance floor. A bit hesitant, she observed others for a cue. Following suit, she began to jump up and down to the beat of the music. The song shifted into another, a bit slower, song.

Swaying to the beat she noticed a guy in her periphery. She had never met him before and under normal circumstances would never have gone up to him but liquid courage filled her veins and not the potion kind. Shifting towards him he gave her a welcoming nod and a half-smile. Their dancing intertwined seamlessly, both of them just moving to the beat as if they had been dancing together for their whole lives. Standing behind her he placed his hands on her hips. Glancing upwards he noticed a Slytherin boy glaring at them from where he sat next to his friends. Raising an eyebrow in challenge he leaned his body further into hers.

He was playing with fire but he quite enjoyed getting burned.

Riddle jumped to his feet, walking towards the hallway, his hand encircling a girl’s wrist and dragging her behind him. Y/N, oblivious to everything going on around her, continued to dance until the song changed to one she hated. Scowling, she apologized and exited the dancing throng.

Tossing back another drink she paused, waiting for the magical buzz to hit her. A golden glow filled her veins, leaving a fiery burning sensation. Spotting Pansy heading over she stayed standing there.

“Hey, having fun?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah!” Her head started to spin. “Actually, I’m not feeling too great.”

“Okay, do you want to sit down for a bit?”

She nodded. Pansy found her a spot on the couch to rest.

“I should probably head back.” Y/N admitted. She needed to lie down.

Pansy nodded. “Do you want me to walk with you?”

“No, I’ll be fine.” She waved her off as she attempted to stand on legs that wobbled like a foal.

Stumbling out of the Slytherin common room she came face to face with Riddle sucking the face off of some poor girl.

“Ugh! Get a room.”

They both turned to look at her with hooded eyes, their lips swollen. “Stop watching.”

Scoffing, she stormed down the corridor and out of the dungeons. Making her way to the Room of Requirement she hoped she would make it on time. When the door opened it was empty. No Hermione, no Harry, no Ron. No one.

Puzzled, she hurried to Gryffindor tower, sneaking past Filch on his mission to find misbehaving kids.

When she crept through the entrance she stopped in her tracks. Sitting there on the couch waiting for her were her friends.

No one uttered a word.

Breaking the silence she gave them a sheepish wave, “Hey guys.”

“Where were you?” Harry asked. “It’s almost eleven.”

“I’m sorry, I lost track of time.”

Ron nodded, chiming in, “We were worried sick!”

“I’m sorry.”

Hermione sighed. Both of the boys looked over at her, waiting for her to say something.

“Let’s just go to bed, it’s late.”

Disappointed, they stood, walking up to their room.

Once they were gone Hermione asked, “Did you have a study session again?”

“Yes.”

“For which class?”

Unsure where she was going she went with the first class that popped into her head, “Divination.”

“With Lavender, Padma, and Parvati?”

“Mhmm.”

“That’s strange.”

“Why?”

“Because they were all hanging out here together. All night.”

Y/N stood still as a statue, not a hair moving. Shit. Thinking quickly she explained, “They are usually in our group. Today they decided not to come.”

Not quite willing to give up, Hermione questioned her yet again. “Then why did you say that you were studying with them?”

“I don’t know! I usually do but today they didn’t come. Look, I said I was sorry. I screwed up, I lost track of time. I am sorry. Why are we still talking about this?”

“I don’t know Y/N. You tell me.”

“Well I have no idea what you want from me!”

Her best friend gave her a look. “I want answers. Where have you been sneaking off to lately? Why are you always lying about studying with Lavender and her friends when every time they say that they haven’t seen you all day?” She lowered her voice a bit. “You’ve changed Y/N. You’re always disappearing for hours at a time with little to no explanation. I’m worried about you.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“Then how about you tell me what’s going on? If there’s nothing to be concerned about then why don’t you tell me what you’re hiding? Are you dating someone? Is that it?”

“No. I’m not dating anyone. I just have a lot going on with my family.” Hermione took a step back, an apologetic look crossing her face.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I just am not really sure what or if there is even something that I can do to help them. They are scared for their lives now that he’s officially back. Right now they are in Guatemala, they sent a postcard a few days ago. By now they might be in a different country. I just didn’t want to talk about it with you guys.”

She nodded, a soft smile with watery eyes. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I know how much you care about them.”

“Thanks.”

Hermione stepped forward, wrapping both arms around Y/N, squeezing gently. After a few seconds later she pulled away, wiping her eyes.

“I am really sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I should have been a better friend. I should have noticed something was up.”

“It’s really not. That was kind of the whole point of not telling anyone. I didn’t want you guys to know and feel bad for me.”

“We’re your friends Y/N. If something is going on we want to be there for you. Please let us.”

Y/N nodded.

“Good. Okay. Wow, it’s late. Let’s get to bed.”

“Okay.”

Chapter 6>>

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imastarokay · 7 months ago

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LOVE ROSIE ROMIONE AU: When a Rose is met with a Thorn:

Current word count: 50,995

Step into the captivating world of my tale, where Hermione, a single mother yearning for her past, grapples with the weight of her decisions. Through the difficulties of her journey, Ron emerges as a beacon of familiarity, rekindling the spark of her former self. As Hermione navigates the complexities of parenthood and the ache of lost time, her bond with Ron offers solace and renewal. Discover the touching tale of a woman torn between her responsibilities and her deepest desires, where love becomes the catalyst for redemption and rediscovery.

Here's the Summary:

What if Hermione was the one who left during the Deathly Hallows, and never came back? What if the war never ended and things just got worse for 16 years until one fateful day, when it did end, and Hermione knew she had to come back?

Rose Granger, a fifteen-year-old girl has to deal with her mother's constant secrecy and abnormalities. Her mother is not like other mothers, hell she isn't like anyone she's ever met. It never all pieced together until now. What will happen when Rose investigates her mother's past and discovers secrets too otherworldly to be true?

Click to read my fic

I hope y'all enjoy it if you choose to read it. Reblogs are always welcomed and appreciated. I also love and enjoy responding to comments on ao3, they make my day, and I love interacting with y'all. As always, have a great week!

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jomiddlemarch · 9 months ago

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With you nothing is simple yet nothing is simpler

Rose stood before her, drooping, her braids coming undone, shoes scuffed, a new rip in her overalls, giving Hermione a look of absolute incredulity when faced with the undeniable truth:

Hermione had forgotten to pack snacks.

She didn’t even have a bloody Polo mint somewhere in the recesses of her beaded bag, Transfigured to look like an ordinary mum’s ordinary leather handbag, designed to carry her through her day at the Ministry and any trips she might make to Muggle London.

Forget about something healthy.

She had planned to rely on the water fountain, that wasn’t another complete miss on her part.

She opened her mouth to begin the explanation-slash-apology that would not satisfy either one of them. Rose already had that furrow in her little brow that meant she planned to invoke Nan, which only ever meant Molly, and how important Nan said it was for growing human beans to have good homegrown food and not that muck Mum bought from Tesco’s.

“I have plenty, if she’s hungry. The fruit’s already cut, it won’t keep, and these pesto egg muffin bite things he said he liked yesterday, so of course I’ve gone and made far too many.”

That was Draco Malfoy, sitting on the bench just next to hers, a rucksack and some sort of sport-inspired hamper beside him, unable to resist rubbing it in, that he was a better prepared and more attentive parent than she was, the he his neatly and comfortably dressed five year old son Scorpius, who somehow made the jersey and shorts he wore look like the ideal outfit for a Wizarding child. His fringe was the proper length and not slicked back with some imported pomade like Draco’s had been for the first three years at Hogwarts, and he was busy constructing something tower-like from the stones, twigs and other assorted detritus he’d scoured the park for while Rose ran around, screaming like a banshee and climbing halfway up a tree before scuttling down again before Hermione had to call out to tell her too high, Rose!

Hermione turned her head to convert her explanation-slash-apology into a far more gratifying coldly cutting retort that she had to trust to inspiration to supply, since she had nothing approaching the moral high ground, when she actually looked at Draco’s face, which was tilted in an encouraging and frankly kind manner, and consider the tone of his voice, which had been commiserating and not the least judgmental. Hermione was quite familiar with the myriad shades of judgment and Draco’s voice hadn’t held even one.

He was also incredibly fit.

(That wasn’t really relevant to her decision-making, but it was note-worthy as a general fact.)

“Rose, Mr. Malfoy has some fruit if you want a snack. And something else tasty and homemade, just like Nan would have given you for tea,” Hermione said. Rose sized up Draco in an instant, pivoted to rifle through the sporty hamper, retrieved a little baggie of apple slices and another of the unexpectedly attractive pesto egg bites that reminded Hermione she’d also forgotten lunch and a stale ginger biscuit at her desk was going to have to hold her until after Rose was asleep.

Again.

“Ta,” Rose said, about to fly. It was impossible that she wouldn’t be Quidditch-mad.

“Rose,” Hermione said.

“Thank you, Mr. M’Foy,” Rose said. It was anyone’s guess if she would have gotten Malfoy correct without her mouth half stuffed with Braeburn.

“You’re quite welcome,” Draco said.

Hermione nodded and Rose scrambled away, as fast as her hand-me-down trainers could take her.

“Thank you. I appreciate it. Her wild magic on an empty stomach is terrifying,” Hermione said. Was she bragging about Rose’s magic, when she’d heard rumors Scorpius Malfoy might be a Squib? Probably and she wasn’t proud of it, but that wasn’t unfamiliar either.

“I find them terrifying full-stop,” Draco said. “Adorable, would lay down my life for him in a heartbeat, makes me question every decision my own parents ever made on my behalf, but terrifying nonetheless.”

Hermione laughed. It was the first time she could remember laughing at something Draco said without there being any seething vitriol or tearful desperation she’d had to tamp down or put aside. It felt…nice.

“I have a bit more sympathy for my parents,” she offered. “My wild magic started when I was a toddler and they had no idea what to make of it. No context at all. My mother told me, during out sixth year, that she’d thought she was losing her mind. I was well on my way to inventing Leviosa before I got a hold of the first year spellbooks.”

“Yes, I can see how that might be where one would go. Madness, that is,” he said. There was a frankly companionable silence between the two of them and then he spoke again. “Sometimes, I can’t help regretting it.”

“Regretting what?”

“I love him, with all that I am, my heart and soul and magic. And I can’t help regretting sometimes I agreed to it, having him when I, when we did,” he said. He turned away slightly, so that she saw him in profile, a face like a god’s on a coin, the straight nose, the full lower lip, his jaw held tightly.

“Why are you telling me?” she asked.

“For one, I don’t think you can think any worse of me than you already do, so that makes you perfect for such a shameful admission,” he said, shrugging. “Secondly, you let your daughter eat the snacks I made. Not that I’m trying to make you feel like you owe me something, that I’ve caught you out. You trusted me with your child, that’s what I meant.”

“I think you underestimate how I think of you,” she said slowly.

“Is that better or worse? Do you mean you think well of me and now I’ve dropped in your estimation? Or did I somehow go from sniveling worm beneath your heel to abysmal slime-mold you wouldn’t use your wand to scrape off with magic from said heel?”

He sounded resigned, amused, self-deprecating. His voice was low, a rich baritone, only a little of that drawl he’d had at Hogwarts left. The perfect amount.

“I wear flats unless I’m in court,” she said. “I don’t hold the past against you anymore, we were children, child-soldiers, pawns moved around by people who should have known better. Played a better game of Wizarding chess, given that it was our lives they used. I regret it, myself, having her so young, though I don’t let myself think it if I can help it. I can’t, if I want to keep being a decent mother.”

“You are clearly an exceptionally fine mother. Why did you do it? You’re Hermione Granger, you don’t make decisions you regret,” he said.

Now she laughed, a bitter sound, that kept the tears in her eyes from spilling.

“Don’t believe everything you hear. Or read,” she said. “I lost my parents in the war. They were both only children, my grandparents were gone a long time ago. Rose was my one chance to have a family, someone who belonged to me.”

“I’m terribly sorry. I hadn’t heard they’d died,” he said.

“They’re alive. Just…lost. Turns out, if you do a thorough enough Obliviation, there’s no return. The person they were before is effectively dead. They’re just not sad about it. That’s for other people,” Hermione said.

“Astoria told me it was her dying wish to have a child, even though it would kill her,” Draco said.

“That’s why you agreed?”

“No. I refused when she said that. She used blood magic, from the binding. Once that was done, it was either lose them both or just her,” he said. “She didn’t know that for sure, there was plausible deniability and we’d said someday. She made someday happen sooner than I thought possible.”

“You loved her,” Hermione offered. She’d never met Astoria, who’d been a few years behind them at Hogwarts and in Ravenclaw, had only a dim memory of the photo that had been in the Prophet when the marriage was announced, a slim, dark-haired young woman wearing a lot of lace standing next to Draco, who’d been all in black. Wizards wore all sorts of things to funerals. Only Hermione saw him in mourning at his wedding.

“In a way. I hated her too. I didn’t want to be either of my parents and I didn’t know how to be anything else,” he said. “My parents were overjoyed, a Malfoy heir, no miscarriages, no stillbirths. A healthy Pureblood baby. That’s quite rare, all the inbreeding, you understand. They think Astoria was a paragon of virtue and also, they didn’t give a damn about her.”

Scorpius ran over and stretched out a hand to show Draco a stone. It was an unremarkable piece of quartz, though it did catch the light.

“What a find, love. You can bring it home if you like or leave it here. You could even hide it, like goblin treasure,” Draco said, studying the stone, reaching out to straighten the collar of Scorpius’s jersey. He touched Scorpius’s cheek fondly, but he didn’t try to wipe the smear of dirt there, nor did he say anything about his son’s grubby hands. Hermione recalled what a pristine child he’d been, all silver and green, how he’d stand between his parents, very still, as if a portrait were being painted.

“Hide it—” Scorpius said and darted back over to the field, just at the edge where a copse of trees stood, shadows beckoning. The whole playground was heavily warded and there were monitoring spells St. Mungo used for observation. It was safe enough to let him run away.

“That’s what I thought,” Draco said, shooting her that familiar parental glance, proud and powerless.

“Ron begged me not to end the pregnancy. It wasn’t planned. The Healers said the curse damage I suffered from Bellatrix was unpredictable, the interactions with contraceptive charms and potions would have made them less effective. It wasn’t my fault, except I never told them I hadn’t bothered with any spells or potions, so it was, in a way. I didn’t care and then I did. I told Ron I was pregnant and he told me he was gay and in love with Theo and it would break his mother’s heart if he never gave her a grandchild. My parents were gone. Harry and Ginny were expecting, Andromeda was raising Teddy, Bill and Fleur just had Victoire. It was easier to say yes. It made so many people happy and Ron did what he said he would,” Hermione said. Andromeda knew most of it, but Hermione had never told anyone all of it, certainly not in one sitting, not sitting on a park bench in the weak English sunshine, without a Polo mint to her name. Augusta Longbottom had said Hermione should do as she liked but it was rare to see such a strong magical signature in the first trimester, though likely it would happen again, for a witch of her abilities. Likely hadn’t seemed like a good enough bet, not when Ron’s blue eyes had pled with her and he’d held her hands in his instead of touching her completely flat stomach.

“What he said he would?” Draco repeated. He sounded encouraging, not nosy. Not prepared to made a rude remark about Ron or the Weasley family as a whole. It felt…good.

“Molly wanted me to name her Frederica. Winifred. Or Elfreda. It was ghastly. Even I knew Fred would have loathed it. Ron put his foot down and told her we weren’t doing that to a baby and that I had final say on her name. Then he came out to them, Molly and Arthur, so the name part receded as something anyone cared that much about,” Hermione said. “I don’t have to tell you how Purebloods feel about that, however warm and Muggle-forward they seem to be.”

“Bloody hell,” Draco said.

“There was a lot of screaming. Arthur finally told Molly to be grateful she had a son alive to tell her what made him happy and she piped down,” Hermione said. “She started knitting a jersey for Theo as soon as Ron let it slip they were involved. It was a little forced, but I think the knitting settled her down, let her feel like she was back in charge of the family. Molly had a great need for that.”

“Ah, the famous Weasley jersey,�� Draco said.

“Infamous is more like it,” she replied. “Fleur won’t wear hers at all. But she’s married to Bill, so she can get away with it.”

“I gather you don’t have the same option,” he said.

“Molly watches Rose when Ron and Theo and I are all working or busy, always sends home dinner, invites me to Sunday lunch even when Ron and Theo have Rose. She’s Rose’s only grandmother. She means well,” Hermione shrugged. “Fleur wears cashmere and Molly sniffs. I Transfigured mine into a cardigan. Molly didn’t mind that, as long as the H is all on one side. I hid the pockets I added.”

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” he said, squinting a little against the light, the sun lower in the sky. Rose had approached Scorpius and now they were working on something with less height but a larger area. Hermione suspected St. Mungo’s had tracking spells to evaluate wild magic. At Rose’s last Healer’s visit, Hermione had been advised to stock up on Easiheal and beginning Arithmancy books, as if she and Ron hadn’t already done so (plus the Wizarding chess set Theo had brought out to let Rose watch them play.)

“It beats the alternative,” Hermione said. He shifted, faced her full on. They both looked older than they were, Draco with shadows under his grey eyes that spoke of broken sleep, Hermione with a streak of white in her hair like a ribbon, neither of them partial to glamours. He’d grown a fair amount after Hogwarts, his shoulders broader, his lanky frame filled out, and he dressed the part of an older man, much as Hermione had her mum’s uniform on. For a moment, she only saw the boy he’d been, too clever by half, preening, insecure, nervous he’d be caught caring. He’d taken the Dark Mark or rather, it had been forced on him, hidden by the sleeve he had securely fastened with monogrammed cufflinks. He could be the Dark Lord’s deputy, she could be dead in a ditch, both their first wands broken.

“I don’t think that’s as true as people say,” he replied. “We could have been given a chance to grow up. To put ourselves first, not the survival of the Wizarding world or the Noble House of Black. We could have found ourselves here in another ten years or twenty, with children we had chosen to have. Had wanted to bring into existence from dreams. We wouldn’t have to be alone, here, and at home, sitting by ourselves with a drink after we put them to bed, wondering what happened—”

“It’s hard,” she said, to stop him, because he was so right it hurt. She drank tea at night, even though it kept her up, because drinking wine or whiskey alone was worse. Ron and Theo encouraged her to go out when they kept Rose, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to explain who she was and she couldn’t bear it they already knew. She drank oolong, Darjeeling, PG Tips, always black, and she never read the leaves.

“What if it were easier?” he asked.

“Easier?”

“What if you told me what happened and I told you, after we put them to bed. What happened that day, not just what Rose did and what Scorpius said, but how you dealt with that stroppy minister from Croatia and how I heard back from Damaris, in Alexandria, about that manuscript revision, and what we could bring to the potluck Neville’s insisting on hosting instead of getting a proper caterer,” he said. “Samosas, for the record. Though I can manage vol-au-vents in a pinch, if you wanted to be Muggle retro about it.”

“That’s a lot happening,” she said. It was a leap, an enormous, across-a-chasm leap, he was describing and also just words, a possibility she could dismiss with a shake of her head, a slight frown, some politeness he’d accept instantly. His eyes, though, were hopeful, watching her.

“Scorpius will probably interrupt. He usually wants a glass of water exactly when I’m at a good part,” Draco said.

“Rose talks in her sleep. In French. It’s quite distracting,” Hermione said. When had she ever backed away from something daunting? Granted, she usually did some research first. Draco knew what a vol-au-vent was; she clearly wasn’t the only one who prepared. “It’s better than mine. She talks to Fleur and Gabrielle a lot.”

“I’m fluent,” he said. “In French and wheedling.”

“I’m good at pouring a glass of water wandless. I make the water take the shape of a dolphin going into the glass but I can do a Hippocampus too,” Hermione said.

“Are you hungry? I have apple slices and pesto egg muffin bites going begging,” he said, smiling. He had a sweet smile and a gleam in his eyes that was positively, gratifyingly filthy. She blushed, dropped her gaze from his.

“You’re a very pretty mummy, Hermione,” he said softly. “But it can be whatever you want, however you want. It can be maybe later, after you look at your calendar. Half-past never. Whatever’s easier—”

“I didn’t bring any snacks to the park and I have nothing planned for dinner unless we get Indian takeaway again. For the third time this week,” she said in a rush. “It would be easier to have someone else take care of dinner. I’m not picky, Rose isn’t either.”

“Bolognese or carbonara?” Draco asked. “Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy is made 98.2% from pasta. Don’t be deceived by the organic apple slices and pesto egg affectations.”

“Carbonara’s faster,” Hermione said.

“But what do you want?” Draco hit the you and want with a perfect balance of emphasis. It made her remember she was only twenty-four years old. Hermione, not only Madam Granger and Mummy and ‘Mione.

“Bolognese,” she said. She reached over, touched his hand where it rested beside his leg. He couldn’t mistake her intention. “Everyone calls her Rose, but I named her Roseline, from Shakespeare. Roseline’s the one Romeo liked first. She goes away. Lives her own life off-stage.”

“I had to pick a constellation. I wouldn’t do it again,” he said.

Ten years later, after a long day and a longer night, he arrived, only a little later than they’d planned and just as they’d hoped. They named him Hugo.

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