Chapter Text
The first thing Hermione Granger noticed about the little boy was that he never asked for help.
It was her first afternoon volunteering in the Ministry’s magical literacy program, and while the other children bounced restlessly between enchanted bookshelves and floating ink pots, he sat quietly at the end of one of the low tables near the windows, completely absorbed in rebuilding a broken enchanted solar system. Tiny planets drifted around him in uneven, sputtering circles while Saturn’s ring repeatedly slipped loose and clattered softly against the tabletop. Still, he kept trying.
Hermione found herself watching him more than the others. Blonde hair. Pale skin. Sharp little features that would someday grow into something striking. There was something strangely familiar about him, though she couldn’t quite place it. Or maybe she simply didn’t want to.
She crossed the room slowly and knelt beside him. “You know,” she said lightly, “most children would’ve found a teacher to help them by now.”
The boy carefully slid one of the silver rings back into place without looking up. “Most people don’t finish things.” His voice was quiet. Matter-of-fact. With one final adjustment, the tiny solar system whirred to life, planets spinning smoothly once more as it lifted into the air above the table. “Most people just get something new instead,” he added.
Hermione’s chest tightened unexpectedly. “Yes,” she said softly. “I suppose that does seem easier.”
The boy tilted his head, studying the floating planets above him. “Yeah. But I like bringing old things back to life.”
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before she could stop it. “You’re awfully wise for a seven-year-old.”
That earned her the smallest hint of a grin. “My father says the same thing.”
Something in the way he said it made her pause.
“I’m Hermione Granger,” she told him gently.
Only then did he finally look up at her, and the breath caught somewhere behind her ribs.
Grey eyes.
Not just grey... Storm-cloud grey. Sharp and startling against the softness of his face. She knew those eyes. Once, they had looked at her with mockery, contempt, and fear, too, though she had only learned to recognize that part years later.
“I’m Scorpius,” the boy said.
Before she could respond, the classroom door creaked open behind them, and the room seemed to shift around the sound. Hermione looked up automatically, her spine straightening before her mind caught up.
A tall figure stood in the doorway, dark coat still dusted with rain from outside. Platinum hair. Sharp cheekbones. Impossibly composed.
Draco Malfoy.
For one disorienting second, it felt like being seventeen again.
But no - not quite.
He was still unmistakably Draco. Still elegant. Still severe enough to command a room without effort. Yet the sharpness she remembered had worn thin with time. What remained looked quieter somehow. Tired in a way that settled deep behind the eyes.
And those eyes…
Those eyes were no longer cruel.
“Scorpius,” he said quietly. “It’s time to go.”
The realization settled heavily in her chest as Scorpius hurried to gather his things. “Look, Dad,” he said, tugging gently at Draco’s sleeve as he held up the repaired solar system. “I finally fixed it.”
Draco looked down at it, and something in his expression softened so suddenly that it caught Hermione off guard.
“Well done, son.”
The words were simple, but the warmth behind them transformed him completely. Then his gaze lifted to hers again, and whatever softness had surfaced disappeared neatly back behind polished restraint. He gave her a slight nod.
“Granger.”
Hermione swallowed.
“Malfoy.”