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The owl arrived with perfect Malfoy timing—at exactly seven in the morning, when Hermione’s tea was still steeping and her patience was at its thinnest. The envelope the owl held between his talons was a deep purple, with gold swirlings all over it, and inscribed in incredibly expensive golden ink. She quirked her brow at it, wondering where it came from. Or more importantly, whom.
Dear Mum,
Scorpius and I are hosting a Halloween get together at the Manor this weekend! It’s mostly for our year, but we decided to invite parents too (you have to come).
Mr. Malfoy said yes, so there’s no backing out now.
Costumes required. No excuses.
Love,
Rose
(Scorpius says to tell you it’s “a small gathering of tasteful refinement,” but ignore him—it’s a party.)
Hermione set the parchment aside and sighed. “Costumes required. Of course. Honestly, who writes like that at fifteen?”,
Rose, passing through the kitchen with her schoolbag, grinned. “Someone with style. You’re going, right? Scorpius says everyone’s coming. You never do anything fun.”
“I do plenty of fun things,” Hermione said, affronted. “Just last month I—”
“Reorganized your research library?” Rose offered.
Hermione opened her mouth, shut it, and sighed. “Fine. But I am not dressing up.”
“Please mum, we can do something fun, I promise! Scorpius says everyone will be.” Rose said, smirking. “His dad’s hosting, and you can’t say no to an invitation from Auror Malfoy. It would be impolite. I’m going over today to help with set up and everything.”
Hermione’s heartbeat stuttered. She hadn’t seen Draco properly in months—only in passing at the Ministry or Auror briefings. He was always collected, immaculate, and irritatingly handsome in that quietly confident way. The war had etched lines into him, but time had turned them into something dignified.
And she’d rather die than admit she’d noticed.
Hermione gave her daughter a sassy smile, she always got what she wanted, within reason of course. “Let me guess, you already have the perfect idea?”
Rose’s smile beat hers in attitude and gave Hermione all the answer she needed, which was a great resounding yes.
By two o’clock, Hermione was already regretting her decision to come into the office. She’d been reviewing a stack of reports when a familiar voice cut through the quiet hum of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
“Granger. I need your signature—or your mercy. Preferably both.”
She looked up to find Draco Malfoy leaning against her office doorframe, parchment in hand, smirk in place. His Auror robes fit him far too well for her peace of mind.
“Malfoy,” she said, setting down her quill. “You’re interrupting my efficiency.”
“Tragic,” he replied, stepping closer. “But this is your department’s fault. Someone decided the Ministry should triple the paperwork for dark artifact clearances.”
She held out her hand for the document. “Someone has to keep you Aurors from blowing yourselves up. I quite enjoy having my friends stay alive.”
“Touching concern,” he said dryly, watching her scan the pages. “I can almost believe you care.”
She didn’t look up. “I care deeply about procedure.”
“Still the same Granger,” he murmured, “just with better hair and more authority.”
That made her glance up. “Flattery, Malfoy? How uncharacteristic.”
“Observation,” he countered smoothly. “You’ve done well for yourself.”
Hermione signed the bottom of the parchment and slid it back across the desk. “I’d say the same, but you already know it.”
His smirk deepened. “Confidence is an Auror’s best defense.”
She rolled her eyes. “And arrogance is his downfall.”
He chuckled, low and genuine. and it did something to her stomach that she refused to acknowledge.
As he turned to go, he paused. “I’ll see you tonight, then?”
She tilted her head a tad. “Yes, Rose and I will be in attendance. I believe the kids decided on this event together.”
“I believe you are correct. Scorpius even decided on my costume, like I cannot dress myself appropriately,” he admitted, meeting her gaze. “I still can’t quite believe your lovely daughter ended up in Slytherin, and close friends with my son, no less.”
Hermione smiled proudly. “She’s always been braver than people expect. And clever enough to make her own choices.”
Draco nodded. “You’ve raised her well, Granger. That much is obvious.”
Their eyes held a beat too long before he cleared his throat. And repeating with more confidence, “See you tonight, then.” He gave her a curt nod of his head.
When he was gone, Hermione found herself staring at the door, quill motionless in her hand and a smile threatening her composure.
The Manor glowed under a silvered sky, softened by lanterns that hovered over the path like tamed stars. Jack-o’-lanterns shaped as dragons grinned from the steps; garlands of orange light twined around the grand doors.
Hermione paused at the threshold, startled by how alive it all looked.
Draco met her there, masked in black and silver, looking unfairly composed.
“Granger,” he said smoothly. “Or should I call you Miss Daae?”
She eyed her white lace dress and shimmering charm-threaded sleeves. “I prefer Christine.”
His mouth curved. “Still sharp.”
“And you still enjoy provoking me.”
“Only when it works.”
“It seems our children have a sense of humor, Phantom.” Hermione giggled.
Draco Malfoy, in a dark velvet cloak, an antique mask resting on his face—half Phantom of the Opera, half duelist. “Yes, well, they are only fifteen. I suppose we would have acted the same at their age if we weren’t fighting a war.”
“This is true,” Hermione agreed.
It was… warm. Hermione took the comfortable silence between them as an opportunity to look around the entryway.
Draco had changed it. He led her wordlessly deeper inside.
The ballroom was unrecognisable, music floating from self-playing instruments, trays of cider bobbing through the air, guests in everything from elegant cloaks to ridiculous bat wings. Hermione caught sight of Pansy Parkinson sparkling in peacock feathers, waving cheerily next to Harry. She waved back but continued to follow Draco through the crowd.
She looked away for a moment, and then he was beside, handing her a glass.
“Pumpkin spice, questionably charmed,” he said.
Their fingers brushed as she took it. The brief contact sent warmth curling through her.
“Your home looks… different,” she said.
“Scorpius prefers light,” Draco replied. “So I let it in.”
She smiled. “He’s lucky to have a father who listens.”
He inclined his head. “And Rose is lucky to have inherited her mother’s fire. Even if it’s occasionally misused in my drawing room when they are practice duelling.”
That earned a quiet laugh she hadn’t expected to give him. “You are quick.”
“Old habits die hard,” he said, smirking. “Come on, Scorpius and Rose are out back. They’ve set up some sort of… thing.”
“Thing?”
“You’ll see.”
When Scorpius announced a moonlit scavenger hunt, Hermione shot Rose a look. Her daughter’s innocent grin told her everything.
“Partners will be chosen at random,” Scorpius declared, then handed her a slip that clearly read Draco Malfoy.
Draco offered his arm with mock solemnity. “Fate, it seems.”
“Fate or conspiracy,” she muttered, taking it anyway.
They wandered the garden paths under a rustling canopy of autumn leaves. The laughter of other guests faded, leaving only their footsteps.
“You realize they’re plotting,” Hermione said.
“Undoubtedly,” Draco replied. “They’ve been at it for years. Subtlety isn’t a Slytherin trait, despite popular belief.”
“Well, I suspect foul play,” Hermione muttered after the third conveniently disappearing clue.
“From our children?” Draco’s voice was pure mock innocence. “Perish the thought.”
She shot him a look, and he chuckled. “You haven’t changed much, Granger. Still suspicious. Still brilliant.”
“And you’re still deflecting with sarcasm.”
“Only when nervous,” he said lightly, then seemed to regret the admission as his cheeks tinted pink.
The garden path curved under a canopy of orange and gold leaves. The moonlight filtered through, casting silver over his hair and mask.
“Do you ever think,” Hermione said quietly, “that maybe we both got it wrong? The first time?”
He glanced at her. “In what sense?”
“You married for duty. I married for love. And we both ended up divorced before thirty.”
Draco was silent for a long moment. Then, softly, he said, “I think… we both married for reasons that made sense at the time. And maybe we had to live those mistakes to know better now.”
The honesty in his tone startled her. She stopped walking. “Do you know better now?”
He turned to face her. “I know what I want. And what I’m afraid to ruin.”
Before she could respond, a burst of laughter drifted from the Manor which sounded very much like Rose and Scorpius, probably watching from a window. Hermione huffed a soft laugh. “Our children are scheming.”
Draco’s mouth quirked. “Then they take after us.” He lightly bumped her shoulder with his own before adding, “Come on, let’s go inside and I’ll get you some more cider before I help with the other games.”
Later, needing air, Hermione slipped onto the terrace. Lanterns swayed among the trees, scattering gold light across the maze. She shivered from the breeze and rubbed her arms.
“I thought you were in charge of the apple bobbing,” she said without turning when footsteps approached.
“All finished.” Draco said as he placed his coat over her shoulders. “Then I saw you alone.”
He had removed the mask and, unlike the Phantom, his face was incandescently perfect. He looked older, softer, more real than the man from the Ministry corridors.
“Gossip says we’re meant to duel by midnight,” she said.
He came to stand beside her. “We’d disappoint half the guests if we didn’t.”
Their shoulders nearly touched. The night hummed with unspoken things.
“You haven’t changed much,” he murmured.
“I have,” she said quietly. “It happens when your husband gets another girl pregnant at the same time as you. I’ve done it all alone since Rose was born. I have to be careful who I let in.”
“I know,” he admitted. “I do too. Astoria and I never worked well together. But I think, at the very least, you and I do.”
She smiled despite herself. “Perhaps the children just think we deserve another chance.”
He glanced sideways at her. “Perhaps we do.”
The words settled between them, heavy and bright.
The trail that Scorpius set them down to reach the great bonfire that was supposed to end the night, merely ended in a clearing lit by a single small fire. Two mugs of cider waited on a bench; the children and any other guests were nowhere to be found.
Hermione sat, the heat brushing her face. “This feels suspiciously like a setup.”
Draco joined her. “If it is, I’m not complaining.”
They sat in silence until he said quietly, “I used to hate Halloween.”
“Too many ghosts?” she guessed.
He nodded. “But Scorpius loves it. So I made the Manor his. Ours.”
She looked at him and something in her chest eased. “You did well, Draco.”
He met her eyes. “So did you.”
The world seemed to still. Then hesitant, searching, he leaned forward.
The kiss was gentle, unsure, more question than answer. Hermione’s hand found his collar and he inhaled sharply, years of unspoken things spilling into that single breath.
When they parted, both were smiling.
“Our children are insufferable,” she whispered against his lips.
“Undeniably.”
“Should we tell them their plan worked?”
He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “Let’s not ruin their fun just yet.”
Later, when the embers had dimmed, the Manor was quiet, and all the guests had gone home… Hermione followed him upstairs. The kids were asleep in their costumes with a few of their friends in the library. The lights were low, the old portraits asleep. He paused at the top of the staircase.
“Stay,” he said, softly, not a command, just a plea.
Hermione hesitated only a moment before nodding.
And when he kissed her again, desperate and seeking, she realized she hadn’t felt truly wanted in years. Draco was determined to show her how it could be.
The rest of the night blurred into candlelight and laughter and the sound of two lives, once parallel, finally crossing.
One Year Later
Scorpius and Rose had papers lying everywhere as they planned yet another Halloween get together. This year, however, they decided to have it be just their classmates, no adults needed, apparently.
“Honestly, you two,” Rose said, rolling her eyes as Scorpius snickered beside her. “You think we didn’t notice?”
Hermione and Draco exchanged a look across the breakfast table.
“Notice what?” Draco asked, far too innocently.
Rose crossed her arms. “That it was our Halloween party that got you guys together.”
Scorpius grinned. “Was definitely the scavenger hunt, wasn’t it? And now that we have accomplished that, we can get back to having separate social functions, thank you.”
Hermione smiled, sipping her tea. “You mean the Halloween party that I was blackmailed into attending?”
“Semantics,” Rose said, looking at her nails. “We just sped up destiny.”
Draco’s eyes softened as he looked at Hermione. “I’ll drink to that.”
He lifted his coffee mug toward her. She met it with hers, a soft clink echoing between them.
Outside, the pumpkins in the garden flickered to life again, enchanted and warm.
And for the first time in a long time, everything felt exactly as it should.