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Afterwards, Hermione collapses at the kitchen table, puts her head in her hands.
“Do you think the children heard any of that?” she asks Ron, who’s standing, with that unnatural stillness he’s learned as an Auror, by the door.
Ron is quiet for a moment. Then he says, “Astoria put up a Silencing Charm when the yelling started.”
“Right.”
He doesn't say anything, though Hermione half-wishes he would. He knows her better than that, though. Instead, he pads over to the kitchen; head still buried in her hands, Hermione hears the telltale click of the kettle turning itself on, the gentle clinking of mugs floating down from the cabinet. The tea box opens and closes, and Hermione knows he's picking out Earl Grey for her, peppermint or chamomile for himself.
She sorts through her thoughts to the background hum of the kettle, finally raises her head just in time to watch Ron distribute the heated water into a pair of mugs, one Gryffindor and one Ravenclaw. He walks back to the table, places the Ravenclaw mug in front of her, and sits, holding the Gryffindor mug in his hand. He's chosen peppermint, after all. He takes a small sip, then another, as he waits for her to speak.
Hermione drinks her tea: perfectly brewed, as usual.
She says, "I don't know how to forgive him. I just—I look at him, and I see him calling me a mudblood, and bragging about getting the Dark Mark, and trying to get that stupid Hippogriff murdered just because it made him feel bad. And I just… I don't know how to make myself forgive him."
Ron frowns a little, considering.
"And now, with Scorpius…" Hermione gestures helplessly. "We're just supposed to have him around for tea like none of that happened? Like it—like it was a schoolyard tiff, and we were all a little in the wrong but now we're all grown up and mature and putting it behind us?"
She takes a breath, wishing she could talk about this without getting angry. Ron helps; the tea helps; she takes a too-large sip and tries to focus on the just-bitter-enough flavor of it, grounding her.
"I know he was a child," she continues. "And I know he grew up surrounded by the worst kind of bigotry. But he still made harmful choices; he still bullied people for years. I don't know how to make myself forgive him for those things, the way you and Harry have."
Ron drinks too, giving her a measured look. "I don't think I've forgiven him," he says finally. At Hermione's raised eyebrows, he adds, "More than you have. But not completely." He pauses. "I think Harry has, but Harry's…"
"Yeah."
They share a brief smile.
“You really haven’t?” Hermione asks, and Ron nods. “But you seem so…” she says.
“So not-insulting-the-man when he’s over with his wife for drinks?” Ron asks, wry, and Hermione grimaces down at the table.
“I just don’t know how you can stand it," she says. "Sitting and smiling with him, when you both remember what he’s done.”
Ron raises an eyebrow.
“Politics are different!” Hermione protests. “Then, I have a motive for making nice with horrible people whom I hate.”
Ron says, “I thought our motive was Rose and Scorpius’ friendship?"
“But that doesn’t actually require making nice with Draco Malfoy,” Hermione says. "That's just us trying to be polite." The look on Ron's face tells Hermione that he too is remembering this very kitchen twenty minutes ago, which had been many things but not polite. Hermione scowls at the thought. "Not that we're doing a very good job of that."
Then she realizes:
"So we'll stop. Scorpius is thirteen, he's old enough to Floo here on his own, or Rose can go to theirs. And I won't have to see Malfoy, or pretend I'm over it." She pauses, mind whirring; half-lifts the mug to her lips but doesn't drink. "Because even though he’s changed now, and I can recognize that he was young and confused and, in many ways, a victim, what matters here is that he hurt me, and it’s my decision how to deal with that specific, personal hurt.”
Ron nods. Hermione can tell his seriousness is cracking at the edges, though; his lips twitch, but all he says is, "I love helping you work through your problems."
Smiling at him, Hermione says, "You always know just what to say," and he breaks; laughs; pulls her in for a quick kiss.
"Mmm," Hermione says, then again more emphatically. But, regretfully, she gently pushes him away before they can get too caught up.
"You should go check on the kids," she says. "Hugo's been far too quiet, I don't trust what's going on. And Rose and Scorpius—"
"Are being very loud, right," Ron finishes.
"And I have to write a letter to the Malfoys," Hermione adds, sighing. "At least to apologize for calling him a brat-faced, snot-nosed, inbred ferret."
Ron grins at the memory, and Hermione is reminded of his glee, all those years ago, when she'd punched Malfoy. But after a moment, Ron's smile fades; he gives her a much more serious look, then a quick kiss goodnight.
And Hermione thinks, as her husband goes to check on their children, how long it's been since they were thirteen.