Blackbird

1 | Blackbird Singing

Two and a Half Months Later

"I'm just so bored," Draco whined, pouring two glasses of white wine and passing one to his friend, who was patiently spooning baby food into her high-chair bound child's mouth.

"I want to help people, 'Mione! I invented a better version of the Anti-Nausea potion, for Merlin's sake! You've tried it —" He smiled at Rose and got a wide, four-toothed baby-grin in response, "— when your morning sickness was out of control with this one. You know how much better it is than that putrid swill they peddle at the hospital."

Hermione smiled at the memory. Despite his protests that he'd "already been working on it," and "just happened to finish testing for side effects while she was pregnant and sick all day every day — such good timing!" She knew. He'd created that potion just for her. Beneath his prickly Slytherin exterior, Draco Malfoy was as kind and good a friend as they come.

"I can't even get anyone to answer my owl about it," Draco continued, "Not the Ministry, not St. Mungo's... No one can see that I've changed, that I want to be doing something good with my life. It's been four bloody years since the war! I need to be doing something, or I'll go insane!"

He threw himself dramatically into a chair at the table beside her and ran a hand through his platinum blond hair.

"Or someone." Hermione muttered into her wine glass before taking a sip, her mouth curving into an amused smile.

"That's not — I'm doing just fine in that department, I'll have you know!"

She shot him a knowing look.

"Okay, it's been a couple months. But that's not the problem. I'm just not... interested... in that right now."

She tilted her head and appraised him for a moment before turning around and scooping green mush off of Rose's chin with the spoon and popping it back into the baby's mouth.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Draco briefly marveled at his deep friendship with the woman beside him. They had both gone back to Hogwarts for one more year, while their closest friends all chose other things instead.

Changed by the war, Draco had apologized for his treatment of her, and he was eternally grateful that she'd forgiven him. Amazed, really.

He hadn't expected her to forgive him at all, and yet, somehow, Hermione had forgiven him on the spot, right there in the library, and immediately invited him to study with her. They became inseparable not long after that, surprising themselves as much as everyone else.

She'd been the person he'd first come out to, during that eighth year, and her support had meant everything to him. It still did.

Now, several years later, they still met for lunch at least once a week. Lately it was always like this, with Hermione stealing bites off her plate between shoveling spoonfuls of baby food into Rose's mouth, but Draco didn't mind. He adored that little girl and usually showed up with a new teething toy, board book, or rattle of some sort for her. Hermione accused him of trying to compete with the child's godfather with all of his doting, but he denied any such thing. It may have been true, at least partially, but he denied it anyway.

An owl fluttered into the room and dropped a note into Hermione's outstretched hand, interrupting his brief reverie.

She opened it and Draco caught sight of a familiar, untidy scrawl. Just one sentence. He was too far away to read it, but he knew the handwriting.