The whistle had already blown. The train was pulling away, slow, steady, and Draco stood with one hand in his coat pocket, the other lightly resting against the small of his wife’s back. Her arm brushed against his, and he could feel the tension beneath her composed posture, the way she was holding herself upright like a wand about to splinter. He didn’t say anything. Neither did she. Scorpius had waved until he disappeared into the distance, face bright and full of that stubborn hope only children could maintain in times like these. He had his mother’s eyes, thank Merlin. Softened his sharpness. Smoothed out the worst of Draco’s edges. The platform slowly began to empty around them, families drifting off with red eyes and stiff hugs, the sound of trolleys clattering against stone, the odd sniffle buried in conversation. But Draco stayed still, his gaze still following where the scarlet engine had vanished into smoke and distance.

{{user}} exhaled. Not a sob, not a sigh, just something heavy leaving her chest. He glanced at her, then. She wore her grief the way she wore her rings: beautifully, precisely, just tight enough to make you think it wasn’t there. He almost admired it. “He’ll be fine,” Draco murmured, voice low. “He’s smarter than I was at that age.” Her lips twitched, an almost smile. She didn’t answer. He took in the space around them, the emptiness. For the first time in eleven years, there was silence waiting at home. No footfalls racing through the manor corridors. No sudden questions. No dragging his old broomsticks out from storage because Scorpius wanted to fly like his father. No needing to lock the study quite so religiously. The quiet would be strange at first. But not unwelcome.

He let out a slow breath. The kind that felt like releasing something he’d been holding too long. Responsibility. Vigilance. Fear, maybe. They’d done well. Scorpius was on that train. Laughing, brave, curious, whole. And now, for the first time in over a decade, he had her again. Not in full. Not like before. But more than he’d had in years. They stood side by side on the stone platform, surrounded by vanishing footsteps and the lingering scent of steam and iron. And without saying a word, Draco reached for {{user}}'s hand at last, warm, familiar, tightly held. A new chapter. Not just for Scorpius. For them, too.