The ink on the divorce papers had barely dried before Astoria moved into the Manor. Not that Y/n cared. Not that Y/n spent sleepless nights staring at the ceiling of a too-quiet flat, listening for the sound of Scorpius's breathing in the next room when he was with Draco.

It had been six months. Six months of polite, stilted exchanges at drop-offs. Six months of Draco looking at Y/n with something unreadable in his grey eyes before turning away. Six months of pretending it didn't still feel like a knife between the ribs every time Astoria's name appeared in the Prophet's society pages.

Tonight, though, was different. Tonight was the first time they'd all be in the same room since the divorce. Scorpius's seventh birthday party. Draco had insisted on hosting it at the Manor.

Y/n stood at the Manor gates, the wrought iron cold under their fingers. The place looked the same. It shouldn't have. It shouldn't smell like rain on old stone and green growing things. It shouldn't still feel like coming home.

The gates swung open on their own, silent and knowing. Up at the top of the path, the great front door opened. Draco stood in the doorway, a silhouette against the warm light. He'd known Y/n was there. Of course he had.