A Story Set Ten Years After Cursed Child
Ten years have passed since Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and Draco found themselves in an unlikely team-up. In that time, friendships have grown, marriages have crumbled, the next generation has grown up, and family dynamics are stretched. The story begins with a celebration where a few drinks give friends the courage to confess their long harbored feelings for each other. Visions of the past spanning almost forty years reveal how many events lead to this moment.

Post-Canon, flashbacks to Hogwarts era, post-war, and post-CC/start of this story. Reading of Cursed Child not necessary.

Main pairing: Dramione

Triggers: Adult Content, Politics, Rumors, Infidelity, Falling In Love, Flashbacks, Divorce, Adults, Mid-life Crisis, Adulthood, parenting, Family Drama, Sex, Co-Dependent Relationships, Toxic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, arrested development, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, Acts of terrorism

Notes: It has taken many months and several rewrites, but I finally have this upload to FFN. You may have seen this story floating around on tumblr at some point or on AO3.

Betas: This fic was beta'd start to finish by Mama2HPBabies. She's been my guiding light and I don't know what I would have done without her.

Thank you to MrBenzedrine89 for whose edits really helped transform the former one-shot to a proper first chapter.

Extra thank you to xxDustNight 88 for also making edits to Chapter One.

Awards/Nominations

2017 "After all this Time" Spring Dramione Awards
FINALIST: Best Romance

2017 Granger Enchanted Awards
WINNER: Mischief Managed (Best recently completed fic) — Dramione Subcategory
WINNER: Witty Witch (Best Quips)
FINALIST: Best new Author
FINALIST: Best Canon Based Story

Chapter Synopsis: It is early March 2030, a little over ten years after the events in Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. The Granger-Weasley and Malfoy families are celebrating the upcoming union of their children, Rose and Scorpius, respectively. A bottle of whisky helps settle nerves and reveal decades of secrets.

Songs that inspired the chapter:

My Favourite Faded Fantasy – Damien Rice

Our Day Will Come – Amy Winehouse

Latch – Daniela Andrade

Chapter 1: My Favourite Faded Fantasy

March 2030

It is the evening of Rose and Scorpius's engagement party. Both Draco and Scorpius want to make a very public declaration that the pure-blood Malfoy line was coming to an end by hosting the party at Malfoy Manor. Ron and Hermione had been hesitant with the venue choice. The last time they were in Draco's home, it was used as Death Eaters headquarters, and the events that transpired had terrible, traumatic effects on everyone. But as Minister for Magic, Hermione decided allowing The Malfoys to host this event was a way to show that prejudices against Muggles, Muggleborns, and half-bloods were becoming a thing of the past. Ron did not share Hermione's tact for diplomacy and was still a bit salty that his only daughter was going to become a Malfoy, despite how much he liked Scorpius.

The guests begin to arrive. Draco, Ron, Rose, and Scorpius welcome everyone when Rose realizes her mother is missing. "Draco. Dad. Have either of you seen Mum?"

"No sweetheart," Ron says to his daughter, but is whisked away into a conversation before he can say anything else.

"I'll look for her. The two of you just stay and entertain your guests." Draco has a sneaking suspicion where she might be and sets toward the old dungeon entrance. There, she stands in front of the stairs leading to where her friends were kept while she was tortured.

"Hermione."

She looks up, and the pallor on her face says it all. Draco's heart sinks, knowing being in his home causes her such distress. Though they were friends for over ten years, he had never invited her over in fear this would happen.

"I can't be in the Great Room just yet. It's just. It's just…" Her voice trails off, and his mind flashbacks to visions of his aunt using the Cruciatus curse repeatedly—her screams of agony still haunt his nightmares.

He places a reassuring hand on her shoulder and says, "I know being here is hard. I think about it all the time. There is so much I regret about that day." She takes a step forward and wraps her arms around his waist seeking his comfort. Their eyes meet and he tries to show her sincerity. She forces a smile, but she is still a bit rattled. "You know, everything is locked up down there. All my family's dark artifacts are all locked under glass, and blood magic is the only way to open the door. If I'm ever tempted even to look at those items, I have to cause myself physical harm. I've only been in there twice. After Astoria died to put away all my alchemy research and then to retrieve the time-turner." He then shows her the scars on his hand.

Her finger traces the scar lines, "I've never noticed this before. Why do you have scars? Didn't you use dittany?" she asks puzzled, yet somewhat relieved, knowing this part of his family's past is locked away from Draco's present, as well as Scorpius and Rose's future.

"I wanted to be able to see the reminder." Now his complexion changes, and looks full of shame. As far as the rest of his appearance, Draco has cut his hair for the occasion, which thankfully masks the grays in his the platinum blond. He also shaved his beard, attempting to regain some sense of his youth. The reality his son is already engaged to be married, makes him feel a bit old. Though he has grown in age, his sense of style is still timeless. He wears a well-fitted suit with a fingertip-length jacket, green brocade waistcoat, and an ascot. Time has been kind to him, and he manages to stay lean despite turning fifty this June.

Before him, Hermione reveals a bit of her age. Though still beautiful, the stressors of life and career have begun to take a toll. She wears soft frown lines, and a streak of white that runs from her hairline and is currently sweeping into her updo.

Hermione found yoga and meditation to help her manage her stress. As a result, she is in the best shape she has been in for years. For the occasion, she wears a beautiful, high-collared, red velvet overcoat with a train decorated in gold embroidered embellishments. The coat fastens with a half-zip at the bodice over a simple champagne satin, floor-length, A-line dress.

Draco breaks their embrace, takes her hand in his, and steps back to look at her outfit, "How is it that we haven't been to school for over thirty years, and we're still wearing house colors?"

Hermione looks down at herself and begins to laugh. "At this point, I think it's more on a subconscious level than anything else."

"Would you like a drink to help calm your nerves before heading out to the party?"

"Yes, I think that would help."

"Jollie?" A sweet looking house elf in a miniature version of a black, maid's uniform complete with white frilly collar and white apron appears.

"Yes, Master Malfoy?"

"Can you please bring Minister Granger and me a bottle of champagne?"

"Stronger."

"Really? Okay, please get the Glenglassaugh 55 year single malt and bring it to the library. Also, please tell Rose and Scorpius where we are and that the Minister just needs a moment."

"Right away, sir."

"Well, she is quite the well-dressed house elf."

"And well compensated, I might add. Trying to correct my family's misfortunes with the household staff," Draco can tell that something he said rattles Hermione. He looks down and realizes he's still holding her hand. He gives it a reassuring squeeze and jokes, "You know I'm utterly useless without help."

She laughs, "You are a hopeless case when it comes to many things."

"I'm spoilt. While I am no longer a prat, being waited on is one luxury that I'll never get over." He gives her a wink then escorts her into the library. They take a seat on one of the large sofas facing the fireplace. "Are you cold?" He asks.

"A bit." He shoots a fireball into the fireplace, and it instantly warms up the room. Suddenly, there is a loud pop, and Jollie returns with the rare Scotch whisky. "Thank you, Jollie. What did the kids say?" Hermione smiles at the fact Draco still refers to them as "kids."

"They said for the minister to take her time, and they were handling all the guests." The cheerful servant reports.

"Thank you, Jollie. You may now return to your duties at the party." He pours drinks for the two of them, served neat. He hands Hermione a glass. "Cheers."

Before she takes a sip of the red mahogany liquid, she breathes it in and smells layers of figs, apricots, and hints of blackberry—maybe even a little Belgian chocolate and intriguing aroma of roast coffee. When it finally touches her lips, it's mellow, yet full-bodied. The whisky is rich and complex—fruity, herbaceous, and peppery; it is rare and extraordinary. "Draco. This is incredible. Where did you find it?"

"At one-thousand pounds a bottle, it better be incredible. A small distillery in Portsoy. It was dormant for almost twenty years, and when it came back into operation, they found hidden barrels. They also use Tennessee barrels for their newer whiskies to add some bourbon nuances with scotch whisky." Though a lot of his ideals have changed, he still has an air of snobbishness.

"In my opinion, you cannot put a price on good Scotch. It's worth every exchanged galleon, knut, and sickle. I told you Ron and I went to the Highlands back in January for a weekend to visit some distilleries, didn't I? The sod didn't even appreciate it. Said all whisky tastes the same." She scoffs, thoroughly irritated at her husband. Draco smiles brightly. "And thank you. The drink is helping."

"Well, the next time Weasley passes up going on a distillery tour, I'll join you. You know collecting rare whisky has become a hobby of mine. I'm a bit miffed you didn't bring something back for me."

"I knew you would be mad at me. Believe me, I tried to bring you back something, but with the way my husband was acting, the bottle didn't make it home." They share a laugh, and the tension eases.

"Hermione. We've been friends for a long time, but there is something I wanted to talk to you about but have never had the chance."

"What is this you want to tell me?" She is caught between the calm from the drink and the intrigue caused by the growing tension on his face.

He summons all the courage he can, takes a big swig of his drink, and begins to release the weight of almost forty years of silence. "I've never apologized to you. To just you. I never apologized for how horrible I was to you in school."

"Draco, that was ages ago. Yes, you were a miserable git, bully, and entirely misguided, but that was thirty years ago. Did it hurt my feelings? Yes. But we moved on. Look at us now."

"No, Hermione. You cannot brush it off until I tell you everything. Seeing you like that earlier...I have to tell you." He refills their glasses and takes another big gulp. Her eyes are wide and full of confusion. "I lived my entire youth in fear. Fear of disappointing my parents. Fear of what others thought about me. Fear of not living up to my duties. Fear of being true to myself. I was a bully. I berated you and stood by when your life was threatened because I was scared."

"Where is this going, Draco?" She slips off her coat and begins fanning herself.

"Is the fire too hot?" he asks but is caught off guard when he sees her in the champagne satin gown. Though she is officially middle-aged now, he could tell she has taken care to maintain her figure.

"No, just the whisky. Go on." She's afraid to admit they are hot flashes. She too does not like to admit that she is getting older.

No more stalling, he thinks to himself. "I was a terrible arse to you because—if I said it out loud, maybe I would believe it. Maybe I would accept the indoctrination that muggle-borns were the lowest of the low like my father said. But you weren't. You aren't. What I'm trying to say is, you are the reason he gave Ginny The Dark Lord's journal."

She tries to put all these puzzle pieces together, but the drinks have made things a little fuzzy. "When I came home after my first year, my father deciphered my annoyance toward a brilliant muggle-born girl, the only student who had higher marks than me, was the only way eleven and twelve-year-old boys knew how to express they fancy someone."

Her mouth drops open. "I'm sorry?" she says with an entirely confused voice.

"My father wanted to show me that muggle-borns had no place in our world. He didn't admit to me the actual reason for his involvement with the Chamber of Secrets until he was on his deathbed. He said he would rather have seen an entire school of 'mudbloods' die—his words, not mine—than have his son think it was okay to mix blood. I tried so hard not to pay you any mind, and I had myself convinced until the Yule Ball. I couldn't come up with a single reason to hate you at that moment. Ugh. I can't do this." He puts his head down and stares at his glass. He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration—a nervous habit he's had since he was young.

"Draco, it's okay. You can talk to me." Hermione puts her hand on his knee. He looks down at her, and it helps him summon his courage.

One more sip then spit it out, he thinks to himself. "I was an arse to you because I liked you, and I hated myself for it. I struggled with everything going on in my head. I almost mustered enough courage to save you, Harry, and Weasley from this house, but I failed. What I'm trying to get to is…will you forgive the utterly hateful, arrogant, cowardly boy who caused you so much trauma and heartache?"

The whisky must be getting to him because his words are becoming incoherent. Then again, it was getting to her, too.

"I forgave that boy when I realized he grew into the man before me who raised a boy as wonderful as Scorpius. Draco, I know you aren't that person anymore."

The two of them lean close together and look as they are about to kiss, but he pulls away. He knows the alcohol is doing all the talking now. "Astoria was my once-in-a-lifetime love. She's the one who helped me find my courage and become the man I am today. After she passed, I never thought I could ever look at anyone else. But when I fought alongside you in that church, I became that schoolboy who couldn't have what he wanted, again. I'm telling you this without hope or agenda. My wasted heart will spend the rest of my life loving the woman who saved me, and the woman who was never meant to be mine."

She is moved by his words, puts a hand on his cheek, and leans in to give him a single kiss. He then puts his hand on hers, and their foreheads touch. "That will be enough," he says to her. "Are you ready to celebrate our children? Let them have the romance that I was denied."

"We were denied," she corrects him, and his eyes meet hers as she is about to make her confession, "I also thought about you that first year. Of course in the very innocent way eleven and twelve-year-olds do. I may have even been attracted to you when we were teenagers, but the way you treated me just broke my heart. Perhaps, you're right. Maybe we were never meant to be, but this—this will be our one moment. I will cherish it."

He kisses her once more but this time their lips linger a bit longer. As they stand up, he takes something out of his pocket, throws it into the fire and says, "Incendio."

"What was that?"

"There was a moment from our past. I couldn't remember if it was real or not, but you answered it for me."

"Was that the time-turner?"

"Yes. I should have destroyed it years ago, but I wasn't ready to until this moment. Are you ready, Minister?" He has her coat out, and she slips her arms into the sleeves.

"I think I am. One more drink for the road?"

"You sure you can handle it? You've already had two."

"Draco, I'm about to walk into a room full of Ministry kiss-ups, elitist pure-bloods—including your ex-girlfriend, my husband, all our friends, after snogging my daughter's fiancé's father. Yes, I need another drink."

"Well, I wouldn't call that snogging. More like pity kissing."

"It wasn't pitiful! It was reserved and right for the moment."

He locks the door, grabs her by the waist, and kisses her long and hard. His lips devour hers with longing and purpose. He may have struggled to find the words earlier, but maybe his actions will speak louder. It feels like lighting surging through their bodies. So many things left unsaid make their way to the forefront. Hermione melts in his arms finds her hands moving up his chest to rest on his shoulders for support.

Draco pulls away and says, "Now, you can say I snogged you."

"Draco?" Her heart was racing. She had just said that them being together was never meant to be, but why does this feel like puzzle pieces starting to fit together?

"Yes?" He still holds her. He knows he pushed his luck with that last kiss and is a little astounded she hasn't slapped him.

"We should go join the party now. I'll still take the drink, but I think I owe you a new bottle. I guess we will have to go to Scotland and get you one."

"What are you saying?"

"I don't know, but I'm feeling something." He holds back from kissing her and pulls her into a tight embrace.

"Then, let's join the party, and we can talk when you do know." He holds her face in his hands. It has taken him almost forty years to get to this point. He never imagined having a chance. If there is something to have, he possesses plenty of patience. She doesn't have much lipstick left on her face, as most of it has ended up kissed away or on her glass. "How does my face look? Did you get any lipstick on me?"

"A little." She wipes it off of him. He lets go of her, grabs their glasses, and hands Hermione's glass to her.

He presents his arm, and she takes it. They leave the library as their children walk toward them. From down the hall, it is as if they are looking back in time. Scorpius uncannily resembles a younger Draco—and Rose, Hermione.

"Mum, are you okay?" Rose asks Hermione.

"Yes, yes. Just a bit of anxiety. Had a few drinks with Draco." She touches the side of her daughter's face to reassure her.

"Dad, is Hermione drunk?" Scorpius whispers to his father.

"No. Just enjoyed some whisky and some long overdue conversation," Draco tells his son with a bit of smugness, but this tone utterly baffles his son.

"So are you ready to join the party? Dad and Uncle Harry are looking for you," says Rose.

"Yes, we are right behind you. Just, let us take our time walking. I want to enjoy the last of my drink before entering the lion's den."

"Okay, I'll tell everyone you're on your way," Rose says, looking a little bit disapprovingly at her mother. "Come on, Scorpius."

"She is so much like you," Draco whispers in her ear.

"At times, yes, and painfully so." They take the last few sips and place the glasses down on the nearest table. They are nearing the crowd, and they can see her family.

"Ready?" he asks her.

"Don't let me go until we are with my family."

"Are you sure?"

"As far as they all know, we are in-laws supporting our children."

"Alright," he says to her. "I didn't say this yet, but you look beautiful tonight." It is something he has been waiting a lifetime to tell her.

"Thank you. You also look very handsome, as well. Also, the fact you haven't let yourself go like my husband makes you even more attractive." All the drinking is taking effect on Hermione now. "I really shouldn't be telling you this, but I haven't had sex in over a year."

"Minister Granger, you're making me blush. Are you extending an invitation? Because I don't know how well I'll perform after being out of service for over a decade." They both are laughing when they walk up to her family and their children.

"What's so funny?" Ron asks the two of them.

Hermione, reluctantly, let's go of Draco's arm and takes Ron's. "Oh, just that Draco and I have drunk at least five hundred pounds worth of whisky already."

"I just don't get whisky. What's wrong with a pint?"

"Weasley, you need to learn to appreciate how beautifully complex whisky becomes with age. It needs to be savored and enjoyed after being treated with longing and patience."

"Nah, mate, I'll just take an ale." Ron is completely clueless that Draco has taken a jab at him. Hermione, apparently, catches the suggestion as her other hand brushes Draco's hand. Their pinkies lock.

A/N:Who caught the symbolism?
There is a reason that the drink they share is whisky (when it is Scotch, no e like in whiskey). In the process of making whisky, you start with grain/seeds, then becomes sour, then goes through process of process of distillation removing impurities, then it matures in barrels. The longer it matures, the more layered the flavors are. Then at just the right time, you tap the barrel and the whisky is finally ready. You sip it, you savor it, and realize it was worth the wait.

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