"For you alone I will be weak."

— Catherynne M. Valente

"Where do you want to start?"

Hermione blinked, eyes adjusting to the dim room as she got her bearings. It was sundown now, the falling light of the sun's last rays slipping through the window. Vaguely she heard the clink of the vials disappearing and the pensieve being put back in the cabinet.

"Let's get out of here," Hermione suggested, holding her hand out to him. A bewildered expression flickered over his face before it was gone. After a tense pause, a firm hand slipped into hers before she twisted, disapparating.

They landed softly on the grass, just in front of the back porch. Raindrops glistened vermillion and pink on the blades of grass, reflecting the sunset sky. It must have rained, she thought as she watched the sun descend over the shadowy trees.

"Ask," she heard him audibly swallow. "Ask anything, Hermione."

Hermione looked up at Draco, his expression distant but softened by the warm light. She could see it, could recognize the conflict brewing in his gray eyes as he prepared himself. He was trying to compartmentalize his emotions, lock them away. But she wouldn't let him.

Hermione gave his hand a tug before seating herself on the porch steps. He joined her, still staring quietly into the distance. On the outside, the indifferent stony expression he wore suggested he didn't care. Hermione would have interpreted the same if it weren't for his hand gripping hers like a vice.

"The Selwyns," Hermione began, steeling herself. "They never helped the True Order. In fact from what I knew, they were a big resource of funding for the Dark Lord. But they never — "

"It was the Voltaires that betrayed the Dark Lord," Draco said with a wry twist of his lips. "I got it out of the prisoners, but I said it was the Selwyns. The Dark Lord was already being paranoid about them since they were starting to become impatient about the lack of progress. They also favored keeping some of the muggleborn children for themselves," he finished with a dark look.

Hermione swallowed. "And the prisoners, did you — did you — "

"I had no choice," he whispered. "I couldn't do anything when other Death Eaters were also involved in getting the information. There were too many variables, too many risks. I needed to be selective."

Hermione, not trusting her voice, squeezed his hand letting him know she understood. She too had made choices, choices that kept her up at night. When she was younger, she had always prided herself on her rationality and her ability to make choices that served the greater good. But in war, the good choices were not always the right choices. Often, the right choice didn't even exist. Harry's sacrifice was proof that sometimes doing the selfless thing could only get you killed.

"When Scorpius was born, surviving wasn't enough," Draco continued, "I did not want to be passive anymore. When I first held him, a decision rooted itself within me. I decided that once he was old enough I would defect and help the Order not just because I wanted to survive but I wanted to do better for my son. I did not want him to live in the world I helped create."

"I was wrong."

He looked at her, brows pinched.

"When you first showed up, I hurled my own accusation at you for defecting. I had my preconceived notions and believed you turned coat for a self-serving purpose."

He pondered her words for a moment, but it didn't seem to alleviate the tension in his storm clouded eyes. "You weren't wrong, Hermione. It took me too long to try to undo what I had helped create. But in the end, it was for Scorpius, not some noble larger goal for humanity. Is that still not self-serving?"

His eyes burned with a challenge, but it didn't hold any heat. "We're only human, Draco. It is inherent in our nature that everything we do is somewhat self-serving, whether directly or indirectly. These lofty ideals and larger goals you speak of are nothing if not rooted in our compassion, empathy, and kindness. We are not driven by abstract ideals and ethical laws, but our desire to make changes around us and within us. Changes that, hopefully, benefit not just ourselves, but others. When you tried to keep Raul alive as long as possible, when you let Astoria visit him, got Scorpius out, joined the Order and so many other things, tell me, was it purely self-serving?"

Draco remained quiet but she could sense a slight shift in him.

She understood now, it was never about trying to pick a winning side or just surviving, but trying to take a step in the right direction, to finally make his own choices. In the memories, Draco had risked everything, lost everything for a single chance to be more than who he had been raised and the choices he had made.

"It was also you, wasn't it who attempted removing the Dark Marks from those Death Eaters?"

"Yes," he confirmed, a slight distaste in the curl of his lips, "the targeted Death Eaters were intentional. Just like the Selwyns."

"And the bond to Scorpius to get rid of the Dark Mark?"

"As you saw, it was Theo's idea and he was right. It was what the Dark Mark was derived from but purer. While the Dark Mark was a brand of servitude, this was a bond of loyalty. True loyalty. This bond is in a way stronger because it wouldn't need to be forced — it could not be implemented if some form of loyalty did not already exist. With the right potion and spell work, I was able to sever the ties and override the Dark Mark. The actual bond to Scorpius is harmless, but still stronger. I will always be loyal to him — bond or no bond. He isn't able to summon me like the Dark Lord was able to, but I can feel it when he is in need of me."

Hermione absorbed the information. The bond, unlike the Dark Mark, was formed out of something Voldemort would never have — loyalty from love, not fear.

"I admit it was a risk since there weren't many resources on it except old family texts. It was when I visited the Black family vaults that I found the original ritual the Dark Lord tampered with to create the Dark Mark." Draco looked at his inner forearm, staring deeply at the gray, marred flesh. "But sometimes I feel the ghost of it still there, some echo of Dark Mark."

Some scars stayed forever, even as an imprint of it. But they were also reminders of what one had been through, of the battles they had fought and even lost. Hermione glanced at her Mudblood scar. It didn't repulse her anymore. All she saw was a reminder of a time she had been helpless and of the deep rooted hatred that existed, one she had and would continue fighting hard against.

"And when your mother did what she did..."

Draco's eyes screwed shut, his face in conflict, trying to shut out the emotions warring within him. But she could tell he was trying to keep himself open — for her.

"Draco, we don't have to..." Hermione scooted closer, cupping his face. She brushed her thumbs over his cheekbones. His eyes fluttered open, and she was almost taken aback by the raw emotion in them.

Slowly, his fingers wrapped around her wrists. They were cold but gentle. Eyes still on hers, he twisted his face slightly and brushed his mouth against her palm before setting them down, but not letting go.

"She was supposed to come with us," he began, finding his voice. "But she was tired and knew it was risky. She also knew that the fire would buy us time since no bodies would be discovered and it would be a while for them to realize I had betrayed the Dark Lord. It was also a message."

Hermione had never known Narcissa outside the distant glances she'd seen of her growing up. But she saw the witch who raised Draco more clearly, not just through his memories, but in the kindness and bravery he claimed he did not have.

"I'd like to talk about Astoria now," she said carefully.

He merely nodded, his expression blank. She almost missed the slight tremor in his finger.

"I still have nightmares about that night," he said quietly, color draining from his face. "Not only did I violate her, but being pregnant killed her in the end. And maybe I have no right to say this, but it fucked me up too. I felt violated. It – it was my first experience," he said, jaw clenched. Hermione blinked in surprise. "Not to mention Raul. I was too consumed solidifying my place in the Dark Lord's ranks instead of putting more time into finding a way to help him and Astoria escape."

"You were planning to help them escape?" Hermione gaped. "Did they know?"

Draco gave her a bitter smile. "They didn't know. While I was buying them time, I was also thinking of ways to get them out. She was already ill and even if she wouldn't have a long life, at least... at least..."

His eyes shut, brows pinching as he inhaled deeply. Astoria's peaceful face came to mind, as did Raul's. For a moment, Hermione let herself think of what if's, of some universe where they did manage to make it out. It made her heart twist remembering the reverence in which they held each other and looked at each other like they had everything they ever wanted. Hermione found herself glancing at Draco, her heart aching and overflowing with the things she had tried so hard to keep back.

"If I hadn't been a coward and found a way to get at least get Raul out — "

"No, you couldn't," Hermione said firmly, eyes unwavering. "Yes they were victims to this war, but so were you, Draco. You did what you could. Maybe you could have done something, or maybe even if you did, Raul and Astoria would've ended up in the same place. You weren't a coward," she said, taking his chin in one hand, forcing him to meet her gaze. "You are not a coward, Draco."

He searched her eyes, guilt still evident in them, but softer now as a new emotion crept in them. It was fragile, hesitant, but there. It was a start.

"Neither bravery nor goodness is measured by tallying the acts we have done in our past against each other. It is about having the courage to do better despite all that we have done. It is about being kind, even when others and the world have not," she continued. "Astoria was right. There's more kindness in you than you let yourself believe. If you can't see it, then look at Scorpius — his goodness is a reflection of what kind of father you have been. He is more observant than you give him credit for and perhaps he sees you more clearly than you see yourself."

Draco's gaze was heavy on her as if committing every word she had just said to memory. Her eyes softened as they slipped into a comfortable silence. Hermione looked towards the treetops. The sun was gone now, but she knew it was still there no matter how hidden.

"I did not love her romantically," the silence broke with his voice, steady and sure. "I did not truly know her. But we could have become friends. I could have at least dedicated some time to learning more about who she was so that I could tell Scorpius something about her. I can tell Scorpius understands more than he should for someone so young. In fact, he never asks me questions about her, but I — I would have liked to give him something." His fist clenched. "Some day, I hope he will understand that despite the circumstances of his conception and birth, his existence — no," he stopped himself, "he is a miracle. Astoria was not ready to be a mother. And I don't blame her. She felt no bond nor a mother's instinct with him but that didn't mean he was a mistake or a regret."

"She was brave." Muggles had a name for what it seemed like Astoria went through — postpartum depression. No one could blame her. Her life was faced with tragedy — being born with an illness, falling in love with someone who she couldn't be with, forced marriage, forced pregnancy. And yet, she was steadfast and strong. Hermione had nothing but respect for her.

His eyes shuttered. "When things get too... intimate between us, I'm taken to that night — that sick feeling of violation. That's why even if I want to, being physically intimate with you is difficult."

Draco had no delusions that he had nothing to offer her, that he couldn't do anything but lay everything out for her. He finally opened his eyes.

"I won't romanticize what you've been through or give you some bullshit that it made you stronger and was therefore necessary. " Hermione blinked back tears that threatened to fall for him, Astoria, and Raul."Neither you nor Astoria nor Raul deserved it," she said quietly. "It was fucked up and sometimes that is all there is to say. I won't tell you how you should feel, but how I feel, from what I saw and what I have seen since you joined the Order, is that you've come so far. You've worked so hard to do your best for Scorpius, And I see you, I see how far you've come and the man you are now. I see all of you and I'm not afraid."

So much had changed. Hermione could admit that she had had her insecurities, a defense mechanism to keep herself safe. Her losses had brought out her defenses to try and prevent her from getting hurt again. She had been driven by this deep-seated fear of finally finding a place, a home. She was so used to it being taken away from her that she didn't feel like she belonged anywhere. She didn't allow herself to belong anywhere. But now all that crumbled. Her fears had held her back from allowing herself to fully be with him and Scorpius. She had kept that door closed for so long, but here they both were, fully opening themselves, letting down their defenses. It was terrifying but she felt a weight lifting from her.

Before she knew it, his lips were on hers, slow and careful. It felt like their first kiss, and perhaps, in many ways it was. As he dug his hands into her hair, angling her face just so for more access, she surrendered herself to him, savoring the pressure of his tongue against hers and the sure grip of his palms on her lower back. When he broke away he rested his forehead on hers, breathing heavily. Hermione. Still in a daze, she vaguely heard her name leave his lips in a breathless sigh.

"... you understand?"

"Sorry?" Hermione murmured, pulling back a little more, finally recovering her senses.

"You were never intruding or replacing Astoria," he said, looking intently at her. "I didn't know how to explain it then when you said you felt you were intruding in our lives. You said I was still not over Astoria, but as you now know, it wasn't in the way you think. There was never any comparison, no place that didn't solely belong to you."

A tear slid down Hermione's cheek at his words, at the raw expression on his face.

"You're the one who's free, Hermione," he said, a pained look in his eyes. "You don't need me. I'm a single father and ex-Death Eater. If there's anyone intruding, it's Scorpius and I. But I'll take what I can get, even if it's only for a while," he whispered.

Hermione frowned. "You're right, I don't need you." Draco flinched, but he showed no surprise. "I want you — and Scorpius."

Her hands twisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, not letting him shut down. "And you don't need me either, Draco. We're both capable of surviving on our own — our pasts have forced us to. A lot of my relationships with people have been built on them needing me: for help, dependency, or to solve their problems. But there is something stronger in not needing someone, but wanting them not for what they have to offer but simply because of who they are."

Draco looked at her, perplexed. She drew closer, overwhelmed by her own emotions. "I want you, Draco," she said softly, almost afraid of breaking whatever was between them.

Draco looked at her for a moment, then bent forward, his nose brushing against hers, the firm press of his hands on the small of her back urging her closer. His lips skimmed across her cheek with the gentleness of dreams as if he was lost to sleep and if he was not careful, he would wake.

Hermione, Hermione, Hermione, she heard him whisper under his breath.

He pulled back and chuckled softly at her pout. His eyes held an undeniable tenderness that was foreign on his face. She found it suited him.

Night had fallen around them now, as the last rays of the sun were winked out. It was a starless night, no sight of the moon as darkness surrounded them. But they were not afraid.

***

" — and den, and den, I was runnin and Mr. Dragon was flyin — "

Hermione nodded her head in interest as Scorpius recalled his latest dream. Scorpius described the scene with his little arms waving to mimic the action, glancing up at her every few moments from his place on her lap.

"Bath time, Scorpius," Draco said as he came into the room and placed a steaming cup before her. Hermione blinked in soft surprise but smiled at the gesture in silent thanks. She had been about to make herself a cup of tea when the little boy tugged at her shirt and asked if she wanted to hear about his dream.

Scorpius frowned at his father before brazenly turning his attention back to Hermione and continuing his story as if he hadn't heard him. Hermione chuckled behind her hand, peaking at Draco who was glowering.

"Scorpius..."

"Daddy," the boy whined, crossing his arms. He still didn't like bath time.

"Come on, love," Hermione urged, pressing her lips into the back of his head. Her eyes flickered up to Draco, feeling the weight of his heavy gaze.

"Okay, Mini," Scorpius finally sighed, trying not to pout.

A similar frown marred Draco's features. Hermione bit her lip at how much they looked alike as they both walked out of the room, the look of an impending battle on both their faces.

Hermione took the cup of tea Draco had left for her and made her way to the back porch. He did this often and yet it always surprised her. Whether it be in the middle of her research or when she was wound tight after a mission, she would find a cup of tea waiting for her. Sometimes hot chocolate.

Taking a seat on the creaky steps, she leaned against the wooden railing. The mug was warm in her hands, the scent of ginger and lemon wafting through her. The air was gentle as it wound through her locks and kissed the nape of her neck. From where she sat, she could hear splashes and cursing from inside followed by mischievous laughter and the scampering of little feet.

"Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy."

"Don't want twousers daddy!"

"Scorpius — "

"I be good boy in bath if no twousers after!"

Hermione smiled into her cup.

In that moment, listening to the two boys negotiate, Hermione reflected on how far they had come. How far she had come. Progress was not linear — sometimes we regressed and found ourselves taking a step forward, only to take two steps back. Sometimes, we found ourselves in a different direction altogether. And that's where she was at — still stumbling and sometimes lost, but trying not to not let her fears and anxieties keep her stagnant in one place. She had to keep moving even if it meant inching her way forward, taking one step at a time, or crawling, as long as her breaks in between didn't last too long. And along the way, somewhere in the dark, she had found that she was not alone. She didn't have it to be — only if she chose so. Hermione had decided that she would take that hand held out to her in the darkness.