Thank you!!🥹🥹

But he kept the letter.

He would always keep the letter. The only known token of his father’s vulnerability—his love. It was funny; even with all his father’s wealth, this was all he had to truly give. Draco inhaled a breath of acceptance.

𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩.

As the priest gave the final benediction, Draco took his own family and turned on his heels. And as he turned from his father, he buried this pain with him too. He vowed to never taint his own children with the same.

His children would not know of his love through a letter from the grave, but here, 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸, in this moment. He picked up Scorpius, muddy and all, and squeezed Hermione’s hand.

He looked to Scorpius, who has now ruined his entire suit with mud, and to the daughter that Hermione was now carrying in her womb. The weird taste in his mouth and burning never went away, but his eyes were clearer now. He understood what this all was for.

Or maybe the lesson was reminder to Draco—to make sure that the relationship with his own children didn’t end like this. That the one way to “beat” his father, is to give his children better than what he had.

It was the poetic irony that offered Draco a small bit of joy. That his son—the same child that his father vowed to never acknowledge—was quite literally, dancing on his grave.

Maybe this is was Hermione was talking about.

Scorpius, now a mere two months shy of turning three, stood innocently oblivious to the entire situation. Instead, he actually seemed quite amused, even in the cold and rainy weather, as he ruined his loafers by jumping in the mud puddles at the gravesite.

“This isn’t just about you and him,” she said simply.

Which is why, in his other hand, Draco held onto the tiny, pudgy fingers of his own son.

He even tried to convince her to not come, at first. That she had far better things to do than to grieve his father. His father, the same man that spat the word “𝘮𝘶𝘥𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥” to her face, was the last person deserving of her respects.

He felt himself getting angry all over again. That’s when he felt her hand squeeze his.

She knew.

She knew was he was feeling in that moment, and held him tighter. She knew that she couldn’t take away the pain, so she decided to stand in it with him.

Instead, his father bows out, taking the easy route of showing his love and regret through a letter, rather than looking him in the eyes. And once again, Draco is left to pick up the pieces, absolve the guilt and pain, and pay for his father’s sins. 𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘮!

Twelve years. That’s how long he and his father went without speaking. He had lived an entirely new life in that time, and not once did his father care to reach out to him. He didn’t even care to tell him that he was sick.

Instead, he dangled the possibility of atonement and reconciliation in front of him like he was some kind of animal. Obediently and patiently waiting for his meal—his father’s approval—just to have it thrown away.

The bloody coward.

𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺…⁣
⁣
𝘐 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳…⁣
⁣
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦…𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶…

Damn him. No, 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘮.⁣
⁣
𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴. All these years, he could have said these words to him while he was living. It would have as least repaired some part of their relationship.

He…𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥.⁣
⁣
It was in a letter given to him by his mother the day after he died. Written by his own hand—with penmanship unsteady from the weakness of his illness—and sealed with the Malfoy crest.

From verbal to physical abuse to cruel and unusual punishment, Lucius knew how to show who wielded the power.

And for his final act, he didn’t hold back.

It was actually the most cruel thing of all. The most sadistic and ruthless thing you could do to a son after all these years.

And that was the problem—he didn’t want to cry for him. It made him feel like his father had won. As if he was that small child cowering in the corner all over again. But Lucius Malfoy had made the art of bring his son down to size an art form.

But no, his father was a fucker even in death, and somehow managed to have Draco shaking a crying silent tears at the foot of his grave.

He just wanted this day to end—to bury his father and pretend that the past thirty years of pain and suffering he caused him never happened.

The bastard could have at least afforded him that.

He couldn’t name it at that moment. All he knew was that it left a weird taste in his mouth, and an odd burning in his throat that prevented him from swallowing his emotions like he had done so many times before.

But in the relief that he could finally breathe again—or maybe even for the first time.

Instead, a new beast was being born in the place once occupied by the vitriol for his father. 𝘙𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵? 𝘏𝘶𝘳𝘵? 𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳?⁣
⁣
𝘎𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵?

You would think that the amount of times he had cursed his father, the amount of times he said he hated him, that he had waited for this day. That a small part of him would relish in it—not boastfully or in epicaricacy.

It was so fascinating to him.

Her knowing exactly when he needed her.

With no solicitation. No question.

This was so beautiful🥲❤️

In the meantime, she would have to let him continue to view her through rose colored glasses, blissfully unaware that their marriage as he knew it was damned to hell.

How far he was from the truth?
 
So she chose to play along. She definitely couldn’t crush him like this. Not here. Not now.
 
Soon enough, surely.

“Well then, let’s get you home. My mom has made a big meal for you, or should I say, ‘partner’?”
 
He had always told her that she was too good for him—too smart, too beautiful, too out of his league. He was always grateful that someone like her decided to marry someone like him.

“Mione, are you alright?”
 
She swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, I just missed you too.”
 
Great. A cheater, a liar, and a coward. 
 
Ron took her chin and kissed her deeply. She wondered if he could taste him on her lips.

Ron pulled up in his car, and she wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks. 
 
“Mione, love!” he said, taking her into a bear hug, “Oh, how I’ve missed you!” 
 
She stiffened, his touch filling her with bile and guilt all over again.