The Marriage Decree

Chapter 165: The Malfoy Genes are Strong

The world is quiet today.

Hermione stands in their garden, a cup of tea in her hand, admiring the flowers Scorpius helped her plant in the summer. Their colours are dulled by the overcast sky above, a respectful kind of grey. Despite living in the countryside, the wild creatures that are usually abuzz in the dewy morning are keeping away, as if sensing the unease in the air.

Behind her, the back door creaks open. In a few steps, Draco is beside her, his black mourning suit heavy on his shoulders with the tie loose around his neck.

On any other Thursday, they would have already dropped Scorpius off at nursery, had breakfast at work, and would be in their classrooms teaching their first lessons. However, on this Thursday, they needed to suspend their routines and take the day as it came.

As most things are between them, Hermione silently passes her cup to him. He takes it without a word, fingers curling around the handle. She reaches for the tie, looping and knotting the fabric with ease. Her fingers linger as she smooths it down his chest, tucking it behind the buttoned jacket.

Draco exhales, slow and shallow. He takes a sip from Hermione's cup, grimacing at the sweetness before handing it back with a smile that barely tugs at his mouth. Hermione's hand covers his as she takes back the cup, a gentle touch to remind him that today, she would be there for him. Today, she would be the steady one.

The air is crisp as Hermione apparates them to the driveway of Sarah's house. The building that had once felt homely now looms above them, tired and muted. The curtains in every window are still drawn, even though it's mid-morning. As they approach the door, they notice a black ribbon is tied to the knocker.

Scorpius grips his mother's hand tightly, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.

"It's sad," he says quietly.

"I know, baby," Hermione murmurs, squeezing his fingers.

Draco raps his knuckles against the door. Over the decades, the house had absorbed much pain. In the hospital, Hyperion had told him how Sarah raised her four youngest sons alone in this house, after losing her husband and three eldest boys to the war. While her surviving sons had spread themselves across the country, and in Benedict's case, the world, Sarah had remained, holding on to the echoes of childhoods long passed.

The door creaks open. Alarte stands on the threshold, his face pale and eyes already filling. He's been trying so hard to hold it together for his dad, but the moment he sees Draco, he breaks. Alarte wraps his arms around his cousin and sobs.

Without hesitation, Draco holds him, whispering reassurances as he rubs his back.

Hermione, wanting to give Alarte the privacy he deserves, guides Scorpius into the house. The hallway smells of lavender, like it always has, and a part of her had always assumed that was purely Sarah, but now the scent is pungent. In the corner, a grandfather clock ticks too loudly in the sombre quiet of the grieving house.

To the right is the kitchen, where she and Draco had first met Sarah. She had welcomed them instantly. From within, Hermione hears the voices of some, if not all, of Hyperion's children.

Scorpius wriggles free from her grasp and bolts towards the living room, drawn by the familiar gravelly voice of his great-uncle.

"Hypie!" he shouts, diving into the man's lap with newfound glee and hugging him tightly.

Hermione rushes after him, mortified. "Hyperion, I'm so sorry-"

"Nonsense," Hyperion waves away her apology, holding the boy tightly in his arms. "A hug from my Scorpius is just what I needed."