Amor Vincit Omnia

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/39735819.

Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

F/M

Fandom:

Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Relationships:

Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott/George Weasley, Theodore Nott/Everyone, Padma Patil/Blaise Zabini, Luna Lovegood/Pansy Parkinson, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley

Characters:

Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy

Additional Tags:

Healer Hermione Granger, BAMF Hermione Granger, Researcher Hermione Granger, Auror Draco Malfoy, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley Bashing, Remus Lupin Lives, Nymphadora Tonks Lives, Minor Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Explicit Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Pining Draco Malfoy, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Inappropriate Use of Malfoy Signet Ring, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Post-Hogwarts, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Slow Burn, Emotional Sex, Hurt/Comfort, HEA, Enthusiastic Consent, Suicidal Thoughts, Queer Themes, Supportive Narcissa Black Malfoy, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, George Weasley Needs a Hug, Secret Relationship, Flashbacks, Spy Draco Malfoy, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of The AVO Chronicles

Collections:

Dramione, WIP but want to read, dramione that is necessary for My Existence, Dramioneotp, Cream de la cream of dramione, Cherry on Top, Heartfelt_Dramione, Pensieve, MyLoveOfDramione, Dramione Favourites, Dramione that slays, dramione faves, My Favorite Dramione, Completed Fics I Love, Faves101, 10/10 would read (and cry) again, gold medal dramione, MustReadDramioneRecs, What Daisy's Currently Reading, Daisy's Best of Dramione, To all the fics I've read before, glitters faves ✨, BellsVS Completed Fics to Read, HP Fics I loved, Good Potterhead Shit, Dramione fics I would die for, Bball All Time Faves, Top Tier Would Read Again 10/10 (ShaMarie381), Dramione fanfics that NEED to be read, Marked_For_Laters, color me intrigued

Stats:

Published: 2022-06-19 Completed: 2022-12-11 Words: 288,120 Chapters: 32/32

Amor Vincit Omnia

by Twin_Flame_Blues

Summary

After three years of dating, Ron admits he cheated on Hermione for two of those years with Daphne Greengrass--and Harry knew all about it. Reeling from the betrayal by her friends and family, Hermione must rebuild her life and discover new bonds with an unlikely group including Theo Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson.

What happens when Draco Malfoy, her first and deepest love, suddenly reappears in Hermione's life and she finds that her feelings have only grown deeper with time?

OR: Hermione and Draco secretly dated at Hogwarts, he left after his trial, and now he's returned to win her back.

Notes

Binding Policy: I'm absolutely blown away that anyone would be interested in binding my fic! Personal binding/binding as a gift is perfectly fine with me, but binding for profit is, of course, not ok. Thank you!

Portuguese translation: https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/129086695

Hello! (to no one, I am probably typing this into the void)

This is my first ever fic, which I finally decided to write down after having it in my head for months and after being an avid fanfic reader for damn near 20 years.

I honestly have no idea what I'm doing and I don't have a beta (if you're interested, please for the love of my grammar let me know) so this may be rough. But I am obsessed with this story and can't wait to get it out!

I have the first six chapters written so far. I'll be posting the first three all at once and then moving to a weekly posting schedule moving forward, with a new chapter every Sunday. The idea of missing a deadline gives me so much anxiety that I promise, you can trust that these posts will be on time every week. I've got the entire fic planned out, and think we will end up landing somewhere around 30-35 chapters. But honestly, who knows!

A few things to know before you dive in (and again, these are really just notes to me, if anyone reads this I will be shocked):

1. This world has wizards, it doesn't need heteronormativity. Everyone is a little bit queer here.

2. We stan a Slytherin redemption story arc and a deeper investigation of the type of friends Harry and Ron really were to Hermione.

3. Yes, both my username and all the chapter titles in this fic are pulled from Taylor Swift songs.

4. There will be short flashbacks to Hogwarts days in each chapter, but this fic primarily takes place 3+ years after the end of the war (and though there will be allusions to sex in the flashbacks, the only explicit sex scenes will take place when the characters are all over 18).

5. We will eventually get to alternating POV's in each chapter, but we've got to do some setup first.

Honestly, I can't believe I'm actually doing this. If you somehow happen upon this fic, I beg you to be gentle with me...

xoxo,

Flames

P.S.:

This work was inspired by three absolutely amazing fics I implore you to read:

-Measure of a Man by Inadaze

-Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being In Love by Isthisselfcare

-The Best Mistake by Chels_Writes_A_Fic

- Translation into Português brasileiro available: [Restricted Work] by Pixys_Malfoy

- Translation into Polski available: Amor Vincit Omnia by oliwciastyle

- Translation into Italiano available: Amor Vincit Omnia | Traduzione in ITALIANO by Lunaa_slytherin

Better Man

Fifth Year, Hogwarts

Hermione huffed out a frustrated breath and lowered her book, even while she settled further into the couch and against his warm chest, melting into the comfort of him as she always did. They’d had this argument—this conversation, he always insisted—many times before. No matter what she said, he was undeterred.

He was exasperated with her now, but still absentmindedly ran his hands up and down her arms—craving the feeling of her skin.

“Hermione,” he huffed, “I know you don’t want to hear it, but they are. They’re using you. Of course, they don’t act like it, but can you honestly say that they have been real friends to you? Besides copying your homework, letting you figure out how to solve all of their problems, and dragging you into harms’ way at every conceivable opportunity, how are they actually showing you that they care about you?”

“We’ve been best friends since first year…I know how much they care about me. It’s the same way I care about them.” she replied in a quiet but determined tone.

“Really? You’ve memorized Potter’s entire life story, even come close to dying for him on more than one occasion. You go to all his quidditch matches even though you can’t stand it. You actually listen when Weasley prattles on about…well honestly I haven’t a clue.” He sat up straighter and wrapped her in his arms, leaning his head forward into hers.

“But them? In the years you’ve known them, how often do they listen when you talk about the things you love? Do they know that when you dance, you’re so overcome with joy that it radiates from every part of your body? Do they know that you started reading so much as a kid because you were lonely and stories about magic and adventure comforted you? Do they know you want to become a healer and find cures for as many magical diseases as you can? Hell, do they even know how you take your coffee?!”

For as much as this conversation was frustrating her, Hermione was momentarily silenced by his words. How closely he’d paid attention and how much he’d learned about her, in this room, while they whispered to each other late into the night.

She turned her head and kissed his cheek tenderly.

“I know it seems that way, but there is just so much going on. There always has been. It’s not that they don’t care. They do. I know they’ll always be there for me, no matter what. I can feel it in my bones.”

He gave a single, unamused laugh before kissing her temple. “Gryffindors…you’re all far too stubborn for your own good.”

She turned in his arms to face him, sitting back on her knees with a crooked smile on her face.

“You love me for it, don’t try to deny it.”

He moved his hands up to cradle her face, using his thumbs to softly trace the hinge of her jaw.

“I do love you. That’s why I don’t want to see you get hurt. I couldn’t stand it.”

His face was so open, so sincere that Hermione’s heart swelled in her chest. She leaned her face into his touch, placing a kiss on the center of his palm.

“I won’t get hurt, I promise. And if I did,” a mischievous gleam took over her eyes as she ran her hands up his chest, “I am a Gryffindor, and we lions have very sharp claws.” She curled her fingers and dug them into his chest, right over his heart.

He grinned, his eyes darkened, and she knew she’d won. But before she could blink, he’d reared up, grabbed her around the waist, and flipped them so his body covered hers.

He slowly ran his hands up her sides, leaving goose flesh in his wake.

“Is that so? Well, my little lioness, why don’t you show me just how you use those claws of yours…”

She was laughing when his lips met hers, and suddenly any thoughts of their argument vanished into the recesses of her mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2001, The Burrow

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

The evening was unfolding in much the same way as all of the other Christmas dinners she’d attended at The Burrow, even though she and Ron had broken up less than two months ago.

She’d been unsure if she would attend Christmas dinner this year—or if she would even be welcomed by the family after ending things with Ron. She’d been prepared for a quiet Christmas alone to avoid any awkward confrontations, until Molly showed up at her door a week before the holiday to inform her that she would always be part of their family and under no circumstances would she skip Christmas. And if she didn’t arrive on time, Molly would personally floo to her flat and drag her to The Burrow by her ear.

Harry and Ginny had come just hours later to reiterate the message, and to assure her that Ron also wanted her to be there.

She smiled at the memory while looking up and down the table at the red headed clan that had become her family over the last ten years.

Next to her, Bill was laughing conspiratorially with Charlie while Fleur alternated between cooing over Victoire and rolling her eyes at what must have been the crude jokes being shared between the two eldest Weasley boys.

Ginny was ribbing Harry about a recent pick up quidditch match (she’d won, he’d lost, and she would not let him forget it).

From across the table, George, who had grown a bit more subdued in the years following Fred’s death, gave her a quick wink before slapping Percy on the shoulder and joining Ginny in taking the piss out of Harry, while Molly and Arthur looked on warmly, bouncing between the conversations.

Ron was the only member of the family behaving out of character, vacillating between half-heartedly engaging with the conversations around the table and staring down, unblinking, at his plate with a tense, almost fierce, look in his eyes.

Hermione sighed internally. The evening was bound to have its awkward moments. She and Ron had been together for three years, for heaven’s sake, and trying to figure out how to go back to being friends was going to take some work. But now that she was here and still felt the same warmth and love from the family, she was dedicated to finding a way back to the time when she and Ron’s relationship was easy, without any of the awkwardness that being lovers had caused.

Taking a steadying breath, she decided to make the first move.

Leaning across the table, she spoke with as much cheer as possible, “How’s the Figgen investigation going, Ron? I heard Tonks mention that you’d made some big developments in discovering how the dragon eggs were being smuggled into Knockturn?”

Ron’s whole body jerked in surprise as he spun his head toward her.

“What? I…oh…um, right, Figgen. It’s, well, it’s…”

Well, this was worse than she’d imagined. If Ron was incapable of even speaking to her, she’d need to do the work for both of them.

Typical, she thought, before shaking her head and opening her mouth to try again.

But before she could get a word out, Ron looked up and locked eyes with her with a look of determination she hadn’t seen on his face since the war. She tilted her head and raised her brows, before he took a deep breath, nodded his head, and looked away.

Suddenly, he pushed his chair back from the table with so much force it screeched and toppled over behind him, causing a brief cry from Victoire.

All eyes turned to Ron.

“I need to make an announcement,” he said with a steely confidence, his back ramrod straight and his hands clenched in fists at his side.

“Ron…not tonight.” Charlie murmured in a half pleading, half chastising tone.

“Mate, let’s just…” Harry said at the same moment, reaching up to grab Ron’s arm.

As Hermione looked around the table, she saw a mixture of emotions flitting across the faces of her family. Confusion, surprise, and from Harry, Ginny, Charlie, and even Arthur, fear.

“What is it dear?” Mrs. Weasley intoned, while looking between Ron and Hermione—clearly hoping that Ron was about to announce that they’d gotten back together.

Hermione’s stomach dropped. Was Ron about to make some overwrought declaration of love while their family stood by? How would she get out of this unscathed? Just as the mortification began to set in, Ron finally spoke.

“I’m engaged.”

Hermione had been girding herself for whatever he was about to say, but suddenly she wasn’t certain if she’d even heard him correctly.

“You’re…what dear?” Mrs. Weasley whispered, hope still sparkling on her confused face. “Did you and Hermione…”

Arthur put his head in his hands.

As if he had not even heard his mother, Ron continued.

“I’ve asked Daphne Greengrass to marry me and she’s said yes. We’ve been together for quite some time and we’re very much in love. We’re planning a long engagement and will marry in…”

“Wait a moment, mate,” George interjected, “You asked some girl to marry you after dating her for…what? Six weeks?” He waved over to Hermione in explanation before turning back to Ron.

“We haven’t been dating for six weeks.” Ron answered quietly, sparing the briefest glimpse toward Hermione.

George gave a single bark of laughter.

“So, seven then? Are you feeling alright, mate? Should we check him for curses?” George replied, looking across the table to Charlie and Bill.

“Sweetheart, I’m confused. What’s happened?” Molly said hesitantly, her hands shaking slightly.

“Molly, dear, let’s talk about this –“ Mr. Weasley began, setting his hand atop his wife’s.

Molly looked to Arthur, and then slowly around the room.

“What’s going on? Arthur? What do you know? Did you all know about this? Is this some kind of prank? Did George put you up to this Ron?” Molly’s voice rose with each word, as color began to rise on her cheeks.

“Oi!” yelped George, affronted.

“Mum, we, well…” Charlie began, before Molly put up a hand to silence him.

“No. No. I want to hear from Ron. What is going on? Who is Daphne Greengrass? Is she a member of that Greengrass family? What do you mean you’re marrying her? You cannot marry someone you’ve only known for a few weeks, Ronald!” Molly was screaming now.

“We’ve been together for two years, mum! Not weeks, TWO YEARS. She’s the love of my life!” Ron yelled back, his hands now spread wide and his eyes shining with conviction.

Sound exploded in the room, but Hermione couldn’t hear any of it.

Her brain felt like it was at once working faster than ever before, while at the same time wading through the thickest molasses.

Never one to shy away from deducing an answer to a riddle, even in the worst of circumstances, Hermione began to run through what she knew.

Ron was marrying Daphne Greengrass.

Ron had been with Daphne Greengrass for two years.

Ron had been with Daphne Greengrass for two years?!

Ron had cheated on Hermione for two years.

The conclusion was as definitive as it was incomprehensible.

And the look on Harry’s face. On Ginny’s and Charlie’s and Arthur’s…

She slowly turned her head to look around the room. Everyone else was standing now. Molly was crying and yelling in Ron’s direction. George was red faced and yelling right alongside her. Percy was stock still, his mouth hanging open. Fleur was shielding Victoire’s ears and speaking in rapid French to Bill.

But Harry, Ginny, Charlie, and Arthur…They were all ashen faced, trying to calm down Molly and George. They didn’t appear shocked by the news, and when Harry briefly glanced toward Hermione, the resigned, almost embarrassed way he looked at her made it clear: He had known.

They had all known. They had all known he had cheated on her. And they hadn’t told her.

Unbidden, Hermione’s eyes drifted down to her left forearm, where the words that meant more to her than any others were now inked over the hate carved there by Bellatrix Lestrange: Amor Vincit Omnia.

Hermione’s vision began to blur as a deafening roar started in her ears.

Unnoticed in the midst of the screams still volleying around the kitchen, Hermione got up from her chair, grabbed her bag, and made her way toward the floo.

Her brain had emptied of all but one thought.

He was right.

He was right about them.

They didn’t care about her.

He was right.

Her mind began to slip back into the memory from fifth year as she grabbed a handful of powder and stepped into the green flames. No one turned to see her go.

She heard it like a heartbeat echoing through her soul, over and over again.

He was right.

He was right.

Draco was right.

My Tears Ricochet

Chapter Notes

TW: Brief suicidal thoughts

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The summer before Fifth Year

Hermione stood outside the front gate to her home in the hot afternoon sun, an amused smile playing on her face as she witnessed something she had never seen before: Draco Malfoy nervous.

He stood across from her, manically fiddling with his cufflinks and straightening his tie for the seventh time since she’d met him on the sidewalk three minutes ago.

Taking pity on him, she stepped forward and placed her hands over his. “Draco, take a deep breath. If you tighten your tie again it’s going to cut off your circulation.” She gave him a reassuring smile when his eyes, still frantic, landed on her.

“How aren’t you more nervous right now, Hermione?” She could feel how fast his heart was beating below her fingers on his chest.

She ran her hands up to his shoulders and down his arms before clutching both of his hands in hers.

“I’m not nervous because there is nothing to be nervous about. They’re going to love you.”

When he gave her a disbelieving look, she leveled him with a firm stare. “Draco, if the one-and-only Narcissa Malfoy, matriarch of the most famous pureblood family in Britain, mother to the sole heir of a Sacred Twenty-Eight bloodline, can accept that her son is dating a muggleborn—and a Gryffindor, no less—we have nothing else to worry about.” She squeezed his hands and smiled as Draco leaned forward, placing his forehead against hers.

“That’s because it’s you, Hermione. You’re perfect. Of course she loved you.”

“And you’re…what? A brainless ghoul?” She teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Draco just closed his eyes and took a deep, unsteady breath.

“I’ve never met any muggles before, Hermione,” he admitted in a whisper, “much less my girlfriend’s parents. I don’t want to muck it up.” He released her hands and placed one of his on her cheek, gently rubbing his thumb along the hinge of her jaw.

Hermione’s eyes softened.

“You’re not going to muck it up, Draco. They know how I feel about you, and I swear that they aren’t the interrogating type. My dad is going to ask you what it was like to grow up knowing you were a wizard and what your favorite subject is in school, and my mom is going to ask about your favorite books while trying not to squeal in excitement that someone finally took a liking to her only daughter.”

Finally, he smiled back at her.

“I’ve taken more than a liking to you, Hermione.”

She blushed and leaned her face into his hand before whispering back, “I’ve taken more than a liking to you, too, Draco.”

The pair both blushed and smiled bashfully at each other for several moments before Hermione remembered herself.

“Right! So let’s just get on with it then, yeah?”

She reached back down and twined their fingers together before turning to walk them toward the front door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Christmas, 2001

Hermione stumbled, half blind, out of the floo. Looking around, she realized that she hadn’t returned to her flat. Somewhere deep in her subconscious, she’d known not to go back there, that she’d be too easily followed, and had brought herself into the empty living room of her parent’s house instead.

Well, technically it was her house now.

She’d never sold it or changed the deed after obliviating and sending her parents to Australia during the war, and after they had died in a car accident—a godsdamned car accident, of all things—less than a year after the Battle of Hogwarts, their will had dictated that the house go to Hermione.

She’d kept it, at first too stricken with grief to think of parting with her childhood home, and later assuming that at some point in the future, she and Ron would live here together.

She could almost laugh at the notion now.

When she’d ended things with Ron in October, she couldn’t help but look around her flat, the flat they had shared together, and realize that she couldn’t see any of herself there. She had let Ron push her personality into smaller and smaller corners of the two-bedroom space until it was just gone, devoid of anything Hermione could identify as uniquely hers, anything that truly felt like home.

So she’d made the decision that waiting for some future point down the road to move into the house made no sense. Life was short, she knew that better than most, and she wasn’t going to waste hers.

She’d started spending her spare time at the house after that, planning the renovations she would make. From building a library, to remodeling the kitchen, and adding a magically extended greenhouse in the back garden, and thinking about how happy her parents would be that she was putting so much of herself into the home they all loved together.

But she hadn’t told anyone about it yet. No one knew she even owned the house, much less that she was moving in.

She huffed a joyless laugh. She’d been planning to tell them tonight.

How quickly things change.

Hermione began pacing back and forth, barely noticing the drop cloths, paint buckets, and construction materials scattered all around her.

Her breathing was becoming erratic as the reality of what had just transpired began to crash around her.

Ron had been cheating on her. With Daphne Greengrass, their former classmate who had started working as an assistant in the DMLE a little over two years ago, assisting Ron, Harry, and the other Aurors with their work.

A little over two years ago. Shortly after Hermione’s parents had died. When she had been consumed by grief, struggling to do more than get up, go to work, and fall back into bed. She’d known that Ron had grown weary of her mood, frustrated that she wasn’t able to pull herself out of it like she always had before, and now she realized how he had coped.

He had started fucking Daphne Greengrass.

Hermione ran her fingers through her hair, pulling at the curls against her scalp until it hurt.

How had she not seen this? How could she not have known? She was the smart one. She was the godsdamned brightest witch of her age! And yet, somehow, she had missed the fact that the man she had loved, the man she had known since they were eleven, who had fought a war by her side, had been stringing her along, using her for two years?!

She didn’t understand, and Hermione hated not understanding.

Was it her fault? Had she been so unsatisfactory that he had to find pleasure elsewhere? She knew that she’d been out of it for several months after her parents…but after that, she had worked so hard to put herself back together. She’d focused on Ron, wanting to make the time up to him. She’d stopped going to the studio to dance. She’d let go of some of her research. All so she had more time to spend with him.

She’d realized toward the end that none of it was working. That she and Ron wanted different things, and that they’d never be able to get around his insistence that she give up her career when they had children.

But Ron must have known all along. He must have known that it was never going to work. Why else would he have been sneaking around behind her back? With vile Daphne Greengrass of all people?!

Hermione shook her head back and forth violently. Disturbing thoughts beginning to take over her mind.

Had he fucked her in their flat? On their bed?

Had he ever really wanted her? He’d pursued her so intensely after the war…had that all been a lie? Or had she just been the convenient option?

If she’d missed this, did that mean she missed other things too? Had she lost it? Was she even capable of being in a relationship? What did this mean for her ability to do her work? She was a healer researching experimental treatments and cures for magical maladies and contracted with the Department of Mysteries as an Unspeakable who provided assistance in dark magic reversal and complex spells for the DMLE. Could she really do those jobs effectively if she couldn’t even see what was right in front of her face?

Her eyes began to dart around the room wildly, before finally landing on the single gold picture frame displayed on the mantle. The one memento she’d brought over from her flat.

It was a photo from Harry and Ginny’s wedding. They were standing on either side of Hermione, hugging her while she clutched at them and beamed at the camera. Ron, Molly, Arthur, and George were all gathered around, laughing and celebrating with them.

It had been her favorite memory of that day.

But as she looked at it now, she stuttered out a broken gasp and fell to her knees.

They’d known.

Not all of them, she thought, but at least Arthur, Charlie, Ginny, and Harry. They had all known that Ron was cheating on her. She could see it on their faces at the table.

Harry had known. Her best friend. Her first ever friend. He’d known, and he hadn’t stopped it. Hadn’t forced Ron to tell her, or told her himself.

And Ginny, who she loved like a sister.

And Arthur. Arthur, the kindest man she’d ever met. The one she considered her surrogate father.

Her chest felt like it had cracked in two.

All of these people. Her family. They’d abandoned her. They’d allowed her to be humiliated. They had humiliated her.

Hermione lurched forward, her head falling into her hands as sobs began to work their way up her body.

Her family was gone. Her family had chosen Ron and cast her out instead. Her best friend wasn’t her friend at all.

She had no one left. No one to talk to. Nowhere to go. No one who loved her.

The pain felt all consuming.

How did she go on from this? Should she even try? Maybe it would…just be better, easier, if it all ended.

As soon as the thought passed through her mind, she knew she needed help. She had to get out of this house that suddenly felt like a mausoleum. She had to find somewhere…someone.

Theo.

The tiny piece of her mind that was still working reminded her that maybe there was someone she could go to.

Theodore Nott had been working with Hermione as an Unspeakable for a year and a half, and during that time he’d tried over and over again to make the two of them friends.

Hermione had never interacted with Theo at Hogwarts, had only heard about him from Draco, but she’d come to learn that he was both kind and very, very persistent.

His personality was undeniable. Rakish but sincere and wickedly funny, Hermione had been shocked by how smart and creative he was, and how he always went out of his way to make her smile, invite her out to drinks after work, and include her in his own private jokes.

She liked him, she had just never fully given in to his offer of friendship. Not because she didn’t trust him, just because her life was full already. She’d never put in the effort to find more friends besides those she’d known at school. She hadn’t seen the reason.

Well look at where that got you. How stupid.

But Theo had never given up on her. And two weeks ago, he’d even invited her to spend Christmas with him…

**

“So tell me, gorgeous, while I am all by my lonesome in Nott Manor, how will the Golden Girl be spending her holiday? Reading an entire section of a library? Running a covert mission to liberate the nymphs in Scotland? Having hot sex with a host of cabana boys on the beach in Mykonos?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at her, while she scowled back.

“Or cabana girls! I certainly don’t judge.”

Hermione was still leaning over the shared workspace in one of the sealed decontamination rooms in the DoM, trying to finish the analysis of the dark artifact that had been discovered at a compound in Wales before they ended up stuck in here all night.

“You’re insatiable, Theo.”

“Quite right, gorgeous, quite right.” He smiled back.

“And speaking of: you won’t be alone! Didn’t you say you were planning a ‘sex-a-thon’ with Elias from Magical Games and Sports?” She tentatively tapped her wand on the edge of the tarnished crown they were investigating, dodging quickly when sparks flew from one of the gemstones imbedded in the metal.

Hermione made a note on her parchment while Theo spun his wand in his fingers.

“Alas, my dreams of climbing that handsome tree have been dashed. His ex-girlfriend came back into town and he’s spending the holiday trying to win her back. So it will just be poor little me, wandering around the drafty halls like Mr. Rothschild from that muggle book you told me read…Jane Skye?”

Hermione laughed, now focused on the diagnostic spell hovering over the crown. “Mr. Rochester, Theo. From Jane Eyre.”

“Yes, yes, a masterpiece I’m sure.” He waved his wand over the crown, cancelling the diagnostic and using a clever spell he’d created on his own to start breaking the wards protecting the dark magic. Hermione was reminded of just how impressive Theo could be when he actually focused.

“But enough about me. What are you doing over the break? Please do tell me you’re going on a sexy beach vacation.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Afraid not, Theo. I think it will just be me, a roast dinner, and some mulled wine watching It’s A Wonderful Life in my flat.” She shrugged her shoulders, monitoring Theo’s spell as it continued to break down the wards, preparing to contain any rogue magic that tried to break free.

Theo’s face fell. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. I always spent Christmas with the Weasleys, but with Ron and I…well, I think it could be quite awkward. I figure I’ll let the dust settle a bit and let them have Christmas in peace.”

Before she’d even finished the last word, Theo’s body slammed into her side, wrapping her in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I…I know how hard the holidays can be without the people you love.”

Hermione was reminded that Theo’s father, the abusive, Voldemort loving arse currently serving a life sentence in Azkaban, had killed his mother when Theo was seven, leaving him all alone. She twisted in his arms to hug him back in apology.

“It’s alright, Theo. I’ll be just fine.”

He leaned back, grasping her shoulders. “You’re more than welcome to celebrate with me. I’ll even make mulled wine, as long as you let me add a splash or two of Ogden’s.”

When Hermione balked, he continued. “I mean it, we orphans need to stick together, you know.”

Hermione returned his kind gaze with a small smile.

“Thank you, Theo. I really will be fine, but I appreciate the offer.”

He brought her back into a hug, before releasing her and moving back to the other side of the table and flicking his wand at the crown, siphoning the dark magic before containing it in one of the DoM’s custom-made spell-proof viles.

“Well alright. But, Hermione, please believe me when I say that if you ever need someone to talk to, or get absolutely smashed with, or just a shoulder to cry on, I’m here for you.”

She looked up into his dark blue eyes, so earnest even while his face maintained a constant air of mischief.

“Thank you, Theo. Truly.”

**

A shoulder to cry on.

I’m here for you.

We orphans have to stick together.

Hermione leaned back on her heels, still weeping uncontrollably and breathing so fast she was afraid she would pass out.

With shaky legs, she stood up and began stumbling her way toward the door.

If she had been in her right mind, she would not have even considered this. Her stubborn self-reliance would never allow her to just show up at someone’s home unannounced asking for help.

But this was as far from her right mind as Hermione had ever been, and her feet were moving of their own accord.

Something told her that she couldn’t use the floo. Nott Manor was bound to be surrounded by blood wards, even after it had been decommissioned by the ministry. She’d have to apparate and hope Theo was home.

Stumbling out the front door, Hermione made her way to the gate where her own wards ended. Not even pausing to consider if any muggles might see, she turned on the spot, the crack of apparition squeezing the air from her lungs.

She landed clumsily, barely keeping her feet under her, in front of an impossibly large and foreboding manor somewhere in the countryside.

The part of her brain that had gotten her this far managed to calculate that this was even larger than Malfoy Manor, and far more frightening.

But the thought was fleeting at best. Eyes bleary with tears and still hyperventilating, Hermione quickly climbed up the front steps and reached up to the impressive knocker shaped like a manticore. She rapped three times, before wrapping her arms around herself and leaning forward, desperately trying not to fall apart completely.

After what seemed to Hermione like hours, the door finally cracked open, and she spotted a single dark blue eye peering at her, before Theo, clad casually in a soft jumper, sweatpants, and socks, realized it was her and swung open the door.

“Hermione? What are you—gods, are you alright? What’s happened?”

It took all her strength to respond, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Her voice broke twice on the sentence, and her tears redoubled.

Theo’s eyes went wide, and he stepped aside to usher her in.

Hermione stepped into the foyer and began pacing back and forth on what on any other day she would have recognized as an impressive antique rug, but not today.

“Hermione,” Theo said in the type of slow, careful voice one might use when confronting a wild animal, “tell me what’s wrong. Are you hurt?”

“Ha!” She laughed, shaking her head so quickly it made her dizzy.

“Am I hurt? I’m…yes, I think I am. I don’t know what to do now, Theo. I don’t know what to do.”

The sobs were shaking her whole body.

‘Hermione, gorgeous, let’s sit down…” Theo put out his arms as if to lead her to the chaise on the opposite wall, but she took two quick steps back before finally lifting her head to stare into Theo’s eyes.

“They betrayed me, Theo. They, they humiliated me. My family. They were my family! And now…I don’t have anyone left. No one. I don’t have any family, Theo. I don’t have any friends. I’m alone. I’m alone. I’m all alone.” The last words came out as nothing more than a broken whisper, as her knees gave out and she crashed to the floor, no longer able to speak through the wracking sobs.

Theo rushed forward, kneeling down on the carpet and pulling Hermione into a hug, rubbing slow circles on her back and whispering that it would be ok.

His kindness brought a new wave of tears to Hermione’s eyes, both from her desperation and the realization that she still had someone she might be able to call a friend.

Hermione wasn’t sure how long they sat there on the floor of Theo’s entryway. She just knew that he didn’t stop hugging her and never asked for an explanation of why she had shown up weeping at his doorstep on Christmas night.

Finally, the tears slowed enough that Hermione was able to get her breathing under control, and she leaned back from Theo’s embrace.

“I…I’m so sorry for just showing up like this, Theo. I…I didn’t know where else to go.”

Theo rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “Hey, don’t apologize. I’m glad you came.”

He hesitated for a moment.

“Do…do you want to talk about what happened? You don’t have to, I understand if you don’t want to tell me, but if it would help, I’m happy to listen.”

Hermione’s shoulders slumped forward and she looked down, lightly tracing the intricate pattern of the rug with her fingertip.

“I went to Christmas at The Burrow.” She whispered, afraid if she spoke more loudly, she would break down again. “They invited me, told me I was still part of the family and I should c-come.” More tears leaked from her eyes as she remembered Molly insisting she join them.

Theo didn’t interrupt, he just listened while she recounted the story.

“Ron stood up and announced he was engaged to Daphne Greengrass.” Hermione heard Theo’s soft intake of breath. She realized that Theo had known Daphne for years, but she kept going anyway.

“He admitted that they’d been seeing each other for two years. That, that he’d been cheating on me for two years. And…Harry knew. He knew that he was cheating on me. And he didn’t say anything, Theo. And Ginny knew, and Arthur, and Charlie. Maybe more, I’m not sure. They all knew, Theo, they all knew. My friends, my family, the only people I have…and I don’t know what to do now. I don’t…I don’t think I can ever go back there. I think I lost my entire family tonight. I don’t have anyone left.”

Hermione took a breath and finally looked up. Theo was still as a statue, his mouth open slightly, and his eyes shining.

When her eyes caught his, he shook his head to regain his composure before speaking.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione. I can’t…I can’t believe he would do that to you. That they would all do that to you. How dare they! How dare they! You’re Hermione Granger! What the FUCK?! To do this to you…I don’t understand.” Theo was out of breath by the end and shaking with rage.

Hermione’s lip trembled. “I don’t understand either. Am I a terrible person, Theo? Did I deserve this?”

Theo’s eyes softened immediately, and he pulled her back into a hug, kissing her temple and rubbing her back.

“Oh, sweetheart. Don’t you dare think that for a single second. Weasel, Potter and the others, they are the terrible people. Not you. You could never deserve this. No one deserves this. And Daphne fucking Greengrass? She’s been a heinous wretch since we were toddlers. Good fucking riddance.”

The corners of Hermione’s mouth curved into the smallest, briefest smile, before she whispered into his chest, “what do I do now, Theo? I can’t go back to my flat, they’ll find me there and I…I can’t talk to them. Not now. How do I deal with this? How do I live now? With no one…”

Theo pulled back and gently used his fingers to wipe away her tears.

“First things first, you’ll stay here as long as you want. I have more than enough room. My house elves return tomorrow, and they can go to your flat to get whatever you need. Just spend some time decompressing, and we can figure out what happens next when you’re ready. Ok?”

Hermione’s heart squeezed at his kindness. She had barely tried to be his friend, and yet here he was, willing to help her.

She looked down and shook her head. “I don’t want to impose, Theo.”

“Nonsense. I don’t want to hear you say that again. Look around, Hermione, I am breathtakingly rich, you could ask me to buy the crown jewels for you and you wouldn’t be imposing.” The mischief that always swirled around Theo returned to his eyes.

“Besides, you’re my friend, Hermione. This is what you do for friends.” He cradled her face in his large, gentle hands.

“You’re not alone, Hermione. You’re not alone.”

Tears ran down her face as she nodded in thanks, leaning her head into Theo’s hands.

“Now that’s sorted, Are you hungry? Thirsty? Want to take a bath?”

Hermione sighed, exhaustion hitting her hard. “I’d just like to lie down, if that’s alright.”

Theo got to his feet and held out his hands to help her up.

“Allow me to show you to your bedchambers, milady.” Hermione gave him a small smile, despite herself.

Theo led her through the halls of the Manor, until the dim hallway opened into an enormous room with vaulted ceilings, chandeliers, and enough art hanging from the walls to qualify as its own museum. In the center was a grand staircase of polished oak, covered in even more antique carpets.

They climbed the stairs to the second floor, and Theo pointed out his study, potions lab, and one of the libraries, before opening a carved wooden door to an opulent guest bedroom, complete with the largest bed Hermione had seen since she’d been inside Draco’s room at Malfoy Manor.

He opened one of the drawers of a heavy wooden dresser that contained some of his old clothes, letting Hermione pick something she could sleep in. He left her to change and wash up while he went to get a glass of water he insisted she drink before going to sleep.

Looking into the gilded mirror in the ensuite bath, Hermione took stock of her appearance for the first time since she left her flat to head to The Burrow.

Her face was red and splotchy, and her eyelids were nearly swollen shut. Her hair was a mess, with some pieces sticking up in all directions and others plastered to her tearstained face.

But it was her eyes that caught Hermione’s attention. Looking back at herself she could see just how devastated she appeared. How broken. She wondered briefly it she would always look like this going forward.

Unable to muster the energy to keep thinking, Hermione leaned forward and splashed ice-cold water on her face a few times before using her wand to perform a teeth cleaning charm, and transfiguring one of Theo’s undershirts and a pair of his sweatpants to fit her. With a final flick of her wand, she pulled her hair back into a braid and padded back into the room.

Before she made it to the bed, Theo quietly knocked and opened the door, carrying a glass of water in one hand, and a small potion vile in the other.

“I thought you might want a bit of calming draught. To keep you from getting a headache, and to help you fall asleep.” He held it out for her to take, setting the water down on the bedside table.

She uncorked the potion and downed it quickly. Anything to help her fall asleep and end this day.

“Thank you, Theo. For everything.”

Theo waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t want to hear you thank me again, gorgeous. You’ll go and give me a complex.”

She handed him back the empty vile and sat down on the edge of the bed.

In a gentle voice, Theo asked, “Do you want to be left alone, or would it help if I stayed here with you?”

Hermione’s first reaction was to tell him to leave and not trouble himself, but looking into Theo’s eyes and seeing such kindness, she decided to be honest instead.

“Could you? Stay, I mean? Just until I fall asleep.”

Theo smiled and moved to pull an overstuffed chair and ottoman out from the corner of the room before settling into it.

“Well alright, missy, crawl into that bed and get comfortable.” He snapped his fingers and winked.

The potion was beginning to kick in, and she didn’t have the energy to do anything but follow his instructions. After settling under the covers, Theo raised his hand to wandlessly turn out the lights.

“Thank yo—” she began—

“Uh uh, what did I say?”

“Fine. Goodnight, Theo.” She relented.

“Goodnight, Hermione,” he whispered into the darkness, “don’t worry, we’re going to figure this out.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the calming draught, emotional exhaustion, or the sincerity of his words, but as she closed her eyes and tried to shut out the events of the day, she realized that she believed him.

Chapter End Notes

Did I mention that this is a house that lives and dies by the whims of one Theodore Nott?

As you can see, there is some angst in this fic, but I promise that we're going to earn that BAMF Hermione Granger tag (and the Explicit rating...) soon enough. :)

xoxo,

Flames

We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

May, Fifth Year

The small scroll had arrived with the morning post. Hermione wasn’t expecting another letter from her parents until next week, and since they were the only ones to ever send her anything in the mail, she cracked the wax seal with trepidation.

Just three lines were written inside in elegant calligraphy.

Ms. Granger,

I need to speak with both of you. It’s urgent. Be in the place you meet at 8pm tonight.

NBM

Fear lanced through her. If Narcissa was writing her, especially in such cryptic manner, it must be serious. Hermione chanced a glance across the Great Hall and met Draco’s eyes. He was holding an identical scroll and staring back at her with concern etched across his face.

They both arrived at the Room of Requirement at 7pm, far too anxious to wait any longer. Draco had been hunched on the couch for the last hour while Hermione paced across the room.

“What could this be about, Draco?” She’d asked at least ten times now, but she couldn’t stop, her mind was flitting through too many possibilities.

“Do you think your father found out about us?”

Draco ran his hands through his platinum hair and shook his head. “Trust me, if Lucius found out, he would have come bursting through the castle doors himself.”

“Something else then? About Vold—” Hermione stopped when Draco’s fearful eyes snapped to her. He couldn’t stand to hear his name.

“About You Know Who?” She finished quietly.

“I think it must be..” He replied, a sense of solemn resignation in his voice.

They both knew that a war was coming, and that to the outside world it appeared that they were on opposite sides. Before Hermione’s panic could spiral out of control, the large fireplace in front of them flashed green, revealing the perfectly quaffed head of Narcissa Malfoy.

Hermione and Draco both scrambled up and dropped to their knees in front of the hearth. She was smiling kindly at them, but her eyes betrayed her concern.

Draco spoke first, terror in his tone. “Mum, what’s going on?”

“Hello to you too, Draco,” Narcissa replied in a chastising tone before turning to Hermione. “Hello dear, it’s so wonderful to see you.” Warmth warred with the other emotions in Hermione’s chest to hear her loving words.

“Mum, please. Tell us what’s happening.” Draco pleaded, frustration breaking through.

Narcissa turned back to him and her eyes softened before she took a deep breath and lowered her voice.

“Something is about to happen…with the Dark Lord.”

Hermione and Draco instinctively reached for the other’s hand, squeezing tightly.

“I don’t know much, your father and the others are keeping it a secret. But it’s going to be big. An attack, a public declaration of war, I don’t know…something that changes everything.” Hermione’s mind was reeling. She had to warn the Order, or Dumbledore, or Harry…

“When?”

Narcissa turned toward her. “I don’t know. I don’t think they do either. But you need to be careful—far more careful than you’ve been in the past. If the Dark Lord comes out of the shadows and the war truly begins…you’ll be a target, Hermione.” Draco turned toward her, his eyes running up and down her body as if to check that she was still whole and unharmed.

Narcissa continued, her voice speeding up. “And if your relationship is revealed, the consequences will be dire. They’ll make an example out of you. Both of you.” Narcissa’s concerned eyes turned back to Draco, her only son, and unshed tears threatened to spill down her cheeks.

Panic gripped Hermione. She couldn’t put Draco at risk like this. It was far too selfish.

“Listen to me. I will do everything in my power to learn more. To stop whatever I can.” She locked eyes again with Hermione, “You are part of my family, Hermione. I protect my family.” A tear escaped Hermione’s eye and rolled down her face.

Narcissa opened her mouth to say more, but then her head whipped to the side and fear rose on her face. “Someone’s here, I have to go. I love you, be safe.” And with that, the flames disappeared.

Immediately, Hermione let out a shuddering breath and began to cry openly. Draco turned toward her, cradling her face between his hands.

“I can’t do this, Draco. If they…If you…We have to stop seeing…” She couldn’t bear to finish the sentence.

Draco was already shaking his head, a fierce determination entering his eyes.

“Stop. That’s not how this works. We’re going to get through this—together. I won’t let anyone hurt you, I promise.”

“I’m not worried about me, Draco. I’m worried about you.” She covered his hands with her own, desperation lacing her words.

He leaned forward, tenderly kissing both of her tearstained cheeks.

“This is not how our story ends, love. I can feel it. You’re it for me. I love you so much.”

Hermione’s face crumpled with emotion as she whispered back, “You’re it for me too, Draco. I love you.”

“Then nothing else matters.”

Draco gathered her in his arms and whispered the words that mattered most to them both: “amor vincit omnia.”

Hermione leaned into his touch, basking in the feeling of love and safety. But the sinking feeling in her gut never abated. The countdown clock they had both known was hanging over their heads had begun to tick down, and sooner or later, their lives would come crashing down with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2001, Nott Manor

Hermione couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here. Even though she spent half of her time at the Department of Mysteries, the only time she’d ever been in this ominous, circular room surrounded by doors had been in fifth year when they came to retrieve Harry’s prophecy.

She turned in a slow circle, realizing she had no idea how to get back out. Her only option was to try each door.

Walking forward with confidence, she threw open the door closest to her.

She gasped and jumped back when the room beyond revealed Ron passionately kissing Daphne before pushing her down on the bed in Hermione and Ron’s flat.

Hermione stood frozen, transfixed by the image, until Ron looked up at her and said, indignantly, “Godric, Hermione, who do you think you are? Give us some privacy!”

Hermione wrenched the door closed with a slam, before the room began to spin.

Once the floor stopped moving, Hermione ran to the door across from her, desperately seeking a way out.

But this time, the room was revealed to be the well-worn kitchen at The Burrow, with Harry and the entire Weasley family seated around the table, laughing uproariously.

Harry removed his glasses to wipe them clean of amused tears while he continued a story.

“But really, can you believe it?! She really thinks we’re friends! Can you imagine? Me? Friends with that insufferable bitch? Who the hell does she think she is?”

The table erupted in laughter, and Hermione saw Molly lean into Arthur as she waved a dishtowel in amusement.

“Well dear, it was a good dare, to see how long we could convince her that we cared! Ten years! I’ll have to make a cake to celebrate!”

Hermione tried to speak, tried to yell or fight back, but she found that no sound came out when she opened her mouth. Without warning, she was flung out of the kitchen and back into the circular room that was spinning once again, even faster now.

Trying to regain her bearings, Hermione crawled around the walls to a third door, convinced this time she’d be able to escape.

Her heart sank when she opened it only to realize that it was the waiting room adjacent to the Wizengamot trial chambers. The room where Draco had left her, once and for all, three years ago.

He stood in the far corner of the room gazing out the window, still dressed in the same Azkaban robes he’d been wearing when he met her here, moments after her testimony had led to his pardon.

She itched to reach for him, to fall into his arms and breathe him in, but she couldn’t move. It was as if someone had put a permanent sticking charm on the bottoms of her feet.

Slowly, Draco turned to face her, his features schooled into a look of disappointment.

“I told you, Hermione.” He shook his head, bringing his fingers up to press into his eyes.

“Don’t you see how this happened? Why it happened?”

All Hermione could muster was a slow shake of her head.

Draco sighed.

“It’s because of you, Hermione. It’s your fault. You were never meant to be loved. You were always meant to be alone. It’s who you are.”

His words felt like slices from a sword, and Hermione began desperately yanking at her legs to free them. Anything to get out of this room and away from his declarations.

“No one will ever love you, Hermione. No one. I certainly didn’t…”

Draco flicked his hand in her direction in dismissal, and suddenly she was being dragged back out into the center of the spinning room.

It was going too fast now. The world seemed to be tilting. She was going to fall into nothingness, and all she could hear were their echoed words.

Who do you think you are?

That insufferable bitch.

It was a good dare.

No one will ever love you, Hermione.

I certainly didn’t.

A scream erupted from Hermione’s chest as the whole world faded to black.

Suddenly, her whole body jerked up and her eyes opened into a dark bedroom. She didn’t understand. Where was she? What was that sound? Who was screaming?

“Hermione! Hermione! It’s ok, its ok, you’re safe.”

Her eyes began to focus, and she could see a pair of deep blue eyes staring into her own as hands locked tightly around her arms.

Something was shaking. Someone was still screaming.

“Shhh, shhh Hermione, it was just a dream. You’re ok. Here, drink this.”

The figure with the blue eyes lifted an herbal-smelling vile to her lips, tipping it into her mouth. Some part of her mind realized it was a dose of Dreamless Sleep.

Before she could comprehend what had happened, the figure was laying her down on a soft surface, and whispering to her to close her eyes, to get some sleep…

**

Hermione wasn’t sure how long she had slept, but when she woke up next it was to the sounds of whispers outside her door.

She slowly opened her eyes and strained to hear the conversation, finally remembering where she was and how she’d gotten here.

“You can’t just leave her in there, Theo.” A steady female voice said. It sounded familiar.

“I’m not just leaving her in there, I’m giving her time.” Hermione recognized Theo’s voice, even though it sounded rougher, more exhausted than she remembered.

“It’s been over 24 hours, Theo. She needs to eat.” The voice replied. Hermione’s brain seemed sluggish…who was that? It was so familiar. Parvati? No, that couldn’t be right, the voice was far too calm. Padma, it must be Padma.

“I’ve always found a good bath to be quite rejuvenating. Helps to clear the head of wrackspurts and recharge the aura.” That voice Hermione would know anywhere. Luna.

“Mate, you can’t keep Hermione Granger stowed away in a room in your manor. Someone is bound to claim that you’ve kidnapped her.” An unrecognizable male voice chimed in.

“Blaise’s right, Theo.” A bored female voice responded. Blaise? Blaise…Zabini?

“I haven’t kidnapped her! She’s my friend, and she’s welcome to stay as long as she likes.”

“You’re very kind, Theo,” Luna trilled, “your aura is quite magnificent.”

“…thanks, Luna.”

“Let Luna and I go in and help get her up, maybe get her into a bath, and then we’ll go from there, ok?” That was Padma again, always the voice of reason.

Hermione’s mind drifted away from the conversation. She didn’t feel like she could move. She wasn’t even really sure she was awake.

Suddenly, two pairs of soft hands we’re gently lifting Hermione’s body.

“Come now, Hermione, let’s get you into a bath. You’re positively surrounded by wrackspurts.”

“We’ve got you, Hermione. It’s alright.”

Hermione was only aware of pieces of what happened next. She remembered being slowly lifted into warm water, and seeing Luna’s halo of white gold hair surrounding her as she carefully washed Hermione’s hair.

She thought it had been Padma who helped her to get redressed, and who sat on the corner of the bed helping her eat a few bites of oatmeal.

Or maybe it was all a dream.

**

The next time Hermione woke, her head was a bit clearer. Early evening sun was streaming in through the windows, and she brought her hands up to shield her still-sensitive eyes.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Hermione turned her head toward that same bored female voice, instinctively searching around for her wand when she realized who was sitting in the armchair next to her bed.

“P-Pansy?”

She flourished her arms down her perfectly put together frame. “In the flesh.”

Hermione was on edge. What was Pansy Parkinson doing in her bedroom?

Her confusion must have shown in her eyes, because Pansy gave a dismissive laugh.

“Calm down, Granger. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help you.” She rolled her eyes, clearly exasperated by Hermione’s expression.

“Help me? What do you mean, help me? You hate me.” Hermione sat up a bit more, her muscles aching.

“Honestly, for the brightest witch of her age, you can be quite dense. I don’t hate you Granger, we’re not children anymore. Besides, hating you would quite upset my girlfriend, and I make a point not to cause her any pain.”

Luna, Hermione thought. Pansy was dating Luna. In fact, they’d been together for two years now. Hermione tried to shake her head clear of the fog still slowing her down. Of course Pansy had changed, Luna wouldn’t be dating her if she hadn’t.

“Right. So…you’re here to…help me?” Hermione responded, dragging out each word.

“As a matter of fact, I am. You see, it turns out you and I have quite a bit in common. We’ve both been betrayed by our families and tossed out on our asses.” Pansy spoke with a matter-of-fact tone that took Hermione by surprise.

Hermione looked back at her in confusion.

“Sit back, Granger, let me tell you a story…”

Pansy stretched out her slim legs and took a deep breath.

“I realized I was only interested in witches when I was nine, but as the pureblood heir to my family’s fortune, I knew that I could never tell anyone. I knew that I was destined to be married off to make heirs and help my parents gain political power.”

Pansy shook her head at the memory.

“By the time we started fourth year, my father was already in talks with several families about marriage contracts, and I started to panic. I was terrified of being married off to some middle-aged baron from the continent, sent away never to be heard from again. So, I created a plan. Draco already knew about my sexuality, and I knew he was no more enthused about being forced into an arranged marriage than I was, so we made a deal. We would pretend to date each other to keep our parents from pursuing other marital options, until we were old enough to figure out how to avoid the process entirely.”

Hermione knew this already. In fact, she was the one who talked Draco into keeping the rouse going in the Spring of their fourth year, figuring it would be an easy cover to keep their relationship a secret.

She schooled her features into neutrality and remained silent as Pansy continued.

“When the war started, things got…bad. I was scared and I thought that maybe, maybe if I told my parents the truth, that their love for me would overpower their allegiance to the Dark Lord. That maybe we could all escape together.”

Pansy’s eyes grew misty and distant for a moment, before she shook her head and regained her composure.

“But I was wrong. They told me I was to never speak of it again, and that if I wanted to remain a part of the family I would keep my mouth shut and marry who they chose. Quite the mindfuck, to realize that my parents cared more about a nose-less half-blood than their own daughter… When the war ended, nothing changed, and as soon as the dust settled, they informed me that I was to be married to a fifty-year-old Lord from Albania. A thrice-widowed Lord.”

Pansy raised her hands in air quotes, clearly indicating that those former wives had not died of natural causes.

“I refused. I told them that the world had changed and it was time we changed with it. They kicked me out of the house that afternoon and changed the wards to make sure I could never return.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in shock. She knew how closely pureblood families—especially those in the Sacred Twenty-Eight—clung to their traditions, but she couldn’t believe they would go so far as to disown their only child. Hell, when Narcissa learned that Draco loved Hermione, she’d welcomed her with open arms and done everything she could to protect their relationship.

But clearly Pansy’s parents hadn’t cared enough to put aside their beliefs.

“Pansy, I’m so sorry,” Hermione responded quietly.

Pansy waved a dismissive hand.

“I have no need for your pity, Granger. I’m telling you this for a reason. See, after my parents kicked me out, I came here to stay with Theo, and I realized something that changed my life.

It doesn’t matter who they are—your parents, your best friend, your partner—if they treat you badly, if they don’t love you for who you are, they don’t matter. Their opinion doesn’t matter. Fuck ‘em. You go and live exactly how you want to, build your life into something you find beautiful, no matter how it looks to other people. The only people that matter are the ones who will love you unconditionally, no matter what.”

She ended her speech staring fiercely into Hermione’s eyes.

Hermione stared back, stunned by what she’d just heard.

“Pansy…I don’t—I don’t know if I can do that. I’ve never been very good at not caring what other people think.” Hermione cast her eyes down, embarrassed by her weakness.

“Eh, of course you can. You’re Hermione Granger, Golden Girl. You can do whatever the fuck you want. And I can help you.”

Hermione snapped her head back up, looking at Pansy with a mixture of confusion and horror.

“You? Why would you help me?”

“Because no one should have to go through this alone,” she responded in that same, matter-of-fact tone, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Besides, Theo and Luna both love you, so that must mean you’ve got something going for you. Which is why I am here to offer my services.” She tilted her head forward in a mock bow.

Hermione just stared back, stunned into silence.

“Take some time to think about it. In the meantime…” Pansy rose gracefully from her chair and headed to the door. “I’m going to tell Theo you’re awake and need some dinner. You look like shit.”

And with that, the enigma that was Pansy Parkinson walked out the door.

**

Hermione was beginning to feel marginally more like herself.

Theo had knocked on her door an hour after Pansy left, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of stew, fresh baked bread, and wine, informing her that his house elves (freed house elves, he emphasized) had been falling all over themselves to cook for “The Miss Hermione Granger.”

With a full stomach, plus a little help from another dose from Theo’s Dreamless Sleep stash, she’d gotten a full night’s rest, and awoken the next morning to find a tray piled high with scrambled eggs, bacon, kippers, toast, and a full pot of coffee hovering above her bed.

When Rosie, Theo’s longest-serving elf, returned to retrieve the plates, she informed Hermione that she and her husband Puff had retrieved much of her clothing, some books, and all of her pending research notes from her flat and left it all for her in the room.

By early afternoon, she was almost ready to leave the safety of her bed and venture out to find Theo, when she suddenly heard doors slamming and yelling coming from down the stairs.

“I know she’s here, and I want to see her. NOW.” With a jolt, Hermione realized that the voice was coming from George Weasley.

How had he found her? Hermione hauled herself out of the bed and creeped out the door and down the hall toward the stairs, where the voices were coming from.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re on about, mate, but if you don’t get out of my house, I promise that you will not like the consequences,” came Theo’s icy reply.

George let out a frustrated yell.

“I didn’t know! Tell her I didn’t know. And that I could kill him for what he did. Please, please let me talk to her.”

Theo’s voice softened in response. “Look, she’ll talk to you when she’s ready…”

“Those motherfuckers…my fucking family, betrayed her. But I won’t. I want to talk to her. Just tell her I’m here, please Nott.”

“I’ll tell her to contact you, but you need to—”

“Theo, it's ok.” Hermione stepped out from the hallway, peering down at the standoff happening at the bottom of the stairs. “Hello, George.”

“Hermione, thank Merlin. Please, let me talk to you. Let me apologize. Let me tell you what I know.”

Hermione was torn. She didn’t feel ready to talk to anyone, but that inquisitive part of her that craved knowledge and information desperately wanted to know what he meant by “what I know.”

Her curious nature won out. With a sigh, she nodded her head and slowly made her way down the stairs.

“Theo, is there somewhere George and I can talk? Privately.”

Theo looked her up and down, trying to gauge her mental state. “Are you sure, Hermione?”

She nodded and reached out to squeeze his arm. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“There’s a sitting room down the hall, second door on your right. I’ll wait out here.” He gestured to one of the ornate chaises in the room.

Hermione nodded and began walking toward the sitting room, with George trailing close behind.

If any of the Weasleys had to find her, she was glad it was George. They’d grown close over the last two years, connecting the way only two individuals who’d lost the most important people in their lives could. She wanted desperately to think that George was being honest when he said that he hadn’t known about Ron.

She opened the door to the room before walking to the far end and settling on yet another antique couch. She’d have to go through this manor and catalogue how many priceless pieces of furniture Theo had just sitting around…

George sat down in a chair across from her, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees. It was then that Hermione realized his knuckles were bruised and bloody.

George saw her looking and flexed his hands. “Beat the shit out of Ron yesterday. Pretty sure I broke his nose, maybe his jaw, too…got a few good shots in on Harry as well before Ginny stunned me.”

“George…” Hermione sighed, shaking her head. “What are you doing here?”

George looked up, staring at her with sadness radiating from his every pore.

“I had to talk to you, Hermione. I had to apologize in person. I had to make sure you knew that I had no idea about Ron. If I had, I would have dragged him in front of you by the balls and held him at wand point until he admitted it. I…I cannot believe that he did this to you. That they knew about it and didn’t…” He trailed off and shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t even know who they are anymore. Please, please Hermione, believe me when I tell you that I didn’t know.”

He looked pleadingly at Hermione, and even though she was still questioning her ability to spot the lies in her life, something about the absolute sincerity in his words, the lack of even an ounce of George’s signature humor, felt like the truth.

Looking back into his green eyes, Hermione released a breath she’d been holding since she heard his voice from her room. “I believe you, George.”

His shoulders sagged. Relief echoing through his body.

“I’m so angry, Hermione. I don’t think I’ve ever been this angry. I keep going over it in my head, trying to figure out what happened, when he changed. When he became a fucking monster. I promise you I’ll never see him again. Never talk to any of them again.”

“George. They’re your family. They love you. I…I would never ask you, never expect you to stop speaking to them.”

George looked up at Hermione, tears filling his eyes. “You see! Look at you! You just found out that the person who said he loved you spent the last two years fucking some mindless bint behind your back, that your best friend let him do it, and yet here you are, sacrificing yourself to make sure I don’t get hurt!? You are the single most loving person I have ever met, Hermione. The fact that anyone would ever do this to you is just…its unthinkable.” George deflated, hanging his head in his hands.

“I don’t understand either, George.” She whispered back, fresh tears falling quietly down her cheeks.

When George looked up, his face crumpled at the sight of Hermione’s anguish, and he immediately sprang up to cross to her side of the room. Remembering himself, he stopped a half step away from where Hermione sat.

“Can I hug you?” He asked quietly.

Hermione just nodded, and George fell onto the sofa, gathering her into a crushing embrace.

They sat like that for a while, silently crying together, before George spoke again.

“I didn’t just come to apologize, Hermione.”

She leaned back in his arms, looking questioningly at his face.

“I’ve spent the last two days figuring out who knew what when, and if you’d like me to tell you, I can.”

Hermione’s heart stopped and the air seemed to woosh from her body. Did she want to know? No. Did she need to know? Yes. Could she handle the truth? She wasn’t sure.

She nodded slowly, preparing herself. “Ok,” she said, barely a whisper.

George took a deep breath and sat back, taking Hermione’s hands in his.

“Mum, Percy, Fleur and I didn’t know. Percy left shortly after you did and hasn’t spoken to anyone since. Mum…she was angry. So angry. But after a while, and I fucking hate telling you this, but after a while, she told Ron that it was ok, that she was happy that he found someone he loved so much.” George’s mouth pinched in disgust.

“Bill only found out a few days ago from Ron, and Ron didn’t tell him the full story. Bill figured that Ron had probably started up with Daphne while you were together, but he had no idea it had gone on for so long. I’ve never seen Fleur scream at him like she did afterward. Dad and Charlie found out six months ago.”

Hermione flinched. So they had both known for months while she was still with Ron. A new fissure formed in her heart.

George squeezed her hands. “They both told Ron he had to tell you. Both said how disappointed they were in him. But they felt like it was his responsibility to share it with you, they didn’t want to interfere.”

Hermione forced a humorless laugh. “Well, good for them.”

“Harry…” George started, sounding pained to even say his name.

Hermione looked up, terrified. This is what she had been waiting for. George seemed to steel himself.

“He’s known for over a year.”

Hermione heard the words reverberating through her skull. It felt like her every cell in her body was vibrating. It was so much worse than she thought.

“A year?” She whispered in confirmation.

George nodded slowly. “Do you want to know more? I can tell you, but its fucking awful.”

What could be more awful than this? Hermione wasn’t sure if she could even feel it anymore.

She nodded. “Tell me.”

“He found them together. Walked in on them, well, you know. In a broom closet in the DMLE. Ron chased after him and told him some sob story about how important you were to him but that he just didn’t love you like that anymore. He…broke down and told Harry that you were too fragile after your parents’ death and he was afraid that you’d do something reckless if he told you. He said…forgive me, Hermione, he said that the two of you hadn’t been…intimate in over a year.”

When Hermione’s eyes snapped up to his in shock, he shook his head. “I knew he was lying, the twat. Said that he just wanted to help you, and that he was waiting for the right moment because he ‘didn’t want to hurt you.’ Harry, the motherfucker, said ok. Hugged him and said ok, that he understood and that Ron could handle it how he felt was best. He told Ginny that night, and she agreed not to say anything either.”

Hermione’s head was spinning. Harry hadn’t even tried. Hadn’t pushed back on Ron’s paper-thin lies. Hadn’t stood up to defend her, to tell him that she wasn’t fragile and that she deserved to know. He hadn’t had a single ounce of respect for her or her feelings.

Draco was right.

She shook the thought away and looked back at George. “Wow,” was all she could muster in response.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione. I didn’t want to tell you, I hate this so much, but…I thought you deserved to know.”

She nodded. He was right, she did deserve to know, no matter how awful the truth was, she deserved to know it.

“It’s ok, George. Thank you. I appreciate you telling me the truth. More than you know.”

He squeezed her hands again, before wrapping her back in hug.

“I need you to know how much I value your friendship, Hermione. How much it’s meant to me to have you to talk to these past few years. I never want to lose that. Ever. I’m on your side, always. There is no other side.” He kissed her on the top of her head, squeezing her tightly.

“You won’t lose me George. Thank you for telling me the truth. For being the only one who did.”

George released her and nodded his head, sadly.

“I should head back to the shop. Please come over whenever you want to talk, Hermione. Send me an owl, anything. Ok?”

She looked into his eyes, eyes that had seen far too much for his age, eyes that had been forced to see the darkest depths of agony. She saw the same pain reflected in herself now.

“I will, George, I promise.”

He got up and slowly made his way to the door.

“George?”

He turned back to her.

“Please don’t tell anyone where I am. I…I’m not ready to see any of them”

He smiled sadly. “My lips are sealed, I promise. You should know, though. Harry, Ginny, and Ron have been to your flat a few times looking for you. Sent you a few letters, too. They’ve been getting quite anxious to speak to you…”

Hermione let his words sink in. “Well, I guess they’ll have to learn to be anxious, then.”

George gave the first glimpse of a real smile. “Damn right, Mione.”

He gave her a final nod before heading out the door.

Hermione sat stock still for a moment, letting all of George’s revelations sink in.

She was devastated. So, so devastated about it all. But there was something else, some other feeling buried deep inside of her. She focused on it, tracing it down to the root to figure out what that tiny spark of feeling could be.

Anger.

She was angry.

As soon as she identified it, it was as if a match caught and the spark turned into a flame. An inferno.

How dare they. How dare they do this to her.

She didn’t deserve this. She was better than this.

She was Hermione fucking Granger.

And she wasn’t going to let them break her.

With a new determination she’d never felt before, Hermione launched herself off the couch and pounded back into the grand room where she’d left Theo. She found who she was looking for sitting across from him, her sleek black hair perfectly framing her face as she gracefully held a book in her hand.

Theo jumped up, but Hermione barely saw him.

“Pansy?” Hermione said with far more force than she intended.

Instead of startling, Pansy looked up slowly, a smirk playing on her face.

Hermione looked back, fire in her eyes. “Fuck ‘em.”

Pansy closed the book with a snap as her smirk widened into a real grin.

She nodded in return. “Fuck ‘em.”

Clapping her hands together, she stood from the chair and grabbed Hermione by the arm.

“Let’s get started.”

She marched Hermione back up the stairs, leaving Theo standing, mouth agape, in their wake.

Chapter End Notes

Now you know! If you're not into a "Harry needs to be held accountable for how he treats his friends" story, this one may not be for you....

We're getting into the thick of it now! And next week, we'll have our first all Draco POV to welcome our favorite platinum blond back into the fold!

See you next Sunday!

xoxo,

Flames

All You Had To Do Was Stay

Chapter Notes

Umm...

It's been less than 24 hours since I posted the first chapters of this fic, and somehow people are reading it? How? Why? WHAT?

Be honest, it's because of the Inappropriate Use of Malfoy Signet Ring tag, isn't it? ;)

Well, no matter what, I can't believe anyone is here and my excitement is getting away from me, so I've decided to post another chapter.

Please welcome the one and only signet ring owner himself to the stage...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

July, 1998

Draco couldn’t believe it. Even as the guards moved toward his cage in the center of the Wizengamot chamber, unlocked the door, and began removing his shackles, he still thought someone had made a mistake and surely, he was about to be taken back to his cell in Azkaban.

He deserved to be taken back to his cell.

A voice from the dais caught his attention. “You’re free to go, Mr. Malfoy.” It was Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minster himself, speaking. “I trust you know that if we ever see you in this room again, your fate will be quite different.”

Draco stared back blankly, still unable to process what had just happened. He’d been pardoned. After everything he had done, taking the Mark, letting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, sitting by while Voldemort plotted in his own home, after letting Hermione be tortured…

And yet, she had been the reason he was freed. Her testimony in his favor. She’d told them that Draco had used his Occlumency skills to go into her mind and protect it from Bellatrix’s attempts to learn what she, Weasley, and Potter were doing on the run. Somehow, she’d been able to sense him doing it, even as Bellatrix hit her over and over again with the Cruciatus curse.

She shouldn’t have testified for him. He wasn’t worth it. He’d still stood there while she writhed in agony. While his aunt carved that word into her arm. Yes, he’d tried to stop her from getting into Hermione’s mind, but that was hardly enough. He’d likely caused her even more pain by using his underdeveloped Legilimency skills to get inside her head in the first place.

Draco’s thoughts were cut off when he saw his mother rushing toward him, tears streaming down her face. She pulled him into a crushing hug, the first human contact he’d had in nearly two months. Slowly, as though his brain was still learning how to move his limbs, he circled his arms around her.

“Oh Draco, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she wept into his shoulder, “are you ok? Are you hurt? I’m so sorry.” She descended into loud sobs. It was the first time Draco had ever seen his mother cry like this.

“Mum, it's ok, I’m fine.” His voice sounded odd in his ears.

Narcissa pulled back and placed her hands on either side of his face.

“It is ok now, my love. It’s all going to be ok.”

Draco nodded his head slowly. As he looked around the room and watched the Wizengamot members slowly descend the stairs to leave, he had the sudden overwhelming need to get out of here. Many of the members, even those that had voted in favor of his pardon, were staring at Draco in disgust, he even heard one whisper “Death Eater scum” as they passed by.

Grabbing his mother’s shoulders, he began walking toward the side exit and into a small hallway off the chamber.

“Can we just go home?”

Narcissa squeezed his hand and gave a watery smile. “Of course, dear. But I think there is someone you’ll want to see first…” She pointed toward a door at the end of the hall. “She’s waiting in there for you.”

She gave his hand another squeeze before stepping away and directing him down the hallway.

It felt like he was walking to the gallows.

He’d barely taken a step into the small room when he saw her, a blur of chocolate brown curls and sun kissed skin moving toward him.

She crashed into his arms, her feet barely touching the ground.

“Oh gods, Draco. I was so scared.” He could hear the emotion in her voice. How relieved she was.

He shouldn’t have opened the door. This was too hard.

Despite himself, he closed his arms around her, overcome by the scent of her, the same honey and lavender, and how right it felt to hold her again. It has been so long since he’d been able to touch her, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning into it. But as soon as she ran her hands up to his neck and began kissing along his jaw he snapped back to reality.

Holding her arms firmly, he pushed her away from him and shook his head. “We can’t do this, Hermione.”

Confusion and hurt played on her delicate features. “What do you mean we can’t do this? Of course we can. You’re free. The war’s over, Voldemort is dead. This is what we always wanted! We don’t have to hide anymore!”

Draco was shaking his head and moving further away from her as she spoke.

“We can’t, Hermione. I can’t. You have to go. You have to forget about me. I won’t let you destroy your life like this.” He couldn’t bear to look her in the eyes as he spoke.

Her voice was barely a whisper when she responded. “Why are you saying this?”

“Because I have to!” He yelled back, finally turning toward her. “Hermione, don’t you see? It doesn’t matter what happened in that room. It doesn’t matter what I do now. I will always be this.” He wrenched up the fabric covering his left arm to reveal his Mark. “This is all anyone will ever see. If they find out you’re with me…” he shuddered, “you’ll become a pariah. All the plans you have? Everything you’ve worked for? It would all just be gone. I can’t let you do that. I love you too much to let you throw your life away.” His last words came out as a strangled whisper.

“I love you too, Draco. I love you more than any of that!” Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now, as she reached her hands forward and stepped closer to him.

He shook his head again and walked around her toward the door. “This is the only way I can redeem myself, Hermione. It’s the one good thing I can do. I have to let you go.”

She let out a desperate cry. “You said this was forever. Love conquers all, right? Please, Draco, don’t do this.” She pitched forward, sobs shaking her whole body.

He stepped toward her and wrapped her in his arms, holding her for the last time.

“I will always love you, Hermione. You’ve given me so much. More than I ever deserved. Please, please let me give this back to you.” She gripped the front of his robes, shaking her head back and forth.

With a final kiss against her temple, he stepped back, swiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs.

She looked up at him, desperation across her face.

“Please. Please don’t leave. Please, please stay with me. I can’t do this without you. Please…please stay, Draco. Please…”

His heart was breaking. He had to get out of here now or he wouldn’t have the strength to do it. With a final shake of his head he turned and walked toward the door.

With his hand on the doorknob, he turned back to her. “I love you, Hermione. I’m so sorry.”

And with that, he walked out of the room, leaving all of his dreams behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Year’s Eve, 2001

Draco leaned forward against the cool metal railing on his balcony in the East Village, watching as the first snowflakes began to fall. His warming charm protected him from the cold, allowing him to enjoy the soothing sounds of the city in peace.

When he first arrived in New York more than three years ago, he thought the constant cacophony of sound would drive him mad. Every slam of a security gate and rumble of those ridiculous muggle garbage automobiles sent him into a panic, memories of the war gripping his whole body and stealing the air from his lungs. He hadn’t been able to relax for weeks, so he began casting silencing charms around his whole flat, and had even spent an entire weekend figuring out how to use a portable muggle music device so that he could wear headphones whenever he was forced to interact with the outside world. He always thought Hermione would have been proud of him for that.

But now, after his years in the city, the sounds soothed him. The thrum of movement, of life, made him feel like he was just a small piece of a massive whole—anonymous, without any of the baggage of his life back in England.

No one spat at him when he walked down the street here. No one yelled “Death Eater scum!” as he left a café. The war hadn’t followed him across the ocean. He’d been able to start fresh and build a career he could be proud of, instead of having a future as just another lay about heir, forever tainted by his mistakes. But he was alone. He’d left his heart in a room at the ministry in London, where she had stood, her face crumpling as she begged him to stay.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with crisp air, before sipping from the glass of bourbon held loosely in his left hand. He’d never admit it to anyone back home, but he’d learned that American bourbon put Ogden’s to shame. Savoring the taste on his tongue, he took in the crowds beginning to appear on the street below, hurrying off to their next destination.

It was still hours away from midnight, but the New Year’s Eve reveling had already begun. Happy, tipsy, people were yelling and laughing on the street, their excitement palpable even all these stories up.

A pang of sadness echoed through Draco. Even though he’d built a good life here and found a few friends, they never quite compared to those he left behind—the people who had known him since he was in nappies, and who understood as only other children caught on the wrong side of a war could, the experiences he’d gone through. And they still stood by him, no matter what. He missed them desperately. And her, of course. Her most of all.

Taking another swig of bourbon, he pushed the emotions down. Draco was many things, but maudlin was not one of them. Clearly, he needed a distraction.

Charisma, a witch who worked in the records department at MACUSA and just so happened to model muggle lingerie on the side, had invited him to a party at her flat tonight. Maybe he should just go.

He’d met Charisma two years ago when she was assigned to him while he worked on a particularly difficult case in the Auror department, and the two had fallen into bed a few dozen times in the years since. She was sexy, fun, and not looking for anything serious, which was perfect for Draco, since all she cared to talk about was muggle fashion and the latest gossip swirling around the office.

He should go to the party. A good fuck to start the new year was exactly what he needed.

Draco pushed off the railing to head back into his flat when his floo burst to life.

“Oi! Draco? Yoooo whoooo!” A familiar voice called from inside, causing Draco to smile despite himself.

He grabbed the bottle of bourbon off his sideboard and sauntered toward the fireplace to see the head of his oldest friend, a crooked smile plastered on his face and his mop of chestnut curls falling into his dark blue eyes.

“Hello, Theo. I was just thinking about you.” Draco sat down in the overstuffed leather chair facing the fireplace and poured himself another drink.

“Aww, have you been missing me, Drac-y? How very sweet of you, I’m positively touched!” simpered Theo, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Don’t let it go to your head.” Draco rolled his eyes and leaned back into the supple leather of his chair.

“Now now, don’t get testy or I won’t fill you in on all the juicy news you’ve missed.” Theo’s voice rose at the end, clearly trying to pique Draco’s interest.

“Let me guess,” Draco raised his fingers to playfully scratch his chin, “Pansy’s still with Luna Lovegood and you still don’t understand a thing she says, Blaise bought another restaurant, and you’ve gone through…four new sexual partners in the past month?” He quirked a brow up as Theo feigned offence.

“You wound me Draco. Yes, Pansy and Luna are still very much together. They were here yesterday and mate, the girl told me that blibbering humdingers had infested the manor and I needed to dance naked during the full moon covered head to toe in honey to get them to leave.”

“Well I’d love to see that,” Draco replied in amusement.

Theo’s eyes filled with mischief. “Don’t tempt me, Draco. You know I’d be thrilled to dance naked for you any time you please.”

“As always, I’ll keep that in mind.” He huffed good naturedly in reply.

“If I may continue,” Theo began again, in a dramatic tone. “Blaise did not, in fact, purchase another restaurant, he purchased a winery in Bordeaux. And he finally got the nerve to ask Padma out, they went on their first date just before Christmas, and according to Blaise, she is, and I quote ‘the most incredible woman I have ever met.’”

Draco’s amused smile turned sincere. Blaise had been smitten with Padma since Hogwarts.

“And, my boy, I’ll have you know that I have not indulged in four new sexual partners this month.” Draco cocked his head, disbelieving. “It was eight.”

Theo smiled triumphantly.

“Sweet Salazar, you’re going to run out of witches and wizards in Britain, Theo!”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to pay your sorry ass a visit and try my hand at our American brethren, then, shall I? Maybe I can have a go at the model, what was her name? Chastity? Chimera?”

“Charisma, Theo. Charisma.”

“Ah yes, that’s it. And tell me Draco, do the two of you still have charisma?”

Draco looked away from Theo and back out the windows of his flat. “We still sleep together on occasion, if that’s what you’re asking. But beyond that…well, if you’re dying to hear about who is cheating on who in the magical education department at MACUSA, you’re welcome to her.”

When he turned to face the fireplace again, Theo’s face had fallen, his eyes shining with rage.

“I don’t care to hear about any more cheaters, thanks.” His voice was steely and cold.

“What’s wrong, Theo? Did…did someone cheat on you? I thought all of your relationships were casual?”

“No, no. It’s not me, its…” Theo’s head turned to the side, clearly checking the door in his study. “I don’t know if I should really talk about this with you.”

“What’s going on, Theo? Is everything ok?” Genuine concern laced through Draco’s words.

Theo looked him in the eye as if searching for his true intentions before letting out a deep, exhausted sigh.

“I suppose it’s inevitable that you’ll find out anyway, it’s bound to be in the papers sooner or later.” Draco heard him cast a locking and silencing spell the office.

“Why are you silencing your own office? Tell me you didn’t leave someone alone in bed to call me, Theo.”

Instead of humor playing across his features, Theo’s expression grew even more serious.

“I’ll tell you, mostly because I need to yell about it and I can’t do that in front of Herm—”

Draco’s muscles seized. Hermione? Was Theo talking about Hermione?

“—but you have to promise me not to joke or be cruel, Draco. I will come through the floo and hex your bollocks off if you make light of this, ok?”

“Cruel? Why would I be?” Draco stopped when he saw the muscles in Theo’s jaw clench.

“Yes, ok, I promise. Just tell me, Theo.”

Theo cast his eyes downward and took a deep, steadying breath.

“Ron Weasley is marrying Daphne.”

Draco stared at Theo’s forehead, not comprehending the words he’d just said.

“Daphne…Greengrass? Daphne Greengrass is marrying Ron…Weasley? What are you talking about, Theo? Ron Weasley has been with Granger for years!”

Theo’s eyes met Draco’s again, and a brief look of intrigue crossed his features before his face settled back into a look of cold rage.

Theo shook his head. “No, she broke up with him a couple months ago.”

A thrill of excitement shot through him, and Draco’s heart began pounding in his chest. Hermione had broken up with Ron? Did that mean she was…single? Could he…? With a shake of his head, Draco shoved those thoughts into a corner before they consumed him.

“So, Ron Weasley proposed to Daphne after dating for…what? Two months? And she said yes? I always knew her only goal in life was to find a husband, but I didn’t realize she’d jump into a marriage after only a few weeks…and to a Weasley, no less…” Draco shook his head in disbelief.

“That’s not what happened, mate.” Theo said quietly, sadness etched across his face.

“Weasley was cheating on Hermione with Daphne. For two years. She went to The Burrow for Christmas dinner and the prick went and announced it in front of the whole family. Said he’d been with her for two years, she was the love of his life, and they were getting married.”

“He…What?!” Draco’s voice boomed across the entire room.

He felt like his mind had suddenly shot off in a thousand different directions. Ron Weasley, Ron motherfucking Weasley, the bumbling idiot who couldn’t find a blast-ended scroot if it bit him in the balls, had cheated on the most beautiful, brilliant, kind woman to ever grace the earth? For TWO YEARS?

He would kill him.

Draco would kill him.

He’d gladly take a cell next to Lucius in Azkaban for this.

Draco didn’t know how long he’d been silently seething when Theo starting calling his name, bringing him back to reality.

“Sorry, sorry, I just…I can’t believe it. That ginger fool not only cheated on Hermi—on Granger, but he announced it in front of their whole family? That’s fucking disgusting.”

“That’s not the worst part, mate.” Theo’s hand briefly appeared from the flames as he dragged his fingers up and down his face.

“What do you mean that’s not the worst part? Cheating on her for two years and then humiliating her in front of his entire family isn’t the worst part? What, did he bring Daphne out and fuck her on the dining room table?”

“Potter knew about it. For a year. And he didn’t tell her.”

Draco’s heart stuttered. Fuck.

“And it wasn’t just him. Ginny and half the family knew too, and they all kept his secret. They let Hermione be used for months, and none of them even tried to stop it. Can you fucking believe that? I’m so angry for her I’m surprised I haven’t accidentally shattered every window in the manor.”

Draco didn’t know how to take this all in. Hermione hadn’t just found out that Ron had cheated on her, she’d found out that all of the people she called her friends, her family, didn’t care about her. That they’d allowed her to be manipulated…

He’d always feared that they’d hurt her, but he’d never thought it would be this bad. This was unimaginable. He could only guess at how devastated she would be.

A question floated to the top of his mind. “Theo, how do you know all this?”

Theo turned his head again, toward the door in his study.

“She’s here. She told me.”

“She…Hermione is at the manor with you?”

Theo nodded sadly. “She showed up at the front door Christmas night, hysterical, chanting over and over again that she had no one left, she had no friends, she had no family…” He shivered at the memory.

“It took her hours to calm down enough to tell me what had happened. She didn’t want any of them to find her like that, so she came here. She figured no one would guess that she’d be at the manor of a former Death Eater…But George, you know, the one who owns the joke shop? He showed up two days later. Haven’t a clue when he got so fucking fit. And did you know he has a golden ear? Merlin… ”

“Theo! Stay on topic. Fuck.”

“Sorry, sorry. Anyway, he showed up, said he remembered Hermione talking about me a few times, knew we worked together. He figured this might be a place she’d hide. Said he didn’t know about the cheating, and when he got here his knuckles were bloody from beating the shite out of Ron for it. He’s the one who got the truth out of Potter and the rest of the family. About how long they’d known. He told Hermione everything. He’s the only member of that family I don’t plan to curse into the next century.”

Theo shook his head again, as if trying to rid himself of the thought.

“She’s been here ever since. Potter, Ginny, even the motherfucker himself have all been sending her owls, trying to find her. But she doesn’t want to talk to them…She’s….I think this broke her, Draco. Not the cheating, but the betrayal by the others. They were the only family she had. Her parents died a few years ago, you know.”

“Yeah,” Draco whispered, “I know.”

“So, we’re all just trying to help her. Trying to show her that she has people who care about her, people who want to be her friends. People that would never do that shite to her.” His voice became fierce with conviction.

“We?”

“Me, George, Blaise, Padma, Pansy, and Luna.”

“Pansy is there? Pansy hates Hermione, Theo. You can’t let her…”

Theo shook his head to silence him.

“It’s not like that anymore. Luna’s helped to open Pansy up a lot, and she and Hermione have become, well, at least acquaintances over the last couple years. But Pansy knows about betrayal, about losing your family, more than anyone. I think she’s actually helping the most.”

Draco hummed thoughtfully in response. His mind still racing, trying to understand everything that had unfolded over the past few minutes.

“Gods, sorry to drop all that on you, and on a holiday no less. You’ve probably got plans with Chemise! It’s just, well, it’s been occupying all of my brain. I can’t really think about anything else.” Theo wiped his hand over his face again, his exhaustion showing.

“No, no it’s fine. I…thank you for telling me, Theo.” Draco said earnestly.

Theo shrugged. “It’s getting late, I should probably go. I need to check on Hermione before I head to bed. I really just called to wish you a Happy New Year, not to drop all my emotional baggage at your feet.” He gave a half-hearted smile.

“Right, yes, of course. Happy New Year, Theo.”

“You too, mate. Talk again soon?"

“Of course.” Theo’s head began to shrink back into the flames.

“Wait! Theo…”

He looked back at Draco questioningly.

“Why did you make me promise not to be cruel about this?”

Theo’s face became a mixture of shame and embarrassment.

“Well, I mean…I know how much you despise Weasley. I just, I didn’t want you to make fun of her for this, because she’s my friend. She’s, she’s a really incredible person, Draco. Smart, funny, doesn’t take shit from anyone.”

Draco smiled sadly.

I know. She’s incandescent.

“It’s good of you to help her Theo, to be there for her. You’re a wonderful friend.”

“Well,” a playful gleam returned to Theo’s eyes, “We all knew that already, didn’t we? I’m an absolute delight!”

With a wink and a nod, he was gone, the green flames disappearing with him.

Alone now, Draco’s whole body stilled, any thoughts of the holiday or attending Charisma’s party long gone.

He let the last few moments wash over him, trying to comprehend what he knew and how he felt.

Ron Weasley, the useless sidekick, had cheated on Hermione. Draco’s Hermione.

She’s not yours, whispered the voice inside his head.

Harry Potter, the boy who only lived past age eleven because Hermione saved his ass at every turn, had chosen Weasley over her.

And Theo said she was broken.

Draco couldn’t stand that. That a woman as fierce, as kind, as good as Hermione would be broken by fools that were never worthy of her in the first place.

That same voice echoed across his mind: If you hadn’t fucked up so badly three years ago, none of this would have happened. This is your fault.

Without knowing it, Draco had stood up from the chair and was pacing back and forth across the living room.

He had been so stupid. So selfish. He’d hurt her. He’d let them hurt her.

Draco looked down at his left forearm. The shame of his dark mark was now covered by a full sleeve of tattoos that extended all the way to his shoulder. But on the inside of his forearm, directly over the mark and in the same place Bellatrix had once carved that awful word onto Hermione, now sat the three words that meant the most to him in the whole world: Amor Vincit Omnia.

He had to do something. He had to make it right.

He couldn’t pretend anymore. Pretend that he didn’t want her. That he didn’t love her.

By the time the clock struck twelve and the new year began, he’d formulated a plan.

He didn’t deserve her, he knew that. He couldn’t be with her. But he could be her friend. He could show her that he cared.

He could make sure she never broke again.

As the sun rose over New York City, Draco stared out at the skyline and let out a deep breath.

He was going home.

Chapter End Notes

AH! I hope you enjoyed our first look into Draco's POV. The pieces are starting to fall into place now!

Next chapter will post on Sunday 6/26, and we'll be heading back into our Golden Girl's POV to move this plot forward.

If you're still here, thank you so much for reading! Truly cannot believe anyone but me is actually here...

xoxo,

Flames

Look What You Made Me Do

Chapter Notes

Wow.

When I posted the first chapters of this story last week, I truly did not believe anyone would even see it, much less actually read the damn thing! Thank you SO much for reading and for your amazing comments (I'm trying to respond to all of them, I promise!).

Let's keep this story moving, shall we?

We're heading back to Hermione's POV this chapter, I hope you enjoy it!

xoxo,

Flames

See the end of the chapter for more notes

June 5th, Fourth Year

Hermione was waiting anxiously in the Room of Requirement for him to arrive. It was his birthday, and she had his favorite apple pasties and meticulously wrapped gifts waiting for him on the coffee table.

They’d been doing…whatever it was they were doing…for six months now, and Hermione needed to know if this was real before they left the castle for the summer.

After what seemed like hours, she finally heard the door open and Draco, dressed as casually as he could ever muster in grey slacks and a green cashmere jumper, stepped in, smiling at her.

She beamed back, waving around at the decorations that the room had provided for her when she asked earlier in the evening. “Happy Birthday, Draco.”

He laughed his open, real laugh, the one that Hermione treasured so much, before stepping forward, pulling her into his arms, and spinning her around. After a moment he set her down and moved his hands up to either side of her face, leaning in to kiss her breathless.

They broke away, panting, and she noticed immediately that Draco had a mischievous look in his eye. “Is that apple pastie I smell?”

She smiled back before turning her features into a look of mock confusion. “I don’t know, I suppose you’ll just have to find out…”

He ran his hands down her sides, tickling her briefly before she shrieked and turned around, his arms still encircling her.

“Did you get me presents, Granger?”

“Of course, I got you presents, Draco. Maybe you purebloods don’t know about this, but in muggle society, its considered quite rude if you don’t shower someone with gifts to celebrate their birthday…” She trailed off, smiling, as he tightened his arms around her.

Placing his lips against the spot on her neck just below her ear, he hummed. “Is that so? Tell me more about these exotic customs, Granger. Does the birthday boy get to decide how he spends his evening with his girlfriend?”

Shivers ran up her spine. Yes, though she hoped he’d want to do the same thing she wanted to do tonight…

“Hmm, I’m not sure about that…It’s required that the birthday boy open his presents first.”

She turned back around in his arms to face him, placing her hands on his chest. His eyes softened, the teasing vanishing and replaced with a look of adoration that made Hermione’s knees weak.

Moving his hands up to cradle her face, he said with absolute sincerity. “You didn’t need to get me anything, Hermione. I just want to spend my birthday with you.”

She bit her lip, warmth spreading through her whole body. “That can be arranged. But first, presents!” She grabbed his hands, dragging him to the couch and pushing him down, before handing him the first box.

She sat next to him and held her breath, nodding when he looked over at her with childlike excitement.

He tore open the paper to reveal an enormous pile of apple-flavored muggle sweets. Caramel apple pops, Jolly Ranchers, gummy worms, even bags of pop rocks. He turned back to her, wonder written across his features, before a huge smile took over his face and he demanded that she explain each different candy to him. The look of shock on his face when the pop rocks started to crackle on his tongue was one that Hermione would never forget.

Next, he opened a box containing different colored muggle pens and highlighters, which she had ordered after noticing his fascination with hers every time they studied together.

As he finished investigating each option, her nerves started to spike. The final two gifts were far more personal, and she wasn’t sure how he would take them…

Taking a deep breath, she handed him the third package. After tearing off the paper, he looked down at the blank, dark leather-bound journal before she spoke.

“It’s part of a pair. I have the other. I…well I charmed them so that we can write back and forth. The writing will only be visible to you and I, so there’s no danger in someone else discovering them. I…well I figured we could use them over the summer to stay in touch…”

She trailed off, unsure if she’d overstepped in assuming he would still want to talk to her outside of school.

He stared down at the journal for another beat before lifting his head and looking into her eyes.

“This is incredible, Hermione. You’re brilliant! I was racking my brain to figure out how we could talk this summer…” His voice grew quiet.

“Really?” She whispered back.

He nodded. “Of course. This is a perfect gift, thank you Hermione.”

She breathed a quick sigh of relief before her nerves once again gripped her, as she cautiously reached for the last gift.

As she handed it to him, she began to stammer. “This is…well, it’s nothing really, I just…we talked about it and I thought maybe…well…” She trailed off again as he smiled at her, amused by her nerves.

“Hermione. Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll love it.”

With a deep breath she replied, “well go on then.”

He ripped open the paper to reveal a worn paperback copy of Pride & Prejudice. He flipped open the book and immediately saw handwritten notes covering the margins on nearly every page.

“I know you said you wanted to read it after I told you it was my favorite book, and I just thought…This is my copy. I’ve had it for years, and every time I reread it, I scribble more of my thoughts into it. I know it’s wrong to write in books, but I just love it so much and I wanted you to know why I love it, and I just thought this might be the best way for you to understand, well, me.” She was speaking so quickly she had not had time to breathe, and by the end she had to stop to gasp for breath.

She’d told him how sacred books were to her, and how rarely she actually told anyone why she cared about them so much, afraid that they wouldn’t understand and would judge her for it. She hoped he understood how important this gift was—that she was telling him that she trusted him with her innermost thoughts.

He was silent for a long moment, his fingers running almost reverently over the cover of the book, the broken spine, and the edges of the pages.

When he looked up, his eyes were glassy and shining with emotion.

“Thank you,” he breathed, “for trusting me with this, Hermione. This is the most incredible gift anyone has ever given me.”

She smiled back weakly, as he continued to look at her with an expression of determination mixed with…something else she couldn’t place.

“Do you have your journal with you?” He asked quietly.

Confused, she nodded her head before reaching into her bag to retrieve it.

With a nod, he reached for the coffee table and grabbed one of his new pens, before opening the first page of his journal and quickly writing a few words.

With a hesitant look on his face, he nodded at her. “Go ahead, read it.”

With shaking fingers, she opened her journal to see his words reflected on the first page.

I love you.

Hermione released a stuttering breath, tears prickling her eyes. She looked back at Draco and this time she understood the emotion on his face. Love. It was love. It was the same look she had on her face when she looked back at him.

Slowly, she reached out to take the pen from his hands, before writing her own message under his.

He looked down at his journal and watched the words appear.

I love you too.

They looked back at each other, twin smiles playing on their faces before they leaned in, kissing each other with a new passion and sense of security. As Draco slowly leaned her back into the couch, all Hermione could think was that this was the most incredible feeling she’d ever experienced, and she never wanted it to stop.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

February, 2002

Surprisingly, Pansy’s “Fuck ‘em” philosophy wasn’t just some general life rule, but rather a very detailed, multi-point plan to help Hermione rebuild her life out of the rubble she suddenly found herself trapped under.

Unsurprisingly, step one involved completely overhauling Hermione’s wardrobe.

There was a snide comment on the tip of Hermione’s tongue as Pansy dragged her back into her bedroom and positioned her in front of a full-length mirror, but before she even opened her mouth to voice it, Pansy spun around to face her and lifted a single finger on her left hand, demanding silence.

“Listen, Granger. I know you spent your formative years with your head shoved so far into a book it’s a miracle you didn’t choke on it, but fashion is not just some flighty indulgence we socialites use to burn a few thousand galleons. It’s armor.”

She took a few steps back and gestured to her frame, impeccably dressed in a fitted black turtleneck, cropped trousers, and finished with a patent leather belt and loafers. She reminded Hermione of an angrier Audrey Hepburn.

“Tell me what you think when you look at me.”

Hermione hesitated for a moment.

“I can take it, Granger. Go on.”

“I think you’re terrifying. I think that if you aren’t going to use your wand to hex me, you could hurt me just as much with what you have to say.” The words were rushed, and as soon as Hermione finished, she immediately regretted revealing so much. It was the truth, but she—and her magically enlarged teeth—already knew what Pansy was capable of when provoked.

Hermione braced for an explosion, but instead, Pansy just smiled that devious smile and replied, “Exactly.”

“I use fashion, makeup, the way I look to warn people not to even think about crossing me. And guess what? They don’t. When I walk into a room, people know exactly who I am. They know to be afraid. Because that is what I want them to know. None of this is by accident, Hermione.”

The more Pansy spoke, the more Hermione realized just how wrong she had been about her. Pansy had spent her entire adolescence desperately trying to avoid the fate her parents chose for her, and when she was forced to start from scratch, she built walls around herself to make sure it never happened again. She became the powerful one. The one that no one would ever think to cross. Hermione was impressed, even a bit jealous.

“So the question is,” she continued, “what do you want people to think when you walk into a room?”

Hermione thought about it. Really thought about it. And the truth was, she already knew. She’d always known. The question was, should she tell Pansy?

“Don’t try to lie, Granger. I can see it written all over your face.”

Fine, thought Hermione. What do I have to lose?

“I want people to respect me! Not as a member of the damn Golden Trio, but as me. I want them to know that I’m more than the clever muggleborn girl they like having around to prove how unbiased they are. I want people to know that I am fucking brilliant and could wipe the floor with them if I wanted. I want people to stop treating me like I’m some bookish nun who never has fun or breaks the rules! I had sex in the VIP section of a muggle club with Viktor Krum three weeks ago, for Merlin’s sake!”

Hermione slapped her hand over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say that.

Pansy’s eyes went wide, before she burst into laughter.

“Damn, Granger. Public sex with a famous Quidditch player? I think I might actually like you.”

The pair smiled at each other.

“Well, I think I know exactly where to start…”

Pansy immediately called for Rosie, sending the elf to Hermione’s flat with instructions to come back with every piece of clothing she could find.

It took her less than an hour to go through it all and, with a fair amount of classic Pansy jabs, declare almost all of it in need of being burned to ash. Hermione managed to salvage her favorite band t-shirts and muggle jeans, but only after insisting she’d only wear them when she was in her lab at Cambridge.

Over the next two weeks, while the ministry was closed for the holidays, Pansy set out to build Hermione a new wardrobe from scratch, bringing so many racks of clothing, shoes, accessories, and makeup into her room at the manor that she could barely navigate her way to the bed at night.

But she had to admit, by the end of the process Hermione was happy with her new look. Yes, she looked more polished, sophisticated, powerful, even sexy—but she felt like her, who she really was all along.

At the same time, Theo continued to help her navigate her constantly fluctuating emotions. He was always there as a shoulder to cry on, to distract her with hilarious stories of his various sexual escapades, and even to talk through some of her experimental potion research.

She’d given up asking him if he was sure she wasn’t imposing after the first five days, when he threatened to lock her in his father’s old room—which he was certain was haunted—if she mentioned it again.

After that, Hermione had given in, starting to accept that somehow, she may have accidentally found herself a group of real friends who truly cared about her. How odd.

Pansy, Luna, Blaise, Padma, and George all came and went, checking in on Hermione and helping to slowly bring her out of her daze.

After a week, she asked Theo if he would mind terribly going to her flat to check the mail, and he returned with a stack of letters from Harry, Ginny, Molly, and Ron, plus a request from Rita Skeeter to comment on a report that Ron had broken up with her after finding out that she never wanted to have children because they would “distract from her heartless career ambitions.”

She crumpled the parchment and chucked it straight into the fire.

She’d been too afraid to read the letters from Harry and the Weasleys, so she asked Theo and Blaise to do it instead, watching their faces intently as their expressions shifted from confusion to frustration to outright rage.

“The Weasel says he is ever so sorry you found out that way, he just wasn’t sure how else to tell you. The fucking coward. Aren’t you Gryffindors supposed to be brave?” Theo tossed the letter aside in disgust.

“Potter says you’re his best friend and he wants to talk to you and help in ‘whatever way he can.’ Yes, what a wonderful friend he’s been…” Blaise shook his head, moving on to the next.

“She-Weasel says she was shocked Ron ‘went and bollocksed up the holiday like that,’ and Molly says she loves you and asked if you’d be willing to come to The Burrow to meet with Daphne and Ron to ‘work it all out.’ Honestly Hermione, why the fuck were you ever friends with these tossers?” Theo had taken to folding each letter into a paper airplane and flying them directly into the fire.

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

Hermione and Theo both jumped, turning to Blaise in alarm. Hermione had never heard him so much as raise his voice. After Luna, he was the calmest person she had ever met.

“Boy wonder sent another one that just says ‘Come on, Hermione. Stop ignoring us and lets work this out. We’re your family, its selfish to shut us out.’ Did the multiple deaths give him brain damage? How dare he call you selfish. Selfish?! Hermione, would you mind terribly if curse out his tongue? Maybe his eyes too?” Blaise was seething, and Hermione couldn’t blame him.

“Do any of them ever admit that they knew about it?” She asked solemnly.

Blaise and Theo gave each other a significant look, before turning back to her and shaking their heads in tandem.

“Well,” Hermione smacked her hands against her thighs, “that’s that, then.”

That night, Theo slipped into her bed and held her while she sobbed.

Hermione was supposed to return to work the second week of January, but as the day loomed closer the thought of being in the same building where Ron and Harry worked, unable to avoid them if they wanted to corner her, became too overwhelming. She felt like a coward, but when Theo offered to tell their boss in the DoM that Hermione had had a breakthrough on her work finding a cure for lycanthropy (not entirely a lie, as Hermione had been spending much of her free time over the last few months researching and had a few not-so-terrible ideas) and that she would be holed up in her lab for several weeks, she quickly agreed to the plan.

After re-warding her office and lab at Cambridge to ensure that no unwanted guests could get in and connecting the floo directly to Theo’s, Hermione threw herself into what she did best: work.

She wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to have weeks of uninterrupted lab time without having to split her time at the Ministry—she was still Hermione Granger, after all.

She spent long hours at the lab actually searching for a breakthrough in her lycanthropy cure, and the thrill of experimenting, trying to find all the right pieces to put together the most complex puzzle she’d ever attempted, helped to remind her who she was, what she cared about, and that she may have lost a lot but she certainly didn’t lose everything.

In the evenings she returned to the Manor to drink wine and relax with Theo and, more often than not, Pansy, who, after Hermione told her about her work to remodel her parents’ home, had demanded that she help design and furnish it, lest Hermione “ruin a perfectly good home with your plebian taste.”

Pansy had been surprisingly supportive of Hermione’s general plan for the layout, and had taken over dealing with the magical contractors and vendors—who feared Pansy so much that the work was complete in half the estimated time. After a fair amount of cajoling, Pansy convinced Hermione to shell out a rather large chunk of her Order of Merlin money to pay for furnishings, before forcing Hermione out of the house under threat of hexing her blind if she tried to come back before her vision was complete.

And on the weekends…well, that was when they executed part two of Pansy’s plan.

The two witches, often accompanied by Luna and Padma, went out on the town. As soon as Pansy learned about Hermione’s romp with Viktor (and more importantly, that she was entirely unopposed to some casual sex) they embarked on a plan for Hermione to fuck the sadness out of her system—literally.

They stuck to muggle bars or members-only wizarding clubs to avoid any potential encounters with her former best friends, and it didn’t take long for Hermione to begin expanding her sexual appetites.

She had several enjoyable trysts with muggle men around London, including one memorable night in a secret room at the Tower of London with a member of the muggle royal family.

She let a gorgeous French witch blindfold her and tie her to a bed before spending several glorious hours dragging out Hermione’s pleasure until she was certain she had floated out of her body.

And then of course there was the handsome 40-year-old wizard who kept telling Hermione she was a “good girl.” She already knew that turned her on, but fuck was it nice to hear it again.

By the beginning of February, Hermione didn’t just feel like her old self again, she felt more like herself than she had in years.

Since fifth year, she thought, sneaking in and out of the Room of Requirement with Draco, working together to undermine Umbridge, and loving each other so completely it hurt.

She hadn’t told Theo, Pansy, or any of her other friends about Draco. She hadn’t ever told anyone about Draco, after his impassioned plea that she leave him behind that day at the ministry…

She was enjoying pleasant dreams of a certain couch in the Room of Requirement on a Saturday morning when a smack on the head from a deceptively heavy pillow tore her away just as things were getting interesting.

“Get up, Granger, you’re moving out.”

Hermione’s eyes flashed open and she sat up quickly, desperately scanning her brain to figure out what had happened to make her wear out her welcome.

“Damnit, Pansy!” Theo huffed before coming to sit on the edge of Hermione’s bed. “You are welcome to stay as long as you like, gorgeous. What she means is that your house is ready, if you’d like to go see it.”

“Surprise.” Pansy said with a small grin, but Hermione could see the genuine excitement in her eyes.

“It’s…done? How did you manage that so quickly?”

Pansy quirked her brow and said simply, “I’m a rather terrifying witch, you know.”

A broad smile spread across Hermione’s face and she couldn’t contain the squeal of delight that escaped her, even as Pansy threw her hands over her ears in disgust.

Theo began bouncing up and down on the bed and yanking Hermione’s arms. “Up, up, up! I can’t wait for you to see!”

After a quick shower and a change into her favorite muggle jeans and Eurythmics t-shirt (earning her a hefty eye roll from Pansy) Theo covered her eyes with his hands and walked her to the floo.

“Is this really necessary, Theo? It is my house after all.”

“Oh just humor me, Hermione, it’ll be fun!”

With that, the three of them stepped into the flames.

Hermione’s nerves began to catch up to her as she felt her feet hit carpet in the living room of her home, and she quickly blurted, “I reserve the right to change it, Pansy. And you can’t be mad.”

“Oh please, Granger, give me a little credit. Fine, you are free to throw any tantrum you’d like and turn the place into an all-beige monstrosity. But you won’t, because you’re going to love it.” Pansy sounded so sure, that Hermione relaxed a bit.

“Ready?” Theo asked quietly, hands still over her eyes.

Hermione nodded.

“One, two, three!”

Theo removed his hands and a chorus of voices yelled “WELCOME HOME!” while Hermione stood staring at the place she had lived for her entire life with awe.

Pansy and Theo joined Luna, Blaise, Padma, and George at the edge of the living room near the large breakfast bar connected to the kitchen, smiling and, in Luna’s case, dancing around waving small bundles of what looked to be weeds tied together with colorful ribbon.

But Hermione barely saw them. Pansy was wrong. Hermione didn’t love it, she adored it. It was perfect. More perfect than Hermione could have ever dreamed.

The home was decorated with a mixture of mid-century modern and classic pieces, with walls bursting with color and surfaces covered in books, pictures, and mementos.

Hermione’s books, pictures, and mementos…

Confused, Hermione turned to the group, and Blaise shrugged.

“We spent the morning moving your things over from your flat, we wanted it to be ready for you.” A serene smile played on his face, even while Luna continued to dance circles around him, hitting him repeatedly with her weed bouquet.

“This is…Pansy…I…its incredible. Thank you.” Hermione looked up, eyes shining with tears.

“And here you were doubting me,” the black-haired witch retorted, winking. “Come on, there’s much more to the house than just this room.”

Hermione spent the next half hour touring around her home slack jawed, unable to process what Pansy had been able to accomplish.

The kitchen where her mother had spent hours experimenting with—mostly failed, but always hilarious—baking projects had been extended, with new, state-of-the-art appliances built in, a copper range hood and farm sink, and enough shelf space to satisfy a professional chef, but the tile backsplash her parents had installed themselves when Hermione was eight remained intact.

Through the French doors was the greenhouse Hermione had originally planned, just five times the size, magically enlarged to include space to grow all her own vegetables, herbs, and rare ingredients for potions plus an enormous outdoor dining area and lounge. Beyond it, the back garden had been restored, and rimmed with bursts of colorful flowers.

Inside she now had her very own potions lab, an office that reminded her fondly of the Gryffindor common room, multiple guest rooms, a main suite complete with a bed to rival the one in Theo’s manor, an ensuite bathroom with an art deco-style vanity, luxury shower, and clawfoot tub so deep Hermione had to stifle a moan when she saw it, plus (of course) a closet nearly the same size as her old flat—filled to the brim with every piece of clothing Pansy had picked out for her.

Hermione had managed to keep a lid on her emotions through the tour, until Pansy led her back down the stairs and along the hallway to the final door.

“Prepare yourself, Granger. I’m in six-inch heels and have no plans to catch you if you pass out.”

From behind them, Theo, Blaise, and George all chuckled, Padma grinned, and Luna smiled serenely, unbothered by anything that had happened thus far.

With that, Pansy pushed open the door and led her into the large circular room. Hermione spun around, taking in the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covering the entire perimeter and already filled with books, the heavy, thick rugs and beautiful plush chairs big enough for Hermione to sleep in, and the colorful, dappled light coming through the stained-glass windows and ornate domed-glass ceiling. When Hermione finally saw the ladder attached to a track along the bookcases, she burst into tears and rushed Pansy, crushing her into a tight hug.

Off-put, Pansy stiffly patted Hermione’s head with her perfectly manicured hand before saying, “yes, yes, I’m amazing, I know.”

Hermione laughed and backed away, before pinning Pansy with a fierce gaze. “Thank you. I…I never thought it could be like this. It’s perfect. Thank you so much, Pansy.”

Pansy kept her air of aloofness, but Hermione could see the slight shimmer in her eye.

The moment was broken when, from behind them, George stage-whispered, “pay up, Theo. I told you she’d cry when she saw the books.”

Hermione turned around to see Theo smile indulgently at George before handing over a small satchel clinking with coins.

“Don’t give Pansy all the credit, gorgeous. We three manly men were the pack mules who brought over all your stuff.”

“Books, mostly,” teased Blaise. “I knew you liked your books, Granger, but I’m shocked the piles in your old place didn’t topple over and crush you to death.”

Padma smacked him playfully in the chest.

“Ignore them, Hermione. We were all thrilled to help.”

“Oh yes,” Luna chimed in, “I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to cleanse your new space. I’ve buried garlic and dried rosemary all along the garden, Hermione, it will keep out the nargles. Just make sure to replant it every crescent moon.”

Hermione smiled as Pansy walked over to her girlfriend and gave her a soft kiss on her cheek.

“I will, Luna.”

George clapped his hands together. “Now that’s settled, lets christen this house, shall we?”

For the next several hours, the group of friends drank wine and laughed, sharing stories from their lives and memories from their time at Hogwarts while drinking dry the case of wine Theo had stashed in the greenhouse.

“The look on that toad’s face when the first firework went off! I’ll never forget it. I thought she was going to explode right out of that monstrous pink sweater and cover us all in cat hair and frog guts!” Theo was leaning over George, grabbing his arm while the group laughed.

“It was truly inspired, Weasley. Almost Slytherin of you,” Blaise added.

George stood and gave an exaggerated bow. “Thank you thank you. Always an honor to have one’s hard work appreciated.”

Hermione smiled, feeling warm from the wine and the company surrounding her.

“I still don’t know how the two of you managed to keep all of those supplies hidden from Umbridge, George.” Padma shook her head in disbelief, leaning further into Blaise who had wrapped his arm around her waist.

“You certainly took runner up in best secret keeping at Hogwarts, mate,” Theo chimed in, not-so-subtly moving closer to George on their couch.

“Oi! Runner up? What do you mean ‘runner up,’ Nott? You think someone was better than Fred and me?”

“Of course.”

“Who?”

Together, Theo, Pansy, Blaise, and Luna all said in easy, unperturbed tones, “Hermione and Draco.”

Hermione choked on her wine.

“Ah, yeah,” George responded with a knowing nod of his head, “You’ve got me there.”

Padma was the only one who seemed mildly surprised, but she covered it quickly.

“Wh-wh-what are you talking about?” Hermione managed to splutter, between coughs.

“Oh come off it, Granger. We all know about your secret little love affair with Draco.” Pansy rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively while the others nodded, George included.

“What? I…who? How…Um…Did he? Draco? Tell? I…” She looked around, desperately reaching for an explanation or excuse. Theo, Blaise, and Pansy had known Draco their entire lives, maybe he’d told them? We’re they going to be angry with her for keeping this secret, especially these past few months as they’d grown so close?

Hermione’s heart started to pound. The fear must have shown in her eyes, because Theo reached across the table to grab Hermione’s hand reassuringly.

“Don’t panic, gorgeous. No one’s upset with you. Draco went on and on about you for years. ‘Did you see that Granger girl in Charms, Theo? How did she manage that spell so quickly? I’ll be in the library, I’ve got to find Granger, see what she’s on about…”

“Blaise, I swear Granger is staring at me. Did you see her? No, of course I’m not staring at her…” Blaise’s imitation of Draco’s drawl was uncanny.

“He didn’t speak to me for weeks after the thing with your teeth—sorry about that, by the way, though they do look much better now—and midway through fourth year he started disappearing at night and refused to tell us where he was going. And he yelled at all of us if we ever made fun of you, even hexed Adrien Pucey in the common room once. Wasn’t hard to figure it out.” Pansy shrugged while Theo and Blaise nodded.

“Testifying for him at his trial was a bit obvious, gorgeous. Though I’m guessing it went straight over boy wonder and the cheating twit’s heads,” added Theo.

Dumbstruck, Hermione’s eyes bounced between the Slytherins before landing on George.

“How did you…?” She began.

George smiled sadly. “Fred saw you two sneaking out of the Room of Requirement once. Refused to tell me anything until I agreed to take a Vow of Secrecy.” He shrugged. “He said you looked happy, and if anyone had earned the right to a little happiness, it was you—even if it was with ‘that blond git.’”

A single tear escaped from Hermione’s eye. Fred had known. He’d kept her secret.

“He was quite chuffed that you’d managed to turn the ferret into a blood traitor, though.” George smiled and Hermione let out a puff of laughter.

“Your auras were identical after the Yule Ball. I never understood why you kept it a secret, love is such a beautiful thing to share with the world…” Luna trailed off dreamily. Pansy ran a hand through her golden hair, sweeping it over her shoulder and trailing her fingers down Luna’s neck.

“I didn’t know,” Padma spoke up, “But I always thought you two argued in class a bit too much just to hate each other.”

The rest of the group nodded in agreement.

Hermione looked around for a moment. Had they been that obvious? Would Draco be upset that his friends knew? It didn’t matter now, she guessed.

“So…you’re not angry with me? For lying?”

Theo gave an easy laugh. “See, this is why you need to spend more time with Slytherins, gorgeous. You weren’t lying, you simply keep the information to yourself. We can all respect that.” He waved to Blaise and Pansy, who nodded.

Hermione looked back, still concerned.

Theo let out a sigh. “Hermione, do you hate Draco?”

“No!” She said immediately, possibly a bit too emphatically.

“Do you plan to hex him the next time you see him?” Blaise added.

“Of course not.”

“Well then there’s really nothing to discuss, is there?” Pansy said in that same matter-of-fact tone she always used to dismiss arguments she found unimportant.

Hermione looked around. The Slytherins were all as nonplussed as ever. Padma and George were smiling. Luna had stopped paying attention all together. With a sigh, Hermione let the weight of that secret float away.

“Well, no use keeping it a secret now, I suppose.”

Hermione emptied her wine glass to a series of “nope,” “definitely not,” “you’re not very good at it anyway,” “lying can attract dark forest sprites, you know,” and from Theo, “Is his cock as pretty as the rest of him? He always refused to show me, the prude.”

The whole group broke out in hysterical laughter, and a new kind of ease came over Hermione.

They knew. And they hadn’t cared. Hadn’t screamed or looked disgusted like Harry and Ron would have. Hadn’t been angry that she had kept it to herself. Had simply accepted it. Had accepted her.

As the sunset bathed the greenhouse in warm pink and gold light, Hermione looked around and realized that, maybe for the first time, she had found a group of real friends.

Chapter End Notes

There you have it! I hope you're enjoying reading Hermione's friendship with the Slytherins as much as I'm enjoying writing it. :)

Next week, we'll stick with Hermione's POV and will finally reach her first confrontations with Harry and Ron (and maybe a certain blond git might make an appearance as well...)

--

On another, far less enjoyable note, I couldn't really post this today without mentioning that it has been a truly, unimaginably awful few days here in the United States, and my heart is breaking as we enter what is going to be a terrifying new world. But there are things we can do. If you're in the US, go to vote.org to check your voter registration status or register to vote, and if you're outside of the US, I recommend donating at abortionfunds.org.

We're in this together.

xoxo,

Flames

Mad Woman

Chapter Notes

Happy Sunday, my lovelies!

So here’s the thing: I may have gone into a Dramione-induced fugue state and written a chapter that is almost double my normal length…But! But! There was just so much I wanted to get through and it didn’t feel right to break it up! So here we find ourselves. It’s a doozy, I hope you enjoy it...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Yule Ball, 4th Year

Draco couldn’t stop glancing at her. Ok, staring at her.

Since the moment she’d walked into the Great Hall on Viktor Krum’s arm, it seemed to Draco that a spotlight was glowing over her at all times and he was powerless to look away. He had barely even looked at Pansy—even though they were currently in the middle of a Viennese Waltz across the dance floor.

It wasn’t until Pansy moved her hand from his shoulder to the nape of his neck and tugged harshly on his hair that he was finally able to tear his eyes from her.

“Ow! Salazar’s rod, Pansy, what was that for?”

“Can you at least pretend you’re happy to be here with me? This is only going to work if people believe it, and you’ve been so busy staring at Hermione Granger that I could have swapped places with Crabbe and you wouldn’t have noticed.” Pansy’s voice dripped with annoyance, but Draco spotted the flash of fear in her eyes that they were going to be found out.

Draco shook his head to clear it and tried to focus on the witch in front of him.

“Sorry, Pans. It’s just that she drives me crazy! Look at her! These are wizarding dances, and yet somehow she knows them perfectly? Do you think she got McGonagall to give her special lessons? Probably sent away for books, the swot.” Once he began, Draco found that he wasn’t able to stop voicing the thoughts swirling around his head.

“And she’s here with Krum?! How did she manage that? Do you think she cursed him? Used the Imperious? Salazar, I bet she wouldn’t even get in trouble if she had, Moody would probably give her extra credit. You’d think she’d at least have a bit more loyalty to Potter…And that dress? Where did she get that dress? And her hair? Do you think she transfigured it? I think she may have cast some charm over the entire hall…”

Draco finally looked down at Pansy and realized the two weren’t even moving anymore. Pansy was standing across from him, arms crossed in front of her chest, tapping her foot impatiently.

“Are you done?” Her voice was bored.

Looking around, Draco finally remembered himself. They were in public, and his little rant had seemed to catch the attention of several couples around them. Draco Malfoy did not spend his time discussing Hermione Granger. Draco Malfoy never even thought about Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger didn’t matter.

Draco stepped back toward Pansy to resume the dance and whispered, “sorry. I just can’t stand her.”

Pansy snorted and rolled her eyes. “Ok, Draco. Sure…”

He had no idea what she meant.

Later in the evening, Draco was sitting at one of the round tables placed around the dance floor with Theo and Blaise while Pansy gossiped with friends near the refreshments, when that same golden glow caught his eye again.

Granger was marching toward the exit of the hall, perfect periwinkle dress billowing behind her, with Weasley, still wearing those ridiculous rags he called dress robes, following close behind. His face was nearly as red as his hair as he spoke quickly to her, and when she turned around to face him it looked like…was she crying?

She said something and then turned suddenly, running out of the hall and leaving the ginger idiot behind, tears rushing down her face.

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it. He didn’t even remember getting up. But suddenly, Draco was moving toward the doors, and when he saw Hermione running in the direction of the deserted second floor lavatory, he couldn’t stop himself from going after her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

February 2002

It was inevitable, Hermione knew that. She wouldn’t be able to hide out in her lab forever. She would have to return to the ministry, she would have to attend meetings in the DMLE, and she would have to talk to Harry…and Ron.

But that didn’t mean she was excited about it. It also meant that she needed a plan. And, to use Pansy’s words, the right armor.

Together with her newfound friends (who Theo had taken to calling Team Curls, much to Hermione’s dismay) they walked through her options before developing what she could only hope would be a fool proof way to reintroduce herself to the real world, show Harry, Ron and the others that she was not a fragile, broken mess, while also minimizing unwanted interactions with the people who had blown her old life to pieces.

After much debate—and a twenty-minute detour where Luna offered her alternative idea of leading a “spirit entwining” séance that she insisted would solve all of their problems and, in true Luna fashion, required everyone to be naked in a forest directly under the Orion constellation during a waning moon—they finalized the steps of the plan.

Step 1: Hermione’s first day back in the ministry would be the following Friday, so she could make an appearance during her weekly meeting in the DMLE but then escape to decompress over the weekend.

Step 2: She would arrive to the meeting three minutes late (the most tardiness Hermione would allow) to avoid being stopped by Ron or Harry beforehand.

Step 3: Hermione would leave the office thirty minutes early at the end of the day to avoid being cornered by gossip hounds as she left, and would go directly to the joke shop to hide out with George while the crowds dispersed.

Step 4: They would all meet for dinner at one of Blaise’s restaurants in Diagon to celebrate her success and, if necessary, help her get very, very drunk.

Come Friday morning, Hermione found herself calmer than she anticipated and actually looking forward to getting back to work at the DoM.

It may have had something to do with the outfit she’d chosen with Pansy, one that was certain to turn heads but not so different from her old clothes that, in Pansy’s words, “it would cause Rita Skeeter to spontaneously orgasm while imagining the headlines she would write about it.”

Looking at herself in the full-length mirrors affixed to one of the walls in her new walk-in closet, Hermione smirked in appreciation. She looked confident. She looked…sexy.

Her high waisted, wide legged suit pants were grey with a black shimmering pinstripe that made her seem much taller than her 5’4” frame. The matching waistcoat was fitted, hugging the curve of her breasts, and her white silk button up accentuated her golden skin—especially since she had left the top four buttons undone. She wore delicate gold earrings, necklaces and rings, bright red lipstick, and her hair was down, the curls flowing around her shoulders and down her back, adding a hint of wildness to her appearance.

With a final nod to herself, she slipped on her black pumps—outfitted with the strongest cushioning charms Hermione could find—and made her way downstairs. Halfway down the steps she heard the floo roar to life, and as she entered the living room she was met with Theo’s mischievous smile as he leaned against the hearth holding two to-go cups of coffee.

As Hermione came into full view, Theo’s eyes bulged and his expression turned to shock, before he whistled in her direction.

“Merlin, gorgeous. You look…well, gorgeous! Are you sure you don’t just want to run away with me? I have a penthouse in Barcelona, we could just live out our days eating tapas and drinking sangria by the beach.”

Hermione smiled and rolled her eyes. “Oh come on now, Theo. If we ran off, you’d always regret never finding out what it was like to, how did your phrase it, ‘climb Elias like a tree?’”

Theo looked up, a hand covering his heart. “Mmmm, yes, I suppose you’re right. I won’t be able to die happy until I find out if his abs are as lickable as they seem…”

With a wistful look, he continued, “well, I guess that means you’ll just have to knock ‘em dead with your beauty. Or your wand, if you’d prefer. I’m always happy to help you bury a body.”

He winked and handed her a coffee as Hermione stepped toward the floo. Theo wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Ready?”

She stared forward, a look of determination in her eyes. “Let’s do this.”

Together, they stepped into the green flames and then onto the shiny black floor of the ministry atrium.

This would be the first test. The floo network didn’t connect to the Department of Mysteries offices because of the security needed to maintain the secrecy of the work, so Hermione would have to walk through the atrium and take the lift all the way down to level 9.

With a final bump of his shoulder, Theo began walking forward, Hermione just a step behind and attempting a look of utter disinterest over the many heads turning her way.

She thought she heard a few people call out her name as they traversed the large space, curving around the central fountain and heading to the far wall containing the lifts, but she kept her head forward, pretending not to hear them. Luckily, a lift arrived at the same moment they made it to the doors, and the two stepped in before being surrounded by a group of mostly anonymous ministry workers. The only recognizable face was, unfortunately, Cormac McClaggen, who made no effort to hide the way he was staring up and down Hermione’s body, a lascivious smile spreading across his face.

“Godric, Hermione, look at you.” He bit his bottom lip in what she was sure he believed to be an enticing way, but that came off as an unpleasant combination of predatory and arrogant.

She kept her face as neutral as possible, praying they would reach his floor soon. “Hello, Cormac.”

“I heard you and Ron broke up, does that mean you’re looking for someone new? I’d certainly be willing to offer my services.” He cocked one of his brows and attempted to inch closer to Hermione in the crowded lift.

The lift stopped and nearly every other passenger left, but it appeared that luck was not on Hermione’s side this morning. Lovely.

Hermione attempted to affect a Pansy-worthy glare. “You’re right Cormac, I did end things with Ron,” at least Cormac, the biggest gossip in the ministry, can help get the message out that I was the one who cut things off, “but as to your offer, the answer is no.”

Undeterred, he continued, “Oh come now, Hermione, I can show you what a real man is…”

He took another step forward and reached a hand out to touch Hermione’s arm, but before he could, Theo cleared his throat.

“She is quite wonderful, isn’t she, McClaggen? Ruthless as well. Do you know that she’s just developed a new hex for the Aurors that can make you feel like you’re being boiled from the inside out? Quite effective in a close-quarters duel. Still a few kinks to work out though. Right now it only seems to work on men, and the spell keeps getting stuck just in the groin—and it goes on for days. A brutal thing to see, let me tell you. You should come down to the DoM later, we’re going to be testing it again this afternoon!”

By the time Theo finished, horror had taken over Cormac’s expression, and when Hermione chimed in with a “I think I’ve worked out how to stop the permanent charring on the skin,” Cormac stumbled as far back in the lift as possible and lowered both of his hands to cover his crotch.

The lift stopped then, and he rushed out with a mumbled “nice to see you, Hermione.”

Theo chuckled. “I don’t even think that was his floor.”

They both laughed as the only remaining occupant in the lift, an older woman wearing a badge from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, turned toward them and asked, “Did you really invent that spell?”

Hermione shook her head. “No ma’am, the DoM doesn’t create spells that torture those on the receiving end.”

As the lift slowed to a stop, the older woman quirked her head to the side before leaning in conspiratorially.

“Well, you should develop it anyway and use it on him.” She winked and stepped out as the doors closed.

Turning toward each other, Theo and Hermione stared open-mouthed for a moment before bursting into laughter. Maybe this day would be alright after all…

When the pair arrived at the tall, lacquered black doors that led into the DoM and made their way through the many levels of protective enchantments, Hermione finally relaxed. No one but the other Unspeakables could enter the DoM (the wards around the perimeter had been rebuilt and strengthened after Dumbledore’s Army and the Death Eaters had breached the department during her Fifth Year), so there was no danger of being found by Harry or Ron down here. Instead, she could actually focus on her work.

For the next several hours Hermione worked to finalize the details of the new tracking potion she’d created for the Aurors before her meeting in the DMLE, and pitched in to help Theo investigate a highly suspect pair of magical binoculars that a hag had been trying to sell in Knockturn Alley.

It was soothing to get back to work, the routine calming her nerves even as the minutes ticked down until it was time for her to head up to the DMLE offices and face her former best friends for the first time.

Former. The thought hit her like a blow to the stomach. As angry and devastated as Hermione was about what had happened, and how much she knew that letting Ron, Harry, Ginny and the others go was the right decision, it still caused her chest to tighten and tears to prick her eyes to remember all the years they’d had together, everything they’d done, all they had been through together, and realize that it was over. That the friendship she’d thought they had may never have been real in the first place.

When the clock finally read 2:58, Hermione took a deep breath, gathered the potions she’d need for her presentation, and poked her head across the hall to Theo’s office to let him know she was off.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come pull you out ten minutes before the meeting ends? I can just say that an experimental spell is going awry and we need your help.” Theo gave her a classic mischievous look, but his eyes betrayed his sincerity and concern.

Hermione smiled back and shook her head. “I can’t hide forever, Theo. Better to rip off the band-aid.”

“What’s a band-aid?”

Hermione smirked back at him, before squaring her shoulders and marching toward the doors.

You’re Hermione fucking Granger. It’s time to remind them what that means.

Just as they planned, the doors to the lift opened to the DMLE bullpen at exactly 3:03, and to Hermione’s relief, it didn’t appear that any of the Aurors were running late today.

She stepped onto the floor and began making her way toward the conference room when a glimpse of blonde hair caught the corner of her eye. It was at that moment that Hermione realized that, for all her planning, she had forgotten that Harry and Ron weren’t the only people she was sure to encounter up here. Daphne worked here too.

Sitting in a cubicle toward the front of the office, Daphne Greengrass sat, shiny blonde hair perfectly in place, stock still, staring at Hermione as she stepped out of the lift.

Hermione kept her head held high as she walked toward Daphne’s desk, which she would have to pass before making it to the conference room. Daphne’s eyes went wide and she made no effort to disguise the way she surveyed Hermione as she strode further into the office.

It only took seconds for Daphne’s face to harden into a look of smug defiance, but Hermione refused to let the witch win. If Daphne wanted to deal with Ron’s childish outbursts for the rest of her life, she could have at it.

Hermione plastered her best Pansy smirk onto her face, and without even looking at her as she passed, said in an unaffected tone, “Daphne,” before continuing on to the conference room.

With as much confidence as she could muster, she pulled open the spelled glass doors on the far end of the room, and pretended not to notice as every head turned her way. Tonks had already begun the meeting at the front of the room, and she gave a brief look of surprise as Hermione diligently avoided looking around for Harry and Ron’s faces.

“Apologies, got held up downstairs.” And with that, she took her seat at the far end of the table.

It took Tonks a beat longer before she recovered herself and continued the meeting, asking the Aurors to begin by providing updates on their latest cases.

She’d gotten over the first obstacle, and with that courage, Hermione finally let her eyes begin to drift around the table. More than a few Aurors—including Michael Corner and Seamus Finnegan—were staring hungrily, clearly taken aback by Hermione’s appearance. When Hermione’s eyes landed on Angelina Johnson, the witch silently mimed a whistle at Hermione before giving her a wink and approving nod, to which Hermione responded with an appreciative smirk of her own.

At that moment, Tonks’ yelled across the room, “Weasley! If you think ogling your colleagues is more important than giving an update on the illegal potions ring in Kent, feel free to pack up your things and get out of the office.”

Hermione quickly turned her head and was able to catch a glimpse of Ron staring at her, mouth agape and a mixture of fear and attraction on his face, before he spun around, shook his head clear, and stood up.

“Apologies, boss. We’ve begun making progress on tracing the restricted ingredients being used…”

Hermione tuned him out and took a moment to survey him. He looked more frazzled than normal—serves you right, Hermione thought—but otherwise, he seemed unchanged.

Still the same Ron that used to make her laugh at his stupid jokes. Still the same Ron who always ate all the minced pies at Christmas.

Still the same Ron who had cheated on her for two years.

She tried to look for a sign, something in his demeanor or on his face that she’d missed, something that would have warned her, but there was nothing.

With a shake of her head, she looked away and, finally, locked eyes with Harry.

Her heart lurched as she met his kind green eyes. The eyes of the boy she’d considered her best friend. Who she’d fought a war to protect.

He looked back at her, concern and relief warring on his face. She gave him small smile and nod in acknowledgement and to communicate that she was fine, before she turned back to the front of the room.

Ron had was finishing his update, and as he went to sit his eyes briefly caught hers, and a wave of anger captured Hermione. The emotion must have shown on her face, because Ron’s eyes went wide in terror before he quickly looked away.

Good. She smiled triumphantly to herself. You should be afraid of me.

Energized by that small victory, the rest of the meeting went by quickly, until it was finally time for Hermione’s presentation.

From the front of the room, Tonks waved for her to begin. This had been the part of the meeting Hermione was least worried about. Talking about her work was where she thrived.

“Thanks, Tonks.” She flicked her wand, and parchments flew to each Auror around the table.

“After the difficulties during the Mulciber raid last year—”

“Difficulties? The shite head nearly killed me with that cursed quill!” Seamus exclaimed to nods and winces from the other orders.

“Yes, exactly, thank you Seamus. I reviewed all of the after-action reports and discovered that one of the main points of weakness was that the team was only able to communicate with one another via your badges, and if anyone became incapacitated after you separated, there would be no way for the others to know about it until the raid was complete or an Auror stationed at basecamp was able to perform a sweep of the area.”

Nods of assent spurred her on.

“So, I developed this.” With another wave of her wand, a small potion vial floated from her bag to slowly rotate in the center of the conference table.

“This potion serves as a modified version of a tracking spell. Each member of the team will take it prior to the start of a raid, and it will allow those monitoring from basecamp to not only track your movements inside the conflict zone, but it will also alert if any member of the team has been injured, cursed, or otherwise incapacitated, thereby allowing the team leads to alert the others and provide immediate assistance. Thus preventing any future threats of death by quill.”

“Damn.” Seamus looked at the vial with appreciation.

“Well fucking done, Hermione,” said Angelina with pride.

“Brilliant, Hermione.” The words from Harry were tentative but impressed, a first attempt to close the gap between the two that had grown into a chasm since Christmas.

“This is fantastic, Hermione. It sure is good to have you back, we’ll use this when we raid the Kent house in two weeks,” Came Tonks’ heartfelt reply as she examined the parchment Hermione had provided with the details of the potion.

“Thank you. I’d like to be on hand at basecamp to monitor and provide any assistance needed with the potion.”

Tonks nodded. “I’ll send a memo to the DoM to have it approved.” With a final clap of her hands, she continued. “Alright everyone, that’s all for today, good work.”

As the Aurors began to gather their parchments and move to leave, she continued, “Hermione, can we speak in my office?”

Hermione nodded and moved to follow Tonks out the door, but Harry grabbed her arm to hold her back. From the corner of her eye she saw Ron look anxiously between the two, before scurrying out the door.

“Hermione, I…Come to my office after you’re done with Tonks? I need to talk to you. Please.” His eyes were pleading, clearly concerned that Hermione would refuse. But she’d already planned to speak to Harry today, and she nodded in confirmation before heading out the door and into Tonks’ office.

Tonks watched her with an assessing eye, but her expression was much softer than it had been as she led the meeting with the Aurors.

Ever since Tonks and Hermione met at Grimmauld Place during those first Order of the Phoenix meetings, Tonks had taken on a big sister role for Hermione, always around to offer advice, especially as Hermione began to navigate the world after the final battle.

She’d remained close with Tonks and Lupin, always loving the opportunity to dote on Teddy or sit down to a cup of tea with her favorite former professor. It had been Remus’s idea that Hermione complete an expedited potions mastery while finishing her healer training in order to achieve her dreams of researching and curing magical maladies, and Tonks had been the one to suggest that Hermione become an Unspeakable so the DoM could provide support for her work. She’d even used her role as Head Auror to advocate on Hermione’s behalf at the Ministry. Getting to work with Tonks was a large part of the reason Hermione agreed to serve as the DoM liaison to the DMLE, the other, of course, being her desire to be close to Ron and Harry.

Hermione settled into the comfortable chair across from Tonks’ desk, and watched as her hair changed from her normal bubblegum pink to a muted rose. Hermione knew that meant Tonks was preparing for a serious conversation, and she braced herself to have to recount the story of her disappearance to her old friend.

Tonks leaned forward, placing her elbows on her desk, and looked at Hermione with a small, knowing smile.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Hermione. We’ve missed you around here.”

“Thanks, Tonks. It’s nice to be back. All the time in my lab has been great, but it was definitely time to get back to my regular routine. I couldn’t hole up in Cambridge forever…”

Hermione trailed off as Tonks looked down at her desk.

“Look, Hermione. Harry and Ginny visited us at New Years and they told us what happened…”

Hermione braced herself, unwilling to break down in the middle of the DMLE.

“They told us about the breakup, and that Ron’s started seeing Daphne…I’m, well I’m just sorry and I want you to know that if you need someone to talk to, you can always come to me. Breakups are always shite, and watching the other person move on, especially so fast, is never fun. I’m glad you were able to take some time to work through it. How are you doing now?”

Hermione sat in stunned silence for a moment. So this is the game, huh? That’s the spin Ron and Harry have put on the story? Well, if this is how they want to play…fine.

Hiding as much of the brittle edge to her voice as she could, Hermione responded. “I’m fine, Tonks, really. I was the one who broke it off with Ron, and if he and Daphne are happy together, it’s certainly not my place to interfere.” Unlike them, she thought. “I took the time because I’ve never had the chance to have any time to myself since…well since I was eleven, honestly, and I just wanted to figure out what was actually important to me, you know? And I really was working in the lab. I think I may actually be on to something with my latest research…”

Tonks’ entire demeanor changed as Hermione finished speaking. An almost desperate interest shone in her eyes, and it seemed as if her muscles had all tightened. She was clearly trying to mask it, but Hermione had known the witch long enough that it was hard to miss.

Tonks took a deep breath and looked briefly toward the windows in her office that looked out onto the bullpen, almost as though she was checking for anyone who may be listening in.

“That’s actually what I wanted to speak to you about, Hermione. They said that you were researching a cure for lycanthropy? Is…is that true?”

Tonks’ last words came out as a hopeful whisper and Hermione’s heart ached for her friend. As much as Hermione was dedicated to finding a cure, this was far more personal for Tonks, who had been forced to watch her husband suffer from the pain of his monthly transformations, from the discrimination he still faced as a werewolf, and the looming threat of an early death caused by the strain of the transformations and the side effects of repeated use of the wolfsbane potion.

Hermione took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Tonks. Yes, I am focusing on developing a cure but right now it’s entirely theoretical. I think my hypotheses have promise, but, the development of a viable potion is going to take months or even years…and there isn’t any guarantee that what I come up with will actually work. I didn’t want to get your hopes up, or Remus’s, before I had anything concrete. I wish Theo hadn’t told everyone that was what I was doing…”

She shook her head, thinking that this news spreading around the Ministry was definitely not what she needed right now. If Rita Skeeter picked up on it, the media frenzy would be a nightmare…

“Hermione.” Tonks smiled and reached across her desk, her hand out for Hermione to take. “Any hope is better than nothing. No other researcher is working on this—anywhere. Everyone either writes off werewolves as not worthy of the attention, or they’re too afraid of the consequences to risk it. So, thank you. If there’s anyone that can solve this, it’s you.” She squeezed Hermione’s hand as Hermione smiled back, before considering her words and cocking her head to the side.

“What do you mean, ‘afraid of the consequences?’”

Tonks’ face turned serious.

“Greyback.”

A chill shot up Hermione’s spine. She hadn’t heard that name spoken in years. The memory of his foul breath at her neck, his whispered threats as he held her painfully in the Malfoy drawing room, and the feeling of one of his long nails sliding across the skin under her breasts, leaving a thin cut all the way across her ribs, slammed into Hermione so hard she became momentarily dizzy from the thought.

Tonks’ eyes flashed with pain, as if she too could see Hermione’s flashback.

“He’s still out there, and we know he’s spent the last few years working to rally the more extreme werewolves to his cause.”

“What cause?”

Tonks hesitated.

“He wants to take over, assert the dominance of werewolves over all other magical beings. He wants to hunt us for sport.”

“Hunt us?” Hermione’s blood ran cold. She remembered Greyback talking about how he preferred to kill prey when they were terrified, he said it made them taste better. A flash of Lavender’s lifeless body appeared behind her eyes.

Tonks nodded.

“He’s been jumping from place to place. Spent a lot of time in America, but reports show he’s back in Europe now, possibly coming back toward England. And he’s made sure that the message got out that anyone attempting to develop methods of subduing werewolves, or curing them, would be…” She stopped again, clearly uncomfortable.

“Would be what, Tonks?”

“Eliminated.”

Hermione let the words sink in for a moment before she huffed a laugh.

“Well, he already lost against me once, I’m certainly not going to let him intimidate me now.” She looked into Tonks’ eyes with a fierce determination.

“Hermione…” Tonks began, before Hermione put up a hand to stop her.

“Listen. He took enough from us, he took enough from me, during the war, I’m not going to let him frighten me anymore. And I’m certainly not going to stop my work because of some useless threat.”

Tonks smirked, her more playful nature returning as her hair once again shifted to a bright fuchsia. “See, this is why I’ve always liked you, Hermione. Never gonna let a bastard get you down, yeah?” She winked.

Hermione smirked back. “Exactly.”

“Let me give you an Auror detail at your lab. They can make sure the place is secure, check your wards, keep you safe.” Hermione was already shaking her head before she even finished.

“That’s not necessary, Tonks. I cast the wards myself, I trust them. And having Aurors lurking around the lab will just scare my assistants. I don’t need anyone feeling jumpy and making a mistake.”

Tonks sighed.

“Fine.” She resumed her serious face and pointed a finger at Hermione, “but if we get any more concrete reports or threats, we’re having this conversation again—and next time, I won’t let you off so easily, alright?”

Hermione gave a small smile and nodded. “Deal.”

“Good. Now get out of here, I have to intimidate the trainees, make sure they don’t get soft.”

Hermione chuckled as she walked out of the office, almost forgetting her next stop until the door snicked shut and her eyes fell across the room on Harry’s open office door.

Ron was nowhere in sight (hiding like a coward, typical), so Hermione squared her shoulders and crossed the bullpen before knocking on Harry’s door, stepping inside, and closing the door behind her.

She’d spent weeks thinking about this conversation, planning for every eventuality, and readying herself for whatever Harry had to say. After learning that Harry had not admitted to his knowledge of Ron’s cheating in his letters to her, Hermione had already decided that she would not confront him about it—not today, at least—and instead, would use this opportunity to learn exactly what Harry planned to admit, or not admit, on his own.

She barely caught a glimpse of his messy black hair before he shot across the room and slammed her into a hug.

“Oomph.” She stood frozen, hands trapped at her sides by his arms, before reluctantly raising them to loosely wrap around Harry’s back.

“Harry, you’re crushing me…”

“Oh gods, sorry, sorry.” He stepped back, releasing her, but still holding on to her upper arms.

A look of concern covered his face, but when he spoke his tone was almost accusing.

“Where have you been, Mione? We’ve been so worried! Are you okay? You haven’t been at your flat, there are new wards around your lab, you haven’t answered any of our letters…it’s been MONTHS, Hermione. I was terrified!” He shook her lightly, eyes wild.

Hermione did her best to view this interaction like she viewed her research, unemotionally and with a critical, investigative eye.

He’d asked her if she was ok.

But he also spent most of his speech talking about how her absence impacted him. Had that always been how he’d behaved? Before she had the chance to start sorting through her old memories, Harry shook her again.

“Hermione!”

She set aside her internal investigation. “I’m fine Harry. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

He released her and ran his fingers through his hair. “Where have you been?”

“I needed some time to myself, Harry. To work through what happened. Theo offered me a place to stay, I’ve been crashing there since Christmas.”

Harry’s eyes went wide. “Theo…Nott? Hermione! His father is one of the most notorious Death Eaters there is! He’s in Azkaban for life for killing muggles and muggleborns during the war! The only reason he didn’t get the kiss is because of the ban they instated after the war ended. You can’t stay with him, Hermione.” Harry was shaking his head almost violently.

“Theo is not his father, Harry.” Hermione said with fiery indignation. “He was a child, just like the rest of us, scared and trying to do whatever he had to do to survive. I certainly don’t blame him for that. He has been a good friend to me, even after I spent years brushing him off. You don’t have a right to judge him like that.”

In the back of her head, Hermione realized that her impassioned speech was not just for Theo, but the same one she had practiced for years to defend Draco if and when Harry and Ron found out about their relationship.

Harry, to his credit, looked chastened.

“You’re right, Mione. I’m sorry, I just want to protect you. But please, if you need a place to stay, come to Grimmauld with Ginny and I. We can figure this out together.”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m fine, Harry, really.”

Harry looked at her tentatively. “Are you? Fine, I mean?”

Hermione took a deep breath. “Christmas was…bad, Harry. I’ve had to spend a lot of time reevaluating my life, my choices…how I possibly could have missed what was going on…”

Her voice was thick, and she coughed to try and clear it.

“But I’m better now. Clearer. I’m rebuilding my life into something beautiful…something better than it was before.” As she repeated Pansy’s words from that day after Christmas, she realized how much she really believed it. She felt better. Stronger than she had in a long time, even standing here facing a person partially responsible for her pain.

Harry reached out, grabbed her hands, and squeezed.

“That’s good, Mione. I’m glad. I…”

He paused, and Hermione just looked back at him. This was his chance, she would let him take it. He took a step back and began to pace up and down the room.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione. What Ron did was awful. So, so awful. I…I can’t imagine how painful…If Ginny had done that to me…” He shook his head and looked away.

Hermione just looked back at him, waiting.

“I’m sorry we weren’t there for you, Mione. We all are. Ginny’s been absolutely distraught. Molly is beside herself. Everyone wants you to know that you’re still part of our family. You always will be. And we want to help. If you don’t want to talk to Ron right now, that’s ok. I’d understand completely. I was absolutely furious when I found out, I…”

Harry seemed to catch himself. “Well, we all were, of course. It only got worse after you left that night…We all let Ron have it. George even got some punches in. And he deserved it, Mione. Completely. He never, ever should have done what he did. And blurting that out at Christmas?! He’s made some stupid decisions in his life, but that was by far the worst. I can’t believe he did that, Mione. He should have told you, one-on-one. Had some damn courage…I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him for that.”

Hermione’s head was spinning. Harry was apologizing for…the way Ron told her? NOT the fact that he cheated on her? And what was that about how furious he was when he found out? Was Harry truly not going to tell her that he knew?

Harry was looking at her expectantly. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, unable to form words.

“I…don’t know what to say to that, Harry.”

Harry stepped back in front of her, capturing her in another hug. Into her shoulder, he said, “you don’t have to say anything, Mione. You’re allowed to be devastated, to be mad, to be…whatever you need to be.”

Hermione was momentarily caught in the comfort of Harry’s words, before he leaned back, looking her in the eyes.

“Just don’t shut us out, Mione, ok? Let us be there for you. I know how difficult things have been since your parents, and I don’t want you to feel like you don’t have someone to talk to, ok? None of us do. You and Ron, you’re my best friends. I know how badly he messed up, Mione. So does he. I’ll do whatever it takes for us to work through this, ok? However long it takes. I know we can work through this—get back to where we were.” With a small smirk, he continued, “We are the Golden Trio, after all.”

Harry looked at her with such concern, and such hope. She could see that Gryffindor determination burning in his eyes.

But Hermione felt like she was back in her dream, standing in the Department of Mysteries, the floor spinning so fast she felt like she’d fall off the earth.

She was reminded of George’s words when he told her the truth in Theo’s sitting room.

“He…broke down and told Harry that you were too fragile after your parents’ death and he was afraid that you’d do something reckless if he told you.”

She looked her first, best friend in the eye. “Do you think I’m fragile, Harry?”

He looked back at her in confusion. “Fragile? I…it’s not so much that you’re fragile, Hermione…I just know that you’ve been through a lot. Anyone would be fragile after all that!”

She looked back at him, and it was as if she was seeing him for the first time. Harry didn’t know her at all. She may have been hurt, she may have been knocked down, but she was never, ever fragile. And he didn’t even respect her enough to tell her the truth. That little bit of hope she’d been holding on to that maybe she’d gotten this whole thing wrong, that Harry just wanted to talk to her in person and reveal everything, slipped through her fingers.

But instead of crumbling, that same fire she’d felt after talking to George reignited in her belly. She didn’t need to feel badly about ignoring Harry. She didn’t need to worry about his feelings. She could just move on. It was freeing.

“Thank you, Harry. For everything you said. It means a lot to me.”

“Of course, Mione. I love you, you know that.”

She gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“I need to get back to the DoM. I’ll see you soon, Harry.” She turned on her heel and headed for the door.

“Wait! Let’s get drinks tonight? Just you and me? Or Ginny too, if you’d like! At the Leaky after work?”

With a hand on the door, she turned back. Eyes clear, she shook her head. “I can’t, Harry. I’ve got plans.”

And with that, she shut the door and walked back into the lifts.

As the golden grates closed, Hermione looked down at her watch and realized it was already fifteen past four, only a few minutes before she’d planned to leave to head to the joke shop. Quickly realizing she was far too angry to get anything else done that day, she rode the lift to the atrium, walked out of the Ministry exit into Diagon Alley, and marched straight into the shop, almost bowling over a child looking at a display of stuffed animals shaped like Pigmy Puffs, before slamming the door open to George’s office, causing the man himself to jump so high out of his chair he almost hit the ceiling.

The look on her face must have been ferocious, because George looked too afraid to speak.

“They’re still lying.”

After that, George’s eyes matched the anger in her own.

That night, Hermione let Blaise pour her shots of the most expensive muggle tequila she had ever tasted until she was almost drunk enough to forget the conversation with Harry.

Almost.

**

Over the next two weeks, Hermione adjusted to her new normal.

Thankfully, Cormac’s reputation as a gossip proved true, and the knowledge that it had been Hermione Granger who ended things with Ron Weasley spread through the Ministry and landed the ridiculous headline “Golden Girl Gives Weasley the Whack!” in the Daily Prophet.

The Monday after her conversation with Harry, Hermione exited the floo with Theo to find Ginny sitting on the fountain in the atrium, clearly waiting for her. Theo stayed by her side as Ginny ran to Hermione, hugged her, and more or less repeated Harry’s exact speech. She was sorry, she wanted to help, Hermione was still a part of the family, please don’t shut them out…

Hermione smiled placidly in response, thanked Ginny and conceded to her insistence that they hang out soon (with absolutely no intention to honor the promise) before using her good ol’ swotty reputation to tell Ginny that she had to go so she wasn’t late.

Theo shook his head in disgust as they walked away. “Would you mind terribly if I put a permanent frizzing charm on her hair, Granger? Make her look like a ginger Trelawny for the rest of her days…”

She laughed all the way to their offices at the DoM.

A few days later, she got double-hit by Weasleys at the Ministry.

Arthur caught her in the small café off the Atrium in the morning, pulling her into a loving hug and giving her the same line of apologies as Harry and Ginny. But this time, he added that he loved Hermione “like his own daughter,” and hated seeing her hurt. He reminded her again that she’d always be a part of the family, and nearly begged her to have tea with Molly at The Burrow.

By the time he left, Hermione was so overwhelmed with emotion from his fatherly concern—whether from reliving the loss of the Weasleys or her own parents—that she had to hide in the loo for twenty minutes while she cried.

Later, as she was alone in a lift heading to the records department, Percy entered and in the most Percy-like, overly formal but still heartfelt way, he apologized to Hermione, sputtering as he said “I could never, ever believe that a Weasley would be so cowardly, so…so underhanded…and to you, of all people, Hermione. I’m appalled at it all. Absolutely appalled.”

Remembering that Percy had no knowledge of Ron’s cheating, Hermione smiled and pulled Percy into a hug which he awkwardly reciprocated, before inviting him to drinks with her and George that night. As it turned out, after a few fire whiskeys, Percy was ready to expound upon several truly creative ways he’d devised to curse Ron for what he’d done—devious enough to shock even George.

Ron, on the other hand, had somehow managed to avoid Hermione entirely up until the day before the illegal potion ring raid in Kent. After a prep meeting at the DMLE, he snuck up on Hermione as she headed to the lifts, and pulled her into an unused evidence room before throwing up a silencing spell.

She stared at him, unwilling to be the one to break the ice.

“Mi – Hermione, how are you?” He asked nervously, fidgeting with the front of his robes.

She looked back coolly. “I’m fine, Ron. How are you? Still going strong with Daphne? I never did congratulate you…”

Ron winced.

“I’m sorry you found out that way, Hermione, truly.” He rushed out, in true Ron Weasley fashion.

She regarded him with as much disdain as she could muster.

“That’s what you’re sorry for?”

Ron scrambled. “No, well, obviously I’m…” He sighed, “Of course I’m sorry about all of it.” He waved his arms in front of him as if in explanation.

“I’d planned to tell you, of course, it just…it never seemed like the right time! I had been planning how to do it for so long, but then Christmas came around and it just felt like…well, it felt wrong to keep it a secret any longer.”

“How very brave of you, Ronald.”

She was needling him, she knew that. And like clockwork, Ron’s anger began to take hold.

“You broke up with me, Hermione! We didn’t work! You knew it! And after that, I just thought that…well, I didn’t think you’d care.”

As it turned out, Ron Weasley was still able to shock her.

“You didn’t think I’d care that you cheated on me for two years? That you were using me for the majority of our relationship?” She asked, dumfounded.

“Well you just always seemed so much more interested in work! Especially after your parents! I didn’t want to hurt you, Mione. Ever. I just thought…well I thought I’d wait and see, and if you got better I’d tell you and we’d figure it out.”

“We’d figure it out,” she repeated flatly.

“And now, Ron? What exactly do we need to ‘figure out?’”

Ron looked back toward the door, checking again that it was closed.

“Look, Mione. You and I both know that if word gets out about this, I’m not the one who will face the brunt of the gossip. Rita will spin stories about you. About how you’re too interested in your job, and how you never had the time for me…she’ll paint you as a woman scorned—” He waved up and down at Hermione’s appearance, “a calculating woman looking for revenge. And I don’t want that! I don’t want that for you, and I’m sure you don’t either, right?”

Hermione just stared at him, letting the words wash over her.

“And it wouldn’t be fair to Daphne, you know? She’s done nothing wrong here, and she doesn’t deserve to be dragged through the mud, not for this.”

Hermione was reeling. “What exactly are you asking me, Ron?”

“I just think…it would be best for all of us, especially you, if we kept the details to ourselves, you know? Daph and I agreed not to announce the engagement for a few months to avoid any unwanted attention for you. I know you don’t like having your life talked about in the papers, and I think it’s just best if we all move on. Quietly.”

Hermione wished she was surprised by his request. By his backhanded comments about her career, how she looked…his insistence that Daphne, who had known that Ron was in a relationship with Hermione, was innocent.

Just as it had happened with Harry, it seemed to Hermione that all of the sudden she could see Ron clearly, as if a filter had been removed from her eyes. She saw his calculation, his attempts to maneuver her into what he wanted, his utter disregard for her feelings.

Instead of tearing into him, Hermione decided to treat this moment as a Slytherin would. She plastered on an understanding smile and reached her hand out to pat Ron’s arm.

“Of course, Ron, you’re right. Best if we keep all of this to ourselves.”

Ron’s shoulders sagged in relief, but he moved to cover it quickly.

“I knew you’d agree, Mione! It’s time to move on from all of this. Like you said when we broke up, its best if we just go back to being friends, right?”

She looked at him, and using all her effort to keep her smile from turning into a sneer, she simply nodded and said, “yes, I agree.”

Ron pulled her into a brief hug, patting her on the back before turning around and waltzing out of the room.

She stood in the empty space for a moment after he was gone. Yes, she’d keep her mouth shut—for now. She’d be a snake, lying in wait until it was the perfect moment to strike…

The following day, Hermione waited with Tonks at the Auror basecamp just outside the perimeter of the home in Kent where the illegal potions ring was operating, watching carefully as the small dots of green light representing each Auror on the raid moved around different areas of the spelled maps laid out in front of her.

Everything was going smoothly so far, and there was only a tiny part of Hermione that wished the color of Ron and Harry’s dots would change, indicated they’d been hit with a curse, as she monitored them progressing through the house.

Instead, the only dot that changed was Angelina’s, when it turned a bright purple to indicate she’d been hit with a serious but non-lethal curse. Because of the warning, Tonks was able to alert the Auror closest to her, who quickly got Angelina out and to the medi-wizard on hand to be healed.

In the end, the team was able to take down the entire operation without additional incidents, and Hermione joined the Aurors in cataloguing all of the illegal dark potions and ingredients tucked away inside the house.

By 6pm Hermione was exhausted and covered in dust and an unfortunate amount of flobberworm guts thanks to Ron’s clumsy attempt at using a spell to catalogue multiple ingredient vials all at once, causing the container holding the flobberworms to explode directly above Hermione, Seamus, and Michael Corner.

She finally trudged out of the house and back toward basecamp to grab her things, intent on getting home and settling in for a good long bath, a glass or three of wine, and the new romance novel she’d ordered from Flourish & Blotts.

Tonks was directing a new team of Aurors who had just arrived to take over the remainder of the cleanup, but when she saw Hermione grabbing her things, she put a hand up, gesturing for her to wait a moment.

Once the team had been released, Tonks moved over to Hermione with a relieved smile on her face.

“You’re work today was exceptional, Hermione. Not that I expected any less. This potion is going to be a lifesaver for us—literally.”

Hermione gave a tired nod in thanks. “I’ll run some additional diagnostics to ensure that there are no potential issues with the formulation, and then I’ll set one of our potioneers in the DoM on brewing it in large quantities so it’s on hand whenever you need it.”

Tonks nodded appreciatively. “Excellent.”

Hermione turned to exit the tent.

“One more thing, Hermione.”

She paused and turned around, desperately hoping this would be a short conversation.

“We have a new Auror starting next week, transferring to us from MACUSA. Would you be able to come up and walk him through your role with us, how we work together, the potions you’ve created, all that?”

Hermione nodded, a bit confused. “Of course, Tonks. It’s my job, you don’t need to ask.”

It was then that Hermione’s fatigued brain finally took in Tonks’ demeanor. She was tense, a guarded look in her eyes.

“Is something wrong?”

Tonks quickly looked around the tent. It was mostly empty, but a few Aurors were still moving around, cataloguing evidence. She stepped closer to Hermione and lowered her voice.

“You have a right to know, Hermione. It’s Draco Malfoy. He’s the new Auror.”

A buzzing started in Hermione’s ears and her heart starting pounding an unrelenting tattoo beneath her ribs.

“I know what you must be thinking, but I assure you, I’ve spent weeks interviewing everyone he worked with at MACUSA and they all vouched for him. More than vouched for him—basically told me if I didn’t hire him I was a fool. He’s made quite a name for himself over there, hunted down a lot of dark wizards, captured dozens of the Death Eaters that escaped after the final battle. And he’s a wards expert, which is a hole on the team we desperately need filled. But I swear to you, Hermione, if I even get a whiff of any blood purist bullshit, he’s gone. Immediately. I’d like you to be the one to brief him as a test, to see how he reacts, but only if you’re comfortable with it, we can always find someone else—”

Hermione shook her head, unable to listen any longer.

“Tonks. He’s not a blood purist. He saved me during the war. I testified at his trial. You…you don’t need to worry about me, and I’m sure that Dra-, that Malfoy will be an excellent addition to the ranks. I’m happy to brief him. When does he start?”

Tonks released a relieved breath.

“That’s right, I forgot that you testified at his trial. Well even still, if he steps a toe out of line, you let me know, ok? His first day is next Wednesday, so if you could pop up that afternoon that would be perfect.”

Hermione nodded, a bit absently. Draco was coming back. Draco was coming back?! Her head was spinning, and she was doing her best to control the unbidden feelings of hope and desire coursing through her body at the thought.

“Anyway, thanks again for your work today. I’ll let you go, I’m sure you want to get home and clean up.” Tonks scrunched her nose, reminding Hermione that she was still covered in dried flobberworm slime.

As quickly as she could manage without causing a scene, Hermione made her way to the edge of the anti-apparition wards set around the raided home before turning immediately on the spot and apparating directly into her bedroom.

Her mind was racing, and any feeling of fatigue was long gone. She paced back and forth a few times, attempting to sort through all the thoughts practically screaming back at her inside her head. Hermione let out an exasperated sigh, bringing her hands up to cover her face, only to be reminded once again that she was filthy.

Instead of a long, hot bath, Hermione decided that the best course of action was to take a shower to clear her head. A very, very cold shower.

As soon as she stepped under the frigid spray, her brain was shocked back to life and she began, as she always did, to lay out what she knew.

Draco was coming back.

That must mean, at least in part, that he feels comfortable being seen in wizarding London. And clearly, if the Ministry was willing to hire him, he must know that much of the prejudice he feared he would face had dissipated.

Did that mean that the two of them had a chance to make it work together? Her heart squeezed at the thought.

No, of course not. When he left, he’d told Hermione to forget about him, to move on. And not only had she done that, but she’d almost immediately jumped into a relationship with one of the people Draco hated most in the world. There is no way he’d forgive her for that, and it was ridiculous to even assume that he’d still want her, even if she had never stopped wanting him. It’s been more than three years. Surely he’s moved on. In fact, he’s probably returning home to find an appropriate wife. Hell, maybe he’s coming back because he already found a woman to marry, and he wants to settle down at home…

But his last words to you were that he would always love you, her traitorous brain whispered back.

No. No no no. Hermione shook her head violently and began scrubbing her skin as though she could clean off the thoughts.

Just as she had after he had left her in that room at the Ministry, Hermione needed to lock her desire for Draco back into a box and throw away the key. There was no use in thinking about it, she’d only get hurt again.

Instead, she would focus on being professional. Being nice. Respecting his boundaries. Maybe that way they could friends…

Friends.

Hermione was now friends with Draco’s friends. His best friends. How was that going to work??

Did they know he was coming back? Surely Theo would have told her if he did, right? RIGHT?

Hermione suddenly realized that she’d been standing under the cold water for at least 30 minutes while her brain worked, and she was shivering violently.

She stepped out of the shower, toweled off, and cast a drying charm on her hair and a warming charm on her body, before changing into her favorite pair of black leggings and an oversized Letters To Cleo t-shirt.

She needed to set this aside, at least for a moment. She’d clear her head before talking to Theo tomorrow.

As she walked out of her closet, Hermione’s eyes focused on her bedroom, and for the first time since she arrived home, she realized that her bedframe was empty. The mattress had been removed, and a piece of parchment was floating in the air above where it should have been. Before she’d even reached it, she already knew who had written the note. There was only one person who would sneak into her house to steal her bed…

Hermione was fuming as she walked out of the floo and into the Manor carrying an overnight bag 15 minutes later.

“Theo! Where are you?” She toed off her shoes and began padding through the house toward the kitchen, yelling loud enough that she was sure Theo would hear her no matter where he was in the manor.

“Pansy confiscated my bed, Theo. That’s the word she used, ‘confiscated.’ Apparently some designer in Japan offered her their new beds for free as part of some collaboration, and instead of just taking them herself, she wants to put them in my house. MY HOUSE, Theo. And, instead of waiting for them to arrive, she went and got rid of my bed—without asking me! And not just my bed, Theo. ALL of the beds in my house. She’s a psychopath!”

Hermione heard a door open and then shut down the hall. Theo must have been in the potions lab.

She made her way around the large island in the center of the kitchen to the spot where Theo kept his white wine under cooling charms.

“So, I’m going to stay in the guest room tonight, if that’s ok? And I’m opening the good bottles! You will not believe the day I had before Pansy stole my beds, Theo. And you and I need to have a talk, because I swear if you knew about Draco coming back and didn’t tell me, I will hex your cock off. Gods…” Grabbing the bottle, she made her way to the cupboards housing the wine glasses as she listened to soft footsteps coming down the hallway.

It was at that point that Hermione realized that there was no way that Theo would have let her go on for that long without shouting a joke back at her…so whoever was walking toward her was definitely not Theo. Still facing away from the door with a wine bottle in her hand, she felt for her wand in the pocket of her leggings before huffing out a breath and running her fingers through her hair.

“I swear if I turn around and there really is a ghost in this house, I’m never coming back here again.”

There was a brief pause.

“Not a ghost.”

The wine bottle slipped from Hermione’s fingers and landed with a hard thud on the counter. There was no mistaking that voice, and Hermione had to grab the edge of the counter to steady herself as it felt like all of the blood in her body had suddenly rushed to her head.

So much for locking it away in a box, Hermione.

She would recognize that deep, aristocratic drawl anywhere. She heard it most nights in her dreams, but it had been more than three years since the real, velvety sound of it had washed over her. She realized immediately that there was no comparison for the real thing.

Desperate to regain control and avoid coming off as a fool unable to move on from a teenage romance, Hermione silently gathered herself before speaking again.

“I guess that depends on your definition of ‘ghost.’”

She heard the smile in his voice as he replied, “You’ve got me there, Granger.” Unbidden, a small smile spread across her face as she turned her head to the left, ready to face him. It was at that moment that the tattoo on her arm caught her attention, the words amor vincit omnia visible due to her short sleeve shirt. Faster than she ever had before, Hermione cast a nonverbal glamour to cover it before turning around with what she hoped was an unaffected look on her face.

“Hello, Draco.” Her eyes immediately captured his. Storm cloud grey meeting honey brown. She used all of her brain power to stay upright as her heart seemed to beat out of her chest.

He smiled, but his face betrayed nothing beyond that. “Hello, Hermione. Sorry about Pansy. To be fair, she’s always been a psychopath, even when we were toddlers. And no, Theo didn’t know I was returning until I showed up earlier today.” He gave a slight shrug and leaned into the door frame, crossing one foot over the other casually, as if this conversation, her presence, had no effect on him at all.

Hermione winced internally. Great, he’d heard her. This was off to a wonderful start.

She wished, as she so often had when they were younger, that she was able to imitate his unaffected air, but no matter how hard she had tried, she’d never been able to quite master it. In fact, it was taking all of her energy just to keep her jaw from hitting the floor as she surveyed him standing before her in perfectly tailored grey slacks and a deep blue cashmere sweater with the sleaves slightly pushed up.

My god. She thought. He’s a Greek god. How did he manage to get even more attractive? Did he get taller? His hair…Fuck.

Draco had always been one of the most gorgeous people Hermione had ever laid eyes on, but now…it was almost difficult to look at him straight on—as if he was her own personal sun. He’d grown into the sharp points of his features, his chiseled jaw now even more pronounced against the softer planes of his face, the pillowy softness of his full lips. His broad shoulders now led to perfectly toned arms and…were those tattoos?! The gaunt look that had haunted his face starting in sixth year was gone, and he seemed so much more at ease than he’d ever been before.

Trying to internally shake off the burning desire that had hit her the second she heard his voice, Hermione tried to focus on that ease. Yes, she was beyond heartbroken when he’d left, but she had never stopped loving him, had never stopped wanting him to be able to find peace. And it looked like he had.

“It’s good to see you.” She gave what she hoped was a kind smile, trying not to stare too long at his body or, fuck, his mouth. “And I didn’t mean…Tonks told me that you were joining the Auror department, but I didn’t realize that you were already back.”

He cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brows slightly. “Ah, yes. Well, I’m back.” He lifted his muscled arms to gesture to himself.

A silence stretched out between them, and as he looked back at Hermione with his intense storm cloud eyes, the mask of indifference he was wearing seemed to slip. His eyes grew more intense and she could almost feel the crackle of emotion like a thread between them. Afraid of where that could lead, Hermione tried to change the subject.

“Um, is Theo here? Sorry for just barging in, I didn’t mean to intrude…”

Draco shook his head, the momentary trance broken. “He sent a patronus a while ago. Said something about having a chance with…Elijah? And he’d either be home soon or not at all.”

They looked at each other and laughed quietly.

“Ah, Elias. Theo’s been after him for months.” She looked back at Draco, his posture stiff in the doorway. They couldn’t keep standing ten feet apart in the kitchen like this, it was getting ridiculous.

Just as she blurted, “Do you want some wine?” to ease the tension, Draco said “Can we talk?”

They both smiled, embarrassed.

“Yes to talking. I’d love to hear about what you’ve been up to.”

He nodded in return. “Yes to wine, then.”

Finally making progress, Hermione grabbed two glasses and followed Draco out of the kitchen, doing her level best (and utterly failing) not to stare at his perfect ass as he walked them into a sitting room in the back of the Manor with large windows overlooking the sprawling gardens behind the estate.

Blessedly, Draco sat in a chair on one side of a large coffee table, allowing Hermione to keep a substantial distance between them when she sat down on the couch opposite him.

She busied herself pouring the wine and floating a glass to Draco, her nerves rising to a fever pitch. For years, Draco was her favorite person to talk to, and their conversations had always been easy. But now…So many years had passed, and she wasn’t sure how to even begin a conversation with this Draco. This even more devastatingly attractive Draco.

Especially as she looked like an utter mess in old leggings and a holey t-shirt. My god, she wasn’t even wearing shoes.

With nothing left to delay the inevitable, she looked up, and once again found her eyes drawn to his like a magnet.

They looked at each other for a beat, and that old familiar desire, that untamable wanting, began to flood Hermione’s senses once again, heat pooling in her core. Draco was staring back at her intensely, and for a moment Hermione let herself believe she could see the same desire that had gripped her running across his face.

Thankfully, her brain had finally seemed to boot up, and warning alarms starting to ring in her head, cautioning her to pull herself together. Immediately.

In what she hoped was a normal voice, Hermione finally moved to break the ice.

“So, you were in America?”

Draco’s eyes furrowed, seemingly caught off guard.

“How did you –”

Fuck, he probably thinks I was stalking him…

She tried to cover it. “Tonks. She said that the new Auror starting in the department was transferring from America.”

His face softened. “Ah. Yes, I moved to New York a few weeks after my trial,” a pang of hurt hit Hermione at the memory, and Draco’s eyes widened briefly, as if he was recalling it as well. “I was able to get an apprenticeship with a senior Auror at MACUSA, and after I finished my training I was offered a place in the department and decided to stay.”

Hermione smiled. “I have to say, it’s hard for me to imagine you in New York City. All the noise and the people…seems like it would drive you crazy.”

He gave her a small, but genuine smile and leaned back in his chair, seemingly relaxing a bit. “It did, at first. It was so loud I could barely hear myself think. I learned how to use a Walkman so I could drown it out when I was outside my apartment.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up in shock and amusement. “You used a Walkman?! Draco Malfoy using a Walkman…” she shook her head in disbelief, “now that is something I would pay to see.”

“Hey, I’m not completely useless with muggle technology, you know. I was quite skilled at the telephone, if you recall!” He was teasing now, his silver eyes lighting up as he surveyed her.

She threw up her hands in surrender. “You’re right, you’re right! I’m so sorry for doubting your vast skills in the usage of muggle electronics.”

They looked back in each other’s eyes, both smiling widely now, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. They were talking like they had before, joking and easy. Gods, how she had missed this.

“So, you enjoyed it then? The city?”

He nodded. “I did, eventually.”

“And the Americans? What was that like.”

He made a sour face. “You get used to it. They’re just so…brash. The most self-confident people I have ever encountered. And the muggle government…forgive me, Hermione, but they’re—”

“A group of warmongering, puritanical zealots?” She quipped back.

Draco looked momentarily surprised before a smile grew on his face and he nodded. “Yes. Exactly that.”

“Was that what made you decide to come back? Sick of the cowboys and frontiersmen?” She tried to keep a joking tone to cover the fear that dripped from the question.

His eyes grew serious. He seemed to debate his answer before speaking. “No…I…It was just time to come home.”

What does that mean? Is he really back to find a wife and settle down?

“And you? You’re an Unspeakable? And you’re working with the DMLE?” There was a hint of confused sadness in his voice.

Recovering herself, Hermione shook her head. “Not exactly. I did an accelerated potions mastery while I completed my healer training, and I spend most of my time doing medical research in my lab at Cambridge. I contracted with the Department of Mysteries so they’d cover the costs of my research, and in exchange I spend part of my time there, mostly developing defensive spells and potions, or working with Theo to decommission dark artifacts.”

He smiled indulgently at her, and she was momentary lost in the curve of his mouth. “So Hermione Granger is going to cure the magical world of all of our maladies!” She snapped out of her reverie and rolled her eyes, but he continued. “I’m so happy for you, Hermione. I know how much that meant to you...”

His smile turned somber, and she knew he was remembering the same thing she was—that it had been her dream to discover the cures for magical illnesses because her parents had always wanted her to become a doctor who cured diseases.

Her smile faltered, and thankfully Draco continued, pushing them past the dark moment.

“And your work with the DMLE?”

“Yes, right. I took the DMLE liaison position so my spell work could be put to practical use and so I could spend more time with R—”

She paused, catching herself. Swallowing, Hermione tried to cover it with a new question to Draco, but when her eyes fell back on him, his body language had changed, tensed, and his eyes darkened, a look of anger and sadness filling them.

The sudden change caused Hermione to pause, realizing that she may have just reminded Draco that, even though he had been the one to leave her, her decision to date Ron was still tantamount to a betrayal. Deep down, there had always been a part of her that had known that her decision to finally say yes to dating Ron had been driven, at least in part, by an ugly desire to spite Draco.

But just as suddenly as it appeared, the anger bled from his face, his features shifting into concern and…care?

He leaned forward, setting his wine glass on the table and looking at Hermione intently.

“Hermione, I…” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, mussing it in a way that only served to make him look more attractive. The muscles in her stomach clenched at the sight of it.

“Theo told me. What…what happened with Weasley. And Potter.”

Her face fell, and she cast her eyes downward.

“Oh. I see.”

“Hermione, look at me. Please.” His voice took on the same quiet, comforting tone that had always made her feel so loved. Unable to stop herself, she did as he said. Gods, the way he was looking at her…she knew her face must be filled with longing, and she could feel the tears pricking the back of her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione. I want to expl—”

At that moment, Theo came crashing through the door to the sitting room, causing Draco and Hermione to jump back in their seats. At some point, both of them had leaned closer to the other, almost hanging over the coffee table that separated them.

“Honey, I’m homeeee!” Theo trilled in a sing-song voice, before his eyes fell on Hermione, and then went wide and darted back and forth between her and Draco.

The shock and surprise that crossed his face only lasted a blink before his signature lopsided grin appeared on his face.

“Gorgeous! I didn’t know you were coming over. I see you’ve already greeted our resurrected friend! No one’s hexed anyone in here, I take it?”

Theo’s grin was playful as he flopped into the chair next to Draco and shot a pouty look to Hermione, motioning for the wine bottle.

She conjured another glass and filled it.

“The only Slytherin I intend to hex is Pansy. She stole my beds, Theo. ALL of my beds.”

Hermione gave him a frustrated glare, but Theo only laughed in return.

“Honestly, I’m surprised it took her this long to pull a stunt like that. Remember when she decided that the sheets in the dorms didn’t have a high enough thread count so she stole all of them and lit them on fire?”

Draco smirked and shook his head at the memory.

“Merlin was Snape pissed. Made us sleep without sheets for a week before he let the elves back in to replace them…”

“When was this?” Hermione asked, concerned to find out that Pansy’s threats to light the things she didn’t approved of on fire were not empty ones…

Draco and Theo responded together. “Second year.”

“What?!”

Hermione looked between the two for a moment before all three of them dissolved into laughter.

When they’d finally recovered, Theo summoned a new bottle of wine from the kitchen and refilled their glasses.

“What happened with…Elliot?” Draco asked.

“Elias!” Hermione corrected.

Theo affected a look of desperation. “He has once again rebuffed me. But worry not, dear friends, it takes more than a few rejections to stop Theodore Nott! Isn’t that right, Hermione?”

Draco’s head snapped toward Hermione, a look of sharp fear filling his face. Hermione pretended not to notice.

“I didn’t realize your attempts to get me to be your friend were the same moves you used to try to get someone into bed, Theo. Should I be flattered or offended?”

“Beyond flattered, my dear. Far beyond flattered.”

Hermione rolled her eyes good naturedly as Theo sat up and clapped his hands together.

“Well! It’s Friday, my oldest and most handsome friend has returned from the lawless hellscape that is America,” he reached across the chairs and pinched Draco’s cheek, causing Draco to squirm. “I think this calls for a celebration! Shall I call Blaise and the bed thief herself? I assume you need a place to stay tonight as well, Gorgeous?”

Hermione nodded, but she wasn’t sure if she was quite ready to be in a room with Theo, Pansy, Blaise, and Draco all at the same time—especially when alcohol was involved.

Thankfully, it appeared that Merlin and Morgana had finally decided to throw Hermione a bone, in the shape of a silvery hare patronus that burst into the room at that very moment.

“Hermione, you need to come to the lab right away. The calculations for the…the special project…just completed and…you need to see the results. You need to see the results NOW.”

The voice was of one of her lab assistants at Cambridge, Embry, and she had never heard him sound so excited. Embry could barely manage a monotone most days. That must mean…

Hermione sprung up, vibrating with excitement.

“Shit, I need to go. Theo, is your floo still connected to my lab?”

Theo nodded, his eyes filled with curiosity as he asked in a far more serious tone than he had used the moment before, “was that about the cure? Did you actually find something?”

Hermione was already making her way toward the door. “It must be. I was running several theoretical arithmancy models on a formulation for a base potion that could be used as a delivery agent.”

Draco was watching her quietly, eyes darting between Hermione and Theo.

“Well get a move on then! The werewolves aren’t going to cure themselves!”

Hermione smiled before scrunching her nose. “By the way, thanks so much for spreading that around the ministry, Theo. Tonks has gotten it in her head that I need a protection detail to guard me from all of the ‘risks.’ She’ll probably task an Auror to watch me sleep, if I’m not careful.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “A tall, hot Auror all to yourself at night? What a hardship. Draco, you should sign up for that detail! Protect Curls here from the big bad rival scientists!”

He waggled his eyebrows before he yelped and doubled over as though he’d been kicked in the balls.

“Merlin, Hermione! Go for the face next time! Leave the precious cargo alone!”

Hermione smirked, replacing her wand in her waistband. “Looks like you forgot about that little spell I cooked up, huh? Serves you right!”

She twirled back around and opened the door to head toward the floo. Just before she crossed the threshold she turned back, catching Draco’s piercing silver eyes once more.

A soft smile spread across her face. “Welcome home, Draco.” He smiled back at her, that same warm emotion shining on his handsome face.

The last words she heard as she headed down the hall were from Theo.

“So, were you ever going to tell us about her?”

Chapter End Notes

He’s back! Finally! Now the real action begins... ;)

Also, let me assure you, a confrontation between Hermione / Harry / Ron will eventually take place in this fic. I’ve got a plan, I promise!

See you next week, when we get a look into Draco’s first few weeks back in London!

Also! I decided to make some social media accounts, you can now find me on Instagram and TikTok @twin_flame_blues. Will I post anything? Who know! I guess we'll find out together...

xoxo,

Flames

Style

Chapter Notes

Happy Sunday, everyone!

I'm still completely in shock that there are people out there reading this, so thank you again for coming back, and for all the comments and kudos! <3

After the flashback, this chapter picks up right where Chapter 6 ended, but now we're back in our favorite blond's POV :)

Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

September, 5th year

Draco was certain that the anger that had been rolling off Hermione today was so strong that the entire castle could feel it, not just him.

He’d tried to pull her into the broom closet on the third floor after Transfiguration to talk about whatever was bothering her, but she had stubbornly walked past him, shaking her head with fury in her eyes. Draco had racked his brain, trying to figure out if it was him that she was angry with—but they’d been together in the Room of Requirement the night before, and she’d seemed perfectly fine then…

They weren’t meant to meet tonight, but when he’d seen her across the Great Hall at dinner, staring at her plate like she wanted to set it on fire, he couldn’t take it anymore. He’d pulled out his journal and scrawled:

Meet me tonight at 8? I love you.

He attempted to hide the way he was staring at her, waiting for her response. It had taken a few moments before she’d noticed the faint glow coming from her bag, the indication that there was an unread message in her corresponding journal. She picked it up, quickly reading. Her eyes softened immediately, and she lifted them to lock with Draco’s. She gave the smallest of smiles and nodded, before immediately turning her attention back to her plate.

At 8 o’clock on the dot, the door to the room burst open and Hermione came barreling in, hardly looking at Draco as she threw down her bag and immediately began to pace in front of the fireplace, raking her hands through her hair.

“Unbelievable. It’s unbelievable. Unacceptable. How, how is this happening?! What am I going to do?!”

Draco stood slowly, moving closer to her with trepidation.

“Hermione, love, what’s wrong? Is it me? Did I do something?” His voice was quiet and filled with concern.

She must have sensed his fear, because she stopped pacing immediately and whipped her head toward him, her face shifting into shock.

“What? No! No, Draco. Merlin, did you think?” She sighed and walked toward him, placing her hands on his cheeks before running them up into his hair. “Gods, I’m sorry, Draco. I never meant to…I’m just so angry!”

He placed one hand on her hip, his fingers moving in soothing circles, while his other hand went to her hair, lightly massaging her scalp.

“Why are you angry?”

She groaned. “She’s torturing Harry, Draco. Literal, actual torture.”

Draco turned his head in confusion. “What? Who’s torturing him?”

“Umbridge!” Hermione stepped out of his embrace and began pacing again.

“Those detentions she gave him? She made him write lines with a charmed quill.” Her eyes were fierce, her mouth pinched into a tight line.

“Okay…”

“It’s charmed to use the writer’s blood as ink. Every line you write, it carves a copy directly onto your skin. She made him do it for hours, Draco. Hours! She’s insane! This is…I can’t…What do we…?”

Draco’s eyes had gone wide. “Salazar…I’d heard a rumor that her detentions were awful, but I had no idea…Gods. Is…” He swallowed back his distaste. “Is Potter ok?”

Hermione laughed humorlessly. “He refuses to go to Dumbledore. Refuses to tell McGonagall. At the rate he’s going, he’s going to have ‘I must not tell lies’ permanently branded on his hand…”

She put her head in her hands, shaking it slowly back and forth.

Finally, she looked up to face him.

“And it’s not just that. She’s spreading lies about Vold—” Seeing the look on Draco’s face, she caught herself. “You know who. And she won’t even teach us! How are we meant to pass our OWLs? How are we meant to defend ourselves?! She’s dooming us, she’s dooming all of us.”

Her voice broke, her shoulders sagging. Draco was moving in an instant.

“Hey, come here.” He wrapped her in a tight hug, pressing a lingering kiss on the top of her head. “We can figure this out.”

“How?” Her voice sounded so small.

Draco thought for a moment. “Well, she might not want to teach us anything, but that doesn’t mean we can’t teach ourselves.”

Hermione pulled back, looking at him with curiosity.

“What do you mean?”

“Granger, you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. You could learn the defensive spells and teach them to the others. Hell, Potter even knows some spells that could be useful. Get a group together, and everyone can learn together! Bonus, it would drive the toad mad.” His eyes shined with mirth as the signature Malfoy smirk spread across his face.

Her eyes darkened briefly as she smiled back, but the moment was broken when she suddenly shook her head. “She’d stop us. Immediately. Probably try to expel anyone who participated…”

“So, do it in secret.” He rubbed his hands up and down her back.

“And how exactly is a group of students supposed to learn defensive spells without attracting attention?”

He quirked a brow and affected a sarcastic tone. “Oh, I don’t know. If only the castle had a secret room that magically changes to meet your needs…” He looked down at her, brushing a curl out of her face.

Realization dawned on her. “Here?” She looked around the private, precious haven they had created for themselves. “Draco, I don’t want anyone else in here…”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss into her temple. “Not here, love. Ask the room to make you a training facility. Everyone can get in, but Umbridge won’t be able to find you.”

A slow smile spread across her face. “Brilliant! You’re brilliant Draco!” She leaped forward, kissing him hard. Her hands slid up his chest and shoulders to curl into his hair, and as his own arms banded around her waist he tilted her head back, lightly tracing his tongue along the seam of her lips, begging for entry.

She moaned and opened her mouth, his tongue pressing into hers in an unmistakable rhythm. She pushed him backward, deepening the kiss further as he fell into the couch, her knees draping over the sides of his legs, straddling him. Her hands began to roam over his chest, one wrapping around his tie and pulling hard. He was on his own exploration, one hand slowly inching under her skirt as the other untucked her shirt and plunged under, meeting the warm silky skin of her stomach.

She bucked her hips against him, causing them both to moan—but just as things were getting interesting, she pushed against his chest, pulling her mouth away.

Panting, she looked into his eyes with concern. “Draco, if I find a group of people who want to do this, what will you do? You couldn’t…could you join? You…you can’t, it would be too dangerous.” She looked crestfallen.

He smirked back at her, the hand under her skirt moving to squeeze the perfect roundness of her ass. She bit her lip and arched her back at the sensation.

“Granger. I don’t need to join the group, I’ve got you. And trust me, I’d much prefer for you to teach me, privately.”

With a wicked smile, he flipped them, pressing Hermione’s back into the couch. He moved his mouth to her neck, kissing and licking over her pulse point as she whimpered and writhed under him.

Moving his mouth to her ear, he breathed, “now, why don’t I give you a private lesson of your own?” He dropped his hips, grinding against her core.

Mewling, she grabbed his face, bringing it back toward her lips. “Yes, please…”

He smiled against her before once again getting lost in the intoxicating feel of her body.

**************************************************************************************************************************************

March 2002

She got more beautiful. How is it possible that she got more beautiful?

The second Draco had heard her voice from down the hall of Theo’s manor, that tone of righteous indignation he’d heard from her so many times before, he’d stopped being able to breathe. Her voice was his favorite sound in the whole world. He heard it in his dreams—more often than not repeating the pleas she’d given him in that room at the ministry, begging him to stay, or her screams on the floor of the Manor.

But this was real.

His body was moving before his mind could catch up, dragging him toward her like a moth to a flame. He was powerless to resist.

He’d stood in the doorway to the kitchen, watching her for a moment before she realized he was there, just drinking in her presence. She looked like her in those black leggings and muggle t-shirt, hair wild around her shoulders. Draco had breathed a silent sigh of relief. The years and the war and the heartbreak hadn’t been able to beat her down. Theo had said she was broken, but Draco could still see Hermione Granger, his Hermione Granger, who fought and clawed and never gave up. And on her left arm as she reached for a wine glass—was that a tattoo?

The question left his head when she turned around…

Draco had to occlude to keep himself from passing out.

That golden glow he always saw around her now seemed to emanate from within her body itself. Looking into her warm honey eyes again had been an almost spiritual experience. He’d felt like he was drowning in their depths, and he would welcome death gladly if this was how he was meant to go.

And then she’d spoken to him. Draco wasn’t sure if she would. He certainly didn’t think he deserved any ounce of her kindness after the way he’d left, and yet here she was, looking at him, smiling, and offering him a piece of her boundless grace.

Talking with her in the sitting room, laughing with her, had felt like finally waking up from a nightmare. Gods, he’d missed her. Missed this. It felt the same, the innate sense of rightness that flooded through him whenever they were together was still just as strong.

He’d been just about to admit to her…well, honestly, he wasn’t even sure, when Theo walked in and burst the bubble they’d been cocooned in. And in the least surprising news of the night, Hermione Granger was hard at work on a groundbreaking magical cure and didn’t have the time to sit around with the ex-boyfriend who had broken her heart just minutes after she’d saved him from Azkaban.

He was mesmerized by the smile she gave him as she went to leave, getting so lost in it that he forgot Theo was in the room and missed whatever he had just said to him.

“Huh?” Was as articulate a response as he could muster.

Theo sighed and rolled his eyes. “I said, were you ever going to tell us about her?”

Draco spun to face Theo, his eyes going wide momentarily before he could regain control of his features.

Before he could even begin to craft a response, a deflection, a…he wasn’t even sure what, Theo broke out into a wolfish smile and threw his head back in laughter.

“Honestly, Draco. This is your problem. I can see you trying to formulate the lie all over your face—it’s exactly how we all knew that you were sneaking around with Hermione at school. You really should have taken a page from Curls’ book; she was an absolute beast at pretending. No one who was paying attention to her would have ever suspected. You, on the other hand…”

Theo shook his head in amusement.

Draco worked to keep a blank look on his face while his mind was reeling. Theo had interrupted them right as Draco was finally feeling brave enough to start a conversation about the past—about the real reason he came back—with Hermione, and he had no idea how she would feel about his friends knowing about their secret. The way he’d left her…Draco was shocked she’d even been willing to talk to him at all, much less joke with him like they used to.

But sitting here now, watching that mischievous glint in Theo’s eyes, he felt caught in a way he was not prepared for. Theo was his oldest friend and he loved him like a brother, but betraying Hermione’s confidence was simply not an option. He had to talk to her first.

“You…what? What are you talking about, Theo? Who is ‘we’ and what exactly do you think you know?”

He was trying his best to affect that haughty, arrogant tone he had mastered so well in his younger years, but rather than look at all chastened by Draco’s response, Theo simply rolled his eyes, snorted, and refilled his wine glass.

He pinned Draco with the type of piercing stare only Theo Nott was capable of producing.

“Draco, she already knows that we know. We confronted her about it weeks ago.”

Draco’s eyes went wide.

“Confronted sounds too harsh. Informed her is more accurate. It actually seemed like it was a relief for her, to know that someone knew about it and she didn’t have to keep pretending, at least not in front of us.”

Draco’s mind was reeling. Hermione was relieved? What could that possibly mean?

“Found out that the Weasley twins knew as well. Luna, too, though is that really a surprise?” He leaned across the arm of his chair conspiratorially. “I think she really is a seer. Not like Trelawny. An actual, real, honest to Merlin psychic.” Theo shook his head. “Anyway, Padma knows as well. She suspected at school, but she was with us at Hermione’s house when it all came out.”

Draco finally snapped out of it.

“Luna…Padma…the…the fucking WEASLEYS?!? What the FUCK, Theo! Does everyone know?!”

Draco dropped his head into his hands.

Theo’s whole demeanor changed. He fixed Draco with a lethal look. His voice was quiet and far too calm as he spoke. “Draco, I love you, but if this little outburst is because you’re…ashamed of her, then you need to get the fuck out of my house. Right now.”

Draco reared back as if Theo had punched him.

“Ashamed? You…you think I’m ashamed of her? Are you fucking kidding me, Theo?!”

Draco shot to his feet and began pacing.

“I could never…would never…she…she’s perfect, Theo. Perfect. You’ve only really known her for a few weeks, but I’ve known every part of her for years. YEARS, Theo. She is the best thing that ever happened to me. The only good thing that I’ve ever had.” His voice caught.

“I’m not ashamed of her, Theo. I’m ashamed of me. I ran away three years ago because I couldn’t stand the idea of someone so good, so special, being tainted by everything I was. Everything I am. The thought of people finding out that she was with me…she’d be shunned, Theo. I couldn’t let her…it would have destroyed her life. Merlin, it still could. But after you told me about what that motherfucker did to her, I couldn’t just do nothing. I had to do something, Theo. Anything. The thought of her suffering like that…I couldn’t handle it.”

He finally stopped pacing and dropped back down in the chair, hunched over with his eyes closed.

Theo had been watching him pace, realization and understanding unfolding across his features.

“That’s the real reason you came back. For her.” He spoke the words quietly.

Draco simply nodded, unable to meet Theo’s eyes.

“Well fuck me, mate. I knew you cared about her, but I didn’t realize…Are you here to win her back?” His voice wasn’t accusatory, simply curious.

Draco sighed deeply. “I don’t know, Theo. I’ve been in love with her since I was 12. That’s never changed. But things are so different now. I can’t even begin to imagine how that would work. And I hurt her—badly. So many times. I would never even dare to dream that she’d ever take me back. But I can be her friend. I can help. Do what you and the others have already started, make sure she knows that the way Potter and that piece of ginger shit treated her isn’t a reflection on who she is or anything she’s done.”

Theo was silent, taking in all of Draco’s words. The seconds stretched on until he finally opened his mouth to speak.

“Alright. First of all, as far as I know, the only people that know the truth are me, Pansy, Blaise, Luna, Padma, and George. And trust me, George is angrier with his family than you are, so he won’t be saying a word to any of them.

Second, you need to get over this ‘woe is me’ bullshit. Yes, you made mistakes, Draco. So did a lot of people. But you were a kid, and everyone knows that you did what you did to save your family—Narcissa has really put her skills to use in ensuring that story made it to every corner of wizarding London. And most of fucking all, Hermione Granger is one of the most well-respected, sought after magical-medical researchers in the world—she just ran out of here because she had a breakthrough on a cure for lycanthropy for fuck sake! Quite arrogant, even for a Malfoy, to think you could somehow taint her.

Lastly, start dreaming because you’ve got a much better shot of getting her back than you think. I saw the two of you when I came in—you jumped apart like Snape had just caught you snogging behind a tapestry after curfew. I saw how you were looking at her—but I also saw how she was looking at you. If you’re serious about this, you definitely have a shot. But if you’re not, I will avada you myself if you get her hopes up and then crush her. Understand?”

Draco sat, stunned.

“You really think I have a chance?” The question was whispered, as if speaking too loudly might chase away the possibility.

Theo’s eyes softened. “Yeah mate, I do. Not all of us were constantly the center of attention at Hogwarts, you know. Some of us had time to sit back and watch. I watched the two of you. Even before you got together, it was clear to me that you two we’re meant for each other. You push each other, make each other better, sharper. You’re equals. She was never meant to be with Weasley. She needs someone she can fight with, debate, and so do you. Neither of you would ever truly be happy without that. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that you’re both sexy as fuck. The number of times I wanked to the thought of the two of you together…”

“Salazar, Theo! Enough!” Draco was shaking his head in disgust, but he wasn’t able to stop the smile from spreading across his face. Damn, he’d missed Theo too.

“Alright, enough of this somber heart to heart. It’s your first day back, it would be positively criminal not to celebrate by getting absolutely smashed. You go down to the cellar and get as many bottles as you can levitate, I’m going to floo call Pansy and Blaise.”

**

Draco wasn’t sure how it had happened. But it was now after midnight and he, Pansy, Blaise, and Theo we’re all sufficiently sloshed, falling back into the same old routine of ribbing each other with more and more outrageous memories from the past.

Pansy and Blaise had both taken the piss out of him about Hermione, and they’d both joined Theo in their threats to sic a hippogriff on him if he so much as harmed a hair on her head, but after that they’d just enjoyed each other’s company.

Draco most of all.

He’d had friends in New York, but none that he’d want to spend an entire night playing drinking games with, none that he’d feel comfortable actually being himself around. He found himself smiling, really smiling, and feeling like he was well and truly home.

The fire whiskey, and even some muggle bourbon thanks to Blaise, was flowing freely, and they were enough drinks into the night that Pansy had been able to convince them to play her favorite variation of “Catch the Galleon,” which involved all of them sitting on the floor around one of Theo’s very old, very expensive coffee tables, all using wandless, nonverbal magic to float a galleon toward shot glasses set up in front of each player. If another person was able to land the galleon in your glass, you were forced into a turn of truth or dare.

So far, Draco had learned far too much about Pansy and Luna’s sex life, and heard Theo admit that he thought he might be in love with George Weasley (there were far too many levels to that for Draco to unpack in his current inebriated state), while Blaise had remained steadfastly silent, far too clever to ever let the others get one over on him.

Draco was currently using all his remaining faculties to try and land the galleon in Blaise’s glass, and for a moment he convinced himself he was succeeding—until, all of the sudden, Theo, Pansy, and Blaise all nodded to each other and refocused on Draco, combining their magic to overpower him. It only took seconds for the galleon to plink into the glass directly in front of him.

All three of his friends whooped in victory.

Pansy got clumsily (or at least as clumsily as Pansy Parkinson could ever be) to her feet and threw out her arms to silence the protests of the others.

“Alright, alright, ladies’ choice, I believe!”

“Calling yourself a ‘lady’ now, Pans? Seems like a stretch to me.” Pansy stuck her tongue out at Theo. “See! My delicate sensibilities simply cannot abide your uncouth nature.”

“Shut up, Theodore.” Pansy turned the full force of her attention on Draco, who stared back, afraid but a little too inebriated to really care.

“Mr. Malfoy. I have heard tell that you, a proper pureblood heir, scion to the most powerful family in the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” Theo and Blaise both scoffed in protest, but Pansy ignored them, “have defiled your perfect alabaster skin with…tattoos.” She paused for dramatic effect, feigning shock.

Draco just smiled lazily back. “Yes, and?”

“Well, as the former future Mrs. Malfoy, I am quite interested to see what my former future husband has decided to permanently display on his body. So, strip off that sweater and give us a show!”

Draco sobered immediately. He wasn’t ashamed of his tattoos, quite the opposite actually, but the words on his forearm were beyond personal, and he had no desire to explain them to his drunken friends.

“Come now, Draco! Chop chop!” Pansy snapped her fingers in his direction. Blaise just leaned back against the couch, watching the back and forth. Theo was practically vibrating with excitement.

“I’m not stripping for you, Pansy.”

“Oh, come off it, mate, we just want you to take off your shirt. The woman didn’t ask you to show us your cock—though I certainly wouldn’t be opposed!” Theo waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Draco laughed, shaking his head at Theo’s playful flirting.

Not wanting to alert them that there may be a deeper reason for his hesitance—and banking on the alcohol stopping any detailed interrogations—Draco sighed and stood up, yanking his sweater and shirt over his head.

His three friends stared, eyes wide, for a moment, fully taking in the sleave of tattoos that began at his left wrist and carried up his arm, across his shoulder, and over his left pectoral.

Pansy regained herself first.

“Holy shit, Draco.”

All three got up and moved closer to him, inspecting the looping, intricate art.

Across most of his upper arm was an enormous, beautiful dragon, it’s tail swishing back and forth over his chest, with flames billowing from its mouth and trailing down his forearm. His tattoo for Hermione, amor vincit omnia, was written in delicate script within the flames, directly over the spot that used to show his Dark Mark. On the underside of his upper arm was a burst of narcissus flowers, and a complex series of runes representing repentence, healing, and forgiveness.

“The art is beautiful, mate. Was it done magically?” Blaise’s eyes were tracing the tail of the dragon as he spoke.

Draco nodded. “Mmhmm. There was an excellent artist in New York. He did all of it. Took a couple of years to get it right.”

Pansy hadn’t spoken, but took a step forward and reached out tentatively for his arm. He allowed her to take hold of it, twisting his forearm to see the inside, showing that the Dark Mark that used to mar his skin was no longer visible. Pansy’s face suddenly turned from awe to shock as she traced the section of the flames containing the Latin words, her eyes shooting to Draco with a look of confusion. He was about to ask her what was wrong when she seemed to recover herself, stepping back and dropping his arm.

“You know, Granger has tattoos as well.” She said, knowingly.

“Really?” Draco’s curiosity was piqued, and he remembered the glimpse of her arm he’d seen earlier that appeared to have ink on it—but it had been gone when she’d turned around to face him.

“Mmm.” Was Pansy’s only response. She walked away, grabbing her glass and downing it quickly.

Theo broke the tension of the moment. “Damn, mate, I bet the American witches loved seeing that under your clothes, didn’t they? Probably drives…what was her name…Calamity?...wild!”

“Charisma, Theo. For the last time, her name is Charisma.” Draco shook his head and began pulling his sweater back on. Before he’d even gotten his head through, Pansy spoke again.

“Well well well, Granger, have you come to infiltrate the snake pit?”

Draco yanked the sweater down inelegantly and spun around, spying Hermione leaning against the doorframe. Draco saw the hurt on her face disappear as quickly as it had formed, as she let a slow smirk take its place.

How long has she been standing there?

“Is this what Slytherins do when the rest of us aren’t around? Because I have to say, I’m a bit disappointed.”

Theo flopped back down on the sofa, throwing his arms out wide. “And what, pray tell, did you think went on when we snakes were hidden from prying eyes, gorgeous?”

Without missing a beat, Hermione replied in a dry tone, “orgies, mostly.”

Draco’s jaw dropped, but Theo, Blaise, and Pansy all broke into uproarious laughter.

“Trust me gorgeous, I’ve tried.”

“I wouldn’t have sex with any of these disgusting penis-owners if you paid me, Granger.” Pansy replied, a sour look on her face.

“Quite sexist to reduce us to our genitals, don’t you think, Pans?” Was Blaise’s casual reply. Pansy just shrugged.

“Well, what brings you to us at the witching hour on this fine evening, Granger?”

Hermione nearly growled. “You stole my beds, Pansy!”

Pansy fell back into the couch with a laugh. “Ah yes, I did do that!”

Hermione brought her hands to her face, rubbing her eyes. Draco noticed how exhausted she looked. Her hair was in a haphazard bun on top of her head, and she was wearing an oversized Cambridge sweatshirt over her leggings.

He realized he was still standing, unmoving, and staring at her. Scrambling to recover, he picked up the half empty bottle of fire whiskey.

“Have a drink with us?” He had tried to hide the hope in his voice, but from the way she looked back at him, he didn’t think he’d been successful.

She shook her head. “I’ve been staring at arithmancy proofs for the last seven hours, if I don’t close my eyes soon they’re going to start bleeding.”

Theo piped up from across the room. “How did it go? Any progress?”

A spark of excitement caught Hermione. “I think so…I need to run more tests.”

Theo clumsily lifted his glass, half the fire whiskey sloshing out and onto the carpet. “To Hermione Granger, the real savior of the magical world!”

Hermione gave an embarrassed smile and shook her head as all four of them raised their glasses toward her and shouted “hear, hear!”

She pushed off of the doorframe. “Alright, I’m heading to bed. Enjoy yourselves—and if anyone needs a healer to perform the antidote spell for alcohol poisoning, you know where to find me.”

Draco wanted to stop her. Or maybe he wanted to go with her. He just knew that he didn’t want to stop being in the same room as her.

But before he could formulate a plan, Pansy spoke. “Granger, wait!”

Hermione turned around, expectantly.

“You’ve got tattoos, yes?”

Hermione quirked her head to the side, clearly not expecting the question. So subtly Draco was sure he was the only one who noticed it, she grabbed the left sleeve of her sweatshirt with her fingers and pulled it securely around her wrist.

“I do. Why?”

“Did you have them done the magical or muggle way?”

“Muggle.”

Blaise’s eyes went wide and he broke in. “Didn’t that hurt?!”

Hermione made a knowing sound and responded simply: “not as much as getting the scars they’re covering did.”

Pansy’s eyes snapped to Draco’s momentarily, before swinging back to Hermione. “Why didn’t you get them done magically to avoid the pain?”

Hermione smiled almost wistfully and shrugged. “I wanted to feel it.”

With that, she turned and disappeared into the dark house.

Draco felt like a bomb had gone off in his chest.

**

The next few days were busy, as Draco began to settle back into life in England, but his conversation with Hermione—and her cryptic words about her unseen tattoos—played on a constant loop in his mind.

He thought about the look on her face when he’d admitted that he knew that Weasley had cheated on her as an asset manager from Gringotts walked him through the paperwork to officially take over as the Head of the House of Malfoy, including their many vaults inside the bank.

He thought about how beautiful she’d looked when she smiled at him in Theo’s sitting room as he walked through the penthouse apartment in SoHo, confirming that the property owned by the Malfoy estate would serve his needs as his new home.

He thought about the brief look of pain he’d caught on her face when she’d returned from her lab as he took dinner with Narcissa and told her repeatedly that he would be just fine in London and had no intentions of moving back into the Manor.

And he thought about the curve of her lips, the way her hair cascaded down her back, the fullness of her breasts, and the contours of her hips every night in bed, every morning in the shower, and even once while he was attempting to have a quiet cup of tea in his living room…

But all too quickly, Wednesday arrived, and Draco found himself standing in front of the hearth in his flat, trying to convince himself that he could grab the floo powder, call out for the Ministry atrium, and walk through the flames.

It was a good thing that Draco was always early, as it took him an extra twenty minutes to work up the courage to step into the flames and hold his head up as he was suddenly surrounded by the hustle and bustle that was morning at the Ministry.

He did his best to keep his head forward, ignoring any looks from passersby as he made his way to the lifts. This was the first time he’d been inside the building since the day of his trial, and he was trying hard not to let the memories of that day overwhelm him.

As he took each step toward the lifts in his shiny, custom-made dragon hide boots, it was impossible not to notice the looks—unfortunately, with his signature platinum hair, it was nearly impossible not to be recognized. Draco noticed a few looks of fear and shock, even one mother who grabbed her young son’s hand and took several steps back as Draco passed them, but to his surprise, no one yelled or spat or called him a Death Eater. He’d take that as a win.

He could restore his name. He would work hard and show them that he had become a good man fighting to make the wizarding world safer—that he was not his father, was not a blood supremacist, and had no interest in a high-profile life flaunting his wealth at society functions.

He stepped out of the lifts and into the DMLE bullpen. It was still early, many of the cubicles were empty, but before he could make his way toward the Head Auror’s office, a perfectly coiffed blonde head appeared to his left.

“Draco!” Daphne Greengrass wore the same smug, high society smile she had perfected by age 10 as she stepped out from her desk, placed her hands on Draco’s arms, and gave him two exaggerated air kisses in greeting.

Draco knew that she worked here, she had been the one who sent much of his ministry paperwork when his transfer had been confirmed, but it was taking every ounce of his pureblood etiquette training to stand in front of her and behave as if she had not played a central role in destroying Hermione’s life.

“It’s so wonderful to see you! I was so glad to hear you were coming home, I’m sure your mother is thrilled to have you back. And look at you, still the same Draco, those Americans didn’t destroy you with their nonsense. How have you been settling in? Will I be seeing you at the society events this summer?”

Channeling Narcissa, Draco pasted a fake smile on his face and kept his eyes neutral as he responded.

“It’s nice to see you too, Daph. It’s been far too long. And I hear you’ve had quite a bit of excitement in your life recently, isn’t that right?”

Daphne’s face faltered momentarily, but just like any good pureblood, she recovered quickly and gave a small giggle, patting Draco’s arm indulgently.

“Well, I suppose you’ve heard then! It’s true, I am seeing Ron Weasley—now don’t you make jokes! He’s grown into quite a lovely man. The three of us should get tea, I think you’d really take a liking to him, Draco.”

Draco spotted Tonks poke her head out of her office and give him a nod over Daphne’s shoulder. He turned back to the blonde witch in front of him and decided to go in for the kill, his expression changing from casual to knife sharp in an instant.

“Apologies, Daph, I need to get going—first day and all. And I’ll have to pass on tea. As lovely as I’m certain you find Ron Weasley, I’ve never been a fan of a cheater, myself. I suppose it’s quite good that you found each other, yeah?”

With a final smirk, Draco stepped around Daphne—whose face had turned ashen—and made his way into Tonks’ office.

“Auror Malfoy, welcome to the DMLE. Please have a seat.” The petite woman with shockingly pink hair somehow managed to look fiercely dangerous as she fixed Draco with a stare and pointed to a seat across from hers as she sat back down at her impressive desk.

Draco nodded in greeting. “Head Auror. Thank you again for the opportunity, I can assure you that I will work hard to live up to the high standards you’ve set for the Department.”

Tonks assessed him silently for a moment, before threading her hands together and placing her elbows on her desk.

“Cut the formality bullshit, cousin. I hired you because you have invaluable experience that we desperately need on our team, and because every single person I spoke to at MACUSA told me that I’d be dumber than a newt who willingly walked into a boiling cauldron if I didn’t. I’ve read all your court transcripts…”

Draco’s muscles clenched.

“And I believe that you are reformed. Your experience tracking and capturing Death Eaters in America speaks for itself. But allow me to be crystal clear: I’m watching you. If I get a single whiff of blood supremacy from you, you’re gone. Understood?”

Draco kept his features neutral as he responded.

“I understand, Head Auror. Let me assure you, I have not held the beliefs of my father in many, many years, and it is my intention to prove that to you through my actions going forward. I’m here to work, and to get other wizards like Lucius Malfoy off the streets.”

Tonks searched his face again before seemingly coming to a conclusion. She nodded and leaned back in her chair.

“Alright then. I’ve had copies of all of our open cases placed in your office, you can use the next few hours to get up to speed. You’ll meet with our DoM liaison this afternoon to be briefed on our procedures with the Unspeakables.” Draco’s heart started to pound. Hermione, he was going to see Hermione.

He hoped Tonks hadn’t been able to see the emotion written all over his face at the thought of her. Thankfully, she continued on.

“You’ll be paired with a temporary partner for your first few weeks. Potter will show you the ropes and assist with any training you may need.”

Draco clenched his jaw. He tried to remind himself that he was expecting for things like this to happen. There were bound to be tests like this until he was able to prove himself. He nodded stiffly.

“Do you have a problem with that, Malfoy?”

He shook his head and stood. “No, ma’am. No problem at all. Thank you again for the opportunity.”

She smirked, but not unkindly. “Good answer. You’re free to go, we’ll check in at the end of the day.”

Draco stepped out of the door and back into the bullpen, which was now humming with activity. Every head turned toward him, but he simply ignored them as he made his way toward the end of the floor where his office was located. He sneered internally as he saw, huddled two doors down, Potter, Weasley, and Daphne speaking in rapid whispers and staring directly at him.

Not wanting to give them the chance to make the first move, Draco continued past his office door and stopped directly in front of them. Turning on that pureblood charm once again, he kept his stance and his voice casual as he began.

“Potter, nice to see you again, you look well. I’m grateful that you’ve agreed to partner with me as I get up to speed. Might you be available to meet later this afternoon to go over our open cases?”

Daphne was staring at him with wide eyes. Weasley was barely containing his obvious anger, his face flaming as he gave Draco a look he was sure that Ron thought was lethal. Harry, on the other hand, simply seemed thrown off his guard, but didn’t appear to be considering challenging Draco to a duel.

“I…yes…well…fine, yes. Yes, I can meet later.”

Not wishing to give him more time to change his mind, Draco jumped in. “Wonderful. I’ll check with you later.”

Turning to head back to his office, he inclined his head toward Daphne and the ginger twit. With a silky, unnatural calmness to his voice, he gave a smile that just verged into danger and said, “Daphne. Weasley, lovely to see you as always,” before heading into his office and closing the door.

The next few hours went by quickly, with Draco fully engulfed in learning about the DMLE’s open cases and the procedures they used. He was deeply impressed by their investigative techniques, but jotted down notes where he felt that some of the methods from MACUSA could be helpful.

The number of fugitive Death Eater cases that remained open was too high, and Draco hoped that Tonks would agree to assign him to the taskforce working to bring them in. He was re-reading the huge file on Greyback, comparing it to his own work hunting him in America, when the alarm he had set with his wand went off, alerting him that his meeting with Hermione was starting in five minutes.

He'd been trying not to focus on it all day, but his excitement spiked again at the idea of seeing her.

He made his way toward one of the conference rooms, encased in spelled glass that prevented uninvited guests, fully silenced the room, and was charmed to stop anyone on the outside from reading the lips of those in the room.

Draco settled into a chair and tried to slow his heartrate, but those attempts all went out the window thirty seconds later when he saw Hermione appear a few meters in front of the door. She was dressed in black high waisted trousers cinched with a belt to accentuate her waist, with a white silk button up rolled at the sleeves and unbuttoned low enough for Draco to see just enough of her cleavage to require him to list old Quidditch stats in order to avoid embarrassment. Her hair had been thrown into a haphazard bun atop her head, and he smiled when he noticed that her wand had been shoved in it—it was exactly the same as how she wore it while studying with him in the Room of Requirement.

She spotted him in the room and an open, genuine smile spread across her face as she took a step in his direction, but before she made it across the room she was suddenly stopped by both Potter and Weasley. Potter reached out and grabbed her arm, making Draco tense. The two both spoke to her quickly, trying (unsuccessfully) to motion toward the conference room where Draco sat without being obvious about it. It only took a few seconds for Hermione to yank her arm out of Harry’s grip with a fierce look on her face before she said something that seemed to chasten them both. She turned and marched into the conference room looking murderous.

Draco stood as she entered, looking at her with concern. “Are you ok? What was that about?” He motioned his head toward Harry and Ron, who were now standing sentinel across the office from the conference room.

Hermione angrily crossed the table to Draco’s side and yanked the chair next to his out, sitting down with a huff.

“Nothing of importance, I can assure you.” She grumbled.

She ran her fingers over her face as Draco sat back down. Taking a deep breath, she turned toward him looking somber.

“I’m sorry—about them.”

Draco quirked one side of his mouth into a grin. “Don’t be. I can assure you, my level of interest in what The Chosen One and Ginger have to say about me has managed to drop even lower than at Hogwarts in recent weeks.”

Hermione huffed a laugh and turned her warm, honey brown eyes on him, an appreciative smile on her face. Looking down at the stack of parchment she had brought with her, she said quietly, “that’s funny, I’ve had quite the similar experience of late…”

She was keeping her voice light, but Draco could see the sadness making its way across her face. Without thinking, drawn to her by their closeness, he reached over and placed his hand on top of hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

He could have sworn that a bolt of lightning cracked through the room.

Her skin was warm and soft and fuck this was the first time he’d touched her in three years and the urge to twine his fingers with hers and never let go was so overwhelming Draco thought it might kill him.

Hermione’s breath hitched and her eyes snapped to Draco’s hand on hers at the same moment. She was staring so intently at their hands that it looked to Draco as if she was calculating a complex arithmancy proof in her head. Slowly, so slowly, she turned her hand so her palm faced up, her fingers wrapping around Draco’s larger hand. Her sharp inhale told Draco that she was feeling the same way he was, all at once electrically charged and also grounded in the feeling of rightness that touching her had always brought him.

“Hermione…” Draco’s voice came as nothing more than a low whisper, but her eyes tracked up to his all the same.

She looked bewildered, her chest rising and falling quickly with her shallow breathing. But as her eyes connected with his, a look of determination filled them. Her fingers squeezed his hand and Draco was sure that her body leaned closer to his as her eyes quickly darted down to his mouth. He moved forward minutely as well, his brain unable to focus on anything but the feeling of her skin and the fullness of her lips. Deep in the recesses of his mind, he knew that if she let him, he would take her on this table right now, it didn’t matter if the whole of the ministry was standing outside to watch. He felt as if the universe was drawing them together and he was powerless to stop it…

Bang!

A door slammed down the hall, and Hermione jumped back as if she’d been electrocuted, pushing her chair further away from him and pulling her hand out of his, placing it securely in her lap.

“I…I’m sorry. Don’t know what…”

“No, Hermione, it’s…”

She cleared her throat and straightened the papers in front of her. Turning back to Draco with what was clearly a fake smile, she shook her head. “Let’s get started, I need to get back to the DoM shortly…”

She didn’t look him in the eye for the rest of the hour.

Over the next two weeks, Draco began to settle back into life in England and his role at the DMLE. Potter proved to be less incompetent than he’d been at school, but any moment where Draco found himself appreciating his work was quickly swept away by the knowledge that Potter had betrayed Hermione—and somehow, for some reason, that deception didn’t seem to be bothering boy wonder at all.

Draco only saw Hermione at the Friday team meetings, and she studiously avoided giving him more than a glance before rushing back to the DoM. He thought about that moment in the conference room constantly, only to chastise himself for getting so hung up on holding her bloody hand like he was some hormonal twelve-year-old.

But she’d responded too. She’d leaned in. She’d looked …

Draco shook his head to clear it and focused on the proposal he was drafting to build out the new Death Eater taskforce that Tonks had approved him to lead. If he wanted a real chance with Hermione, he needed to get his emotions in check.

**

On Saturday, Draco found himself unwillingly walking toward an outdoor table at an upscale tea room in Diagon Alley, having been dragged here by the indominable force that was Narcissa Malfoy.

Draco had done his best to avoid Diagon since returning to London. He knew that at least some of the animosity toward him had died down, but he felt it was best to keep a low profile to avoid any unwanted attention. As he followed his mother toward the table, Draco’s eyes scanned the crowded alley, teaming with shoppers and families out enjoying the unseasonably warm day. He chose a seat against the wall of the shop, facing toward the main thoroughfare, driven both by his Auror instincts to reduce the opportunities for a sneak attack and his paranoia that someone in the crowd might take an opportunity to dole out some of their own punishment to the two Malfoys who had managed to avoid life sentences in Azkaban.

“Mother, are you sure this is a good idea?” He said quietly, eyes still scanning the passersby.

Narcissa waved her hand and rolled her eyes in the most aristocratic way Draco had ever seen. “Please, Draco. Give me a little more credit. I have spent the last three years restoring our name and ensuring that all of wizarding London knows that you and I do not hold the vile beliefs of your father.” Her eyes clouded briefly at the mention of him.

She looked toward Draco and her eyes cleared. Reaching across the table to take his hand in both of hers, she continued. “And you, my love, have spent the last three years becoming a decorated Auror, known for capturing fugitive Death Eaters. I assure you, your fears are unfounded.” She squeezed his fingers before placing a kiss on the top of his hand. “You’re only twenty-two years old, Draco. I won’t let you spend the rest of your life in hiding.”

The comfort of his mother’s words calmed him, and he managed to relax into his chair as she launched into a detailed monologue about all of the goings on in wizarding society of late. Draco was only half paying attention to the gossip about who had worn the wrong dress to a gala and was now being shunned and who was marrying whom, but his ears perked up when his mother mentioned that the Greengrass family had fallen out of favor, and that for some reason Daphne Greengrass was unable to find a single designer in England who was willing to make her dresses for the season.

Draco looked at Narcissa, who was wearing a small but noticeably sly smile. He smiled in return, knowing that Daphne’s sudden loss of access had been his mother’s doing—she loved Hermione like a daughter, and when you cross Narcissa Malfoy’s family, you will endure her wrath.

Draco was reaching to refill his teacup when he saw her. All wild brown curls and red lips, walking down the alley with a Flourish & Blotts bag in her hand. Clearly, he had done a poor job of hiding his expression, because before he could look away, Narcissa had turned as well, spotting Hermione as she unknowingly made her way toward them.

“Hermione!” Narcissa got up from her chair and stepped toward the witch, a warm smile on her face. Hearing her name, Hermione turned and looked momentarily concerned, her eyes bouncing between Narcissa and Draco, before turning warm as Narcissa beckoned her forward.

“Oh, my dear, I’ve missed you!” Without pausing, Narcissa gathered Hermione in a hug.

Hermione stood frozen for a moment, before Narcissa turned her head and whispered something into her ear that Draco couldn’t make out. Hermione’s eyes became glassy, and she reached around to grasp Narcissa back, relief radiating from her frame.

Hermione’s eyes fell on Draco. The emotion in her face, the sight of her with his mother, was almost too much to bear. He simply stared back into her eyes, feeling the same emotions reflected on his face.

Pulling back, Narcissa grabbed both of Hermione’s hands.

“Join us for tea.” She motioned toward the table.

“Oh, I…” Hermione looked unsure, nervously glancing at Draco and then back to Narcissa. “I don’t want to intrude on your day.”

In the way that only Narcissa Malfoy could, she simply gave Hermione a sharp look, placed a hand on her forearm and another around her back, and led her toward the table. Draco stood and pulled out a chair for her as she took a seat, looking confused at how she got there.

Narcissa immediately waved her wand to fill Hermione’s teacup, doctoring it in the way that Hermione loved—causing the witch’s eyes to go wide briefly, before she smiled up at Narcissa at her memory.

“Well Hermione, Draco has told me that you are not only the most skilled Unspeakable that the Ministry has ever seen, but that you are also well on your way toward curing us of all of our illnesses. I, for one, am not surprised in the least.”

Hermione turned toward Draco, her eyebrow quirking in amused surprise. Draco simply shrugged and looked back at his mother.

Smiling, Hermione turned back. “I assure you, that is overestimating my capabilities, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Now Hermione, I believe we have had this discussion more times than I can count. It’s Narcissa, and you know it.” Her tone was chastising, but her face was open and filled with kindness.

Hermione smiled bashfully. “Apologies, Narcissa.”

His mother nodded. “Much better. Now tell me, my dear, I hear that you’ve become quite close with Mr. Nott, Mr. Zabini, and Ms. Parkinson, is that so? How do you find their company? Are any of them in need of a stern reminder of how one behaves in the modern world?”

Hermione huffed a laugh as she took a sip of her tea. Draco smiled in return, taking in the moment. How surreal after all of these years to be sitting in public with Hermione, laughing as his mother teased them. Draco was momentarily lost in the way his heart ached, realizing how much he had wished for this.

“I can assure you, they’ve been nothing but kind. Well, Pansy’s a bit terrifying, but I’d much rather have her on my side than the other way around.”

Draco managed to get control of his emotions enough to respond, a knowing smirk crossing his face. “You’re right about that, trust me.”

“Yes, Ms. Parkinson’s reputation quite precedes her. She is a formidable friend to have,” Narcissa’s eyes softened, “I’m very happy to hear that the two of you have grown close.”

Hermione began to smile in return, before her face fell and fear took over her features. She was looking over Narcissa’s head down the alley, and when Draco tracked her gaze, he immediately saw what had concerned her: Walking in their direction, smiling and chatting, were none other than Daphne Greengrass and Molly Weasley.

Narcissa inconspicuously turned her head as well, her eyes landing back on Draco and shining with rage.

“I’m so sorry, I need to get going, I’ve got to…” Hermione was beginning to push her chair back, keen to escape. But before she could get up, Narcissa grabbed her arm, pinning her with a look only a mother intent on protecting her child could muster.

Looking straight into Hermione’s honey eyes, she spoke. “You do not need to go anywhere. You, my dear, are Hermione Granger. No one, no one, dictates what you do. Ever. Do you understand me?”

Clearly taken aback by the fierceness of Narcissa’s tone, Hermione simply nodded and attempted to set her face into a neutral expression. Draco had stopped even attempting to do anything but stare back at her with protective concern.

“I, for one, am rather keen to see if Ms. Greengrass’s eyes are capable of actually popping out of her head at this little scene.”

Narcissa smirked, but Hermione barked a loud laugh, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. Draco smiled at the sight, then turned back to Narcissa with an appreciative nod of the head.

It was at that moment that Draco noticed that Daphne had stopped walking, and was instead staring in the direction of their table. Molly paused, looking at her with concern, before turning her head and spotting the three of them. Her eyes went wide and she rushed forward, Daphne trailing behind.

“Hermione! Dear! My goodness, I’ve been trying to contact you for weeks! Have you not received my owls?”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond. “Hello Molly, I…” Her voice was tentative, and Molly Weasley plowed over it.

“Can we chat now? We can head back to The Burrow? Or to your flat, if you’d prefer?” Her gaze seemed to finally travel around the table, taking in Hermione’s company. Her face fell in shock, and her voice took on a serious, reprimanding tone. “What are you doing with…”

And that was as far as Narcissa Malfoy allowed her to get, before turning the full force of her years making or breaking the social lives of the wizarding elite onto the older witch.

A slow, brilliant smile spread across his mother’s face. “Molly, it’s so lovely to see you. You look well! I’ve heard that you’ve had quite the happy news recently! I’m sure you’re positively thrilled to welcome Ms. Greengrass into your family.”

Her words were like velvet, smooth and decadent. Narcissa had refined them over years to disguise the knife, sharpened and lethal, that lie beneath.

Daphne’s face had gone whiter than a sheet. Molly hadn’t clocked the same number of hours at society functions, so she didn’t realize the battle she had just walked into.

“I…yes, well, we…” She placed a hand on Daphne’s arm, but her eyes were locked on the beautiful witch to Draco’s right. “What are you doing here, Hermione? Come with me, let me take you home.” Her words were half pleading.

Before Hermione had even opened her mouth to reply, Narcissa laughed, placing a soft hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “Oh Molly, let’s not be rash! I’ve had the pleasure of Ms. Granger’s acquaintance for many years now and we were just in the middle of catching up. I must say, my son and I are both honored to count such a talented, honorable woman as a friend. Isn’t that right, Draco.”

With a smirk to rival the best politician, Draco casually placed his hand on the back of Hermione’s chair and in his most confident, aristocratic drawl, responded. “Oh yes, mother. She’s the most singularly brilliant witch I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.” He turned toward Hermione and winked, amused as her eyes went briefly wide.

Both Molly and Daphne were staring, eyes bouncing between Narcissa, Draco, and Hermione as if trying to put together a puzzle with only half the pieces.

“Quite right, my love! A most formidable witch. She is entirely unmatched. Wouldn’t you agree, Molly?” Narcissa moved her hand down Hermione’s arm to squeeze her hand.

Turning back toward the entirely befuddled Molly Weasley, Narcissa stood up. “Well, it’s been wonderful to see you both. I’m sure you’ve quite the busy day ahead of you! Shopping for the wedding, I’m sure? I wish you well, Daphne. I can’t wait to see the dress you choose, there are so many wonderful designers in London!”

Narcissa leaned in, kissing both witches on their cheeks, a smile so sharp on her face that Draco was shocked it didn’t slice through their skin.

Regaining herself, Daphne smiled back toward the trio. “Thank you, Narcissa. Wonderful to see all of you. We must be going…”

She grabbed Molly’s hand and dragged her away, while the older witch gaped, open mouthed, at Hermione.

After a moment of silence, Hermione gave a small laugh and shook her head, bringing her teacup to her lips.

“I must say, I’ve missed that.”

“And what’s that, my dear?” Narcissa responded, feigning ignorance.

“Seeing the one and only Narcissa Malfoy at work.” She smiled at both of them, a mixture of gratitude and amusement flitting across her features.

Narcissa placed a hand over her heart. “I’m certain I have no idea what you might mean, Ms. Granger!”

She winked, and the three of them dissolved into laughter. Hermione turned toward Draco, her eyes sparkling with joy. He returned her wide smile in kind, nearly bowled over by the thought that this is what his life could have looked like, if only things were different.

Hermione finished her tea before clearing her voice and smiling wistfully at Narcissa. “I really must be going, I’m due at my lab in a few moments.” She reached across the table to grab Narcissa’s hands. “It was wonderful to see you, Narcissa, truly.”

Narcissa reached out and patted her cheek. “And you, my dear. I’m certain we’ll be seeing much more of each other with Draco back home. I’ll admit that I am quite looking forward to having you back!” Narcissa gave Draco a knowing look, before turning her smile back to Hermione, who was standing still, seemingly shocked by her words.

Her eyes caught Draco’s, wide and unsure, before she grabbed her bags.

“I, well, yes, that would be…lovely, I…thank you so much for the tea.” She gave Draco a brief nod, before turning and scurrying into the crowd.

As soon as she was gone, Draco dropped his head into his hands.

“Merlin, mother. Was that really necessary?”

Narcissa waved her hand in dismissal. “Of course it was, Draco. If you’re unwilling to act on your own, someone has to, what’s the phrase, ‘get the ball rolling’ for you?”

Draco groaned, shook his head, and hoped his mother didn’t see the smile he was trying to hide.

Chapter End Notes

Narcissa. Malfoy. Has. Entered. The. Building.

We all know how far she's willing to go to protect her family, and I just love the idea of her doing the same for Hermione, even after all these years....

Quick note for next week: The next chapter will be entirely in flashback, and we will fiiiiiinally get the full story of how Draco and Hermione got together as well as the meaning of their tattoos. I cannot wait.

See you next week!

xoxo,

Flames

Love Story

Chapter Notes

Hello everyone! Happy Sunday :)

Long before I ever conceived of this story as a complete fic, I had a few chapters / scenes that were constantly playing on a loop in my head. This is one of them, and I am possibly a touch too excited to get it out. I hope you enjoy it!

A few important notes:

1. This chapter is entirely in flashback.

2. The POV shifts throughout, but each shift is clearly marked.

3. This chapter picks up directly after the flashback from Chapter 6, so you may want to re-read that before diving in.

4. The first few underlined lines are copied directly from the text of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Just like I don't own these characters, I really don't own those words.

Off we go!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Yule Ball, 4th Year

Hermione

“Well, if you don’t like it, you know what the solution is, don’t you?” yelled Hermione; her hair was coming down out of its elegant bun now, and her face was screwed up in anger.

“Oh yeah?” Ron yelled back. “What’s that?”

“Next time there’s a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!”

With that, Hermione turned on her heal and stomped out of the Great Hall, frantically wiping the traitorous tears slipping down her cheeks.

She would not cry over Ronald Weasley.

And if she had to cry, she sure as hell would not let him see.

Couples who had left the ball were still milling about all through the entrance hall, making it impossible to find a quiet corner to collect her thoughts. Without thinking, Hermione climbed the stairs and turned to the left, the sounds of laughter fading with each step.

The hall grew darker as Hermione turned another corner and pushed through a door, looking up to realize that her feet had brought her to the second-floor lavatory. Moaning Myrtle’s lavatory.

Luckily, the ghost was nowhere to be found, giving Hermione the opportunity to take a deep breath and attempt to stop the tears still leaking from her eyes. She walked forward, placing both of her hands on a sink, and took stock of herself in the mirror.

When she had looked at herself in the mirror earlier tonight, surveying the smooth, elegant hairstyle she had managed—with a fair few charms and multiple bottles of Sleekeasy—as well as the makeup that she had applied using instructions from several muggle magazines her mother had sent her and that she thought had succeeded in accentuating her features without making her look like a clown, Hermione had felt proud. Confident. This was her opportunity to show the students of Hogwarts that she was more than the frizzy haired bookwork who annoyed them in class and spent all of her time in the library. She had smoothed her periwinkle dress and made her way toward the Great Hall hoping that maybe, just maybe, this could be a turning point in the life of Hermione Granger.

And for a while, it worked. Some people did stare, open-mouthed, in her direction causing her anxiety to rise, but most of the girls who saw her—ok, not the Slytherin girls—told her she looked amazing, Viktor had made her blush when he looked her up and down and remarked, “You are zee most beautiful voman I haf ever seen, Hermoninie,” and Ron and Harry had both looked gob-smacked.

It had given her the confidence to let her guard down a bit, to behave as she would if she was at home with her muggle friends. She had been so excited to have the opportunity to dance! She missed dancing so much when she was at Hogwarts, and the opportunity to spin and twirl around a dancefloor had been exciting her for weeks, ever since the Yule Ball had been announced.

So, she danced. And laughed. And enjoyed every moment—even after she noticed that Draco Malfoy was staring at her with such ferocity, she was sure he was trying to perform a wandless, nonverbal curse on her from across the room.

But it didn’t matter. This was her night and no one was going to get her down. Viktor was decent company, a bit quiet but certainly a gentleman, and the looks he received from the older girls we’re enough to tell Hermione that most of the women in this room fancied him. Hermione wasn’t quite sure what the appeal of his appearance was, he was a bit too broad and lumbering for her taste, but that wasn’t important tonight.

She had felt free. Truly happy for the first time since Harry’s name had come out of that damn goblet.

And then it had all come crashing down at the hands of one Ron Weasley.

As she looked at her tear-stained face, her worn makeup, and the hair that had begun to fall from her formerly perfect updo, a line of poetry from Robert Frost floated to the top of her mind: Nothing gold can stay.

Hermione laughed humorlessly to herself. Who was she kidding, trying to change the perception of herself here? How stupid had she been to wear this dress, straighten her hair, and paint her face. She looked ridiculous.

In a fit of frustration, Hermione turned on the taps of the sink, splashed cold water on her face, and began scrubbing it with her hands, desperately trying to remove any vestiges of this night from her skin.

“What the hell are you doing, Granger?”

In the span of a second, Hermione had jumped nearly a foot in the air in surprise, spun around, and grabbed her wand from the hidden pocket in her dress. She knew that drawl, there was only one person in this entire castle that could affect such a venomous yet aristocratic tone.

“What the hell are you doing, Malfoy? This is the girl’s lavatory!”

He sneered.

“Well, Granger, I happened to be walking by and I heard a truly disgusting noise coming from this room. I thought another troll had gotten in. Not entirely wrong, it seems.”

He inclined his head toward Hermione, giving her a once-over with a pinched look on his face.

Not today. Hermione was at her wits end, and was managing to berate herself just fine on her own. She didn’t need Draco Malfoy to throw his hat in the ring as well.

She took a step toward him, wand at the ready, eyes molten.

“You know what, Malfoy?” Her voice was quiet, deadly. “Say whatever you want about me. You know nothing about me and your opinion of me is worth even less than that. But I do know you, Draco Malfoy. You are nothing more than a sad little boy who was raised to do nothing but hate. To treat others like we’re trash. Guess what, Malfoy? You are the trash. You’re lonely and spiteful and scared and being raised by bigots who are so concerned with keeping their bloodlines pure that I doubt they have ever had a single second to actually show you any kind of love. I pity you.”

Hermione saw the mask of arrogance Malfoy always wore crack momentarily, before he was able to pull it securely back on.

“How dare you speak to me—”

Hermione cut back in. She was on a roll now, her voice rising with every word.

“What exactly do you think you’re accomplishing with all of this? This stupid, transparent little act you insist on carrying out day after day? What do you think you’ll gain? Power? Ha! Not a chance. Dictators hellbent on control always fall in the end, you know. No, not power. Friends? Respect? Look around, do you really think Crabbe and Goyle are your friends? Is that the kind of respect you want? Because I can tell you that no one outside of your little fan club respects you. No one. If you really wanted people to respect you, you wouldn’t act the way you do. You wouldn’t be nasty and cruel and cold. You wouldn’t hate people for no reason. Why do you hate me, Draco? What have I ever done to you? Why does it have to be me? Why can’t you just LEAVE ME ALONE?!?”

Hermione was not sure when she had started screaming, or when the tears had once again starting pouring down her cheeks, or how she had somehow managed to move to within a foot of Draco Malfoy. All she knew is that somehow she was standing in front of him, staring into his ridiculous silver eyes (who has SILVER eyes?!), and watching as a combination of fear, hatred, anger, and…was that concern?...flitted across his face.

“WELL?” She was being reckless now.

“I…you…you don’t…that’s absolutely ridic…I don’t have to tell you anything. Fuck off.”

And with that, he turned and walked out of the room. But Hermione was far from done. She pushed the door open behind him and stomped out. His back was to her as he walked quickly down the hallway. In a rage, she pointed her wand to the left of his back and shot red sparks in his direction. He whipped around, eyes wide, his own wand now in his hand.

“Oh no you don’t. You started this, you are damn well going to finish it. ANSWER ME, YOU COWARD!”

Their wands were both raised now, poised to strike. Hermione’s brain had emptied of everything else, her instincts taking over. She was about to duel Draco Malfoy in the second floor corridor.

“Don’t you EVER challenge me again, you filthy little mud—”

She drew her wand back, a spell on the tip of her tongue.

“MR. MALFOY! MISS GRANGER! Lower your wands this instant!”

Unseen by both, Professor Flitwick had appeared down the hallway during their screaming match, and was now scurrying toward them far more quickly than Hermione would have thought possible, a look of shock on his face.

“I cannot believe my eyes. My two brightest students dueling in the hallways of Hogwarts Castle! One yelling disgusting slurs! The other preparing to cast a hex! In all my years, I never would have imagined…”

“He started it…”

“SHE started it!”

The two students stared at each other for a moment before bursting into another yelling match, trying to convince the professor that the other was to blame for the scene he had walked in on.

“Enough!” Professor Flitwick gestured with his wand and suddenly both Hermione and Draco’s voices were silenced, leaving two panting, red-faced teenagers staring daggers at each other in the quiet hallway.

“That is quite enough. I must say, I know that Gryffindor and Slytherin students have maintained a rivalry for many years, but this has gone too far. You are all witches and wizards, equal in every way that counts, and if you cannot set aside these petty arguments and recognize each other as allies, you are dooming our world to a lifetime of strife. I will not have it. I think it is quite time that you both learn to get along. A week of detentions should kickstart the process, I believe.”

Still unable to talk, Hermione’s eyes went wide. She had only ever received a single detention in all her time at Hogwarts, and that had been in her first year. Her heart began to pound, fear rising, as she flicked her eyes to Draco, whose expression mirrored her own.

“You will report to my classroom at 3pm on Monday. Am I understood?”

Hermione and Draco both reluctantly nodded their heads.

“Very well. You are both to leave here this instant and return to your dormitories. If I so much as hear a word spoken between the two of you, we’ll make it a month of detentions and I will involve your Heads of House.”

Eyes wide in terror of what McGonagall would do if Hermione was given a month’s worth of detention, she lowered her eyes in contrition and nodded.

With a quick flick of his wrist, Flitwick restored their voices and beckoned them to leave.

The two walked in silence, side by side, to the end of the hallway, until they had to turn in opposite directions. At the same moment, both Hermione and Draco turned their heads toward each other one final time, and Hermione saw the same violent fire playing on Draco’s face as she felt on her own.

Without a word, they turned and marched away.

**

Draco

Why do you hate me, Draco?

Those words, paired with the devastated look on Hermione’s tear-stained face as she had screamed them at him, haunted Draco as he returned to the dormitory and changed for bed. It had struck him even more that the question had also been the first time she had ever called him by his name.

With the hangings secure around his bed, he stared into the darkness and tried to think of an answer.

Why did he hate Hermione Granger?

Because she’s a mudblood. The voice in his head sounded remarkably like his father. His father who had started using his cane to beat Draco when he was six, and who he knew on more than one occasion had lifted a hand to his mother as well. Lucius hated anyone who was not a pureblood wizard. No, that was wrong, Lucius hated anyone who was not a pureblood member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and who had pledged their allegiance to The Dark Lord. He had taught Draco to believe the same, and Draco had just accepted it as fact. But sitting here in the darkness with nothing but his thoughts, was that really what he believed?

Until someone had told him a few weeks into term their first year, he’d had no idea that Hermione Granger was muggleborn. Unlike what his father had taught him, she didn’t look any different, she’d never appeared to be anything less than perfectly put together and certainly never dirty, and no one, not even Draco, could say that Granger was anything less than brilliant.

The more Draco thought about it the less he could justify it.

So why did he hate Hermione Granger?

Because she’s an insufferable know-it-all.

Well, yes, she certainly loved being the first to raise her hand in class, but if he was honest with himself, Draco raised his hand just as much as Hermione. The only difference between them was that he managed not to nearly vibrate out of his chair with anticipation every time he did. And beyond that, it’s not as though she walked around the castle correcting everyone she came upon, Draco usually found her studying alone, quietly, in a secluded corner of the library.

So why did he hate Hermione Granger?

Because she’s Harry Potter’s best friend.

There, now that was a solid reason. Potter had spent his entire time at Hogwarts pretending to be a hero, nearly killing himself and others, and then somehow getting off without so much as a detention from Dumbledore. He was Draco’s nemesis. And it wasn’t as though Potter didn’t feel the same. He’d tried to get Draco expelled on multiple occasions and had made his loathing for the blond Slytherin extremely clear. If Potter hated Draco, and Draco was sure he did, then it would follow that scar head’s best friends hated him too, and therefore it was fine for Draco to hate them in return.

Satisfied with his answer, Draco finally rolled over and closed his eyes. But before sleep could find him, a question took over his mind: What had Hermione Granger ever done to make him think that she hated him?

Aside from punching him after he’d called her a mudblood in Third Year, the uncomfortable answer began to flash behind his eyes.

Nothing. She’d done nothing.

*

Two days later, after the Christmas celebrations were over and with his new pile of gifts from his mother neatly stowed away, Draco made his way begrudgingly toward the third floor Charms classroom a few minutes before 3pm. He’d come armed with quills and parchment in case Flitwick assigned them lines, as well as a bag full of homework due after the holidays that he could try and finish if there was time.

When he turned down the corridor, he grimaced as he saw Granger leaning against the wall. She was wearing a pair of those ridiculous muggle jeans and what was immediately recognizable as a Weasley family jumper, and had leaned against the wall opposite the classroom door, one of her feet tapping impatiently on the floor.

Her head snapped in his direction when she heard him coming, her eyes narrowing before she turned away, pretending he didn’t even exist.

With a roll of his eyes, Draco took up a similar position ten feet down the hallway, waiting for Flitwick to arrive.

At 3pm on the dot, the door to the classroom opened, and the tiny wizard stepped out, a smile on his face. Draco immediately tensed. Why on earth was he smiling?

“Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger, prompt as always. Come in, come in, I do hope you had a restful Christmas.”

As soon as the professor had appeared, Hermione’s entire demeanor had changed. Unlike in the hallway after the Yule Ball, she now appeared to be back in control of her emotions and unwilling to be anything but respectful to a teacher.

She quickly stepped in, immediately rushing to a desk at the front of the room. Draco followed slowly behind.

Hermione began pulling out parchment and a quill, clearly, she too had anticipated lines, but as soon as she did so, Flitwick held up a hand to stop her.

“Oh no, Miss Granger, you won’t be needing those.” He was chuckling as though she’d just told a joke. Hermione’s face screwed up in confusion, and Draco’s did the same.

Ignoring their looks, Professor Flitwick clapped his hands together and continued.

“Well alright then! As I’m sure you will both recall, I mentioned that I wish to use these detentions as an opportunity for the two of you to get to know one another and build bridges between your two houses. I’m quite confident that you’ll learn that you’re not so different in the end.”

Draco made a disbelieving face that, unfortunately, Flitwick caught. A slow smile spread across the professor’s face again.

“Ah, you see Mr. Malfoy, this is precisely why I’ve developed a special plan for this week. You won’t be writing any lines or completing extra homework. In fact,” with a flick of his wand, Draco watched as the school bag Hermione had brought with her floated toward a cabinet on the far end of the room, and before he could stop it, he felt his own bag pull off his shoulder and land in the same location.

“You won’t be needing any books or parchment whilst in this room. Indeed, they will not be allowed, and should you bring them, they will immediately be confiscated and placed in this cabinet to only be retrieved at the end of each evening.

For the next five days, I expect you to use this time to talk to one another, to learn about each other’s lives, and begin to understand the power of friendship.” His tone was light, almost joyful, as he described the details. “You will be allowed nothing but your wands, and before either of you get any bright ideas, I’ve warded this room to bar any offensive or defensive spells from being performed, along with locking and silencing the space to give you both your privacy. The doors will automatically unlock at 6pm, at which time you are free to leave. At the end of this week, I expect both of you to be able to tell me at least five facts about the other’s life, and explain how you are similar to the other. Do you both understand your assignment?”

Draco was too stunned to speak, but Granger managed to find her voice.

“Sir, we…you want us to talk to each other? We…we’re not allowed any books?” Her voice was timid, almost pleading.

“That’s correct, Miss Granger. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be on my way. I’ll expect you here at 3pm sharp each day this week. Do use your time well.”

And with that, he disappeared through the door at the back of the room, and Draco felt the wards lock in place.

They both stood, stunned, for several moments. Hoping to get it over with, Draco decided to break the ice.

“Well Granger, tell me your favorite color or something. It’s crimson, I assume.”

Hermione’s head turned in his direction, fury written all over her face. After a moment, she nearly growled in frustration before turning away, walking to one of the windows in the room, and using her wand to conjure a comfortable seat. She curled her knees into her chest and turned her head to look out the window, ignoring Draco entirely.

“Lovely, this is going to go so well.”

More than two hours later, the pair had said nothing to each other. Draco had taken up residence at a desk near the front of the room while Hermione had remained tucked into the window. She had been steadfastly ignoring him, instead using her time to practice wand movements and nonverbal charms. Draco, in turn, had been studying her.

After a few more minutes, and another failed attempt at an extension charm aimed at a bookcase, Draco had enough.

“Your final wand movement is incorrect; you need to twist your wrist while moving counterclockwise.”

Without even turning her head, she grumbled back at him. “That is precisely what I’m doing, Malfoy. Stop staring at me.”

Damn, he’d thought he was being discrete. “I am not staring at you, Granger. Why would I ever stare at you?”

She turned her head this time, a small smirk on her face and her honey-colored eyes boring into him. “You stare at me all the time, Malfoy.”

Endeavoring to keep his face neutral, he responded. “You’re crazy.”

She just smiled wider. “Really? Then a whole lot of people at the Yule Ball must be crazy too, because we all saw you staring at me that night. So, tell me, what was so fascinating about me?”

Draco tried to come up with an excuse, but she’d caught him red handed, and with those eyes staring at him he suddenly felt compelled to tell the truth.

“If you must know, Granger, I was trying to understand how a…person like you had learned so many wizarding dances. Did someone give you lessons, or did you learn that from a book too?”

He’d done his best to keep a sneer in his voice, but his overwhelming curiosity still shone through.

To his surprise, Hermione’s face didn’t look angry or insulted, instead she began to look at him like he was a difficult arithmancy problem. After a beat, something else flashed across her eyes, something softer. Pity, it was pity.

“You think those are all wizarding dances?” Her tone was quieter, less accusatory.

“Of course they’re wizarding dances, Granger. Every pureblood child learns those dances by the time we’re ten.”

She continued to look at him with that intense stare, and Draco began to notice that nestled within her eyes were bright gold flecks. A moment later something shifted on her face and she gave a silent nod before standing up.

Confused, Draco watched as she marched toward Flitwick’s desk, picked up a wooden box holding extra inkwells, and tapped it with her wand, murmuring the incantation to transfigure it into a record player.

She turned back to Draco, once again piercing him with those eyes. “Stand up.”

He was beginning to think she somehow had managed to hex him, because he did what she asked immediately.

She swished her wand again and all of the desks moved smoothly to the edges of the classroom, leaving them standing in a large open space.

“I assume, Malfoy, that as a good pureblood child, you know all of those wizarding dances by heart?”

He simply nodded, unsure what was about to happen.

She stepped forward toward him, and he instinctively took a step back. She rolled her eyes.

“Honestly, Draco. Are you really that afraid of me? Do you think my muggle blood will somehow infect you if we stand too close?”

“What? I…what are you asking me to do?” He was the tentative one now.

“Name a wizarding dance. Any wizarding dance.”

He cocked his head at her.

“Just do it, Draco.”

Without thinking, he blurted out, “Belgian Waltz.” It was both the first he could think of and also one of the most obscure. It had taken him nearly six months to finally master it, all while his dance matron used a wooden stick to hit his shins every time he took a wrong step.

A spark of excitement crossed Hermione’s face as she nodded and stepped toward him again. Turning, she flicked her wand at the record player and music immediately filled the room.

Looking at him expectantly, she held out her hands. “Well, do you plan to lead or would you prefer that I do?”

Draco thought he must be dreaming. This was possibly the strangest situation he’d ever found himself in, and somehow, he was continuing to go along with it.

Automatically, he stepped forward, and grabbed Hermione’s left hand, placing the other on her waist as she reached up to grip his shoulder lightly.

A shiver went down his spine, almost like an electrical current. He’d never felt something like that before, and for a moment he stood frozen. Hermione’s eyes had gone briefly wide as well.

Draco shook his head to clear it, and like the good aristocrat he was, began the complex steps.

And Hermione began to follow seamlessly.

It took Draco until the first spin to even realize what was happening. This dance had not been done at the Yule Ball, it was far too hard. And yet, she seemed to know it by heart. And more than that, she was good at it. Draco had always thought of Hermione as clumsy, but now, moving across the room with him, he realized that she was more graceful than any pureblood witch he’d ever danced with before.

Her face had softened as they continued, and unbidden, a smile also began to grow on Draco’s face.

After another spin, Hermione began to speak.

“I’ve been a member of a muggle dance company in London for my entire life. Everyone there, no matter your core concentration, was required to take an intensive ballroom dance course at age 12. That’s how I learned all of these dances. Because they’re not wizarding dances, Draco. Every single one of these dances we’re created by muggles.”

Draco’s steps faltered for a moment. She must be lying, there was no way that wizarding and muggle dances were the same. That would mean that…but…but how would she have learned them otherwise?

Continuing the steps, Hermione chuckled.

“I can see you trying to work it out. I’m not lying, Draco. What possible reason would I have to lie about this?” Her voice was light, teasing, but when she turned those eyes on him again, he immediately felt a different kind of tension building in the room.

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” Draco’s voice was hardly a whisper now.

Hermione smiled sadly back at him.

“Of course you don’t. You were taught to believe that muggles are less than wizards. Dirty and unsophisticated.” She said the words matter-of-factly.

“But what if I told you that what you’ve been taught was wrong? That muggles have just as much art and culture and innovation as wizards? That muggle society functions in the same way as the wizarding world, just without magic?”

Draco didn’t know how to respond. How to even begin comprehending what she’d just said.

Suddenly, the song ended and their movements stopped with it. But they didn’t break apart. Hermione kept looking into Draco’s eyes, and Draco could feel his heart start to beat faster as a new, intense look crossed her face.

At that moment, Draco felt the wards disengage, marking the end of their detention. Hermione softly removed her hands from Draco and stepped back. Quietly, she walked across the classroom to gather her bag, before turning toward the door.

She looked back at Draco, still rooted to the same spot.

“Think about it, Draco. Maybe my blood really isn’t that different from yours.”

She turned the handle and silently left the classroom. Draco stood, unmoving, until the sounds of students heading down to dinner finally broke him from his revery.

What the hell just happened?

**

Hermione

The second Hermione closed the door to Flitwick’s classroom, she started to run. She ran to the opposite side of the castle. She ran until she was sure no one was following her. And she only stopped when she found a tapestry covering an alcove that she could hide behind.

Her breathing was shallow and quick, her heartrate through the roof. And it wasn’t from the running.

She looked down at her hand, the one that Malfoy had been holding while they danced. It felt almost as though it had been burned. She could still feel his soft skin against hers, feel the way his long fingers had wrapped around her hand. She could feel the heat against her waist where he had gripped her. She felt dizzy.

She wasn’t sure how any of that had happened. When Professor Flitwick had left, she was determined not to speak to Malfoy for the entire three hours, possibly not for the entire week. She figured she could make something up when Flitwick asked on Friday. She didn’t expect that Malfoy would tattle on her, he wouldn’t want to be stuck with a month’s worth of detentions either.

But then he’d asked her about dancing. She’d never heard him talk like that before. He’d never spoken to her with open curiosity, without malice. It fascinated her. Her decision to show him that she could dance was beyond impulsive, almost as if someone else was controlling her mind and pushing her into specific scenarios.

It wasn’t until a split second before his hand grasped hers that she realized, really realized, that Draco Malfoy was about to touch her. Draco Malfoy had never touched her. The only time she’d come close to touching him was when she punched him in third year, and had that even really counted?

But this time, this time counted. And when their hands met, she felt electricity burn through her whole body. And she’d seen his eyes. He’d felt something too. What, she wasn’t sure. But she didn’t think it was revulsion.

And after the music stopped and she’d stood there staring into his eyes, those deep, silver, fathomless eyes, something inside of her had shifted. And whatever it was, it terrified her.

She didn’t want to admit it. She’d run across the castle trying to escape it. But as she stood behind this tapestry depicting a group of nuns using magic to guard priceless relics, the truth hit her straight in the face.

She was attracted to Draco Malfoy.

*

Hermione spent the next 24 hours trying to prove her own conclusion wrong.

She ran through a list of every awful thing he’d ever done to her. Every time he’d looked down on her or called her a mudblood. Certainly, she could not be attracted to someone who believed her unworthy of even the barest level of equality in this world.

But didn’t you tell him that you understand that he only believes those things because he was taught to by his parents? Don’t you believe that yourself?

Yes, she did. That certainly didn’t excuse him from his actions, but it also didn’t mean that he wasn’t capable of learning the truth and making his own choices. It wasn’t fair to judge someone based on the family they came from.

After her traitorous brain had destroyed that argument, she went searching for another.

Ron. She was supposed to like Ron. He was the better option. The safer option. She’d seen it on the faces of the whole Weasley family, on Harry’s face, and had heard enough from Parvati and Lavender to know that everyone assumed they would end up together.

It was inevitable.

But was it really what she wanted? As he had proved again just a few nights ago, Ron had a temper. He was quick to anger, and could be unreasonable and even cruel when he wanted to. And what did they really have in common? Yes, they were friends, bonded through a series of terrifying events over the past few years, but was that enough? Ron hated school, he hated homework, and Hermione struggled to remember if she’d ever seen him read a book that wasn’t required for class (and even then, he barely cracked the spines).

But Malfoy. Malfoy was second in their class, constantly on Hermione’s heels. He was inquisitive and focused, and she spotted him in the library as often as she was there. She’d even been frustrated on more than one occasion to find out that he had checked out one of her favorite books, and had stewed for days waiting for him to return it so she could read it again.

But even if she didn’t fancy Ron, that didn’t mean Malfoy was her only other option. That afternoon she’d searched out Viktor at the edge of the Black Lake, walking with him behind a secluded tree to snog for at least 15 minutes. But as much as she tried to focus on Viktor, on feeling a spark with him in this moment, her brain kept taking her on unwanted detours.

Draco’s skin was so much softer than this. How soft are his lips?

What would Draco’s fingers feel like wrapped around me?

Her fantasies had become so overwhelming that she’d had to break the kiss and run back to the castle to splash cold water on her face.

And now she was back in Flitwick’s classroom, once again huddled in her conjured window seat, desperately trying to either avoid Draco’s gaze or come up with some safe topic of conversation that would keep them out of trouble.

It had been 90 minutes, and neither of them had said anything. But Draco had been openly staring at her, various emotions flashing across his face, not even attempting to hide what he was doing.

“Do all muggles really know how to ballroom dance?”

His tone was so innocent, she had to stop herself from laughing.

An indulgent smile on her face, she shook her head.

“No. And if the Yule Ball was any indication, it would appear that not all wizards know how to ballroom dance either.” She raised her eyebrows.

He gave a soft laugh in return. “You’ve got me there, Granger. But you, you ballroom dance? Do you attend muggle parties where it’s required?”

“I have in the past, but no, I don’t spend much time ballroom dancing if I’m honest. I just know how.”

“Because your dance company required you to learn?”

“Mmhmm. It was the only way you could continue with the company. And I didn’t spend eleven years doing four hours of ballet a day to be kicked out because I didn’t want to learn how to waltz.”

His head turned. “Muggles have ballet?”

This time she couldn’t control her laughter. “Yes, Malfoy, muggles have ballet. Muggles have many forms of dance. More than wizards, if my research is correct.”

“And you are a ballet dancer?” She nodded, and that signature Malfoy smirk grew on his face, though this time it seemed less malicious. “I’ll be honest with you, Granger, I never would have pegged you as a ballerina.”

Hermione’s face turned serious, and she cautioned a look back into those mesmerizing eyes of his.

“You don’t know me, Draco. Most people here don’t.” She gestured around them toward the castle walls.

He held her gaze as he replied. “Same, Granger. Same.” His voice was almost wistful.

Maybe it was his tone that did it, or maybe those silver eyes, like pools of mercury, had put her under a spell, but the next thing she knew, Hermione had hopped down from her seat and walked across the room to Draco’s desk, holding her hand out to him.

“Hello, I’m Hermione Granger, it’s nice to meet you.”

He looked at her for at least thirty seconds, seemingly befuddled by the entire situation, before he finally huffed a laugh, stood up and grabbed her hand. The same electrical current shot straight to her heart.

“It’s nice to meet you, Granger. I’m Draco Malfoy.”

“You know, it won’t kill you to call me Hermione, Draco.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was humor on his face. “I’m not so sure about that, Hermione.”

She smiled back at him then, a real smile, unburdened by the confusion of her feelings about him. She was just enjoying the moment and, if she was honest, enjoying that he was still holding her hand.

They eventually broke apart, and Draco began asking her questions about her life before Hogwarts and what it was like to grow up as a muggle.

She explained to him that her parents were dentists and watched with glee as the look of horror filled his face when she explained that they sometimes had to pull teeth out of someone’s mouth while they were still awake.

It took him a few minutes, but Draco recovered and then recounted a story of how, when he was seven, he’d snuck into the gardens behind Malfoy Manor to fly on his new broom, only to fall just a few seconds into his flight and knock one of his front teeth straight out.

He’d wandered back into the house, hand covering his bleeding mouth, to find his mother, who shrieked in horror and nearly fainted at the sight, before gathering him up and attempting to perform the spell to regrow his tooth. He smiled in remembrance as he told Hermione that his new tooth had glowed orange for two weeks before a specialist from St. Mungo’s was able to reverse it.

She left the room with a smile on her face that night, realizing that Draco Malfoy now knew more about her life than anyone else at Hogwarts, Ron and Harry included.

The following day, Hermione had finally worked up the courage to ask a question that had eaten at her for years. Malfoy was a captive audience, when would she get another chance?

An hour into their detention, she took a deep breath.

“Can I ask you a question, Draco?”

He smirked, somehow good-naturedly, back at her. “Is that not what we’re doing now, Hermione?”

“Well, it’s just…” She began to fiddle with her sweater, her eyes cast downward.

“Out with it, Granger. Where’s that Gryffindor bravery?”

She lifted her head and, as if she had no other choice, met his storm cloud eyes.

“When you say ‘mudblood,’” his eyes grew wide, fear and even some shame crossing his face, “not just you, I mean anyone, do you truly, literally, believe that my blood is dirty? Muddy?”

Draco stared back at her, unblinking, for at least a full minute. Finally, he took a breath and closed his eyes.

“Hermione, I…”

“I’m not trying to trap you, Draco. Or blame you for something. I genuinely want to know, but I don’t get many opportunities to ask someone who would be able to tell me. And, well, your family’s motto is Sanctimonia Vincit Semper, and I just figure who better to ask than a pureblood member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight whose house motto is ‘purity will always conquer.’”

Draco folded his hands on his desk and looked down, nervously stretching and clenching his fingers.

After a moment, he ran his hand through his always perfectly coiffed hair. Hermione had never, not once, seen Malfoy’s appearance look anything but perfectly put together. She had to fight to control the thought that he looked quite fit with his hair a bit wild…

“Yes.” His answer was so quiet that she had to lean in to hear him.

“My father told me that anyone outside a pureblood line has, literally, dirty blood. And that the blood of mud—muggleborns was mixed with actual filth. That they had stolen magic from real wizards and that by forcing a magical core into their muggle bodies, it turned their blood into toxic brown poison.”

He was barely able to get the final words out, and he had yet to raise his head or look at Hermione.

The truth, though shocking, was also quite interesting to Hermione, because it was far more easily disproven than some metaphorical belief that her existence was somehow dirtying wizard kind.

She grabbed her wand and turned her left hand so her palm was facing up. Pointing her wand at it, she whispered the incantation for a slicing hex.

Draco’s eyes shot up the second he heard the words, terror filling them as though Hermione was about to attack him. When he saw her wand pointed at her own hand, the blood drained from his face and his eyes went impossibly wide.

The cut appeared on Hermione’s palm, and a small amount of bright red blood pooled there.

She held it out toward Draco, who had gone absolutely still.

“Does it look the same as yours?”

His eyes darted between her own and her hand, first shock and then understanding settling on his features.

Slowly, he reached both of his hands out to gently cradle her injured one, his thumbs lightly sliding back and forth against the edges of her palm.

Hermione nearly gasped when he finally looked back up. His eyes were swimming, and a single tear began to trail down his cheek before falling from his face and landing directly into Hermione’s blood.

His eyes were intense, pleading.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m so, so sorry.” Still holding her hand with his left, his right arm slowly reached out to cup the side of her face, his thumb swiping the tear she hadn’t realized had fallen from her cheek.

He pulled his hand away and reached for his wand, pointing it at her injury and murmuring a charm to heal the cut and vanish the blood.

They sat there like that for several more moments, before Hermione felt the wards disengage. She went to stand, but Draco tightened his grip on her hand.

“The Malfoy family crypt is on the property of the Manor. Every Malfoy has been interred there since we came over to England in the twelfth century. The motto, Sanctimonia Vincit Semper, is carved above the door. But one of my ancestors added something below it: Amor Vincit Omnia.”

It was Hermione’s turn to be shocked. “Love conquers all.”

Draco nodded. “Whoever did it infused so much magic into the carving that it can never be removed.”

Hermione stared back at him, stunned. “Wow” was the only response she could formulate.

“No one outside of the family knows about it. Everyone is far too proud to admit that one of us tried to change something all those years ago. But I just…I wanted you to know that we’re not all bad, Hermione…”

Hermione’s heart felt like it had shattered into a thousand pieces. She turned her hand in Draco’s, grasping it firmly before leaning in and, with bravery even she didn’t know she possessed, placing a kiss square on the center of his hand.

Disentangling their fingers, she stood up.

“I don’t think you’re bad, Draco.”

She went to sleep that night with her fingers touching her lips, trying to memorize the feeling of his skin against them.

**

Draco

Draco didn’t remember how he made it back to the dungeons that night. There were so many thoughts swimming in his mind that, even lying down in his bed, curtains closed and silencing charm in place, he felt like the whole castle could hear everything he was thinking.

In the moment that Hermione showed him the blood flowing from her hand, every last brick in the belief system Draco had built, the one that his father had told him how to build, came crashing down.

There was nothing left. No inkling that his father had been right. Draco was now floating in a sea, adrift with the reality that the way he had been brought up had been a lie. The foundational, required beliefs of his house were lies.

It hadn’t just been Hermione’s blood that proved it. It was just her. The kindness she showed him, even after all the things he’d done. The way she smiled. The way she argued with him about the ethics of transfiguring magical creatures. Hermione was more than his equal.

And in the safety of his bed, Draco finally had to admit that he’d known it for a while. That all those times he’d studied her in class or followed her to the library or watched her in the Great Hall, he’d known that there was nothing inferior about her.

And the voice in the back of his head that he’d diligently ignored for so many years had now broken free and was screaming into every corner of his mind. Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune and scion of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, was in love with Hermione Granger.

The second he allowed that thought to sink in, his heart began to pound so loudly that he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. But when he brought his fingers to his face he realized: he was smiling.

He’d nearly fainted when she had leaned in and kissed the back of his hand earlier. When her lips met his skin, he felt as if he was diving at breakneck speed on his broom, exhilarated and terrified all at once. He’d had the overwhelming urge to pull her into an embrace. To keep her there with him. To kiss her lips and see if they felt as soft against his own as they felt when they touched his hand. To see if she would taste like the honey and lavender scent he’d picked up on her over the last three days.

He brought the heels of his hands up to cover his eyes and laughed. What was happening? How had he gotten here? And what the hell was he going to do now?

He didn’t want to lose Hermione in two days when their detention was over, of that he was sure. But how were they supposed to do that?

If his father learned that Draco had so much as befriended a muggleborn, much less fallen for one, he’d be pulled out of Hogwarts and sent packing to Durmstrang before he could blink.

And Hermione. Harry Potter’s best friend, kind, generous, good Hermione. What would her friends think, what would the entire wizarding world think, if she started fraternizing with Draco after everything he’d done? He shivered at the thought. He couldn’t stand the idea of his mistakes, his family, tarnishing something so beautiful.

And what if she didn’t even want him? He was allowing himself to believe that she did—she’d certainly seemed as effected as he was this evening, but how could he be sure?

Draco turned onto his stomach and yelled into his pillow. He had no idea what to do, and the more he thought about it, the more confused and frustrated he became.

So, he made a decision: He would stop thinking about it. During tomorrow’s detention he’d just let his heart guide him. That would work, right?

It had to work.

*

3pm arrived on Thursday, and Draco’s grand plan to let his heart lead him now seemed like the worst idea he had ever had.

Hermione had been standing at her window when he entered the room, nervously pulling at her jumper and chewing on her lip. He’d taken one look at her and fear had gripped him so intensely that it was all he could do to scurry to his desk and stare down at his hands.

The minutes began to tick away.

4pm. He hadn’t said anything, or even had the courage to look in her direction. But he could feel her eyes on him.

5pm. He swore he’d heard her clear her throat to say something, but when he’d turned toward her and their eyes had met, she seemed to lose her nerve and turned back to the safety of her window.

5:30pm. He was running out of time. He had to do something. This was ridiculous.

5:45pm. He felt like he was on a slow march to the gallows.

5:50pm. He could see Hermione growing more and more restless from the corner of his eye, and finally, she let out a grunt and got up.

“Draco, I need to tell you—”

“Wait, Hermione, please. Let me say something first.” He’d stood up and faced her.

It was now or never, and when he met her eyes and saw gold shining back at him, he suddenly felt calm. His heart clicked into place and finally gave him the words he needed to speak.

“I’ve spent the last four years being nothing be awful to you, Hermione. More than awful. I hated you. I didn’t think you deserved to be in our world. I even…gods…I wished for the Heir of Slytherin to kill you second year. And why? Why?! Because your parents are muggles? Because you’re Harry Potter’s friend? Because my father told me so? It’s all rubbish. More than rubbish. I can’t believe I thought that. It’s…it’s indefensible, Hermione. You should have me expelled. Merlin, you should have me sent to Azkaban!

You’re not my equal, Hermione. You are so, so much better than I could ever hope to be. You are magnificent. I’ve never met anyone as amazing, as smart, as kind, as beautiful as you. You astound me, Hermione. And I am so, so sorry for everything I’ve done. If I could take it all back, I would. But I can’t. I can’t. And I will live with that for the rest of my life. But I just need you to know that I see you, Hermione. I see you, and I see how singularly breathtaking you are. And I understand if you never want to speak to me again, Salazar knows you shouldn’t, but the thing is, I’m a Slytherin, love. I’m selfish. And I need you to know how I feel about you. How much I like you. And not just as a friend, Hermione. I like you. I want to be with you. I want to debate the ways to achieve rights for magical creatures with you and discuss experimental potions and argue about runes, and I want you to teach me about muggle art, and automobiles, and the tele-sivon, and, gods Hermione, I want to kiss you so badly, and I just…I needed you to know that before it was too late.”

He took a deep breath, sucking air into his lungs for the first time in several minutes.

Draco had been so focused on keeping his gaze trained on Hermione’s eyes, that he had not noticed the emotion that had taken over her whole face. He hadn’t seen the tears that were falling freely. He immediately felt awful for dropping all of that on her without warning. How stupid he was to assume…

“Television.”

He furrowed his brows. That was certainly not what he was prepared for her to say.

“What?”

“Television. It’s called a television.”

Recognition dawned on him. But before he could open his mouth to speak, Hermione had closed the gap between them and with a final, fierce look into his eyes, her lips met his.

He couldn’t believe it. It was bliss.

Her scent enveloped him, honey and lavender, as her lips gently pressed into his own. They were even softer, even more luxurious, than he had imagined.

Suddenly realizing that he hadn’t moved, he stepped into her, wrapping his arms around her waist and running his hands up her back, kissing her back with the enthusiasm of a starving man finally presented with a meal.

She pushed her body against his, her hands sliding from his neck up into his hair, causing him to shiver from the feeling.

This felt so good. She felt so good. Nothing had ever felt this good.

His stomach seemed to have left his body and was traversing the classroom in loop-di-loops. It was the greatest feeling he’d ever experienced. The softness of her body against his. The way they seemed to fit together. The small, breathy sounds she made as he slowly plunged his tongue into her mouth.

This is what living, what truly living, felt like. Draco was sure of it. And he never wanted the feeling to stop.

Of course, at that moment, he felt the wards on the room disengage, and Hermione paused, clearly feeling them too. He didn’t want to let her go, didn’t want the spell to be broken.

But she pulled back nonetheless.

Draco was ready for her to tell him this was a one-time thing. That she never wanted to speak to him, much less kiss him, again.

But instead, she pulled back from his lips by just a few inches, her hands still carding through his hair and her breath coming out in heavy pants. Her eyes locked with his, hers determined and his uncertain, and she smiled as she leaned her forehead against his own.

“I want that too, Draco. Everything you said. I want that too.”

Electricity coursed through his body as his fingers tightened around her waist. Was this real? How could this be real?

But she was smiling a secret smile at him, her face open and her eyes clear.

He opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly they both heard the sounds of feet pounding down the hallway as their fellow students made their way down to dinner.

Hermione cut her eyes toward the door and then back to Draco, before leaning in to give him a final sweet kiss.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?”

He nodded against her, still reeling from what had just transpired. “Yes. Ok.”

A smile spread across her face as she pulled back, slowly letting her hands fall from his hair to trail down his face and to his shoulders before she finally stepped back and broke their contact. With a final look his way, she winked and stepped out into the hallway.

Draco didn’t leave the room until long past the time that dinner had ended.

**

Hermione

Hermione had to concentrate. She needed to remove the dopey, lovesick smile from her face. Harry, Ron, and even Neville had all already asked her if she was feeling alright, and she had no idea how to begin explaining to them that she was smiling like this because she’d just experienced the best kiss of her life, a kiss that had made her feel more alive than ever before, with the one and only Draco Malfoy.

So, she focused on her bowl of beef stew, and tried to think about anything else besides the fact that the taste of Draco, green apples and spice and peppermint, was still in her mouth, still covering every inch of her.

“…help, Hermione?”

Hearing her name, she turned toward Harry, who was looking at her with concern.

“What, Harry?”

“I said, are you sure it’s safe to be alone in the same room with Malfoy? You know how he is, you know what he’s capable of…we could always go to McGonagall, or hell, even Dumbledore, for help.”

She stared back at him, trying to process what he’d just said.

“I…no, Harry. It’s fine. He’s…He hasn’t done anything to harm me.”

Ron leaned forward from across the table. “Are you sure, Mione? You know who his father is. Who knows how many dark objects he has hidden away in the dungeons? Who’s to say what he’d be willing to do to take down the smartest muggleborn that’s even been to Hogwarts?”

Hermione just stared at him before turning to Harry who was nodding in agreement.

“You can’t trust him, Hermione. He’s bad news, we all know it.”

Her heart sank as she looked back and forth between her best friends, the euphoric feeling she’d had as she left the Charms classroom fading to ash.

She knew that they were wrong. She knew that what Draco had confessed tonight had been real. She could feel it in her bones. And yet, looking at the concern etched across Harry and Ron’s faces she realized that, no matter what she said, they’d never believe her. They’d never understand. They’d never speak to her again if she told them what had happened.

And as she crawled into bed that night, tears welled in her eyes as she realized that there was no path forward, that she couldn’t find a solution to keep both Draco and her best friends.

And she had no idea what to do.

**

Draco

When Draco had walked back into the Slytherin common room later that night, he could barely contain the desire to skip across the room and to his dormitory, a Cheshire cat smile on his face. His pride kept him from skipping, but that wide, all-knowing grin was impossible to hide.

He saw Pansy clock it from across the common room, a single brow raised before she rolled her eyes and returned to her book.

He saw Theo look at him inquisitively, before turning back to continue a conversation with Blaise and Millicent.

But he didn’t care. Hermione had kissed him back. She wanted him too. They were going to do this. Really do this. And nothing was going to pop the bubble of unadulterated joy he was currently floating around in.

He fell asleep with her scent on his nose, her smile in his mind, ready to take on whatever came next.

*

Or at least, he thought he was ready for whatever came next.

He didn’t see Hermione at breakfast or lunch in the Great Hall, and worry had started to creep into his consciousness. Had something happened to her? Was she hiding from him? What was going on?

His stomach was in knots by the time 3pm rolled around and he walked into the charms classroom to find Hermione, eyes rimmed in red and face wracked with fear, sitting against his normal desk.

Her eyes locked onto his as soon as he shut the door behind him, activating the wards, and before he’d even finished the sentence “what’s wrong, Hermione” she had rushed across the room and fallen into his arms.

She was sniffling against his shoulder, holding him so tightly, as though she was afraid he would disappear.

He held her back, caught between concern for whatever was bothering her and elation at feeling her in his arms again.

“What are we going to do, Draco?” Her voice broke as she whispered the question into his neck.

“What do you mean, Hermione?”

She jolted back, her eyes carrying an almost manic gleam to them.

“I mean what are we going to do? How do we do this? Us?”

She gestured back and forth between them. Draco was still confused, and hesitated before he answered. In that moment of silence, Hermione’s face fell.

“Did you…did you change your mind? Do you not want me anymore?”

“What?!” He rushed forward, gathering her against him again. “What are you talking about, Hermione? Of course I want you!” He began rubbing her back, trying to comfort the crying girl in his arms.

“What happened, love? Why are you so upset?”

“Upset? Why am I upset? Draco! What exactly do we do after we leave here tonight? How do we make this work, whatever this is? Are you telling me you can just admit to the world that you’re snogging a mudblood without consequences? That your father wouldn’t come stomping through the school to stop it?”

Draco recoiled at her use of the slur, now so sharp against his ears after so many years of use.

“And what about me? My friends…they…they hate you, Draco. It’s not right, it’s not fair, and I know they’re wrong. I know who you are, and I know you’re a good person. But Harry and Ron…they wouldn’t understand. This room,” she looked around them, “this room was a sanctuary. But students aren’t allowed to engage privacy wards around classrooms ourselves! How will we be safe? How can we make sure no one finds us? Because someone will, Draco. Someone will. And what happens then? What happens when your father pulls you out of here and I’m left behind? When I’m all alone?”

The tears were overtaking her now, her body shaking with sobs.

Draco couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the pain on her face, the fear so visible in her body.

He had to do something.

Slowly moving his hands to cradle her face, he ran his thumbs against the hinge of her jaw.

“Shhh, it’s ok love, it’s ok. You’re right, being together in public, at least right now, is complicated.” When she looked at him with disbelief, he corrected. “Ok, it’s not possible. But you and I are the best students in our year. Do you really think the two of us can’t figure something out? Because I certainly believe that you’re clever enough to solve this on your own—and look at that! You don’t have to do it on your own, you have your very own resident cunning Slytherin at your service.”

Still holding onto her, he tilted his head in a mock bow, trying to lighten the mood and pull her out of the terrifying notion that this thing between them had to end before it had even begun.

She gave a watery smile. “I want to believe you, Draco. I want to believe you so badly.”

“Then believe me, love. They might say Gryffindors are loyal, but trust me, once you get in with a Slytherin, we won’t ever let you go, no matter what it takes. Ok?”

He continued to caress her face while staring into her eyes, trying to send as much reassurance into her as he could.

Her face softened and she tilted her head into his touch, bringing her hands up to cover his.

“Ok.” It was whispered, and there was far too much uncertainty in her tone, but for now, he’d take it. He could figure this out. He’d prove to her that this could work.

Leaning in, he captured her lips. Mixed with her intoxicating scent was the subtle hint of salt from her tears, and he moved his hands to tangle in her hair and hold her close, trying to comfort her through his touch.

It seemed to work, because after a moment, she melted into him, deepening the kiss as her arms snaked around his neck. After a moment, he smiled against her as that brave Gryffindor spirit took over and she ran the tip of her tongue across the seam of his lips, a tentative question he was only so willing to answer. He opened his mouth and let her tongue caress his, letting out a soft moan of his own, before they both started as they felt the wards around the room disengage.

They quickly broke apart as Draco looked down at his watch, it was only 3:25pm.

With no idea who was coming, they looked quickly at each other before rushing to desks on opposite sides of the room and attempting to arrange their faces into something resembling normalcy before the door opened just a few seconds later.

Professor Flitwick stepped into the room, that same smile on his face that he’d worn on Monday, as he began to walk toward the front of the room, glancing between Draco and Hermione.

“Well, hello again Miss Granger! Mr. Malfoy! I trust you’ve had an illuminating week?”

He paused at his desk, turning to face them. Hermione glanced at Draco before they both faced front and nodded in the professor’s direction.

“Wonderful! Well, as discussed, I’ve come to hear what you’ve learned over these past few evenings. Each one of you will give me the five facts you’ve learned about the other’s life, as well as how you’ve come to understand that you are similar to one another, and once you do, you’ll be free to leave. Does that sound fair?”

Once again cutting his eyes to Hermione to see her reaction, he watched her begin to nod and followed her lead.

“Alright then! Mr. Malfoy, why don’t you start us off?”

Draco jumped. With everything else that had happened, he had not even thought about what he’d say to Flitwick before this moment. Well, he supposed his heart had served him well yesterday, he might as well give it another go.

“Yes, sir. Well…I learned that Miss Granger is an accomplished Ballerina who has been dancing since she was eighteen months old. I learned that her parents are successful dentists—muggle tooth healers. I learned that since her parents both work, she learned how to travel around London through the tubes when she was young.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione smile and bite her lip, amused. “By the tube, sorry, the tube.” He corrected before continuing. “I learned that her favorite book in the library is Hogwarts: A History because she loves learning about all of the hidden wonders of the castle and that she learns something new every time she reads it, and…well…I learned that she is the most compassionate, forgiving person I have ever met. It’s quite remarkable, really…”

Draco trailed off, noticing that Hermione was now staring at him, her eyes shining.

He looked into her eyes as he continued. “I learned that Miss Granger and I both have a passion for potions and that we both study for our exams in the same way.” Keeping his eyes on her, his voice lowered to a whisper. “I learned that much of what I was taught to believe was wrong, sir.”

Hermione smiled and held his gaze until Professor Flitwick cleared his throat, causing them both to turn back toward the older wizard.

“Well, Mr. Malfoy. I’m quite impressed. Quite impressed indeed. I’d certainly hoped that this experience would be eye opening for you, and I’m glad to see that it was.”

Draco nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“And Miss Granger, how about you? What did you learn about Mr. Malfoy?”

Taking a deep, shaking breath, Hermione turned toward Flitwick and opened her mouth.

“I learned that Mr. Malfoy was learning to ride a broom before he could even properly walk. I learned that he has quite the sweet tooth, and is particularly fold of apple pasties. I learned that although he loves potions, his favorite subject is actually ancient runes because he loves the mystery of discovering the meaning of a translation.” Mirroring him, Hermione turned to lock eyes with Draco as she continued. “I learned that his mother bewitched the ceiling of his bedroom at home to show the constellations, and that he misses it while he’s at school. And I learned that he is more capable of change, of making his own decisions and realizing his own errors, than anyone else I’ve ever met.”

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she attempted to rearrange her hands to swipe it away without Professor Flitwick noticing. From the glance Draco was able to get of him, she hadn’t been successful.

“I learned that Mr. Malfoy and I have a very similar set of morals, Professor, and that like me, Draco is tenacious about what he wants and willing to do whatever it takes to get it.”

She flashed him a knowing smile before turning back to the front of the classroom.

When Draco did the same, he noticed immediately that Professor Flitwick’s eyes had grown misty, a dreamy smile on his face.

“Well, I’d say this was quite the success, wouldn’t you?” He looked between the two teenagers as they both nodded along.

“Excellent. I hope you’ve both learned a valuable lesson this week. And I certainly expect that I will never happen upon a similar scene again as the one I found you two in on Christmas Eve, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Good. Miss Granger, you’re free to go. Mr. Malfoy please stay a moment.”

Hermione turned toward him, a concerned look on her face, but he gave her a tiny nod, encouraging her to go. He hoped she knew that he’d find a way to make sure they could see each other again soon. So, so soon.

As the door closed with a quiet click behind Hermione, Draco reluctantly turned himself back toward the professor at the front of the room, now staring at him with far more intensity than he’d ever seen from the wizard before.

“Mr. Malfoy…” He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face.

“I appreciate what you said today. And I only hope you truly believe it.”

“I do, sir. I assure you.”

Flitwick nodded, keeping his eyes trained on Draco.

“Good, son, that’s quite good. I…well, you’ll forgive me my boy, but I hope that you will remember this day in the times to come. That you will break the cycle that has so often plagued the children of Slytherin. That you might find an alternative path, and that you might use your position to lead others down it as well. Do you understand?”

Draco felt his teacher’s eyes boring into him, trying desperately to impart this piece of wisdom, as he opened his mouth to respond.

“I do, sir. I understand. And I swear to you that I will do my best to help.”

The Professor stared back at him, assessing, for a moment before nodding his head. “Alright then, Mr. Malfoy, you’re free to go.

Draco moved as quickly as possible toward the door, stepping outside and staring up and down the corridors, hoping to see Hermione still standing there. But she was gone.

Letting out a groan, he dropped his head into his hands and gave himself a moment to gather his thoughts.

He could figure this out. He would figure this out. What he had discovered with Hermione was special. It felt precious and indescribable, and all Draco knew was that he had to figure out a way to make it work.

He began pacing the halls of the castle, going through the possibilities.

He could try and figure out how to break the spell that barred students from setting up privacy wards, so that he could turn any classroom into a sanctuary as Flitwick had done.

He shook his head. Surely if he even figured it out, Dumbledore would be notified and would stop him immediately.

They could sneak off campus. Draco was nearly certain that Potter had an invisibility cloak. Hermione could swipe it and they could use it to get across the grounds.

Before he’d even finished the thought, Draco began to laugh, imagining the look on Hermione’s face if he suggested they regularly sneak out of school.

At this point he’d been walking the halls of the castle for hours. Dinner was long finished, and he’d made his way all the way to the seventh floor, where he was now pacing back and forth in front of a blank stretch of wall.

His brain was trying desperately to come up with a solution. Any solution.

I need a place where Hermione and I can meet safely.

I need a private place where Hermione and I won’t be found.

Merlin, I need a place to snog Hermione Granger.

Draco had just turned around again to walk back across his same path, when he caught moment out of the corner of his eye. He immediately grabbed his wand. Who could be up here at this time of night?

But as he turned to face the wall, he nearly dropped his wand in shock. Where there used to be a solid stone wall, there now stood an enormous wooden door.

**

Hermione

Hermione had barely slept. She kept going over her last meeting with Draco in her mind.

The way he had smiled against her lips.

How confidently he had reassured her that they would figure everything out.

How safe she had felt wrapped up in his arms.

Now she was sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, sipping her coffee and trying to sort through the mess of emotions coursing through her all at once.

Excitement and attraction and…something deeper she was afraid to name when she thought about the way she felt when she looked at Draco, and the way she felt when he looked at her.

Confusion and fear with a dash of determination thrown in when she considered how they were going to even attempt to make a relationship work when they couldn’t tell anyone about it.

She groaned and rubbed her fingers over her temples, trying to stave off the headache she knew was coming.

Suddenly, a tawny barn owl landed in front of her, nearly overturning a platter of eggs.

She looked at the creature, confused. She only ever received mail from her parents, and she wasn’t expecting a letter today.

“Are you in the right place?”

The owl hooted indignantly, presenting his leg to Hermione, where a small scroll had been attached.

Carefully, she removed the scroll and gave the owl a piece of bacon before it took flight again. She wasn’t sure why, but she looked around her before opening the message, making sure that no one was paying attention.

Convinced that no one was watching, Hermione opened the scroll and saw a single line of sloping, elegant script.

Meet me in the east corridor of the 7th floor in twenty minutes. I told you I’d figure it out. - DM

A shot of adrenaline surged through her. She looked across the hall to the Slytherin table, immediately noticing that Draco was not there. She started to shake with excitement. Had he really found a solution? Already?

Hermione had to repeat the fundamental laws of transfiguration in alphabetical order five times through so that she wouldn’t rush to the 7th floor too early.

Finally, after 14 minutes had passed, she stood up and attempted to act normally as she walked toward the doors and up the grand staircase, looking around to ensure no one was around before taking off into a run.

She arrived to the east corridor of the 7th floor just two minutes later, desperately attempting to calm her breathing.

Draco was nowhere to be found, and her heart immediately sank. Was it a trick?

But before the thought could grab hold, the platinum-headed boy stepped out from behind a statue half way down the hall, smiling widely at her.

“You came.”

Walking toward him, she laughed, a matching smile growing on her face. “Of course, I came, Draco. Now what exactly did you figure out?”

He reached out, grabbing hold of her upper arms and chuckling. “Now now, can’t I savor the moment a bit? I, Draco Malfoy, always number two to Hermione Granger, have made a discovery before her! This is a momentous day!”

He seemed so carefree that she couldn’t stop from relaxing into him, enjoying this private moment of happiness.

Placing her hands on his chest, she pinned him with a stare.

“Well, if you’re so sure of yourself, don’t tell me. I’m sure I can figure it out in less than…five minutes?”

He rolled his eyes and stepped back, his hands in the air in defeat.

“Fine fine, ruin my fun.” He stepped behind her and with a hand lightly pressing on her back, he maneuvered her to stand in front of an entirely blank stretch of wall.

“Stand right…here.” He walked in front of her to stand closer to the wall, and with a final wink in her direction, he closed his eyes and began slowly pacing back and forth.

“Draco, what in Merlin’s name are you…?”

“Shhh! I need to concentrate!”

She raised her eyebrows but stood still, allowing him to complete whatever ritual it was that he was in the middle of.

He crossed in front of her once, then twice, and on the third pass Hermione began to grow suspicious that he was playing some sort of prank on her, until all of the sudden, the wall behind him began to transform.

Her mouth dropped in surprise as Draco paused, opened his eyes, and turned to watch a heavy oak door appear directly in front of them.

Turning back to smirk at her, he gestured for her to grab his hand. Tentatively, she walked forward, intertwining their fingers as he moved them closer to the door.

“Hogwarts really is special, you know. What is It that Dumbledore always says? Help will always be provided at Hogwarts for those who need it? Well, it turns out the old man was right.”

Stepping forward, Draco grasped the brass door handle and turned, leading Hermione into a room she had never seen before.

The room was spacious, about the size of the Gryffindor common room, with tall vaulted ceilings, stained glass windows, and walls covered in warm, multicolored tapestries. There was a large, plush-looking couch in the center facing a crackling fireplace, with armchairs and overstuffed pillows positioned all around the room. Against the wall were bookcases filled to the brim with volumes that Hermione was itching to explore. It was beautiful.

“It’s the room—”

“The Room of Requirement. You found the Room of Requirement.” She whispered it almost reverently, slowly turning around the space.

“Well of course you know what it is. Why am I not surprised?”

She stopped and turned her gaze toward Draco, who was smiling triumphantly, his arms outstretched.

“This is it, Hermione. This is the answer. You can only get in this room if you know exactly where it is and if you know exactly what to ask for. We’re completely safe in here, no one will be able to find us.”

She started to feel giddy. He really had done it.

“It’s perfect, Draco. It’s…”

She squealed and ran forward, throwing her arms around him.

“I can’t believe you found it. There are no written details about its location in any book! This feels like…like…”

“Fate. Like the castle wants us to be together. Like it wants us to conquer whatever obstacles are thrown in our way.” His voice was quiet, his eyes searching her own.

With a lump in her throat, she nodded, leaning closer to him. “Amor Vincit Omnia, right?”

His eyes shone as he smiled back, so much care on his face.

He nodded, leaning his forehead against hers.

“Amor Vincit Omnia, Hermione. Always.”

She let out a breath and leaned forward, pressing her lips to his.

Chapter End Notes

Well, there it is, the story of how our two favorite smart idiots found their way to each other in the first place, and why this fic is named after an obscure Latin phrase :)

Thank you again so much for reading, I'm so happy you're all here.

Next week we'll jump back to the present with a chapter in Hermione's POV that is about to push the plot wayyyy forward. See you then!

xoxo,

Flames

I Bet You Think About Me

Chapter Notes

Is it already Sunday again?!

Thank you all so much for the love on the last chapter! We're back to the main timeline this week, after the flashback this chapter picks up shortly after where chapter 7 left off.

I hope you enjoy it!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Christmas, Fifth Year

It was three days before Christmas break, and Hermione Granger was excited.

She’d stayed in the castle for Christmas last year, and although that had turned out better than she could have ever imagined, marking the beginning of her relationship with Draco, she was excited to spend time in France, skiing and celebrating the holiday with her parents.

And most exciting of all, though she would never tell her parents, Draco had already worked out with his mum how he could meet Hermione in Chamonix to celebrate their one-year anniversary. Getting to be with Draco away from Hogwarts and away from wizarding London, in a place where they would not be recognized and could go out in public freely, filled Hermione with joy and anticipation.

To hold his hand while walking down the street. To kiss in the snow. To not have to worry.

The thought was thrilling.

But tonight, she would happily return to their little piece of serenity inside the castle, to celebrate and spend time with her boyfriend.

She was smiling as she walked down the stairs from the girls dormitory toward the Gryffindor common room.

“Oi! Mione! Please don’t tell me you’re going to the library! Exams are over! There’s no more homework! You can’t possibly have anything to do.” Ron was laughing while he chided her, and though she wanted to just ignore him and keep walking, she was worried he and Harry would follow her if she did.

“Yeah, Hermione! Come on, we’re about to play exploding snap! Take the night off! What can possibly be that important in the library?” Harry smiled kindly, his face more relaxed than she’d seen it in weeks. It made her smile with relief.

“Really, what are you doing in the library so much, Mione? O.W.L’s aren’t for months! Not even you could be studying right now. So, tell us, you secretly meeting a bloke?” Ron waggled his eye brows, but his tone was one of disbelief. She could tell immediately that he didn’t think there was any chance that Hermione could actually be seeing a boy in the castle.

It sent a bolt of anger through her. Without thinking, she responded.

“Actually, you’re right, Ron. I’m off to go snog Draco Malfoy.” She smiled challengingly at him.

She wasn’t sure what she expected his response to be, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, both Ron and Harry’s faces fell and they were instantly out of their seats, crowding her.

“That’s not funny, Hermione. What kind of joke do you think that is?” Ron’s voice was low and accusing.

“He’s right, you can’t joke about that, Hermione. He’s the son of a Death Eater. If he had the chance, he’d probably deliver you directly to Voldemort to be killed.” Harry’s voice was deathly serious, a fissure of fear running through it.

Ron cowered at the use of Voldemort’s name, but still nodded along.

“That’s what you really think? You think he’d do that, just because of his father?” Hermione’s tone was flat, all of her strength going into keeping calm, and keeping her tears at bay.

Harry shook his head. “Not just because of his father, Hermione. Because of him. You’ve seen him just like the rest of us! He’s chomping at the bit to fight for Vold—”

“Harry! Please mate!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “For You Know Who.”

The three stood, silently staring at each other for a moment. Hermione closed her eyes and nodded.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. You know I’m just going to the library.” For the first time, the lie felt like acid on her tongue.

Ron cracked a smile. “We know, Mione. Just leave the jokes to Fred and George, alright? It’s not like we really believed it. Can you imagine, Harry? Hermione and Malfoy?!” Ron laughed heartily at the idea, Harry joining him.

“Besides, any Gryffindor who willingly kissed a snake would be shunned, no matter what.” Ron was shaking his head, his chest still bouncing with laughter.

Hermione stared at the floor. “Right. Well, as boring as it makes me, I’m still going to spend a few hours in the library. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

Quietly, shoulders still slumped, she made her way out of the portrait hole and toward the east corridor of the 7th floor.

She arrived before Draco, and when he stepped through the door ten minutes later, she was staring absently at the fireplace.

“Happy Christmas, love!” His beautiful, wide smile nearly broke her. Of course, because it was Draco, he could immediately sense that something was wrong.

His face fell and he rushed over to the couch where she sat, kneeling in front of her, his hands on her face.

“What is it? What happened?”

Hermione closed her eyes and leaned in to his touch. This was who Draco Malfoy really was. He was kind and loving and gentle, nothing at all like how Harry and Ron believed him to be. Nothing at all like his father.

Hermione turned her head and kissed his palm.

“You’re a good man, Draco. No matter what anyone says, I need you to know that. I love every part of who you are.”

Draco’s expression softened, but he kept his hands on her cheeks, his thumbs massaging the hinge of her jaw.

“I love every part of who you are, Hermione. Did something happen? Are you ok?”

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. “I’m ok now. More than ok. Can you stay the night? I don’t want to go back to the Tower.”

He nodded against her, his eyes still holding a look of concern. “Of course, love.”

She surged forward and kissed him with everything she had, reveling in the feel of him, the way he held her in his arms, his breath melding with hers.

Harry and Ron were wrong. They were so, so wrong. And it didn’t matter if they never understood. It didn’t matter if they never forgave her. Someday, somehow, she and Draco would be able to be together, really be together, without hiding. And in that moment, as she moved off the couch to kneel next to him on the floor, their bodies pressed together from knee to shoulder, the feel of his heartbeat playing against her own chest, she knew. She knew that if it came down to it and she had to choose. She’d choose him. Every time.

*******************************************************************************************************************************************

April, 2002

It had only been one week since her tea with Draco and Narcissa, but the event had seemed to send a shockwave through her former family. While preparing to run yet another set of arithmancy problems side-by-side some good old muggle calculus in order to test a theory for her lycanthropy cure, Hermione thought back to the increasingly frenzied interactions she’d had in the last few days.

Errol, the Weasley’s ancient owl, had been sitting on her window sill, half asleep, when she returned from her lab on Saturday evening, a letter from Mrs. Weasley hanging precariously from his beak. Inside, Molly had bemoaned her choice of tea companions, going so far as to suggest that Arthur could make inquiries at the Ministry to get Hermione a protective order which would bar both Malfoys from attempting to approach her again. But after many lines expressing shock and horror, Mrs. Weasley had once again pleaded with Hermione to sit down with Ron and Daphne, and said again how much she wanted Hermione back in the family.

Hermione could hear Molly through the words on the page, and it sent a pang of sadness through her. She had loved Molly. A big part of her still loved Molly. And as offensive as Hermione found her repeated attempts to force some sort of reconciliation between Hermione and the two people who had orchestrated her years-long humiliation, she was reminded that the Weasley matriarch had not been a part of the group who had known about the affair and kept it from her. With that in mind, Hermione picked up her quill and finally sent a reply.

With as much honesty as she was willing to give, Hermione apologized for not responding to her previous attempts at contact, expressing regret that their first interaction since Christmas had been a surprise confrontation in Diagon Alley. She ended the letter by telling Molly how grateful Hermione had always been for her love and compassion, and although she hoped one day they could repair their relationship, Hermione would never feel comfortable rejoining the family in the way she had before, and for now, she needed time to heal without their interference. No mention of Draco or Narcissa, and no admission that she knew about the cover up—Hermione intended to keep that information to herself until the time was right.

On Wednesday, Tonks summoned her to a meeting in the DMLE, and she’d barely taken a step out of the lifts before Ron was rushing toward her, red faced, with Harry following behind, clearly attempting to calm down his best friend.

“You were out with Malfoy?! And his mother?! What the hell is going on with you, Hermione? Mum’s been in a state for days! Thinks you hate her. Is this about me? Is this some sort of ploy to get back at me? Hang around with Malfoy just to piss me off? Well congratulations, it’s working.”

“Ron, mate, calm down.” Harry reached out to grab his arm, looking around at the many eyes now on them because of Ron’s outburst.

“Calm down?! Harry! She’s shutting all of us out and hanging around with death eaters and you want me to calm down? Something’s wrong, Hermione. Cozying up to the people who stood by and watched you get tortured? It’s sick! It’s…”

At his accusation about Draco and Narcissa, Hermione’s vision narrowed, zeroing in on Ron and Ron alone. She took a single step forward, closing the small gap that remained between the two.

“Shut. Your. Mouth.”

The words came out just above a whisper, but filled with so much quiet, lethal rage that for the first time in Hermione’s memory, Ron managed to stop himself mid-rant, his eyes going wide with fear.

“Listen to me, Ronald, because I am only going to say this once. My life does not concern you. You made that choice two years ago. What I do and who I see is my business. Your opinion is of no consequence. And I must say, I find it quite fascinating that you’ve taken such an interest in my comings and goings now, after everything that’s happened. What does your fiancé think about how closely you’re monitoring me? It would be almost comical if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

She spat the final words and watched as anger flared behind Ron’s eyes at the insult. But Hermione was finished with this charade. With pretending they could still be friends.

“You can either keep your thoughts about me to yourself or scream about them to Daphne. You’re her problem now, not mine. But know this: You will never speak to me like this again. Ever. Do you understand me?”

Hermione’s blood was boiling. If there had ever been a moment where she thought she could kill someone with a look alone, this was it. And Ron seemed to sense it too. He just stared back at her, opening and closing his mouth like a fish flopping around the bottom of a boat.

Harry stepped closer, lightly shoving Ron to the side and out of Hermione’s direct line of sight. “We’re sorry, Hermione. And you’re right, you’re a grown up and can make your own decisions. I know things have been strained between us lately, and when Molly told us what happened, everyone got a bit carried away. We overreacted. Ron overreacted, didn’t you Ron? And you’re sorry, right? Ron?”

Ron was still standing stock still, staring silently at Hermione, almost as though she was a stranger.

Harry elbowed him in the ribs. “Right, Ron?”

Ron jolted out of his trance. “Right, yes, right. Sorry, Hermione.” The words came out half distracted and half strained, as though he was still trying to piece together what had just happened and had not yet decided if he wanted to scream at her or let her go.

“Good, yes, great. Let’s all just take a breath here, alright? We’re friends. Best friends. Try to remember that, ok?” Harry’s eyes were pleading, bouncing back and forth between Ron and Hermione’s faces, both still awash in harsh emotions.

Hermione spoke first. “Fine, Harry. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend.”

Turning on her heel, she marched off toward the small conference room across the bullpen where Tonks had asked her to meet, all the while trying to calm her breathing and let the anger seep from her veins.

Ron Weasley was a liar and a cheater and his opinion of her did not matter.

Ron Weasley no longer held any power over her life.

And if Harry had decided that dealing with their actual issues wasn’t important, and instead was focused on trying to use band aids to cover bullet holes, then he didn’t deserve space in her life either.

In the thirty seconds it took Hermione to cross the floor to the conference room, she succeeded in steeling herself against what had just happened, and was proud of herself when she found that—aside from his dig at Draco, which would always be a raw nerve for Hermione—Ron’s attempts at manipulating her emotions to make her feel guilt over his reactions to her life had failed. She really was healing and getting stronger, no longer sublimating her own feelings in favor of protecting her friends. The thought made her smile.

But.

Hermione was still a Gryffindor, after all, and although she was not often as explosive in her anger as Ron, that didn’t mean she didn’t feel it just as fiercely, swirling and rolling through her gut.

She was still breathing heavily, her mouth was still pinched and her eyes were still narrowed, by the time she reached for the handle to the door. So, she stopped herself. Hermione Granger was logical and rational, and she did not allow emotions to impact her work. So she did what a rational person would do: A bit of light occlusion. As soon as she closed the last five minutes into a tightly locked trunk in her mind, her shoulders relaxed and she was able to step into the room with a clear head.

She was immediately grateful that she had both learned to occlude in the first place and that she had been prescient enough to use it in this moment, when her eyes fell on Draco, sitting across the table and looking somehow more handsome than she thought possible.

He was sitting with his elbows on the table, his long fingers tented together, the ebony face of his signet ring glinting, while he looked over several pieces of parchment placed in front of him. He was in a pair of perfectly tailored black pants, boots, and a crisp white shirt, a mahogany leather wand holster strapped around his chest and shoulders, and his cuffs rolled just enough that Hermione could see a few inches of the tattoos that curled down his left arm.

Had she not been occluding, she might have licked her lips at the sight. At the way his fingers moved and from her memories of how they felt against her skin, gripping her, inside of her. At how impossibly broad his shoulders had become and the way the muscles in his chiseled jaw were working while he was deep in thought.

She only had a fraction of a second to indulge herself before the sound of her entry alerted Tonks and Draco to her presence.

“Ah, Hermione, thanks for coming.”

She nodded and moved to take a seat. “Of course. My apologies for being tardy, I was held up on the floor.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed minutely at her tone, curiosity furrowing his brow. Hermione knew that the occlusion caused her affect to flatten slightly, but it had always been imperceptible to those around her. But Draco noticed. She filed that tidbit of knowledge away to dissect later, when she was able to lift the occlusion and allow her emotions to fully return.

“I wish that my Aurors considered thirty seconds late as ‘tardy,’ Hermione. Would save me a fair bit of time—and stress on my vocal cords. Teddy manages to be more prompt than some of these fools, and we haven’t even taught him how to tell time.”

Hermione smiled slightly at the thought of Teddy. The four-year-old with constantly fluctuating hair colors was a force to be reckoned with, barreling through the Lupin’s house and garden like a tornado, big feelings and opinions about anything and everything all at once. Hermione added “schedule a visit with Teddy” to the growing to-do list in her mind.

“You know, I created a spell a couple of years ago that causes a minor shock if the individual is running late to an engagement. It’s not painful, but it may encourage better time management. I’d be happy to show it to you. Or, if you’d like, I could always up the strength of the shock. I bet a few zaps in the ribs would train them quite quickly.”

Draco let out a laugh, his eyes glinting when Hermione met them with her own and shrugged playfully at his response.

Tonks smiled as well. “You truly are brilliant, Hermione. Terrifying, too.”

“Well, I’m sure you didn’t ask me up here to discuss spells to discourage tardiness. So, how can I be of service.”

Tonks’ face grew serious, and from the corner of her eye she saw Draco’s posture tense.

“Actually, this is about how we can be of service to you, Hermione.”

She quirked a brow in question as Tonks continued.

“We’ve gotten new intel that Greyback is indeed planning a return to England. The exact timing is murky, but from everything we have, it looks like it will be soon. It’s time we reassess your security situation, Hermione.”

Her tone was somber but determined.

“Does the intel say that he’s coming back to stop my work?”

Tonks shook her head while Draco sat quietly, observing. “No, but it’s a fair guess, Hermione. And we –”

“Do you have any intel that confirms he even knows what I’m working on?”

A flash of embarrassment crossed Tonks’ face as she sighed, opening her mouth to answer. But Draco got there first.

“No. As of now, our intel just shows that he is preparing to return home. There is no definitive evidence of his plans, or that he is targeting you.”

She nodded, now focused on Draco. In the back of her mind, she realized how odd it was for the two of them to be sitting like this, having this conversation. She never would have imagined…

“You investigated him when he was in America, right?” Draco nodded. “So why do you think he would come back here?”

“His motivation has never been stable, but in my experience, it always came back to building the population of werewolves loyal to him. His goal has always been to build his forces large enough to make a play for control, but he’s never gotten far enough to actually plan what that would look like in detail. My best guess is that he thinks that the attention on him since the war has faded enough that it’s safe for him to return and continue recruiting here.”

“So, he’s not coming back for the sole purpose of killing me?”

Draco recoiled slightly at her blunt question, his hands balling into fists.

“I don’t believe—”

“There is no way to know for sure, Hermione. This isn’t a risk any of us can afford to take. It’s time we give you a security detail, add eyes on your lab, and get a lid on this.”

There was a strain on Tonks’ voice, just a hint of hysteria lingering under the surface.

Hermione took a deep breath, once again glad that the occlusion was keeping her voice even, as she responded.

“I don’t agree. In fact, I think it could be even more dangerous. As far as we know, Greyback wants to return to England to rally other werewolves, and as of now he doesn’t know that I am working on a cure. A cure, I’ll add, that is still many months away from even being ready for testing. I’m under the radar. But if he got wind that suddenly, at the same moment he is planning his return, a team of Aurors have been tasked with guarding me 24/7, that my lab has been hardened, that could be the thing that tips him off. We’re all far better off if I can continue the work in relative secrecy for as long as possible.

The only people that know the true extent of my work are myself and two of my lab assistants, and I made both of them take a vow of secrecy before they joined the project. No one else in the lab knows what we’re working on, and the only thing anyone in the Ministry knows is that I was possibly, maybe, investigating a cure briefly at the beginning of this year. It would be far easier to spread a rumor that my tests were fruitless and I’ve moved on. Hell, give Theo a day and he’ll make sure everyone from the Minister to the Magical Maintenance staff believe it.”

Draco gave a half smile, but Tonks looked unmoved.

“Hermione, you have a history with Greyback. If he’s in England, you’re in danger no matter what. Let us give you the security, for everyone’s peace of mind.”

“Tonks. I have peace of mind. Yes, he threatened me during the war.” Hermione’s hand came to her abdomen, touching part of the scar that stretched across her ribs where Greyback had slid his razor-sharp nail as he whispered threats in her ear while carrying her toward Malfoy Manor. “But that is what he does. I hardly believe I’m the only muggleborn he wanted to keep as a concubine and then slaughter.”

Both Draco and Tonks recoiled this time. Observing the fear on their faces, Hermione let go of her occlusion, concerned she might have pushed too far.

Taking a deep breath against the wave of emotions she could now feel again, she continued in a softer tone.

“Right now, nothing has changed. And I don’t want to pull Aurors away from actually searching for him because they’re stuck watching me fill pipets and debate the usefulness of mandrake root versus tentacula venom as a binding agent. They have far more important things to do. It’s too early to make this call. Ok?”

Draco was observing her intensely, but when she turned to face him, he gave a single nod in agreement. Tonks let out a heavy sigh, rubbing her hands over her face as her hair fluctuated between royal blue and violet.

“Ok, Hermione. Ok.”

Hermione reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’s going to be fine, Tonks, I promise. Stop worrying about me.”

She gave a half-hearted smile back. “Never going to happen, sweetheart.”

Hermione pushed her chair back. “We’ll keep an eye on it. That’s all we can do for now. I need to get back down to the DoM, if I leave Theo alone for too long he’ll start playing with the dark artifacts and I really don’t want to have to reattach any fingers today.”

She pushed open the door and began to make her way back toward the lifts. After just a few seconds, Draco fell into step beside her.

He kept looking straight ahead, his voice low. “When did you learn occlumency?”

She smirked. “I knew you saw it. You’re far too observant for your own good, Draco. A few years ago. I figured it was a useful skill to have. I’m passable at legillimency as well, though if I had to guess I’d say you’re far better.”

They were at the lifts now, and Draco’s silver eyes were boring into her as she waited.

“Are you ok?” His voice was laced with concern. Enough that Hermione turned to look back at him, confusion on her face. His eyes remained intense, scanning her face for signs of pain.

“Why did you need to occlude during the meeting? If you’re more concerned about Greyback than you’re letting on, I can put together a smaller team of specialists to run security under the radar…”

She smiled wistfully. This is how he always was. He never let her keep her concerns to herself, because if there was a way he could help, or even just to comfort her, he was determined to do it. It made her heart swell.

“No, it’s not that, Draco, I promise. I stopped being afraid of Greyback a long time ago. I just had…an unpleasant interaction before the meeting started,” she cut her eyes over to Ron, who was standing twenty feet away discussing something with a group of trainees, “and I didn’t want it to affect the meeting. That’s all.”

Draco had followed her eyes, and when they landed on Ron, he narrowed them, a muscle in his jaw ticking at the sight.

“Ah. I see.”

A ding sounded, announcing the arriving lift, the golden grates sliding open.

“Thank you for checking, Draco. I’m grateful.”

The doors closed as she watched him, still regarding her with an intensity that made a shiver run up her spine.

**

Back in her lab two days later, Hermione smiled at the memory. And then bit her lip at a separate recollection of later that night alone in her bedroom, imagining his long fingers and that signet ring…

She shook her head to stop the memory, ashamed of herself. She had told herself that she would be Draco’s friend. And from what she’d overheard at Theo’s a few weeks prior, Draco had an American girlfriend named Charisma.

Charisma, what a ridiculous name.

But no matter how ridiculous, it was far from ok for Hermione to be spending her nights wearing out her vibrator to fantasies about her ex-boyfriend. Her very taken ex-boyfriend.

She needed to get it together.

Thankfully, she’d agreed to meet Pansy for drinks after work, and hoped that a few cocktails could dull all the thoughts speeding around her head like pinballs.

By the time Hermione walked into the upscale pub in Diagon at 6pm, she was in desperate need of those drinks. Maybe five drinks. And possibly some shots.

Spotting Pansy’s immaculate form at a high table, Hermione crossed the bar and plopped into the chair across from her.

Martini poised at her lips, Pansy raised a brow. “I can’t tell if I should be concerned that your eyes look like you’ve been alternating between pepper-up and dreamless sleep every hour for the whole day or proud that you’ve managed to put together an acceptable outfit and keep your hair and makeup in place while doing it.”

Hermione let out an exasperated groan.

“It’s just been a long week. A really long week.”

“Might your mood have anything to do with a certain afternoon tea with a mildly attractive blond man and his truly fabulous mother last Saturday?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You heard about that, did you?”

Pansy caught the attention of the bartender and motioned to her drink and then Hermione, seamlessly ordering for her. “You’re not the only one who Narcissa loves, you know. We had tea on Wednesday and she filled me in. I’d be careful, if I were you, I could see the gears turning behind her eyes when she spoke about you and Draco, the woman clearly has a plan up her sleeve.”

Hermione tried her best to keep the hope and devastation warring inside her chest from showing, instead simply shaking her head.

“Draco and I are just friends, Pansy. He isn’t interested in me like that.”

Pansy looked back at her, a smirk growing across her blood red lips.

“Interesting way to phrase that, Granger.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You said he isn’t interested in you. You didn’t say anything about you not being interested in him…”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s irrelevant, Pansy. After he left, I had to put my feelings for him away or else I wouldn’t have survived. The surprise of him coming back just…jumbled me up a bit, that’s all. I just need to put all those feelings back in the box.” She said the last words with grit and determination.

Pansy assessed her with a critical eye for a moment before letting out a small, somehow classy, laugh. “You two idiots really are meant for each other…”

“Let it go, Pans.”

Pansy put her hands up in defeat as the bartender set down an extra cold martini in front of Hermione.

“Just keep them coming, please.” He gave the witch a nod before returning to the bar.

“I’ll let it go for now, Granger, mostly because I enjoy watching this little dance you two seem to think the rest of us can’t see. Plus, I think Narcissa is plotting to fully oust the Greengrasses from society, and I can’t wait to see those twits fall from grace.”

“I thought you were close with Daphne and Astoria at school?”

Pansy huffed. “Please, Granger. It’s called building strategic alliances. I hated both of those mindless social climbers, I was just keeping them close in case they were useful.”

Hermione eyed her. “Is that what you’re doing with me?”

Pansy smiled conspiratorially. “An alliance with the brightest witch of our age is certainly strategic, but no, in a shocking twist of fate I actually like you, Hermione. You can both carry on a conversation and keep up at a party, who would have thought. And besides, you’re a Gryffindor, if I ever needed something from you, I’d just dare you to do it and wait for your instincts to take over.”

She punctuated her speech with a sip of her drink, and Hermione couldn’t help but smile.

“In a shocking twist of fate, I actually like you too, Pansy.”

The dark-haired witch held out her glass to Hermione. “To strategic alliances.”

Hermione clinked their glasses. “To shocking twists of fate.”

Pansy returned her smile, but then she seemed to spot something over Hermione’s head that soured her mood.

“Well, this is your fault for tempting fate, Granger.”

She set down her glass and placed her hand gently over Hermione’s. “Don’t turn around, but your ex and my former strategic alliance just walked in, and boy wonder and his wife are with them.”

Hermione groaned. “Wizarding London is too small. It’s just too damn small.”

Pansy patted her hand before retracting it to spin her martini glass between her fingers.

“Now, now, this is an opportunity we can use, Curls.”

“Did Theo really convince you of all people to call me that?”

“Sit up straight and drink your martini, Curls. We’ve got about five seconds before they see us.”

Sure enough, within moments Hermione heard a confused but excited “Pansy?” called from across the room.

Pansy had placed her icy mask back on, and after a slow sip of her drink she turned toward the voice, and with eyes that would have terrified Hermione a few weeks ago, pinned Daphne with a stare. “Daphne, how lovely to see you.” She stepped off of her stool to give the witch two cheek kisses. Hermione marveled at how a woman as petite as Pansy managed to always seem like the most intimidating person in a room. “You know my good friend Hermione, I’m sure?”

Daphne startled, clearly, she hadn’t realized it was Hermione sitting with Pansy.

“Oh, I, yes of course. Hello, Hermione.” Her voice was brittle on her name.

Hermione just smiled, mimicking Pansy. “Hi Daphne. You look lovely! That blouse is gorgeous.”

“Thank you. You look…nice as well. I didn’t realize the two of you were friends?”

She was trying to keep her voice light, but Hermione could hear the undercurrent of venom. Before either could speak, Ron, Harry, and Ginny all came up behind Daphne, Ron looking nervous, Harry confused, and Ginny shocked.

“Hermione? What are you doing here?”

Pansy laughed and opened her mouth to speak, but Hermione shook her head. “Hi Gin, you look well. And I assume we’re here for the same reason you are, to grab drinks after work, of course. You should try their martinis, they’re fantastic.”

Ginny looked back clearly trying to suss out what was happening.

“To-together? The two of you are here together?”

Pansy tinkled a laugh. “We’re not on a date, if that’s what you’re asking, Weasley. Or is it Potter, now? My girlfriend was a bridesmaid at your wedding, if you’ll recall. Not that I wouldn’t, Granger. From what I’ve seen, I’m quite confident it would be fantastic.”

Hermione smirked back. “You tell me the date and time, Pansy.”

The witches clinked their glasses again, laughing.

Ginny quickly shook her head. “Of course, yes. How is Luna? I haven’t been able to see her in a while.”

Pansy’s smile softened, as it always did when she spoke about Luna. “She’s magnificent as always. On a trip to Peru for a story at the moment, she should be back in a few days.”

Ginny gave a small smile before turning back to Hermione. Harry had a hand on her back but seemed more interested in observing the back and forth than participating. Ron was silent, his eyes a bit glazed taking in the picture of Hermione with yet another of his Slytherin enemies. How he managed to continue hating Draco, Theo, and Pansy while preparing to marry a member of a family who had served as a primary funder for Voldemort’s regime, she would never understand.

“Mione, I miss you. Can we get together soon? You could join us now, if you’d like. Both of you, I suppose.”

Ron’s face went from red to white so fast Hermione thought he would faint. He whipped his head toward his sister.

Pansy laughed again. “As effusive as that invitation was, it appears your brother might have a coronary if we joined your little double date, so I’ll have to pass. I certainly don’t want to be blamed for his death. And besides, when you walked in I had been about to ask my gorgeous friend here if she wanted to head back to Black Rose club this evening?”

Pansy leaned toward Ginny conspiratorially, but kept her voice loud enough for Harry, Ron, and Daphne to hear.

“You should have seen Hermione there last time. The number of men falling all over themselves to take her home was truly astounding. Though, you certainly chose the right option, Curls. Even I could tell that tall, dark, and handsome Daddy was going to be a good time.”

Hermione smirked, truly enjoying the looks of shock and horror taking over the faces of her former friends (and Daphne). “And that he was, Pans. That he was. You should join us next time, Gin! I’ll send you an owl, yeah?”

Ginny worked to regain her footing, looking between Harry and Ron, both of whom looked as though someone had just hit them in the head with a hammer. “Yes, ok. Sure.”

She leaned in and grabbed Hermione’s hand, her eyes pleading. “Let’s get together soon, ok? Just the two of us?”

Hermione smiled noncommittally while Pansy set several galleons down on the table and stood up. Hermione followed suit.

“Well, we’re off. Have a lovely evening, all. Daphne, let’s have tea soon, shall we? I’ll be joining Narcissa at the Manor next week, I’m sure she’d love for you to join!”

Hermione had to bite the inside of her cheeks to keep from laughing as Daphne’s eyes widened in horror.

Pansy grabbed her hand and pulled, leading her toward the door. Hermione only had a moment to look back. “Have a nice night!”

By the time they stumbled out of the door and back into Diagon Alley, both witches were doubled over with laughter.

“Did you see the Weasel’s face?!

“Which one?”

“BOTH!”

They dissolved into another fit of giggles.

“Daphne’s face when you invited her to tea with Narcissa…that was brilliant!”

Pansy made a mock bow. “I don’t have this reputation for nothing, my dear.” She looped her arm through Hermione’s and began leading her away.

“We’re not really going to the Black Rose, are we?”

Pansy threw her head back and laughed. “Of course not, Granger. With Draco back, I know you’re not about to have any more one-night stands until your analytical little brain is certain that door is completely closed. And when the two of you finally get over yourselves and start fucking again, I’ll expect a heartfelt apology for your idiocy. And possibly a gift. Preferably diamonds.”

Hermione huffed.

“There’s a muggle bar a few blocks from the alley, and their martinis are ten times as good as that dump, let’s go get drunk.”

Hermione didn’t think she stopped smiling all night.

**

In Hermione’s estimation, one of the biggest perks to working at the ministry was getting access to the employee gym.

She laughed to herself. “Gym” did not do this place justice.

Located on a lower floor in the ministry, it was a magically enlarged space charmed to meet the exact needs of each person who entered. There were several designated dueling practice rings spelled to ensure that no errant hex hit anyone passing by, the largest pool Hermione had ever seen, and enough magical exercise equipment to outfit the entire European Quidditch League.

But in truth, Hermione wasn’t very interested in any of that. Her purpose for coming down to the space was to take advantage of the special “As You Wish” rooms. Along one side of the main gym space were a series of doors, each of which led into an As You Wish room—rooms that, at least by her investigations, operated using the same magic as the Room of Requirement.

Anyone could reserve an As You Wish room, step up to the door, wish for exactly the space you wanted, and it would appear. Unspeakables often used these rooms to test new spells or defensive objects that were too classified or unstable to be seen by others, and Aurors would often turn a room into a life size model of a location they were set to raid in order to practice formations in advance.

But not Hermione.

Hermione’s mother had always told her that she was dancing before she could walk, and when she took her to her first dance class at just 18 months old, there was no turning back.

From then on, Hermione spent as much time as she could at the Cynthia Merril Dance Company studios in central London, taking classes in every style of dance they offered—but dedicating most of her attention toward ballet. She officially became a junior member of the Company when she was eight, and the only hesitation Hermione had about accepting her place at Hogwarts was that she would have to forego classes during the school year.

Hermione spent every second of her holidays and summer breaks at the studio until the war began after 6th year. Two weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts, she had stepped back inside, slid on her pointe shoes, and danced. It was the first moment of relief she had felt in over a year.

Hermione had continued to take classes and reserve studio time until her parents had died. After, she couldn’t bear the idea of feeling the joy dance brought her, and when she finally started to recover, she’d given up dancing to try and focus on repairing her relationship with Ron.

She’d been devastated to learn that a year later, the studio had closed its doors, and she couldn’t bring herself to find somewhere new to dance—there were too many memories there.

But on her first day back at the ministry after she’d broken things off with Ron last October, something inside her had told her to grab her ballet supplies, and when she was finished for the day she went down into the gym, reserved a room, and wished for it to create a ballet studio.

When she’d opened the door, she walked in to a perfect replica of her favorite room at her old studio. Springy wooden floors, smooth bars affixed to three of the walls, mirrors lining the other, and even a muggle sound system to play music. She’d come down at least twice a week ever since

Today was no different.

It was a few days after her drinks with Pansy, and Hermione had finished her last report at 4pm. Instead of starting on the reports she had due the following week, she grabbed her dance bag and headed down to her sanctuary within the ministry.

Her studio always created a small changing room on the far end near the stereo system, and Hermione began the methodical process of changing into her dance clothes and prepping her pointe shoes.

She had never loved the traditional black leotard and pink tights combo she was required to wear in her old classes, and now opted for a black, criss-cross strapped sports bra and matching high waisted briefs, with her tights worn over the top. It’s how she and her fellow dancers had dressed when their instructors weren’t around, and the memory of that small rebellion always made Hermione smile.

The look also put all of her tattoos on display, and the sight of them always made Hermione feel powerful.

The first three she had gotten in the weeks after Draco’s trial and before she’d agreed to her first date with Ron.

On her arm, covering the gruesome scar left by Bellatrix Lestrange, the words she and Draco had exchanged as promises of their love to each other: amor vincit omnia.

On the side of her ribcage a single phoenix feather, covering the place she’d caught a deadly hex during the raid on the ministry in her fifth year.

Straight down her spine, the names of all of the people she had lost in the war, written in runes.

And the newest addition, across the scar left by Greyback on her chest, the face of Medusa, the wild snakes of her hair curving around her ribs. She’d wanted that tattoo for years, but Ron had hated the idea that he’d be looking into the eyes of a monster known for turning men to stone every time he saw Hermione naked. Hermione had tried to explain that Medusa was a protector, repelling evil men who meant to do harm, but Ron had been insistent. He hated the tattoos that Hermione already had, and had asked her, for him, not to get any more. Shortly after they’d broken up, she’d gone straight to her favorite muggle tattoo parlor in London and had it inked permanently to her chest.

After prepping her feet and securing her pointe shoes, Hermione flicked her wand toward the stereo system to start the playlist she always used to go through a traditional warm up series.

It only took a few plies at the bar before Hermione’s brain began to slow, emptying of the racing thoughts that so often occupied her mind. Before she knew it, nearly an hour had passed and she’d moved from warm ups at the bar to leap and turn combinations that took her across the floor, and was now on her third pass of a piece she had choreographed herself set to “Tonight, Tonight” by the Smashing Pumpkins.

She had been so wrapped up in the joy of the movement, the feeling of being at one with the music, that she hadn’t noticed the two men who had entered and were standing against the wall by the door.

When the song ended, Hermione broke her last pose, raising both arms to rest on top of her head as she breathed quickly, trying to slow her heartrate after the intense exertion.

“Merlin, Hermione! That was…wow. When you said you had danced as a kid, I didn’t realize this is what you meant!”

Hermione sucked in a breath and spun around, a hand over her heart. It was Ron who had spoken, and he was staring at her, slack jawed. Draco was standing next to him, looking at her with such intensity Hermione felt like his eyes were burning straight through her.

“What…How did you get in here?!”

Ron just shrugged. “The door wasn’t locked. Tonks sent us down here to find you.”

Angry at herself for not more thoroughly warding the room, Hermione crossed toward the two Aurors, discretely turning her left arm inward to block Draco from seeing the tattoo there.

“What’s going on, is something wrong?”

Ignoring her question, Ron flicked his chin toward the tattoo covering the center of her chest. “So, you went through with it, huh?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, her expression turning to ice. He was behaving as if the confrontation they’d had last week had never happened. “Yes Ronald, I did. Now, either explain why you’re here or get out.”

Ron shook his head dismissively. Draco’s eyes were still piercing her, but she could see him working to school his figures into a neutral expression.

“Tonks has assigned you a protective detail and asked me to head up the team.” He smiled proudly.

“We got the news earlier today that Greyback has returned to the country, and Tonks has decided you need security. We’re to go home with you today, reset all of your wards and remain posted with you for the night. Then a team will rotate in and out so someone is with you 24/7. Tonks also asked that you provide the details for the protective enchantments around your lab so that a team can sweep the area tomorrow and set up watch stations throughout.”

Ron’s chest was puffed, his tone condescending. Hermione felt like he had slapped her across her face.

“Reset…my…wards? She…what?!”

Draco’s eyes softened and he opened his mouth to speak, but Ron cut him off.

“Don’t worry, Hermione. You’ll be fine! There’s no need to worry.” Ron’s face looked both placating and condescending. “It’s great that you’re working on this cure, Hermione, really. You’ve just gotten in a bit over your head here, that’s all. You just need some help to keep you safe.”

A buzzing began in Hermione’s ears.

“Help? I need your help?” She laughed humorlessly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Draco’s eyes pinch closed and his chin drop.

Hermione pinned Ron with a withering stare. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Ron stared back at Hermione for a moment before turning his head briefly toward Draco and stepping forward into Hermione’s personal space before continuing in a mock whisper.

“Mione, I can remove him from the team right now. Just say the word. There’s no need for you to let a Death Eater anywhere near you.”

Draco didn’t move, and his eyes remained blank.

Hermione blinked once, staring back at Ron in disbelief, before turning her gaze toward Draco. The fury rolling off of her was palpable as she stared at him, straight into his gunmetal eyes. Her anger was not just for herself, but also at the words that Ron had just thrown at Draco like they were nothing. She surveyed him, visibly moving her head up and down, as though to check to see if Ron’s insult had caused any physical wounds.

Draco just stared back at her with that same intense, unreadable expression he so often wore.

After another beat staring into his eyes, Hermione made up her mind.

Plastering a clearly false, almost sinister smile on her face, she turned back to Ron.

“Ok. Wait here a moment.”

She turned on her heel and headed back to the dressing room at the other end of the studio. Under normal circumstances, Hermione never used magic to remove the tape and wrappings on her feet beneath her pointe shoes—but these circumstances were far from normal.

She violently swiped her wand, freeing her feet as she jammed her shoes back into her bag, followed by her tights and clothing. She performed a cleansing charm on her body and hair before forcing her work clothes back on. Her grey pumps clacked on the wooden floor as she crossed the room back toward Ron and Draco moments later.

When she reached them, Hermione looked between the two before emotionlessly saying “let’s go.”

She pushed out of the door and began marching across the gym floor and back toward the lifts, with Ron and Draco following behind.

“Obviously I know your flat well, so I’ve already mapped out where we can place the wards and protective enchantments. We’ll also want to limit access to your floo, possibly even make the location unplottable…”

Ron continued to prattle on as Hermione ignored him. They finally reached the lifts and the three walked straight in. Without speaking, Hermione pressed the button to take them directly to the DMLE.

“What are you doing Mione? We need to go to the Atrium to use the floo. Or do you want to apparate? We don’t want to waste time…”

Hermione stood stock still and facing forward. She could feel Draco’s eyes on her from where he stood at the back of the lift. The urge to reach back and grab his hand, to squeeze it for dear life so he knew just how angry she was, was overwhelming.

The doors opened to the DMLE bullpen, and Hermione immediately marched forward, walking as fast as she could toward Tonks’ office, while Ron continued to protest from behind her.

She reached the door and used her wand to fling it open with a crash.

Harry was sitting across from Tonks, in the middle of a discussion.

Hermione’s rage seemed to fill the room. She stared at Tonks’ shocked face for a moment before stepping forward to stand behind Harry’s chair.

“Get out, Harry.” Her tone brooked no argument. Harry’s eyes widened and he looked between Hermione and Tonks.

“Hermione, what’s going…”

“I said: Get. Out.”

She repeated the words but never spared Harry a glance. Her eyes were fixed directly on Tonks, who now clearly understood why Hermione had barged in, and was looking back at her with a mixture of exasperation and fear.

“It’s alright, Harry. Hermione and I have a few things to discuss.”

Hesitantly, still looking back and forth between Tonks sitting placidly at her desk and Hermione, nearly vibrating with rage, Harry stood up and made his way to the door.

Draco had wisely taken up a position against a desk outside of Tonks’ office, but Ron had placed himself directly inside the doorframe.

He stood, speechless, as Harry maneuvered past him. Without warning, Hermione waved her wand once again, slamming the door in Ron’s shocked face and simultaneously silencing the room.

“Listen, Hermione…”

“No Tonks, YOU listen.”

Hermione pointed at the witch and stepped closer to her desk. Her anger was rising with each moment.

“I told you last week. I told you that I didn’t want a protective detail. That it would hurt the research if there were Aurors surrounding us at the lab, making everyone jumpy, and drawing more attention to what we’re doing. That I would be the one to determine if the circumstances required additional security. And yet, here you are going behind my back and just making the decision for me? Maneuvering me however you see fit? And making Ron the leader of the team! What the HELL are you thinking?!”

Tonks put both of her hands up and took a deep breath. “Hermione, look, I understand if you’re upset. It must be hard for you to see Ron moving on, and I can see how him leading your protective detail would come as a shock, but he knows you, he already knows the layout of your flat and your lab, he’s the best suited to…”

Tonks was cut off by Hermione’s fist violently slamming into the center of her desk, causing the whole thing to rattle and several picture frames to topple over. Tonks jumped back in surprise.

“HE CHEATED ON ME, TONKS! FOR TWO YEARS!”

Tonks eyes went wide, and she quickly turned her head to look at Ron, now leaning against the same desk as Draco outside of her office and staring into the room, clearly trying to read their lips.

“He started fucking Daphne right after my parents died. So, you’re right, I am more than a little shocked that you would force him on me, but hey, you didn’t know, right? Good ol’ Harry never said anything, right? They’ve got their stories down quite well, don’t you think? Just a regular breakup! Hermione is the one acting unreasonably, still holding on to the old times!”

Realization seemed to dawn on Tonks. “Hermione, I…I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

Hermione just huffed, uninterested in stopping now. “Of course you didn’t. Because he asked me not to say anything! To spare my reputation.” Hermione barked a laugh.

“But that is not the point. I don’t care who it is, you cannot just rip away my autonomy and treat me like an unruly child. As though my opinion on my own life is worthless. I do not consent to having Aurors following me around 24/7, and you already knew that. So he’s back in England. So what! We discussed this last week, and there is absolutely nothing concrete about his intentions, no indication yet that Greyback or any of his followers have actual plans to attack me or my lab.”

Hermione took a deep breath and dropped into the chair across from Tonks.

“You are not thinking clearly, Tonks. You’re too close to this and it’s clouding your judgment. But if you keep doing this…none of us are going to get what we want. I can’t work with people looking over my shoulder. It’s stifling. I have to be able to separate myself from this, to not think about you and Remus and Teddy…because if I do, I’m going to make bad decisions, I’m going to make the wrong calls. And I want this to work, Tonks. I really, really want this to work. But we can’t do it like this. If you try to impose something like this on me again, I will quit my role with the DMLE and will not provide any details about my work to any of you. Do you understand?”

Hermione stared back at Tonks, whose eyes had grown grimmer with every passing word.

She finally took a stuttering breath and dropped her head into her hands.

“You’re right, Hermione. You’re right. I’m so sorry.” Her voice broke.

She ran her hands down her face, rubbing her eyes.

“When I heard you were working on a cure, I…I couldn’t think about anything else. I was…I am…desperate. So desperate. And that’s not fair. Not to you, not to my team, not to anyone. I’m letting my personal desires outweigh everything else.”

She sighed heavily, shaking her head back and forth.

Hermione’s eyes softened. “I understand Tonks, really I do. But I can’t work like this. I can’t live like this. I am not going to stop working on the cure. And we can keep monitoring the situation with Greyback. If it gets worse, we can reassess. But for now, I need to be able to continue my work in peace. Ok?”

Tonks looked back at her; exhaustion etched across her features.

“Ok—but.”

Hermione’s eyes sharpened, but Tonks put up her hands in surrender.

“Would you just let Malfoy examine your wards? He is the expert after all, and he could suggest additions if there is anything that might strengthen your protections. Just once, ok? Please. I just want you to be safe, that’s all.”

Hermione turned her head and looked at Draco, who was still leaning against the desk, arms crossed over his chest, staring impassively at the windows into Tonks’ office.

“Fine.”

Tonks let loose a breath. “Thank you. Thank you, Hermione.”

Hermione nodded and began to get up from her chair.

“Hermione, wait.”

She stopped, still facing Tonks.

“He cheated on you? For two years?” Her face looked stricken.

Hermione simply nodded, expressionless. “Yes.”

“That motherfucker.”

Hermione gave a small smile. “That motherfucker indeed.”

She turned and opened the door back to the bullpen.

Harry was still standing next to Ron. He looked concerned, while Ron just looked angry.

She ignored them both, stopping directly in front of Draco.

“Auror Malfoy, I’d like to invite you to my home to inspect my wards. Would you be willing to accompany me?”

Draco stared down at her, at first with that same neutral expression, but after a moment a spark of fiery humor flashed in his eyes, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk.

He nodded his head and gestured with his arms. “Lead the way, Granger.”

Ron and Harry both stood, rooted in place, gaping at her as she walked away.

Chapter End Notes

Draco and Hermione alone together in her house...what could POSSIBLY happen? :)

For those interested, I did want to let you know that we will be getting to...well...everything starting in chapter 12, and there may or may not be a double update next week, so we are closing in on some very exciting times!

As always thank you for reading, for the comments, and for you kudos. You people are the absolute greatest.

xoxo,

Flames

State of Grace

Chapter Notes

Happy Double Update Sunday everyone! This is the first of the two updates for today, please make sure you read them in order!

TW: Brief mention of past suicidal thoughts

See the end of the chapter for more notes

February, 4th Year

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Hermione had been meant to meet Draco in the Room of Requirement last night after helping Harry with any last-minute preparations for the second task. But she hadn’t shown.

He’d hoped that she had just been caught up with Potter, but then she hadn’t been at breakfast this morning. And as the entire school walked down toward the Black Lake to watch the task, he scanned the crowd and wasn’t able to find her.

She wasn’t in the stands.

She wasn’t on the platform with Potter.

He’d even searched out Weasley, hoping if he found him, he’d find her, and somehow, he was absent as well.

Then Dumbledore had announced the details of the task, and Draco’s stomach fell through the floor.

The old man didn’t say what had been stolen from each champion, but Draco knew. He knew if both Weasley and Hermione were gone, this was why.

Weasley must have been taken for Potter.

And Hermione…she must have been taken for…his lips curled…Krum.

And now they were somewhere at the bottom of the lake.

Fear. Fear unlike anything he had ever felt, rushed through him. His hands went clammy, he began to shake, and every single second felt like an eternity.

He watched as all four champions dove into the water.

He watched as Fleur came back up, unable to complete the task. Terror lanced through him.

What if Krum was unable to finish as well?

The minutes ticked by. The hour was almost up, and still neither Harry nor Krum had surfaced.

Draco’s knees gave out and he had to grab the railing to hold himself up when, with seconds to spare, Krum broke through the surface of the lake, a sopping wet but very alive Hermione in his arms.

Draco thought he was going to vomit.

He watched as they made their way to the shore, and as Hermione looked around, clearly trying to find Harry and Ron.

Draco tried to steady his breathing, tried to just take her in and tell himself that she was ok, she was alive, everything was ok.

Finally, after Potter reappeared with both Ron and the Delacour sister in tow, Hermione turned toward the stands, her eyes scanning.

They landed on Draco, and she gave the slightest smile of relief. The intensity of his responding stare made her eyes go wide.

Several hours later, Draco was pacing back and forth across the length of the Room of Requirement. The fire was crackling merrily, but he still felt freezing.

Finally, the door creaked open and Hermione slipped inside.

The door had not even fully closed before Draco crossed the room and took her in his arms.

“Fuck, Hermione. Fuck.”

She hugged him back tightly.

“I’m ok. It’s ok.”

“I was so scared, love. So, so scared. As soon as I realized you were down there, I thought…fuck I thought I had to figure out how I could get into the lake and get you back. I couldn’t stand the thought that you…”

He pulled back, hands running up to her face, cupping her jaw, then down her neck and arms, holding her at arms-length, surveying her for any damage. She shivered under his touch.

“Are you ok? Are you still cold? Come on, let’s get near the fire.” He grabbed her arms gently and walked her toward the hearth, sitting on the floor behind her as she settled between his legs.

He wrapped his arms around her, and she grabbed his hands, holding them together.

“I’m fine, Draco. I promise. Dumbledore would never have let any of us be hurt. I’m just…I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you. They came and took Ron and I out of the library and straight to his office. There wasn’t any way I could get a message to you…I’m sorry you were worried.”

Draco hugged her more tightly to him.

“Stop apologizing to me, witch. I’m not mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong! I’m just…I was just…I was scared. I was terrified for you. The thought of losing you…I can’t stand it.”

She nestled her back further into Draco’s chest, leaning her head to the side so she could see his eyes.

“You’re not going to lose me, Draco. Ever.” She reared up and kissed his cheek, before he turned his head and caught her lips with his own.

He pulled back after a long moment spent just breathing her in.

“Amor vincit omnia, Draco. No one is going to take me from you, I promise.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “Amor vincit omnia, Hermione.”

************************************************************************************************************************************************

April 2002

Draco could feel her anger, the raw magic of it, sparking off of Hermione as the lift doors closed on the DMLE bullpen.

The urge to grab her hand, to pull her into an embrace and sooth the fire from her veins was overwhelming. As was the urge to tell her how fucking hot it was when she slammed that door in Weasley’s face.

But this was uncharted territory for Draco, and he knew that as much as he wanted to, he had to keep his hands to himself. But that was all the restraint he could muster.

“Hermione.” His voice was soft and smooth, a coaxing question he hoped she would answer.

He was rewarded when her eyes, shining like molten gold, turned on him.

“Are you ok? Is there something I can do?”

The fury in her face began to melt as she stared back at him, and that same heady sense of relief he always felt when he was able to calm her returned.

Hermione let out a heavy sigh and lowered her head, bringing up her hands to run roughly through her curls.

“Yes, I’m fine, I just…I do not like being played like someone else’s pawn.”

“I know.” His tone was somber with understanding. Hermione Granger was no one’s puppet. She worked harder than anyone else at Hogwarts to learn everything she missed not growing up in the magical world so that she could be sure she could stand toe-to-toe with anyone she came across. And on the few occasions that they’d allowed themselves to openly share their fears of the coming war, she’d whispered that the only things she was afraid of were either being manipulated in a way that put Harry or the Order in danger, or, if Voldemort won, being used as a prop to show other non-purebloods what would happen if they stepped out of line.

She’d revealed to Draco that if they lost, if Potter lost, she’d take her own life before being used like that. The thought was so dark that it still chilled Draco to the bone to remember it.

So he knew just how much she abhorred anyone attempting to maneuver her behind her back. It drove her mad.

“I’m sorry.” The quiet but determined words confused Draco.

“What do you possibly have to be sorry about?”

“I’m sorry for what he said about you. That he can’t grow the fuck up and see who you are. He’s a godsdamned disgrace.”

Draco smiled and let out a huff of laughter.

“It’s not your fault he’s still a fucking twit, Hermione.”

She grimaced and looked away, toward the opposite wall of the lift.

“I think it is, actually. I dated him for three damn years, Draco.” His heart clenched at the reminder. He knew he had no right to be at all upset about who she had chosen to date after he left—he’d been the one who demanded they end things, after all—but he couldn’t lie and say that when he’d first seen the news, plastered across the headlines of The Daily Prophet he had sent by floo to his flat in New York every day, that he hadn’t spent the next hour destroying every glass and plate he could find in his apartment, and then the next several weeks drinking himself to sleep every night.

“I let him act that way. I should have done more. Demanded that he be better or…Merlin I should have never even dated him in the first –”

The lift dinged as the doors opened to the atrium, where stragglers were still making their way to the Ministry floos or out to the streets to head home.

Hermione cleared her throat and stepped forward, cutting off the conversation.

“We’ll need to apparate, my wards won’t let you in through the floo.”

Draco just nodded and followed her toward the exit doors that would lead to the designated ministry apparition point in the Alley.

He expected Hermione to grab his arm the second they stepped outside, eager to get away from the events of the last hour, but instead she stepped to the side and stood against the cracked brick wall, closely monitoring the other Ministry employees as they each turned on the spot and disappeared with a crack.

When they were alone, she pushed off the wall and stepped toward him.

She took a deep steadying breath before raising her eyes to his.

“Draco. Harry and Ron don’t know where I live, and I’d like it to remain that way.”

Her tone was quiet, part question and part plea.

He held her gaze and tried to express that she could still trust him, completely, with his responding look.

“Of course.”

She observed him for a moment before nodding and reaching out to grab his upper arm. Even through his shirt and jacket, and even with the pull of the apparition, he could still feel the jolt of electricity pass through him at her touch.

A second later they landed in a secluded section of a residential street. A street that Draco recognized.

He shot Hermione a questioning glance, and she just smiled and shrugged back in response while beginning to make her way down the block and toward a garden gate. A garden gate where Draco had once paced, terrified, before meeting Hermione’s parents for the first time.

“When did you buy it?”

“I didn’t. I never sold it after I sent them to Australia during the war. It was left to me in their will. But I’ve only been living here for a few months.”

She kept her tone nonchalant, but Draco could hear the undercurrent of pain that came from discussing her parents’ deaths. He tried to lighten the mood.

“You know, I’d never been more nervous in my life than that moment standing at this gate.” He nodded his head forward toward the spot on the sidewalk a few yards ahead.

A bright smile broke across Hermione’s face, and his heart soared.

“And was I right or wrong when I told you that you didn’t need to be nervous?”

He chuckled at the memory. “You were right.”

“Thank you very much.” Her tone remained light but took on a thread of wistfulness. “They adored you.”

“I adored them, too, Hermione.”

Her smile turned tender as she slowed her steps as they reached the gate, and she pulled out her wand to begin the process of altering her wards to allow Draco to pass. Immediately, he realized that, of course, Hermione had placed complex, overlapping security wards across her property lines.

As she worked, she spoke.

“I’ve placed a combination of magical repellant charms and intrusion alarms in a one block radius around the property. If any magical being who isn’t with me or who I have not explicitly invited gets close, they should be stopped from getting anywhere near the house, and if they manage to make it through, my alerts would go off to warn me and additional shields will go up around the property itself.”

With a final swish of her wand, Draco felt the wards that had been pushing against him and preventing him from stepping through the gate ease and welcome him through. Hermione stepped forward and unlatched the gate, before turning and inviting him to follow.

“The wards around the house itself are webbed. There’s a modification to a traditional set of blood wards, curse-proof shields on all doors and windows, the location itself is unplottable, I added some illusion charms that would make the place look abandoned if any magical being I haven’t let in gets a look at it, and my floo is only accessible from the outside if I provide explicit invitations. The only people who can get through are Theo, George, Pansy, Luna, Blaise, and Padma.”

Draco almost laughed. The precautions Hermione had taken to protect her home were some of the most complex he’d seen outside of secured government buildings and pureblood manors that had been infused with magic for hundreds of years. Of course, she’d been this thorough, he’d expect nothing less.

People still want to kill her, that’s why she has to be so careful. His traitorous brain reminded him, sending a chill down his spine.

They reached the front door and Hermione waved her wand again to unlock it before turning back to Draco with an almost hopeful smile on her face.

“Welcome to my home, Draco. Or, I guess, welcome back.” She gave a playful tilt of her head before opening the door and ushering them inside.

Draco was immediately overcome by both how different it looked than the last time he’d been here and also how very Hermione the place felt.

It was warm and colorful, with every piece of furniture seeming to invite you to sit down and relax. It was cozy and filled with personal touches and mementos, but not cluttered, and was somehow a perfect mix of the traditional style you might find in an old castle and modern, eclectic pieces. It was beautiful.

She stood in the living room off the entry way looking back at him, a hint of nerves shining through her posture.

He smiled. “If I had to describe exactly what I thought your home would look like, this would be it.”

She smiled back. “As scary as she is, Pansy really does know how to design a space, huh?”

“That she does.”

“Well, come in. Do you want something to drink, or…do you need to look around? Assess the security, or…?”

He shook his head.

“In news that should shock no one, you’ve done an excellent job with your own security, Hermione. It’s the best I’ve ever seen set up by someone who isn’t a trained specialist. I could feel the wards on the block and around the property line, they’re solid. There are only two things I’d be interested in adding—that is, if you’re alright with it?”

Hermione nodded, curiosity sparking in her eyes to learn what he had to say. The look was identical to the one she always got in school when she learned a new spell or discovered a new fact in a book, a look that Draco always treasured because of how adorably intense her expression became.

He considered occluding to keep his emotions at bay, but if he’d been able to spot it on Hermione, he was sure she’d be able to see it on him, and he wasn’t sure how he would answer her if she asked why he was doing it.

Because looking at you like this, being here with you like this, makes me want to cry and scream and laugh and hold you and lay you down on the nearest surface to fuck you until we’re both exhausted.

Probably not the best answer.

So, instead, he focused all of his energy on keeping his voice steady and stuck to the facts.

“I created a protection spell that can be placed around a building that, if tripped by an intruder, would simultaneously apparate out the inhabitants to a designated safe location and become an impermeable barrier, trapping the unsub inside until backup was able to arrive and arrest them…why are you looking at me like that?”

Hermione’s expression had grown playful and incredulous as he spoke, and she laughed lightly, leaning back against the breakfast bar that connected her living room to the kitchen.

“You said ‘unsub,’ and it’s just…odd to realize that we’re suddenly adults with real careers, you know?”

“Bad odd?”

She shook her head. “Definitely not bad odd, Auror Malfoy.” She winked with her last words and fuck he was going to have to occlude because now all the blood in his body was rushing to his cock and getting hard while standing across from your ex-girlfriend in her home was definitely in bad taste.

“What’s the second thing?”

Her question brought him out of his revery, and he tried, however futile, to refocus on the task at hand.

“I’d like to go through the house and create emergency beacons in each room. We can spell any object in the room to work. That way, if all else fails, you’d be able to activate the beacon and get a team of Aurors scrambled here in a matter of seconds.”

She looked thoughtful, clearly working through her own questions and considerations before responding.

“Ok. On one condition.”

Draco raised his brow.

“You have to show me how you cast that protection spell; it sounds incredible.” A sly smile spread across her face, and Draco smiled in kind.

“I’d expect nothing less.”

And now to say the part that he’d both been dreading and desperately excited about.

“There’s just one thing, Hermione. The spell has to be recharged weekly, and it uses moonlight as an anchor. It can only be done by the original caster, and the process takes about ten hours, so…I’ll need to monitor it tonight, and then I’d have to come back once a week and be here overnight to maintain it. Is that…would you be alright with that?”

She stared at him for a moment, her face unreadable.

“It’s…it’s fine with me, but would it cause problems for you? I mean, would your girlfriend be upset that you’re spending one night a week at some random woman’s house?”

Draco’s brain stopped working. He felt like he’d just fallen off his broom from 100 feet up. Or maybe that he’d been hit by the Hogwarts Express. Or maybe he was just having a stroke.

Would it cause problems for you?

Some random woman.

Your girlfriend.

“What are you talking about, Hermione? What girlfriend?” His words came out in a harsh whisper, rushed in a single breath.

Hermione’s face contorted in confusion.

“Charisma? Isn’t that her name? I heard you talking about her at Theo’s…” She looked pained, like the awkwardness of this conversation was manifesting physically in her body.

Draco threw his head back and brought the fingers of his right hand up to pinch his nose.

“Fucking Theo…” He was shaking his head in disbelief.

Had she thought this whole time that he had a girlfriend?

Was that holding her back from…?

Fuck.

Bringing his head back to level, he captured Hermione’s golden eyes, and tried to express everything he was feeling through them as he responded.

“Hermione. I do not have a girlfriend. Charisma is…we were…we were friends in New York. She works at MACUSA. We had…” He stumbled, but he could see recognition on Hermione’s face. “…A few times, but she is not my girlfriend. She has never been my girlfriend. I haven’t even spoken to her since I got back.”

His voice was desperate, almost pleading, by the end.

He held Hermione’s gaze, and his stomach flipped when he thought, just for an instant, that he saw hope flash across her eyes.

“Oh. Sorry, I…I shouldn’t have assumed.” She broke their eye contact and began looking anywhere that was not at Draco.

“Well, then let’s get started, shall we?”

“Right, yes, ok. Let’s begin with the protection spell. The casting won’t take long, but it will need time to build around the house. Is there an open space in the back garden we can use?”

A little more frantically than he thought she intended, Hermione nodded and began bustling toward the back of the house.

Draco barely took in the kitchen or dining room, and only gave a passing glance to the greenhouse, still trying to process what had just happened.

Together, they stepped out into the backyard, where the sun had begun to set. Draco followed Hermione down several stone steps from the raised terrace area down onto the grass, and then he focused on slowing his breathing as he walked to the center of the space and turned back toward the house.

Hermione came to stand beside him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her body heat.

Clearing his throat, he began.

“The wand work itself isn’t all that complex. The theory is based on runestones that are used to perform the opposite action, expel or kill intruders while protecting those inside a specific space. By casting these runes,” He maneuvered his wand as several glowing red symbols appeared in the air, “you charge the area with the manner of protection we want. Then, it’s just a matter of using some practical hexagonal arithmancy,” his wand swirled and swooped, and a glowing latticework pattern appeared, absorbing the runes, whose magic began to infuse each line, “and the spell will be shaped around the size of the location you’re protecting.”

Hermione had been trading off between staring at Draco’s face, watching his wand movement, and observing the latticework that was now slowly growing outward and up, creeping toward the sides and top of the house.

She turned to fully face him, a look of awe on her features.

“Draco, this is…this is incredible. You’re brilliant!”

The way those words made him feel…

He smirked. “Coming from the brightest witch of our age? I’ll take it.”

She rolled her eyes and started walking back toward the house.

“Well come on, let’s go make some emergency beacons. You don’t want to leave the brightest witch of our age waiting!”

Draco felt warm. The idea that he would be spending time, uninterrupted, with Hermione filled him happiness, and he couldn’t contain his smile as he followed her back into the house.

They began on the top floor, slowly going through each room. He watched with interest as Hermione debated which object he should turn into a beacon.

In one guest room, a small framed photo of Hogwarts.

In another, a vase filled with dried flowers.

By the time they got to the last door on the floor, Draco was enjoying the inside look at Hermione’s home so much that he didn’t even pause to think what may be on the other side—and that was why he was hit with overwhelming anxious when he followed her inside and realized immediately that this was her bedroom.

It was tidy but not perfect, several pairs of shoes tossed haphazardly near the dresser and a few books piled on the floor next to an inviting leather chair. And pushed against one wall, an enormous, plush-looking bed covered in blankets and pillows. Being alone with Hermione in her bedroom was making him twitchy, and she seemed to be feeling it as well.

Hermione was clasping her hands together and rolling them back and forth, and Draco could see her chest rising and falling more quickly than it had before.

“Well, this is my—”

“Your bedroom.”

“Yes.”

Great, wonderful conversation, Draco. Well done. Narcissa would be so proud.

“The bathroom is through there; I suppose we should make a separate beacon in there?”

Oh wonderful, yes lets go into your bathroom. Because imagining you showering isn’t going to cause any problems at all…

“Yes, that would be wise.”

Hermione nodded and made her way across the room and through the door to the ensuite. Draco followed with trepidation, and as soon as he stepped in after her, he wished he had waited outside.

Positioned under a large skylight and next to a huge bay window overlooking the back garden was an enormous clawfoot bathtub, and Draco had to physically close his eyes to try and stop the visions of Hermione, wet and naked, relaxing into a bubble bath, moaning as the hot water hit her skin…

While Hermione was turned away rummaging in the vanity, Draco quickly readjusted himself in his trousers.

“This should work.”

She turned around and held out a small silver hand mirror with elegant engravings.

“It was my gran’s. I never use it but I can’t bring myself to put it in storage, so it will always be here.”

Draco nodded and reached for the delicate object to perform the spell.

When he suggested the beacons, he had not realized how personal the experience would be to slowly walk through Hermione’s house, watching her choose items of importance to her in each space. As difficult as it was for him to keep a level head, Draco was honored by the trust she’d shown him in the last hour.

He finished with the spell and they walked back into her bedroom, where she plucked a small key from a dish next to her bed.

As had become their routine, he waiting for her to tell him the meaning.

“This was my original house key. I kept it with me on the run. Even though I don’t need it now…it still reminds me of home.”

Her eyes had grown misty, and as she reached out to hand the key to Draco, he let his fingers linger against hers for just a moment longer than normal, trying to bring at least a second of comfort to her.

Finally finished upstairs, they returned to the main floor and began the process over again, but this time with a bit less emotional weight.

In the living room, Hermione chose an empty Skiving Snackbox container and smiled when she told Draco that George had given it to her for her birthday the previous year. It was the first box she had confiscated as a prefect. Fred and George had stolen it back and kept it as a memento.

In the kitchen, a ceramic spoon rest splattered with paint, a masterpiece created by Teddy Lupin, and in her office a name plate engraved with the words “Fuck ‘Em” that she told him was from Pansy but refused to provide any additional details.

He laughed when she opened the door to her potions lab, packed from floor to ceiling with ingredients and definitely being magically enlarged with an extension charm.

“You know, Ms. Granger, it’s against the law to cast an unsanctioned extension charm on one’s property. Tell me, do you have the proper permits?”

She crossed the room to a work table and grabbed a small set of scales to hand back to him, humming to herself and patently avoiding his question.

“I see the old adage still remains: Hermione Granger has never met a rule she wasn’t willing to break.” He smirked as she slowly stepped toward him.

Holding the scales out to point at him, she replied. “I’m not hurting anyone, and that law is stupid anyway. Go ahead and fine me, Auror Malfoy.”

She quirked her eyebrow at him and he smirked in return.

“Oh, I don’t think so. I’d rather keep this little tidbit of information in my back pocket, should I ever require a favor from the brightest witch of our age.”

She just laughed and shook her head.

They walked to the last door at the end of the hallway, and with her hand on the door handle, Hermione hesitated, looking back at Draco as she bit her lip.

“I’m…well, I’m not really sure if I can explain this…” She began to push open the doors to step inside.

The second Draco crossed the threshold he slammed to a stop, every ounce of air leaving his lungs.

It was the room.

It was their room.

It looked almost identical to the Room of Requirement.

Draco’s jaw dropped open as he took it in. Bookcases lining the walls, plush, well-worn chairs on top of soft rugs, a fireplace, tall stained-glass windows.

Memories started flooding unbidden through his mind.

“I…I didn’t do it in purpose. Or, at least, not consciously.”

He swung his eyes to Hermione, still unable to wipe the overwhelming shock from his face. She was fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable.

“I told Pansy exactly what I wanted for this room; it was the only place in the house where I had a clear vision for what it should look like…I didn’t realize until I walked in the first time what I’d been describing…”

Draco took another step into the room, slowly turning around to view it from all sides.

“I never thought I’d see it again…” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“Me either.”

Her face was soft, a small smile playing on her lips when he turned back to her, and he took a deep breath, letting the memories crash over him.

Hermione walked with purpose to a bookshelf and plucked out a book before walking back and handing it to him.

Pride & Prejudice. Her first copy of Pride & Prejudice. The same one she had given him on his birthday all those years ago so he could read her innermost thoughts.

His pulse started to throb painfully at his temples. They were wading into dangerous territory here…

Not meeting her eyes, Draco nodded and raised his wand, quickly spelling the book to become a beacon before handing it back to her to place it back in its spot on the shelf.

They stood there silently, facing one another but not speaking, for what felt to Draco like hours, until a ray of red light shone through one of the windows, alerting them to the progress of the protection spell slowly building around the house.

“I should go check on the spell…”

Hermione nodded. “Alright.”

Turning on his heel, he made his way to the garden as quickly as he could, desperate for some cool air to calm down his flaming skin, his burning heart.

As Draco began to make a slow circle around the property line, his mind was racing.

He tried to walk back through the last few hours to suss out where the two stood and what, if anything, had changed.

Hermione had thought Draco had a girlfriend (and Draco was going to kill Theo for bringing it up and planting that false reality in her mind…), but after he had cleared up that miscommunication, her demeanor with him had changed.

She’d been nervous, more nervous than any of their previous interactions since he returned, but it felt almost like nervous excitement. Like suddenly the possibility of the two of them together was back on the table and it made her…happy? Was that possible? Or was Draco getting his hopes up for nothing.

And they had been almost…flirting, as they walked through the house. Draco was sure of it. They were flirting. She was flirting.

And that library.

Fuck.

She’d created an almost perfect copy of the room they had shared for all those years at Hogwarts. She’d put it in her home. That had to mean something. Because it meant everything to him.

Draco didn’t know what to do. How to move forward.

His plan to just be Hermione’s friend, to support her and help her heal from what the ginger idiot had done was quickly falling through his fingers like sand.

He was fooling himself, he thought, that he ever thought he could just be her friend in the first place.

The difference now was that she had lit a tiny spark of hope that maybe she wanted him too, and Draco’s brain was struggling to compute all of this new information and figure out a path forward.

It took him an hour to complete the circle around the property, and when he ended up back in the garden and turned back toward the house, he saw Hermione, changed out of her work clothes and into her trusty Cambridge sweatshirt and joggers, wrapped in a blanket on the terrace, a mug of tea in her hands while she looked up at the stars, now shining brightly overhead.

He slowly made his way toward her.

“May I?” He gestured to the chair next to her.

She nodded. “Please. Would you like some tea?”

She flicked her hand and wandlessly filled a mug with piping hot tea, levitating it toward him.

He sat back and looked at the stars for a moment, deciding that, at least for now, he would just be content to sit here with her, enjoying her presence.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Her voice was calm, and he nodded.

“Why New York?”

He sat for a moment, debating how to answer, before finally deciding, with a sigh, on the truth.

“It was unknown. Far enough away that I thought I really could start over, be anonymous. My first thought was to go to France, it certainly would have been easier, but I worried that was too obvious. I…I worried that you would be able to find me there.”

There it was, the whole ugly truth.

She nodded slowly and continued looking out onto the moonlit darkness.

“You asked me not to look for you, Draco. As much as I didn’t want to, as much as I probably shouldn’t have, I did what you asked. Even if you’d stayed in London, if you told me not to look for you, I would have left you alone.”

Draco took a breath. “I wouldn’t have been able to leave you alone, Hermione.”

She briefly shut her eyes as though bracing against the words, before opening them again and returning to her same serene casualness.

“Can I ask you a question?”

She flicked her eyes at him and hummed in the affirmative.

“Why don’t Harry and Ron know about this place?”

She smiled ruefully.

“They’ve never been here. Whenever we visited during the summers I always went to The Burrow or Grimmauld, they never came here. Neither of them ever even met my parents, actually. The closest they ever came was seeing them in passing once when we were in Diagon before Second Year. After they died, I didn’t have the strength to come here. I was so…distraught...that I don’t think I really even comprehended that the house was mine for months, and by that point I just figured I’d eventually live there, but I didn’t need to think about it, didn’t need to reopen the wound, until I was ready. So, I just never told them.

After I ended things with Ron, I decided I was going to move in, make it my own.”

She laughed humorlessly.

“I was going to tell them about it last Christmas, but, well, another announcement sort of stole my thunder.” She gave a halfhearted smirk and shook her head at the memory.

Draco’s stomach clenched, memories of Theo telling him that Hermione was broken flooding back.

“You want to know something funny?” She turned her head toward him and he quirked a brow in response.

“As soon as Ron made his announcement, there was only one thought running through my head. It was the only thing I could think for hours, days maybe. Draco was right. He was right about them.”

Draco suddenly exhaled the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and brought his hands to his face.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione. I didn’t want to be right about them, truly. And I never, ever thought that this was how they’d let you down. This is…I don’t even have words. I hate him so much for cheating on you, but I could kill them all for keeping it from you. I cannot fucking believe that.”

She was looking at him head on now, deep emotion playing on her face.

“I think it’s well established that I really don’t want you to go to Azkaban, Draco, so, as much as that would satisfy me, please try not to kill them.”

She smirked and his shoulders relaxed in response.

“I’ve thought about it a lot, actually. Why they did it.”

“And?”

“I think it’s a two-part equation. Step one: They chose him, their family, over me. Simple as that. Since the day they met, Harry was part of their family, really, truly, part of their family. But even when I was dating Ron, I was always the odd one out. They loved me, I know they did, but I was never in the same inner circle that they were. And on some basic level, when push came to shove, they just chose Ron’s side automatically, gave him more grace than they would have if the tables were turned.

And then the next level up is how each of them justified it. I think for Ron, it was his reputation. He’s always cared more about the attention, the acclaim, than Harry or I, and I think he was afraid of what the media would say if he left the ‘Golden Girl,’” her tone was mocking, “and how that might affect how he was perceived by the wizarding public. I think he was just waiting me out. He knew at some point I’d pull the plug, and it would be better for him if I was the one that did it. He could play the sympathy card, and no one would question it when he publicly announced he was with Daphne.

Harry, though. I think in his mind he really did think he was doing it to help me. When he found out, Ron fed him a story about how fragile I was since my parents’ deaths, and that if anyone told me about the cheating I might…I don’t know…kill myself?” She shook her head in disbelief.

“But I think Harry believed it. I think he convinced himself it was for the best. That letting me be used like that, humiliated like that, actually made sense to him somehow…It all really just comes back to what you always said: They don’t know me, they never really knew me at all. They built an idea of me in their heads and then just remolded it to fit their needs whenever they wanted.”

She shrugged her shoulders and brought her tea to her lips, taking a slow sip.

Draco let the words sink in before responding.

“If it was me, Hermione, I’d fucking destroy them for it.”

She looked back at him, a devious smile playing on her lips.

“Oh, don’t worry, Draco. I’m quite prepared to do exactly that, should I need to. You taught me very well.” She inclined her head toward him in thanks. “I’m just biding my time. Seeing how far they’re willing to go. I’ll only pull the trigger if and when it’s worthwhile to me, and not a second before.”

So many emotions were swirling through him, but in that moment, pride was making its way to the top. He smirked back at her.

“I don’t care what the hat said. You are a true Slytherin, Hermione Granger.”

Her smile widened.

“No, I just learned from the best.” She raised her mug to Draco in salute, and he chuckled before affecting a mock bow in return.

“Glad to be of service.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, just listening to the crickets and the rustling of leaves.

“Your parents would love this, Hermione. Everything you’ve done with the place.” It was Draco’s turn to restart the conversation.

She turned to him with a smile before looking back over the garden. “I think so, too.”

“You know, I always knew this place was special. In the middle of the city and yet sitting here, it’s so peaceful. So quiet. You could camp out here and it would feel like you were miles away from everything.”

Hermione smiled serenely, surveying the grounds. “Hmm. I suppose so. Though, after spending a year living in a tent, I don’t think I’ll ever camp again, even in my own backyard.”

Her tone was joking, but her words caused all the air to leave Draco’s lungs. He hadn’t even thought about…

“Hermione I, I’m sorry.” He dropped his head, shaking it slowly. “I’d heard about that, of course, but I thought it might just be a story. I always assumed you’d been under the protection of the Order?”

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “Gods, I wish.” Turning her head up to survey the stars, she continued. “When we escaped, we did go to Grimmauld Place for a bit, but after we broke into the Ministry it wasn’t safe to return, so off to the woods we went. We moved around constantly to avoid the snatchers, but from then on we were living off wild mushrooms and stolen food…I still can’t believe I forgot to pack food. So foolish of me…” She looked off into the distance, frustration on her face even after all these years.

“Oh, well actually, I suppose we did stay in Shell Cottage for a few weeks after the…” She stopped suddenly, eyes going a bit wide. Draco noticed immediately when she placed her right hand over her left forearm. Taking a deep breath, she finally turned to face him. “Well, after the Manor…”

Draco stared back at her, his fists clenched, doing everything he could to stay conscious.

They’d never talked about it. How could they have? He’d been arrested after the Battle of Hogwarts and the only interaction they’d had afterward was when he’d left her in that damned room at the Ministry.

Looking at her now, he expected to see anger in her eyes. Hatred, even. He deserved it. But instead, in typical Hermione Granger fashion, her eyes were soft and filled with compassion.

It nearly broke him. He finally broke their eye contact and looked down, taking a deep breath.

“Hermione, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for everything that happened that day. I…it haunts me. And it should! It should. I hear you screaming, see you on the floor of the parlor, constantly in my dreams.” He shivered at the memory.

“I was such a coward. You always believed in me, you told me I was brave, and in the end, I was just a coward. I did nothing. I should have…I should have set the place on fire. I should have killed her. Something. Anything. I failed you, and I am so sorry.”

He was still looking down when a soft, warm hand gripped his arm.

“Draco. Look at me.”

Her voice was soft but fierce, and he did as he was told.

“You didn’t do nothing. You did everything.”

He immediately recoiled, shaking his head in protest.

“No, stop, Draco. Listen to me. You didn’t identify us, which gave Harry time to call for help. And when Bell…” she took a steadying breath. “When Bellatrix tortured me, you protected my mind. And you didn’t just keep me from going insane, Draco. You saved the entire war that day. I was shite at occlumency back then. Without you, she would have been able to break into my thoughts like it was nothing, and she would have discovered immediately that we were hunting horcruxes. And if you had attacked her before she figured it out, she would have killed you and called for Voldemort, who would have melted my mind in seconds, before killing us all. It would have been over. Everything would have been over.”

She squeezed his arm, encouraging him to look into her eyes. “You risked your life for me that day, Draco. Don’t you dare think that you didn’t do enough. Don’t you dare.”

Draco struggled to take her words in. He didn’t deserve them.

“I watched her torture you, Hermione. I watched her carve that fucking word into your arm. Both my mother and I. We’d talked so much about protecting you, how you were a part of our family, and then we just…” He shook his head, unable to finish.

“I watched her die, Draco.” Her words were whispered, but clear. “She didn’t win. None of them did. This…” She held up her left arm, covered by her sweatshirt. “This is just a scar. It’s a reminder that I survived, that I was stronger than their hatred. And you and Narcissa did protect me. You made sure we got out of there. You made sure we had our wands. Merlin, Narcissa risked her life to protect Harry during the final battle.”

Her hand, still resting against his arm, squeezed tightly, forcing him to look into her honey gold eyes again.

“Listen to me, Draco. I have never, not for a single second, blamed you for what happened that day. I know what you did. Not just then, but for years before. I know who you are, and I have never been anything but grateful. If things had gone differently that day…if you or Narcissa had tried to fight back…if she had…if she had killed you…I wouldn’t have survived, Draco. I wouldn’t have been able to live with that.” Her words were a broken whisper, her eyes searching his, begging for understanding.

“We made it out. That’s what matters. We made it out, and we get to live now. Really, truly, live. So please, for me, do not waste a single second more of your life holding yourself responsible for the actions of a psychopath. Ok?”

On the verge of tears, he searched her eyes. The clarity in them, the ferocity, was overpowering. Somehow, some way, she was able to chip away at the boulder he’d been carrying on his shoulders for years, breaking off an enormous piece and kicking it away into the darkness, never to be felt again.

He let out a shaky breath. “Thank you, Hermione.”

She smiled and pulled her hand back from his arm. “You can thank me by living a good life, Draco. Thank me by being happy.”

All he could do was stare back at her in awe, trying to piece together his thoughts.

She looked down at her watch and sighed.

“It’s late, and I have to be at the lab early tomorrow. I should head to bed. You’re welcome to any of the guest rooms, please make yourself at home, ok?”

She pushed herself up from her chair, the blanket still wrapped tightly around her.

Draco nodded, still unable to speak.

“Goodnight, Draco.”

“Goodnight, Hermione.”

She nodded and began padding back toward the house. He waited a full thirty minutes, just letting his thoughts run wild, until he finally pushed himself out of his own chair.

Quietly, using every skill for stealth he’d learned as an auror, Draco made his way silently back into Hermione’s house, down the hallway, past the stairs leading to the second floor and her bedroom, and to the last door in the hall.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door, and stepped in to the library, stepped into the comfort of his memories.

He flopped heavily down into one of the plush chairs, curling his head and torso in on themselves, his head falling into his hands.

Thank me by being happy, she said.

Sitting there, allowing his emotions to fully run free, he knew without a shadow of a doubt:

The only way he would truly be happy was with her.

Chapter End Notes

Now we're getting somewhere, right?

I'll see you at the end of the next chapter for a longer note!

Epiphany

Chapter Notes

PLEASE NOTE: This is the second chapter of a 2-part update, make sure you read Chapter 10 first!!

Fair warning, this is a little bit of a gut punch. ;)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

April 1999

“Malfoy!”

Draco’s head jerked up from the paperwork he was looking over and turned toward the voice that had just called for him. It was Head Auror Maddow, who he had only spoken to once since he started his job in the department at MACUSA eight months ago.

“Yes, boss?”

“You’re from London, yes?”

Draco nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you know someone named...” He squinted at the parchment in his hands. “Herm-nin-y Gran-ger?”

Draco’s whole body went cold. His hands started to shake.

His voice was weak when he replied. “Hermione Granger? Yes, sir. She’s a…”

“She’s sent an urgent request for the support of MACUSA to transport two muggle bodies from Australia. A…Jean and David Gran-ger. Her parents, I assume.”

Draco’s head began to spin.

“Sir. She…their bodies, sir? They’re…they’re deceased, sir?”

Maddow snorted. “Well yes, Malfoy. Not many other reasons that we’d need to transport bodies, don’t you think?”

Draco stood, stunned, unable to process what he was hearing.

“Seems they passed in a muggle vehicle accident, and the British Ministry isn’t willing to pay for an expedited transfer of their bodies back to London. Gran-ger is asking MACUSA to assist by covering the first leg of the journey. Get them from Australia to New York, then the Brits will pick them up from there.”

Maddow shook his head, disgust creeping into his features.

“You brits—sorry, Malfoy—but you brits really think the rest of us will just bend over and do whatever you want, don’t you? No consideration for the strain on us. For the cost. Drives me up a damn wall…”

Maddow shook his head and pulled out his wand, waving it over the document until “DENIED” appeared in massive letters across the page.

“Thank you for your assistance, Trainee Malfoy. Back to work.” With a final nod of his head, Maddow stalked past Draco and off the floor.

Draco stood stock still, unable to move.

Hermione’s parents had died.

Her parents, who she had fought so hard to protect, had died in a muggle car accident of all things.

And the Ministry was refusing to bend the rules to help a godsdamned war hero get her parents’ bodies back home to be buried.

His stomach rolled, thinking about the utter devastation she must be feeling. How badly he wanted to run from the office, floo back home, and get to her. Comfort her. Love her.

He brought his hands to his face. He couldn’t do that. But he could do something…

An idea took hold of him and he turned to run toward his mentor’s office. He knew that Auror Harvey was out on a case this afternoon, so his office, and his floo, would be undisturbed.

Grabbing a handful of powder, he called out for the salon at Malfoy Manor and shoved his head into the flames.

After a dizzying moment, his eyesight refocused, and he stared out onto the well-appointed room where his mother spent much of her time. Thankfully, today was no different and she was mid sip of her afternoon tea.

“Draco! What’s going on? You look a fright! What’s happened, my dragon?”

His mother shot from her seat and rushed across the room, dropping to her knees in front of the fire.

“I need your help, Mum…”

Less than fifteen minutes later, he ended the floo call with Narcissa as she bustled away, her next tasks clear.

By the time Draco returned to his flat that night, there was a message waiting for him from his mother.

It’s taken care of. They’ll be back in London before midnight.

He breathed a sigh of…not relief, but at least understanding that he’d been able to help her, even now, after everything.

Draco crossed to his bar cart and grabbed the bottle of whiskey sitting there, hardly paying attention as he uncorked it and poured a generous amount into a glass, before tossing it back in a single gulp.

Hermione’s parents had died.

She’d sent them away to save them from the war, and they’d died less than a year later.

The world is cruel. Cruel and unforgiving.

Draco didn’t know what to do. Of course he could simply walk through his floo back to Malfoy Manor and apparate to Hermione. But…could he really? She was with Weasley now. Would she even want to see him?

His eyes shuttered closed. No. No he couldn’t go to see her.

Instead, he sent a letter through the floo for Theo. Asking him to arrange a massive arrangement of white roses to be present at their funeral. He sent along a simple, folded card with one line written inside.

I’m so sorry, love.

******************************************************************************************************************************************************************

April 2002

Draco woke up with a sense of dread on the Tuesday following his night at Hermione’s.

As he made his tea, he couldn’t understand why he felt so off.

As he spread jam onto his toast, he tried to think about what could be putting him in this mood.

The entire morning as he went over open case reports in his office, he couldn’t shake the cloud hanging over him.

It wasn’t until he walked into the conference room at noon for a briefing on a raid scheduled for the following week and locked his gaze on Hermione’s slightly unkempt hair and somber expression that it finally hit him.

Today was the third anniversary of her parents’ deaths.

He could see her working as hard as possible to appear relaxed, to school her features into a mask of indifference. And although he was sure that the act was working on everyone else in the conference room, Draco could see right through it.

Potter took a seat next to her, entirely oblivious to her state of mind, Weasley plopping down next to him, happily chatting away.

The meeting droned on, and Draco’s heart clenched as Hermione stood to present her plans for the use of her monitoring potions and defensive spells, maintaining a steely determination throughout.

It wasn’t until the meeting ended and Hermione made an attempt to jump from her seat and escape that Draco began to worry.

Before she was able to make it out of her seat, Potter grabbed her arm and leaned in, eyes shining with happiness, cajoling her to join him and the Weasel for lunch.

Hermione attempted to beg off, making excuses about needing to get back to her lab, but Potter—and now Weasley, who had decided to join the fray—were insistent.

Draco watched from just outside the conference room as she tried again to say no, to brush them off, to be kinder than either of them deserved.

He watched her face grow more and more pale, her eyes grow more and more desperate, before he snapped. Unable to take it anymore, he marched back into the room.

“Apologies for interrupting what I’m sure is a riveting meeting of the minds,” he said with as much of that old, school-aged bravado as he could muster, while glancing between Harry and Ron, “but I have a piece of evidence from the unicorn-poaching case in my office that’s been encrypted in multiple runic dialects, and I need Granger’s assistance with the translation. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to continue your little conversation later.”

Hermione looked at him, those big, beautiful doe eyes still glassy, and he tried to communicate his intentions in his returning gaze.

Let me help you. I know what’s happening. I can see you. I’m so sorry. Please, please let me help you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

“Bugger off, Malfoy. Find someone else to do your work for you,” Weasley spat, his face turning the same shade of red as his hair.

Hermione was staring at Draco, not listening to the jibes coming from her two former friends.

As if coming to a silent resolution, her face suddenly rearranged, sliding back to the mask of indifference that she so often wore now. But Draco could still see it, her eyes couldn’t lie—not to him. She was going to break. She would hate it if that happened in public, much less in front of these two arseholes.

“Alright,” she nodded with a bit too much conviction, “Happy to help. Lead the way, Malfoy.”

“Mione, you don’t have to. Come on, come to lunch with us!” Potter cajoled, not even bothering to take stock of her ashen face and glassy eyes.

She didn’t respond, but simply walked toward the door of the conference room while Draco held it open, walking in front of him until he overtook her strides.

He didn’t even need to see her face. With each step he could feel her. She was desperately fighting the losing battle against her grief, using every ounce of her energy to tame the vicious beast trying to overtake her.

He ushered her through his office door, his hand centimeters from her lower back yet not touching. Never touching.

As soon as she stepped over the threshold, he flicked his hand to wandlessly lock the door and silence the room.

She took several steps into the space before coming to a stop behind the low leather chairs positioned across from his desk for guests. She didn’t look at him, but instead turned her body to face the charmed windows on the other side of the room so, he knew, that he couldn’t see her face.

“Wh-where is the evidence?” She said quietly, clearing her throat to hide the tremor in her voice.

His heart stuttered, breaking from the pain he could feel her trying to hide. He couldn’t stand it.

Taking a single step toward her, but stopping himself from moving closer, he slid off his own mask and replied in the comforting tone he’d only ever used with her, “there is no evidence, Hermione.”

He heard her brief, sharp intake of breath. She didn’t turn around, but inclined her head in his direction while reaching out to grip the back of the leather chair with such strength that Draco could see her knuckles turn white.

“What?” She whispered, her voice trembling more now.

“Today…I know it’s the anniversary of your parents…and neither of them remembered.” He gestured back toward the main floor. “I couldn’t watch you…I…” Draco let go of a deep sigh, “I wanted you to have some privacy, that’s all.”

Hermione stood frozen, rooted to the same spot, and Draco’s stomach sank to his feet. Oh gods, had he made an enormous mistake? Did she see this as a violation? Did this cross a line?

“I’m so sorry, Hermione,” he rushed out, “I didn’t mean to trap you in—”

He saw her face screw up as she snapped her eyes closed and bent her head; pain evident across her face.

“How did you…?” She started, before realization dawned on her face. “Their bodies. You, you paid for the transportation of their bodies from Australia.” She whispered, nodding her head slowly as tears began to fall down her cheeks.

He wanted to rush to her, hold her, and wipe those tears away.

“I never th-thanked you for that. Thank you, Dr—Draco.” The tears were falling steadily now, her shoulders beginning to shake with her effort to stay calm.

Draco’s hands moved of their own accord, reaching out toward her, and before he could stop himself, he began to speak.

“You never have to thank me for anything, Hermione. Ever. I’m so sorry. For every—. Please. Please tell me what I can do to help you. I’ll do anything.”

She let go of the chair and wrapped her arms around her stomach tightly, as if to hold the pieces of herself together.

“Anything?” She said in such a small voice, Draco wasn’t certain she had even spoken aloud.

“Anything.” He replied, pleadingly.

Something in her eyes shifted, and she turned to fully face him for the first time since entering the office, raising her head to stare directly into Draco’s eyes.

Seconds passed, but to Draco it felt like hours, because he was looking into her beautiful honey eyes again.

“Can we pretend?” She forced out, her voice overcome with grief and desperation.

“Pretend?” He repeated, unsure. Pretend what? He’d pretend anything she wanted, do anything she needed.

“Can we pretend? Just for a minute. Just…can we be who we were? Before? When we…when you loved me? Can we just pretend? Would you, w-would you just hold me?” Her voice broke, and the look in her eyes…

Draco was moving before she even finished the sentence. In two strides he reached her, and crushed her to his chest. She was still for a moment, but Draco only tightened his arms around her, enveloping her in his larger frame.

Suddenly, she released a gasping breath, loosed her arms from her stomach, and reached forward to cling fiercely to the front of his shirt, finally letting the wracking sobs consume her.

Draco moved one hand to tangle into the soft curls on the back of her head, swiping his thumb back and forth on her scalp.

Moving his lips against her temple, he whispered the words he’d wanted to tell her for weeks. For years.

“I’m so sorry, love. You’re ok. I’ve got you now. You’re safe. I promise. I’ve got you.”

Hermione’s sobs grew more desperate at his words, while at the same time she twisted her arms around his torso and held on with all the strength she had left.

Her whole body was shaking, and Draco could feel her knees beginning to buckle.

Without a thought, he moved the hand stroking her hair down, brushed a soft kiss to her temple, and scooped her up in his arms, carrying her to the far edge of his office and settling into the plush leather sofa, cradling her against his body.

She was so much smaller than he remembered.

Not fragile, never fragile, but so small.

He used one hand to rub soothing circles on her back, and brought the other up to her face to do what he’d wanted to do since her first tear fell—slowly, with the utmost care, he used his thumb to wipe the tears from her cheeks and run his fingers along the hinge of her jaw while slowly rocking her back and forth.

“Shhh, it’s ok, my love. It’s ok. Try to breathe for me, ok? I’ve got you; I’ve got you. It’s ok, you’re ok.”

She was gasping for breath between her sobs now, and it took Draco a moment to realize that she was mouthing words against his chest.

“What is it love? What do you need?” He intoned, continuing to run his fingers up and down the side of her face.

“Please,” she gasped, her fingers fisting into the fabric of his shirt and her eyes shutting tight. “Please don’t leave. Please, please stay with me. Please…please stay, Draco. Please…”

Her words hit Draco like a bludger. They were the same words she’d used that day in the ministry after his trial. The day he had left her. The day his heart shattered and their dreams went up in smoke. Was she…was she pretending now? Hallucinating? Or was she asking him again?

Before those ideas could take root, he shook the thoughts from his mind. He could analyze them later. This was about helping Hermione, doing whatever she needed. Being able to comfort her again after so many years dying to feel her in his arms. Even if she was just pretending.

“I’m not leaving, love. I’ll never leave you again. I swear. I could never. I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.”

He spoke the words quietly, moving his nose back and forth through her hair, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her, honey and lavender, and trying to infuse the truth of his apology in his words.

Hermione continued to cry, clutch at his chest, and beg Draco not to leave her for the next half hour, while he remained steadfastly rocking her, rubbing her back, and murmuring assurances into her ears.

Eventually, she grew quieter and quieter as the tears slowed, until her breathing finally evened out and her grip loosened slightly.

Draco had no plans to move. He wanted to sit here with her all day. All week. For as long as it took. He wanted to confess everything, tell her how much he missed her, how much he loved her, that he never stopped, and to please, please forgive him. To let him hold her forever.

But before he could form the words, Hermione stilled and snaked her arms back from around his waist.

Bringing them to her face, she pressed her fingers to her eyes, and said in a sad, small voice, “I’m sorry, Draco. I…I never meant to do that. I shouldn’t have asked –” embarrassment began to show on her face and she quickly tried to wiggle out of his arms to stand. He released her, reluctantly.

“Hermione, no, please, don’t be sor—”

“Can I use your floo? I need to get back to the lab, I...”

She turned to face Draco again, but didn’t meet his eyes.

“I’ve ruined your shirt,” she said with a matter-of-fact tone, her walls beginning to rebuild themselves. Draco looked down to see the tear stains and bits of mascara dotting his chest as she continued, “I’ll replace it, I can…”

“Hermione, I don’t give a damn about the shirt.” He placed his hands on his knees, and leaned forward toward her.

“Oh, right, yes. Of course. Can I just…I’ll use the floo to go—” she began to step back, away from the couch and from him.

Draco stood slowly and put his palms up, “You don’t need to go, Hermione. Please, stay, we can…you can stay as long as you’d like. Or I can take you…?” He trailed off as Hermione began vigorously shaking her head.

“No. No no no. That’s not…No.” She quickly turned and made her way to the floo, grabbing a handful of powder.

Draco had to stop her. She had to stay. They could…he could…he, he had to fix this.

“Hermione, wait, please.”

She paused, her hand outstretched toward the hearth, and turned her head toward him. She seemed to gather her strength before flitting her eyes up to meet his.

Her gaze softened, and in a voice of quiet determination, she began, “I’m sorry, Draco. I never should have asked you to do that. It was…it was very unfair of me. If you no longer want to work with me on my wards, I would completely understand.” Hermione took a deep breath, “But…thank you. Thank you for pretending for me. I…I needed that.”

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but she had already thrown the powder into the fireplace and stepped through the flames.

“I wasn’t pretending, Hermione.” He whispered into the quiet of his empty office.

Chapter End Notes

I know I know I knowwwwww.

What can I say, I tagged this thing with Hurt/Comfort, we needed some hurt/comfort.

A couple of quick updates:

Next week we begin a 3-chapter arc that will...well, it will bridge us into the second half of the story, let's just say that. I'm super excited to get those chapters out, and I hope you'll be excited to read them!

Also, I've finished splitting up the chapters for the rest of the fic, and right now we are coming in at 31 chapters. I'm not going to set the chapter count yet because an extra chapter or two could always sneak in, but I did want to give you all a sense of where we are.

As always, thank you so much for reading, and for your comments and kudos! Sending love to all of you <3

xoxo,

Flames

Champagne Problems

Chapter Notes

Happy Sunday!!

This is a big one, I hope you like it <3

TW: there is a bit of gore in the flashback.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

6th Year

Hermione wasn’t sure what compelled her to do it, but something in her gut told her she needed to find Harry.

His obsession with Draco was becoming more desperate by the day, and given Draco’s mental state, she was terrified of what could happen if the two finally came to blows.

Hermione knew that Draco had, in fact, been tasked to do something at Hogwarts by Voldemort himself, but he had refused to tell her what it was. He’d refused to tell her anything, actually. Since their return to the castle at the start of term, Draco had been pushing her away.

His mood had vacillated wildly between ignoring her outright and finding her in moments of desperation to beg for her forgiveness.

After the last time she had asked him to get help, to tell Dumbledore, to tell her, he had finally let slip the horrific threats Voldemort had made should he fail: Narcissa would be killed. But not quickly. She would be tortured and passed around between Death Eaters first, and Draco would be forced to watch.

Thinking about it again made Hermione’s stomach churn. She’d understood completely why Draco was going through with whatever it was, why he was so scared, and why he didn’t want to risk Voldemort finding out that he’d confessed the truth to anyone. If a similar threat had been made against Hermione’s parents, she would have done whatever it took to save them too.

Hermione made her way up the grand staircase and to the left, where she’d seen Harry turn moments earlier, and as she inched down the empty hallway, she started to hear it. The unmistakable crashes and booms of curses being thrown across a room.

Suddenly, Moaning Myrtle appeared through the wall, shooting down the hallway and back toward the main portion of the castle.

“He’s killed him! He’s killed him!” Her screams pierced Hermione like a dagger, and she began to run.

Within seconds, she opened the door to the boys lavatory and walked into a scene from her nightmares.

The curses had stopped, the only sounds coming from the running water rushing out of broken pipes and Harry’s heavy breathing. He was standing near the door, facing the center of the room, wand held loosely by his side.

“Harry, what’s happened? What—”

Hermione walked toward Harry, rounding him to see more fully into the room, and let out a choked scream.

Draco was lying on the floor, breaths coming out in shallow gasps, as bright red blood seeped out of his chest.

Hermione ran forward and collapsed on her knees in front of Draco, pulling his shirt apart to see the enormous slashes that zig-zaged from the ball of his shoulder all the way to his waistline.

Without hesitation, Hermione brought up her wand and began attempting to heal the wounds, only to quickly discover that as soon as she stopped casting the spell they would reopen anew.

“What curse did you use, Harry? What hit him?” Hermione’s voice was frantic, as she kept her eyes on Draco’s chest, continuously performing the healing spells to try to stop the blood loss.

“HARRY!”

“I…I don’t…I didn’t mean…I don’t know what I did, Hermione.” Harry’s voice was a strained, desperate whisper.

“Stop, Hermione. Just let me go…I’m not worth it. I want to be done.” The words were so quiet, so filled with exhaustion, that she was sure Harry had not heard them over the sounds of running water.

Her eyes locked with Draco’s as tears began to fall down her cheeks.

“Don’t you dare say that. You can’t leave me.”

Draco turned his face away, and Hermione kept working.

The door burst open, and in a flurry of black robes, Professor Snape rushed forward.

“I don’t know what the spell was, Professor. I didn’t hear the incantation. But the wounds won’t close. If I stop casting, they just reopen…He’s…”

“Step away, Ms. Granger.” Snape’s tone was ice cold.

“But, sir –”

“Now, Ms. Granger.”

Hesitantly, with a final look at Draco, Hermione stopped her wand work and stood on shaky legs as the professor took her place and began murmuring incantations she had never heard before. They seemed to be slowing the blood and creating a stasis charm around the wounds.

After a moment, Snape seemed to get the bleeding under control. He conjured a floating stretcher and levitated Draco onto it as the blond boy groaned in pain and protest.

“Ms. Granger, please escort Mr. Malfoy to the Hospital Wing immediately. Tell Madam Pomfrey that he was hit with a regenerating slicing hex, she’ll know what to do. I need to speak with Mr. Potter.” His voice was lethal as he slowly turned to capture Harry in his sights.

Hermione didn’t say anything, didn’t argue, she just nodded and pointed her wand at Draco’s form on the stretcher and began slowly levitating it toward the door. Only as she passed him did she realize that Harry hadn’t moved since she arrived, hadn’t even taken his eyes off the spot on the floor still covered in pools of Draco’s blood.

Once in the hallway, Hermione sped up her steps while trying to keep Draco as stable as possible.

When they arrived in the corridor that would lead to the Hospital Wing, Draco finally spoke.

“Hermione…” his voice was rasping.

She stopped the movement and came to stand near his head.

“Are you ok? We’re almost there, Draco. Just a few more moments, ok?”

He shook his head slowly, pain etched across his features.

“No. You can’t take me there. Please. Please just leave me. Please. They can’t find…she’ll see…I can’t do this. I can’t do it.” Tears were seeping from the corners of his eyes as his gaze went to his left forearm.

Understanding dawned on her, and she moved down the stretcher to grab his cuff and roll it up. As soon as she touched the bare skin of his wrist, Draco began to writhe and pull his arm away.

“No, Hermione. Stop. You can’t. Don’t touch…”

Hermione clamped her hand around his wrist with all of her strength.

“Listen to me, Draco. I love you. I know who you are. What kind of man you are. This—” she placed her other hand lightly over his still covered forearm, “doesn’t change that. I know why you did it. Why they made you do it. It changes nothing.”

Draco let out a broken groan as Hermione lifted his sleeve the rest of the way and looked down onto the harsh black ink of his Dark Mark. Quickly flicking her wand, she performed a glamour and notice-me-not charm over it.

“There. That should last until tomorrow. Pomfrey won’t see anything.”

With that, she marched them the rest of the way through the double doors and watched as the frightened hospital matron took over Draco’s care.

It was near midnight when Hermione finally walked back through the portrait hole to Gryffindor Tower, having spent hours seated in a corner of the wing, at first answering questions about what had happened and then simply watching silently to make sure that Draco would be ok.

“Hermione! My gods…”

“Hermione, what happened? Is Malfoy ok?

“Merlin, Hermione. Are you ok? You’re covered in blood!”

Harry, Ron, and Ginny had all jumped up from the chairs they were occupying in the otherwise empty common room and rushed toward her, eyes flashing with fear, confusion, and apprehension.

She looked down at her body, and for the first time realized that her uniform was caked in dried blood, her hands and arms streaked in it, even her knee socks had turned a deep brown red.

Deep in the recesses of her mind, an image from an old muggle film, Carrie, appeared, a young woman in a prom dress dripping with blood from head to toe.

Her brain was sluggish, her mind still reeling.

“Hermione. Hermione, what happened? Malfoy didn’t…he didn’t die did he?”

Harry’s voice was tentative, terrified.

She slowly raised her head and met his eyes. He was looking at her with concern, all three of them were, but she could feel how blank her returning stare was.

After a long blink, Hermione turned and began walking toward the stairs to the girls dormitory, never saying a word.

She could hear them calling for her, she just didn’t care.

It wasn’t until she was safely in the shower with a silencing charm placed around the stall that she let herself feel the emotions she’d kept at bay. She sat on the floor under the spray for hours, sobbing.

*********************************************************************************************************************************************

April, 2002

Hermione stumbled out of the floo and into her office, collapsing into her desk chair and flicking her hand to lock and silence the room so none of her lab assistants would come knocking.

What just happened? Did she really ask Draco to pretend to be her boyfriend and comfort her?

Yes, yes she did.

And it was the safest and most loved she’d felt since…well, since the last time he’d held her before the war began.

She dropped her head into her hands, slow tears making their way toward her chin. But this time, they were not tears of mourning for her parents.

They were tears of confusion over the last hour with Draco.

They were tears of fear that what she’d done would destroy the tenuous relationship they seemed to be building.

They were tears of bone-deep relief to be in his arms again, even if he was just pretending.

The box containing her feelings for Draco, that she had worked so hard those years ago to lock away deep in her mind, had finally, fully, broken open, and the light and joy and pain and need were flooding through her again.

Love. They were tears of love.

She needed to talk to him. She needed to tell him the truth.

But she was terrified, because he held more power over her than anyone or anything else in the world. Because she had willingly, happily, handed over her heart to him. She could survive in the limbo of not knowing, but if he turned her down, it would be the thing that did finally destroy her.

After successfully distracting herself with work for several hours, Hermione arrived home, bleary-eyed, only to spot a letter floating in her living room.

As soon as she saw the elegant script of her name, she knew it could only be written by one person.

Hermione,

Please do not think for a single second that I am anything but grateful over our encounter today. That you’ve ever trusted me to bring you comfort remains one of the greatest honors of my life.

I am so desperately sorry that you’ve had to experience such pain. I would give anything to take it away.

I’ll see you soon at the Ministry, and this Friday to recharge the wards.

Always,

D

This time, she was smiling when the tears started to fall.

**

She didn’t see Draco the next day at the Ministry, but as she walked into yet another one of Blaise’s restaurants for dinner that evening, she spotted him holding a glass of wine and laughing with Theo and Pansy.

“Gorgeous! You made it!”

Hermione smiled as Theo came over and captured her in a bear hug.

“You saw me two hours ago, Theo. I told you I would be here!”

“Ah yes I know, but who's to know what brilliance may strike the brightest witch of our age to keep her away from dinner.”

Theo smiled teasingly and then leaned in to whisper, “I invited George as well, I think I may be making some real progress there.”

The sincerity and hope in his voice made Hermione’s heart swell. George deserved so much love, and if Theo was really serious about him, she thought they may be the perfect match.

She joined the table and smiled to Draco across from her.

“How are you?” He’d leaned forward and lowered his voice so only Hermione could hear.

She gave a small but sincere smile in thanks. “Much better.”

He nodded, warm care in his eyes before leaning back and rejoining the conversation.

Two hours later, the laughter and conversations (along with the wine) flowed freely around the table as Hermione, Draco, Blaise, Padma, Theo, George, Pansy, and Luna all enjoyed each other’s company.

“Wait, you’re saying none of your contraband got stolen during fifth year?” Blaise was incredulous as he looked between Padma and Luna.

They both shook their heads.

“I was quite concerned that Umbridge might confiscate my dirigible plum seeds before I was able to plant them in the Forbidden Forest, but she seemed to have very little interest in me.”

Blaise gave Luna the same incredulous look she always received after making her pronouncements, before turning to George.

“What about Gryffindor? She wanted your balls on a stick.”

George just laughed. “Fred and I were far better at hiding our stock than the average bloke, mate. She never found a thing. And outside of searching through bags in the halls, I never heard that she was actually rummaging around the dormitories.”

Blaise looked to Pansy, Theo, and Draco.

“So it was just Slytherin? Who was doing it? Do you think Dumbledore had the house elves nicking from us? Whoever it was stole a thirty-year-old bottle of Ogden’s from me! And an entire case of fairy wine!”

“Half my makeup and beauty potions disappeared.” Pansy replied.

“No one ever took anything from me.” Draco replied with confused interest.

Hermione couldn’t take it anymore, and a loud snorting laugh escaped from her lips.

The entire table turned toward her, but it was Theo who spoke.

“Something to share with the class, Granger?”

Hermione grabbed her wine glass, swirling the contents for a moment.

“It wasn’t the house elves or Umbridge, Blaise.” She turned to Draco. “Nothing was ever stolen from you, because I was the one doing the stealing.”

Draco’s eyes went wide, and a devious smile spread across Hermione’s lips as she sat back in her chair and took a sip of her wine. A chorus of “WHAT?!?!” ping-ponging around the table.

Hermione waited for their yells to die off before she continued.

“You know, it really served my purposes quite well that no one ever assumed that rule-follower Hermione Granger was up to something unless I was with Harry and Ron. If anyone had ever actually checked to see if I was in the library every time I said I was, I’d certainly have some questions to answer for. I had free rein, and without anyone else tripping me up, I never got caught.” She smiled and waved her hand dismissively.

Draco had brought his fingers to his chin, a knowing—and damn sexy—smirk on his face.

“And so, you, what? Used your power to steal from us? Why?!” Blaise was absolutely flabbergasted.

Hermione pinned him with her eyes and responded in a smooth drawl. “Justice.”

“For what?!” Pansy, Theo, and Blaise all responded. Padma was watching the back and forth with interest, George was staring at Hermione with a mixture of humor and awe, and Luna, as usual, was staring dreamily off into the distance.

Hermione’s tone grew a bit more serious. “For that damn Weasley is Our King song, mostly. But also, just for, well, everything.” She shrugged.

“Given recent events, I quite stand by my creation of that song, Granger. No offense, mate.” Blaise inclined his head toward George who shook his head and responded with a growl, “No offense taken, trust me.”

“How did you even get in?” The question came from Theo, but his tone was more genuinely curious than accusing.

Hermione smiled at the memory.

“I ‘borrowed’ Harry’s invisibility cloak and a charmed map of the castle.” She shared a knowing look with George.

“Plus, I happened to know someone who was, let’s say, a bit loose lipped about the passwords to the Slytherin common room.” She turned toward Draco and cocked a brow. He just let out a laugh and shook his head.

“You helped her nick our shit? Where’s your House pride, Malfoy?” Blaise was trying to keep a severe tone, but the humor of the situation was beginning to bleed through.

Draco put both of his hands up in surrender. “First of all, I didn’t help her, this is the first I’m hearing about it.” He turned his head toward Hermione and gave her a look of fake shock. “Plus, if you really think I was the only way she would have found the passwords to get in, think again, mate.”

“Thank you very much, Draco.” Hermione raised her glass as he brought his across the table, clinking them together.

“You’re quite the bitch, Granger. I’m impressed.” Pansy’s eyes were filled with mirth as she smirked in her direction.

“Hermione Jean Granger.” The whole table turned to George.

“Do you really mean to tell me that you were sneaking into dorms and hoarding Slytherin contraband at the same time that you were confiscating Weasley products?!”

Hermione returned his mocking glare with a challenging look. “You were testing those things on first years, George!”

“Pfft, no one died! Ok a few of them did end up in the Hospital Wing for a few days, but no one had any permanent damage!” A smile had grown on his face by the time he finished.

Hermione just rolled her eyes dismissively.

“Truly terrifying, Curls. You are terrifying.” Theo shook his head and then raised his glass, motioning for the others to follow suit.

“To Hermione Granger, the brightest and most devious witch of our age –”

“Who has yet to meet a rule she wasn’t willing to break.” Draco winked at her and heat flooded to Hermione’s core while the rest of the table yelled “here here!”

**

The note from Kingsley arrived to her office in the DoM on Friday morning at 9am.

Ms. Granger,

I hope you’re well. This note is to remind you that your presence is expected this evening at the Ministry’s Spring Fundraising Gala to take place in the Atrium starting promptly at 6pm.

Fondly,

Kingsley Shacklebolt

Minister of Magic

She let out an audible growl as she crumpled the note in her hand and used her wand to cast a quick incendio.

She had not forgotten about the gala. Her dress was currently hanging on the back of her office door. She never forgot about any of the galas.

But Kingsley always sent the note. A way to remind her that she had no choice in the matter—that she was his to trot out as he pleased.

Luckily, it was not an election year, which meant the Ministry only held a handful of fundraising events. Next year would be worse. Kingsley was up for reelection, and she fully expected him to cash in on the deal she’d made with him in 1998 at every opportunity.

The deal.

Hermione took a deep breath in and out and repeated the same mantra she always did before events like this.

It was worth it.

The deal was worth it.

This is nothing.

Draco survived Azkaban, you can survive a party.

She pictured Draco at dinner two nights before, laughing, smiling at her, free. The image focused her and built her resolve.

She tried not to dwell on it for the rest of the day, instead spending her time in the DoM’s private library, looking through arcane and even some banned books to research the properties of the most powerful antidotes and anti-venoms—she was hoping to determine if there were any common ingredients that may be useful in her lycanthropy cure.

Luckily, Hermione had never met a library that she didn’t love, or one that couldn’t immediately transport her away from everything for hours at a time.

It was only when the alarm charm she set went off that she realized it was time to head up to the DMLE for her weekly meeting with the Aurors.

Reluctantly, she replaced the tome she had been investigating and made her way out of the DoM and back toward the lifts.

As usual, she was the first person settled into the large conference room in the DMLE, parchment and quill out, ready to jot down any notes about upcoming raids or requests from the team.

When the door opened next and Draco walked in, she didn’t attempt to quell the bright smile that spread across her face. His responding smile made her heart pound as color crept up her neck.

“Lovely to see you as always, Auror Malfoy.” She liked this new game they’d started playing last week at her house. She loved the spark of heat, of pure wanting, that flashed in his eyes whenever she used his title.

He held her gaze as a predator might prey, before a sultry smirk took over his face and he prowled toward her, taking the seat next to her.

“Ms. Granger, the pleasure is all mine, I assure you.”

They were just inches away now, and if Hermione turned her chair just slightly, their legs would be pressed together. Her breath quickened as Draco’s liquid mercury eyes held hers, a question and a challenge in them.

Unable to stop herself, her eyes darted down to his lips, but just as she began to move her chair, just as her knee bumped his thigh, the door opened, Tonks and the other Aurors flooded in, and the tension of the moment was broken.

After that, the meeting went on as normal, with Hermione scratching down a few notes for some additional potions stores needed by the team, and made note of a minor raid set to be run by a group of trainees that night.

With a final agreement that Hermione would send up some additional vials of tracking potion before the end of the day, the meeting adjourned.

“Mione, we’ll see you tonight, yeah?” Came Harry’s question from across the table.

Draco, still in his seat next to Hermione, looked at her in confusion.

Hermione nodded without enthusiasm. “Yes, I’ll be there.”

Ron loved attending these events—any invitation he got, he would always send an immediately RSVP. He loved the attention and adoration thrown their way. Hermione always guessed it was because he’d spent so many years in Harry’s shadow that when the limelight finally landed on him, it became an addiction.

Harry, on the other hand, had never courted fame. He didn’t care that his name was in the papers, and had never chased any of the acclaim that came with his title of Savior of the Wizarding World. But he felt responsible, both to the families and friends who lost loved ones during the war and to the people who had fought so hard with him, that it didn’t take much to convince him to show up, smile, and give a speech to thank them.

“Kings wants us to do a quick interview with Rita while we’re there.”

Under her breath, she grumbled, “well of course he does.”

“Let’s meet by the fountain at 6?” They were all standing now, heading toward the doors.

“Alright, I’ll see you there.”

Hermione turned to walk toward the lifts, Draco tracking her at her side.

“What’s happening tonight?”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Fundraising event. Another wonderful opportunity to take photos with the damn ‘Golden Trio.’” Venom laced her words.

“Is it still alright for me to come over tonight to recharge the wards?”

The lift arrived and Hermione moved to step in.

“Yes, absolutely. I’ll be able to escape by 8 at the latest.”

Draco nodded, observing her questioningly. “You don’t sound like you want to go.”

She laughed humorlessly, taking her place at the center of the car. “Oh, I don’t.”

Draco reached out his arm to stop the doors from closing. “Then why are you?”

With a look of somber determination, she met his eyes. “I don’t have a choice.”

She punched the button for level 9, and watched as Draco slowly disappeared to the closing doors.

At 6pm on the dot, Hermione exited her office wearing the floor length forest green gown that Pansy had added to her wardrobe earlier in the year. As much as Hermione was dreading the event, she had to admit that she looked good. The dress hugged her curves and had a slit up the side that had made her balk when she first saw it, but that she could now see perfectly showcased her legs and tall gold stilettos. With a high neck but low cut back, it managed to be professional enough, but still striking. And with a few beauty charms to set her makeup and hair, now cascading down her back in just slightly tamed curls, she was ready to take on the vultures who attended these formal events.

Lightly rapping on Theo’s door, she opened it to see him gathering his jacket and bag to leave. When he saw her his eyes widened and he let out an exaggerated whistle.

“Damn gorgeous, warn a man before you just show up looking like that—you could have killed me!”

Hermione chuckled. “Well hopefully this time Rita writes about my outfit, she won’t say that I look ‘like a librarian out for the night.’”

Theo joined her in the hallway, locking and warding his door before grabbing her arm to link through his own as they made their way toward the lifts.

“If anyone says that about you, you let me know. I’ve still got that runestone that traps people inside of it in my office, and I would be more than happy to send Skeeter in.” He winked as they made their way into the lift.

“So what is it this time? New dragon sanctuary? Ooh, maybe an experimental testing facility where we can play with all those fun toys in storage they won’t let us touch?”

She smiled. “Money to refurbish the offices in the Education Department.”

Theo made an exaggerated groan.

“Are you sure you have to go? As the pureblood gentleman I am, I’m happy to just write them a check for whatever it takes to slap some new paint on the walls so we can go out on the town!”

“Wish I could, Theo. Trust me.” They were just one floor away from the Atrium, and Hermione began to steel herself for the battle ahead.

“Well then I suppose the least I can do is escort you inside.” The doors slid open and Theo proffered his elbow. “Your adoring public awaits, my lady.”

They were both giggling by the time they reached the fountain where Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Daphne were all waiting.

All four looked at the pair questioningly as they came to a stop.

“Well, looks like this is where I leave you, gorgeous.” Theo leaned in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Knock ‘em dead.”

Theo turned to observe the group in front of them, speaking to each in turn. “Lovely as always to see you, Potter. Other Potter. Daph.” When he got to Ron, he simply gave him a sour look before turning and heading for the floo.

“He really is quite odd, isn’t he?”

Hermione turned to Ginny, who was observing Theo as he stepped into the green flames across the atrium.

“He’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, actually. It’s a shame we didn’t know him better at Hogwarts.”

Ron looked at her like she’d grown a second head.

“Alright, shall we get this over with and let the Beetle get her quotes?” Harry stepped forward, motioning for Hermione and Ron to follow.

Slowly maneuvering through the gathering crowd, Hermione took in the scene.

She despised these events. She hated having her name and life splashed across the paper as much as Harry, but the difference was that when reporters wrote about Harry, they didn’t constantly remark on his appearance or if he had gained any weight or why he didn’t spend more time trying to secure a husband.

And it wasn’t just that. Hermione could always feel the undercurrent running through each of these events—the desire of those in attendance to either gawk at or get a picture with the most famous muggleborn witch in England as a performative show of their tolerance and open minds. It drove Hermione mad.

The same people who were always clamoring for photos would almost inevitably be the ones who made a comment about how incredible it was that Hermione had managed to overcome her “primitive” upbringing, and didn’t she just feel so lucky when she got her Hogwarts letter and was able to leave the muggle world behind?

Tolerance, my ass.

Soon enough, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had crossed the room and were making their way toward the diminutive witch in acid green robes, her dyed blonde hair in tight ringlets around her face.

“Ah! There they are! My favorite trio!” She rushed forward, planting exaggerated kisses on each of their cheeks.

“Nice to see you, Rita.” Ron’s voice was airy, he actually did seem happy to see her.

“Hello, Rita. I hope you’re well?” Harry added.

Rite put her hand to her chest and let out a string of falsely deferential giggles. “Oh Mr. Potter, you flatter me! I’m well, quite well! But enough about me! It’s you three that my dear readers are interested in!”

With a wave of her wand, her trusty Quick Quotes Quill took its place beside her head, a long piece of parchment hovering just below.

“Well, my dears, the fourth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and the end of the war is just a few days away. How are you all feeling as we approach that somber holiday?”

Ron jumped in first. “The day itself is always hard, as a reminder of those we lost. But as the years go by it’s also become a day to honor their memories and to look to the brighter future we all share because of their sacrifice.”

It was a good answer. One she had written for him years before to use whenever the question came up.

Hermione pasted on a false smile and nodded in Ron’s direction. “I quite agree with Ron. The reminders of that day are never easy, but I’ve been grateful to see the progress that our world has made in the years since the war ended, and hope that we can continue to come together and rebuild our society into something better than it was.”

Rita gave her a saccharin smile and nod before turning to Harry.

“The memories of that day are with me at all times. For me, the anniversary is just an opportunity to be with my family and find gratitude that we’ve made it here together.”

Rita brought her hand to her face to wipe away a clearly imaginary tear. “Lovely, Mr. Potter, as always.”

It took all of Hermione’s effort not to roll her eyes.

“Speaking of progress and tolerance, I believe that all of you are well aware that the Ministry has hired former Death Eater Draco Malfoy to join the ranks of our Aurors.” Hermione’s muscles tensed, her hackles raising at Rita’s line of questioning.

“You all attended Hogwarts with him, and during the war were captured and even tortured in his home. What are your thoughts on the decision to bring him on?”

She turned to Harry, who looked unprepared to answer the question, but attempted to regain control. “I’ve worked closely with Malfoy over the last month, and he’s been nothing but professional. I think he could become an asset to our team.”

Ron’s face was turning redder by the moment, and he opened his mouth, clearly ready to give a different opinion. Hermione didn’t let him.

“Draco Malfoy has spent the years since the war becoming a decorated Auror in America, and to my knowledge he has captured more escaped Death Eaters on his own than the entirety of the task force in the DMLE combined. I’ll remind you, Rita, that both he and his mother aided in our escape from certain death at Malfoy Manor during the war, at great risk to their own lives.”

Rita eyed her with suspicion. “Ah yes, you did testify in his favor during the trials, Ms. Granger. I take it you are confident in his innocence?”

Hermione stared straight into her eyes, unblinking. “I would not have testified for him were I not absolutely certain of it, Ms. Skeeter.”

Rita held her gaze for another moment, but when it became clear that Hermione was not about to back down, she broke eye contact with a light giggle.

“Well! That’s enough of that! Let’s move on to a more enjoyable topic. Mr. Potter, you’ve been married to Mrs. Weasley-Potter for over two years now, might we be expecting the announcement of a bundle of joy anytime soon?”

Harry’s cheeks went pink as he smiled bashfully. “We’re quite enjoying our lives together at the moment. We hope to be blessed with children one day, and I’m sure you’ll sniff out the news when the time is right.”

“And Ms. Granger. It’s been a few months since the world was devastated to hear that our favorite Golden couple had called it quits. How are you coping? And Mr. Weasley, rumor has it that we may be getting a different type of announcement from you and Ms. Greengrass quite soon?” Rita waggled her eyebrows.

Ron laughed boisterously and stepped closer to Hermione, throwing his arm casually over her shoulders. “Mione and I are still great friends, Rita! Nothing to be worried about there! We just realized we were much better as friends, right Hermione? Besides, this one is so busy with work, I wouldn’t be surprised if she married her research notes! Going to cure the world, she is.” Ron playfully jiggled her shoulders while Hermione silently seethed.

It wasn’t the time to make a scene in front of Rita. Ron had been right about one thing those months ago, Hermione did hate having her personal life laid out like a feast to the gossip hounds. And she had to hand it to him, he played his hand well tonight. Her only options were to agree or publicly contradict him and come off like a jilted lover.

So, she smiled. “Absolutely.”

Ron unwrapped his arm from around her and clapped his hands together, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Now as to your other question…Daph! Would you join us, darling?” He turned and outstretched his hand for Daphne, who was standing a few feet away.

As she stepped into his arms, Ron turned back to Rita, now nearly panting in anticipation. “I’m thrilled to announce that we’re engaged! We’ll be marrying in November at my family’s home, as is our tradition. I’m the luckiest man alive.” He turned, looking adoringly at Daphne, who smiled back.

Luckily, Hermione had years of training at this point, and she spotted the photographer lift his camera before he snapped a photo, giving her enough time to morph her grimace into a genuine smile, using every ounce of her acting skills to look toward Ron and Daphne with joy and happiness in her expression.

“A wedding! How WONDERFUL! And Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, aren’t you just thrilled for your best friend?”

Hermione turned toward Harry, who was staring back at her with a hint of fear and apology.

Knowing his role well, he smiled. “Of course! I can’t wait to welcome Ron into the married men’s club!”

Rita’s eyes turned to Hermione, full of sly assessment and clearly looking for any sign that would let her paint Hermione as hurt or bitter.

She wouldn’t give it to her. “I’m absolutely overjoyed. It’s always so beautiful to see two people who are truly meant to be find each other. I’ve been lucky to see Ron and Daphne together, and I can say without a doubt that they were made for one another.”

She inclined her head in kindness toward Ron and Daphne, both of whom seemed to be holding their breaths as she spoke.

Rita closed her purse with a snap. “Well! It seems that I need to head back to the office! You didn’t hear it from me, but I have a feeling this will be front page news in the morning!”

With that, she slid back into the crowd, hurrying toward an exit.

As soon as she was out of sight, Hermione let the smile fall from her face.

Ron led Daphne toward the bar, both giggling and giddy.

“Hermione…”

She rounded on Harry. “Did you plan that with him?” Her voice was calm, almost bored. She was past being surprised by their antics now.

Harry’s eyes went wide. “No! Of course not! I had no idea, Hermione, I swear. I’m sure he didn’t plan it that way either, he just seized the moment. You know how Ron can be…”

She looked back at him, trying to spot if he was lying, but she couldn’t see it.

“I need to find Kingsley. I’ll see you, Harry.”

She turned and walked into the crowd before he could reply.

It took her a full hour to make it back through the crowd, now teeming with Ministry employees and donors eager to pull Hermione into conversation.

When she was finally able to extricate herself and make it to Kingsley, it took another twenty minutes to break through the crowd around him before they were actually face to face.

“Ah! Ms. Granger! So wonderful of you to come!” Kingsley smiled and pulled her to his side, already smiling for the camera poised just feet away. Hermione smiled back, playing her part.

But through her teeth she whispered. “So wonderful of you to make me.”

Pretending to laugh, the Minister leaned in. “Now now, I do believe you got the better end of our deal, wouldn’t you agree, Hermione?”

She took a deep breath. It was true. No matter what had happened after, she would still make the same deal again in a heartbeat. She nodded.

Kingsley turned back to the crowd, ready to charm them once again, and launched into a speech about the importance of education, and didn’t Hermione of all people agree that providing those who planned and monitored the curriculum of young witches and wizards with state-of-the-art offices was absolutely essential? She stopped listening after the first five minutes.

By the time Kingsley had finished, it was 8:03, and Hermione excused herself from the group, feigning a need for the loo, before beginning her march to the floo.

Each step she took, her rage grew.

Ron using her for his own ends, again.

Kingsley using her for his own ends, again.

Being forced to make obscenely wealthy socialites feel good about themselves for writing a check that wouldn’t even make a dent in their vaults at Gringotts.

By the time she threw the powder into the hearth and stepped through the flames, she was fuming.

She’d been so caught up in her own thoughts that when she stepped out of the fireplace in her living room and saw Draco sitting on the couch, she nearly screamed in surprise.

“Draco! Merlin, you scared me. I forgot that you’d be here.”

He stood up slowly, his eyes raking up her form. When he finally reached her face, he looked almost drunk. “I…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She let out a sigh and began walking toward the kitchen. “It’s not your fault. I wasn’t thinking.”

She reached for a bottle of white wine from her fridge, pulling a glass down from the cabinet to the right.

“It’s just been a long night. Do you want something to drink? I need something to take the edge off.”

Without even waiting for his reply, she poured herself a generous glass and brought it to her lips, taking a huge gulp before finally breathing out, attempting to calm down.

“Hermione. What happened?”

She turned around and found him across the kitchen island, immaculate as always in his tailored black pants and white button down, eyeing her with concern.

She exhaled, shaking her head as some of the tensions began to bleed from her muscles.

“I just hate attending these damn events. It’s nothing but social climbers with money to burn looking for an in with government officials. Every single conversation is a political chess match, people trying to maneuver you into doing something they want. It’s infuriating. And of course they want to trot out the Golden Trio like we’re circus monkeys…” She ran her hand down her dress.

“There isn’t even dancing! What’s the point of putting on a damn dress like this if I don’t even get to dance in it?!” She gestured down her body in frustration.

Draco just looked back at her for a moment, before she saw determination click into place on his features.

Slowly, he rounded the island and held out his hand.

“Dance with me.”

She let out a nervous laugh. “What?”

“It’s like you said, you can’t waste a perfectly good dress without getting a chance to dance.” He extended his hand further.

It only took Hermione half a second to say an internal fuck it and place her palm in his.

His fingers closed around hers and he began leading her back into the living room. Pulling her closer, he lifted their clasped hands and brought his other around her waist, his thumb and forefinger brushing the bare skin exposed by her dress’s low back.

She stepped forward and placed her other hand on his shoulder. She suddenly felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest, and she hoped that although she could feel the heat coursing through her body, that it was not turning every piece of her skin bright red.

Draco began to move, and after only a few steps a genuine smile broke on her face and she leaned back to look up at him.

“The Belgian Waltz, huh?”

He smirked down at her. “I’m not sure if you know this, Hermione. But this dance was actually created by muggles.” He whispered the final word, winking at her.

She laughed, her heart filling at the memory of their first dance all those years ago in Flitwick’s classroom.

“You know, I do recall someone telling me that once…”

They continued to dance around her living room, somehow finding the space for Draco to spin her without knocking over a table.

As he brought her back into his arms, he brought his jaw next to her ear.

“You look beautiful, Hermione.”

His breath feathered against her neck, sending a shiver down her spine and a rush of liquid heat straight to her core. This was it. She could feel it.

Draco slowed his steps and Hermione stepped into him, resting her head on his chest as his hand slowly curled further around her back, his whole hand now running over the expanse of her bare skin.

She could stay like this forever.

“Can I ask you something?”

She nodded against his chest.

“You said this afternoon that you didn’t have a choice. That you had to go tonight. Why?”

Her heart stuttered, its pace now quickening for a wholly different reason.

“I made a deal with Kingsley years ago. If he held up his end of the bargain, I agreed to show up to any event he wanted me to attend and support him in fundraising for the ministry and campaigning for reelection.”

“For how long?”

She shrugged. “However long he likes. Forever.”

“What could you have possibly gotten out of a deal to make that worth it?”

Of course he asked.

She knew he would.

And she supposed if she really wanted to try to be with him again, she owed him the truth.

Slowly, she peeled herself away from him, still in his arms but far back enough that she could look into his face.

She met his eyes and held his gaze, trying to tell him without words.

He looked back at her for long seconds before realization, realization and then horror, dawned on his face.

“No.” It was a choked whisper.

“Draco…”

He dropped her hand and stepped back, his hands going into his hair.

“No. No, Hermione. Please tell me you didn’t make a deal for…for me.”

She steeled her resolve. “I heard them talking, the provisional Wizengamot, three weeks after you were arrested. They were going to make an ‘example’ out of you, Draco. They were going to leave you in Azkaban for a year before they even scheduled your trial! They wanted to use you to prove to the public how serious they were about punishing Voldemort supporters.”

He’d gone still, his face drained of color. She continued.

“I couldn’t leave you in there. I wouldn’t. I begged Kingsley. I told him everything. I showed him my memories, I told him what you’d done, that you’d been working to help us the whole time. And he said it wasn’t enough. That it didn’t matter.” She spat out the last words.

“Didn’t matter…it didn’t matter because your last name is Malfoy. That’s the only reason. You could have killed Voldemort himself and they would probably still have arrested you.

So, three days later, I went back to see him again. I told him that if he didn’t agree to schedule your trial immediately, to let me provide detailed testimony of everything you’d done in private, sealed from even the other Wizengamot members, and if he didn’t forcefully support your pardon, that I would leave the ministry and walk straight to Rita Skeeter’s office to tell her the whole story. That I’d let her publish as many stories as she wanted about how the Golden Girl was heartbroken because the corrupt, hateful Ministry had imprisoned the man she loved. A man who had risked his life time and time again to spy for the Order. I told him I would spend the rest of my life working to ensure that he lost every election he ever ran for. Everything was so fragile then, any inkling that the Ministry was corrupted would have caused it to collapse. So, he agreed, in exchange for my vocal support of him.

I didn’t want you or Narcissa to be targets. There were still too many Death Eaters on the loose. That’s why I didn’t want to give the full testimony in public. Not because I didn’t want to tell the world how much I love you, Draco. Not at all. I would have done it in a heartbeat if that’s what it took, I just figured if it was just the Manor that got into the public record, you’d be able to stay under the radar.”

She finally took a breath and chanced a look back at Draco. He hadn’t moved, but he looked almost queasy.

“And then I ran away like a coward. Fuck, Hermione. You should have left me in there to rot. I was never important enough for you to do all this.” He turned around, his hands coming back into his hair.

“NO.” The force of her yell caused him to turn around.

“No, Draco. You never belonged in there, and I don’t care what happened afterward, I would still do it all over again! Hell, I was prepared to do a LOT more than that to get you out. I would have broken into Azkaban myself if I had to! And I KNOW you would have done the same thing for me. I know you would have. So don’t you dare try to tell me that you weren’t important enough. You were the most important.”

She took several steps toward him until she was within arms-reach, and then she pulled out her wand from the hidden pocket in her dress. Pointing it at her left forearm, she removed the glamour hiding her tattoo, and turned her arm so he could see the words there. Words that weren’t just written in script, but his script, taken from a page in the journals where they had written to each other for all those years.

“There will never be anything in my life more important. Not ever. It will always be you.”

She wasn’t sure when the tears had begun to fall, but they coursed down the sides of her face as she watched him release a shaky breath and step forward, reaching out to gingerly take her arm in his hands. He traced the words with his fingers.

“I love you, Draco. I never stopped. I don’t ever want to stop loving you.” Her voice broke as her tears grew stronger.

Gently, he released her arm. With his right hand, he removed the cuff link on his left sleeve, and rolled it all the way up to his elbow. She could now see the snout of a dragon breathing fire down his forearm, and in the center, directly over the space that used to show his Dark Mark, and exactly mirroring her own, he showed her the same words, Amor Vincit Omnia, shining like stars against the flames.

She was certain that her heart stopped, before restarting at a rate faster than she thought imaginable.

She stopped breathing, her mind emptying of everything but the words in front of her. The reality of what he’d done to remember her. The same act as the one that she’d taken to forever add him to her body. Her soul.

She reached out, running the pads of her fingers over the words.

“I don’t ever want to stop loving you either, Hermione. I came back for you.” She looked up into his eyes and had just a moment to see the tears falling from them before he closed the distance between them.

His lips found hers, and she let out a desperate cry of relief to feel him again, after all these years.

She stepped into him, her hands grasping around his shoulders as he held her back firmly with one hand, the other tangling in her curls.

It was bliss.

It was perfection.

It was right.

He pulled back after a moment, both working to catch their breaths.

“I have loved you since I was twelve years old, Hermione. I will love you with every fiber of my soul until the day I die.”

His hands came around to cup her face, tenderly wiping away her tears.

He brushed his lips up the hinge of her jaw and to her temple.

“I’m so sorry that I left. I was stupid. So, so stupid. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He punctuated each word with a kiss.

She slid her hands over his chest, landing above his heart and feeling it beat as fast as hummingbird wings.

“I forgive you, Draco.”

He exhaled roughly, and pulled her face back to his.

His pillow soft lips melded with hers in a searing kiss, his breath ghosting over her mouth. He pulled her closer, her entire body now pressed against his, and she let out a moan as desire unleashed within her. He used the opportunity to press his tongue against hers, stroking and massaging, the taste of him, apples and spice and peppermint, filling all of her senses.

She moved her body against his and felt how hard he was against her belly. A jagged moan left his lips causing her core to throb with need.

Pulling back, she whispered against his mouth. “Please, Draco. I need you.”

The sound that broke from his chest was nearly a growl. His mouth moved to her neck, sucking and nipping at her pulse point. She shuddered and mewled against him as his left hand moved down to squeeze the globe of her ass, and the other ghosted up the side of her body from her hip, to the dip of her waist, over the sensitive skin of her breast, and to her collar bone, where he held her tightly.

“I want you so badly, Hermione. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

She arched her back into him. She felt almost as though she could come like this, just from the feel of his hands on her.

“Then take me, Draco.”

He surged forward, his hand bunching the skirt of her dress up before he grabbed her roughly around the waist so she could bring both legs around him. Her core was now positioned directly over his cock, and she began to rock against him, lighting striking through her from each moment of friction against her clit.

He groaned against her, squeezing her even tighter, as she brought her arms to his front and, with shaky fingers, began to undo the buttons on his shirt.

“Auror Malfoy!”

The shock of Tonks’ voice caused them both to gasp and pull back. Turning to the left, she saw the large wolf patronus stalking next to them in the living room.

Her voice continued in a quick, serious tone. “The house that the trainee aurors raided is home base to the McCalen arms dealers. We’re under attack. All aurors are to report to the location immediately. Use your badge as a beacon and get here NOW.”

Draco and Hermione were both panting, and Hermione was still unconsciously grinding against Draco’s lap.

“Fuck.” He groaned and leaned his forehead against hers, slowly rolling it back and forth and breathing her in.

She squeezed his shoulders. “You have to go.”

He looked into her eyes and nodded. “I have to go.”

She slowly untangled her legs and slipped down out of his arms before bringing her hands up to smooth his hair and wipe a bit of lipstick from his lips. He kissed the pad of her thumb while she worked. Grabbing her around the waist, he pulled her in until their foreheads were touching once again.

“We are not done; do you hear me? I am going to go and wrap this up as quickly as possible, and then I am coming back to you, ok?”

She bit her lip and nodded. He brought his thumb back to her lower lip and swiped it back and forth.

“You can’t do that, love, or I won’t be able to leave.” His voice was pained.

She giggled and stepped back.

“Go on, Auror Malfoy. Get out of here.” She jerked her head to the side.

His responding smile started with hunger, but quickly morphed into one of deep, unending love. She could feel the same look on her own face.

He stepped into her once more, and brought his hand up to her face. “I love you, Hermione.”

She leaned into his touch. “I love you too, Draco.”

After a breath, he stepped back, grabbed his jacket from the couch, and made his way to the front door. With a final look of longing back at her, he stepped out into the night.

Hermione wasn’t sure how long she stood there, fingers pressed against her lips and a goofy, lovesick smile plastered across her face.

She was jittery with pent up energy, and so turned on she felt like she might spontaneously combust if Draco didn’t get back soon.

She could touch him again.

She could feel his weight on top of her. Inside of her.

The combination of anticipation and relief was overwhelming.

She kicked off her heels and ran upstairs to her bedroom, quickly checking to make sure nothing was amiss.

No dirty laundry piled in the corner, sheets are clean, lights are dimmed. She nodded to herself before running back down the stairs.

Stopping in the center of the living room, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the mantle. Her eyes looked a bit crazed, her hair was a mess, but she saw a look radiating from her that she hadn’t seen in years.

Joy. Pure, unbridled joy.

They’d made it. Somehow, against all odds, they’d found each other again, and this was the first day of the rest of her life. Her real life. The one she had always been meant to live.

She doubled over, laughter escaping from her chest.

Time slipped away, and she didn’t try to stop the smile from permanently settling onto her face.

Finally, she checked the clock. Draco had been gone for almost three hours. Surely, he would be returning soon.

Minutes passed. Suddenly, a silvery Dalmatian patronus bounded into the room.

“Healer Granger, this is Head Healer Smethwick. If you’re able, we need your assistance immediately in the emergency department at St. Mungo’s.” Hermione’s mood immediately came crashing down around her. Although she was a fully trained and qualified healer, she didn’t work for St. Mungo’s and they only ever called her in if there was a mass influx of seriously injured patients.

“A raid conducted by the Auror office this evening went south, and we are receiving dozens of gravely injured aurors as we speak. We need all the help we can get. Please come.”

The Dalmatian disappeared as Hermione began to sway, her hands going clammy.

Thankfully, Hermione Granger was used to crisis, and her instincts immediately kicked in. With a quick swish of her wand, she summoned her emergency bag. Another swipe of her wand vanished her dress and replaced it with her official Healers robes and comfortable shoes. It had only been seconds since she’d received Smethwick’s message, and as she grabbed a handful of powder and called out St. Mungo’s healer entrance, only one thought came to her mind.

Not Draco.

Please, not Draco.

Chapter End Notes

Reminder: this fic is tagged HEA, and I mean HEA! Nobody panic. :)

We've made it! We've finally crossed over to the lovers side of idiots-to-lovers!

This is the first of a three-chapter arc that will transition us into the second half of the story, and I assure you that by the end of these three chapters, we will have more than earned the explicit rating.

Thank you so much as always for reading, and for your comments and kudos!

xoxo,

Flames

Out Of The Woods

Chapter Notes

Happy Sunday!

2nd chapter in the 3-chapter-arc is here! I hope you enjoy it! We're back with Draco's POV this week.

TW: A bit of gore throughout.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

June, 5th year

This was, by far, the most reckless thing he’d ever done.

Potter, Weasley, the entire Weasley family, and at least half of the Order of the Phoenix we’re all crowded into the Hospital Wing. But Hermione was there too, and he’d heard from a third year that she had been unconscious when they brought her in.

If the rumors were true, she had just been at the Ministry, and the group had not just been attacked by Death Eaters, but by Voldemort himself.

Which means the war had well and truly begun, and everything was about to change.

But it didn’t matter. If Hermione was hurt, he had to know. He had to see her.

So he stood, hidden behind a tapestry, outside the doors to the Hospital Wing, counting the beats of his heart before he made his move.

He’d been practicing disillusionment charms ever since Hermione had started the meetings with Dumbledore’s Army, figuring it might be useful in case Umbridge was on their tail and he didn’t have time to send her a message using their charmed galleons.

Now all he had to do was cast the spell and wait for someone to open the double doors to the wing. He could grab one and sneak in undetected, and as long as he moved slowly and didn’t make any noise, no one should be able to see him.

It was his best and only shot.

Quickly turning his wand to tap the top of his skull, he felt the uncomfortable sensation of having an egg cracked on your head and the yolk slowly oozing down your body as he suddenly faded into the colors of the background.

And then he waited. It was nearly midnight now.

Finally, the doors opened and a tall man he didn’t recognize, but assumed to be an Auror, stepped out.

With a silent breath, he waited for the man to cross the threshold and begin walking down the hall before moving quickly to hold the door open with his foot just long enough that he was able to sneak inside.

The scene was far more chaotic than he’d anticipated.

More than half of the beds were filled, all of them injured students from the DA.

The Weasley family along with Remus Lupin and a woman with bright pink hair were all crowded around two beds half way down the hall. Upon inspection, Ron laid in one, his leg bandaged and propped up on pillows, and Potter in the other, seemingly asleep.

Draco’s eyes frantically searched the other beds until he finally spotted her curls at the far end of the hall and across the aisle from the others.

Doing his best not to sigh audibly in relief, Draco began the slow, careful process to get over to her.

His breath caught in his throat when he got close enough to see her fully.

Her curls were matted and limp, blood covering part of her head.

She looked pallid, and Draco could see a large bandage over the right side of her ribs that was still slowly seeping with blood.

Silent tears began to leak from his eyes.

She looks dead.

Madam Pomfrey came bustling over to check on her and Draco moved as quickly as he could into the corner against the wall, working hard to keep his jagged breaths silent.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, just staring at her watching her chest rise and fall, but eventually the Order members and Weasley family took their leave and the wing fell into silence once more. Madam Pomfrey came around to close the curtains around each bed and Draco made sure to sneak inside with Hermione.

As soon as he heard the matron close the door back to her office and turn out the light, he placed a silencing charm around the bed and removed his disillusionment, taking a seat next to Hermione’s head and grabbing her hand in both of his.

He exhaled heavily when he finally touched her. Her skin was clammy but still warm, blood still running through her veins.

Gently, he reached up and brushed the curls that had fallen over her face back, tucking them behind her ear. She hated it when her hair got in her eyes.

The movement seemed to rouse her, and she slowly turned her head into Draco’s hand, her eyes weakly blinking open.

“Dr-Draco?” Her voice was hoarse and barely audible.

“Shh, don’t try to talk, love. It’s ok, you’re ok.” He brought her knuckles up to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to them, still rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone.

“What are you…what are you doing here?” Her brain seemed to catch up, and she jolted, eyes going wide. “What are doing here? You can’t be here, Draco!” Her eyes were darting back and forth, trying to take in their surroundings and who might be in the vicinity.

“Hermione, it’s ok, love, it’s ok. Everyone else is asleep, it’s after three in the morning. And I cast a silencing charm around us.” Taking a deep breath, he continued. “Rumors started going around the castle right before curfew that something had happened at the ministry, and that all of you were there. I was on prefect rounds when some third year Hufflepuff said he’d seen Dumbledore and the Order bringing you into the castle, and that you looked…that you were hurt. I had to come, Hermione. I had to. I had to know that you were ok. That you were safe.”

Her eyes were on his face now. She looked devastated as tears began tracking down her cheeks. She shook her head.

“I’m not safe, Draco. We’re not safe.”

“What do you --?”

“Voldemort was there. He nearly killed Harry. Fudge and half the ministry saw him. He won’t be able to hide anymore.”

Draco let out an uneasy breath and squeezed her hand. “We knew this was coming. We planned for it. We can deal with it.”

By speaking the words, he hoped he could make them true.

She shook her head.

“That’s not all. Your father was there, Draco.” His stomach dropped.

“He led the Death Eaters that attacked us. Dumbledore caught him. They arrested him with the others as we were leaving.”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, trying to process the information.

“Was it him? Was he the one that hurt you?” The words were forced, filled with barely contained rage.

Hermione shook her head. “No. I think it was Dolohov. Maybe Nott…” Draco’s mind went immediately to Theo. What would he do if his father was in Azkaban?

“Good. Means I don’t have to kill him myself.”

“They’ll put him in Azkaban, Draco. It’s going to be all over the news. The attention…”

He squeezed her hand. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll handle it.”

“Your mother…”

“My mother will be glad to be rid of him, Hermione. Trust me.” Venom dripped from every word.

She tried to push herself up on the bed, but after just the slightest move she yelled out in agony.

Draco jumped to his feet, eyes wide with fear, cradling her back and lowering her gently down onto the pillows.

“Fuck. Don’t move, love. Don’t move. Are you ok? I can remove the charm and hide so you can call for Pomfrey?”

She shook her head violently, her left hand clutching her ribs. “No, no its ok. I’ll be fine. Please stay.”

He nodded and took his seat again.

“What happens now?”

He took her hand back in his and tried to keep the confidence in his voice.

“Dumbledore and Boy Wonder defeat him, that’s what happens. We make it out of this and go off to live our lives, together. No more hiding.”

“Promise?” Her eyes were a mixture of trepidation and hope.

Leaning in, he captured her lips in a reassuring kiss. “I promise, love.”

Merlin, he hoped it was true.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April 2002

Well this has gone completely arse over tit.

Two hours ago, he’d been holding Hermione in his arms and feeling her writhe against him for the first time in nearly five years. The overwhelming joy of it, to really and truly have her back, had been the greatest feeling he’d ever felt.

And the desire for her…he had been so hard he thought his dick was going to rip through his trousers. He’d had to perform a targeted disillusionment charm on himself when he arrived to the Auror basecamp until he could calm down.

Two hours ago he’d been about to lay Hermione down and fuck her until neither of them could remember their names.

And now he was here. Crouching behind a half-destroyed statue of a horse and flinging every curse he could out into the night.

A group of trainee Aurors had begun a raid on what they thought was a small-time smuggling operation, only to stumble directly into the headquarters of the McClaren Family, a group of infamous dark magic dealers—known for selling weapons, dark objects, and more to the highest bidder.

Now Draco and every other Auror in the DMLE were attempting to break through the veritable army of mercenaries—who somehow kept apparating in even with the wards the Aurors had set around the perimeter—as they threw dark curse after dark curse there way, with a few unforgivables tossed in for good measure.

Draco had successfully incapacitated six of the fighters and was succeeding in cutting a hole through their lines, when all of the sudden, from somewhere inside the decrepit manor that housed their headquarters, a deafening boom sounded, followed by a dome of purple light that crackled around the entire manor and pushed out toward every Auror surrounding the place. Draco could feel it as it got closer to him, but there was nowhere to run, and just like every other Auror, when the spell hit him, it felt like an explosion, tossing him back at least twenty feet.

Whatever the spell was, it nearly knocked him out from the blow. As he slowly regained himself and flipped over, he began to hear commands from Dawlish, the lead Auror managing the raid.

“Take cover! Fall back! Fall back!” Good. They needed to regroup, reset the perimeter wards and try to get the place contained.

Draco scrambled to his feet. Looking to his right, he saw Potter doing the same.

Draco saw them just as Harry turned around to start moving: two jets of light, one purple and one an ominous blood red aimed perfectly at the center of his back. Without thinking, Draco sprinted forward.

“Potter, MOVE!”

Harry managed to turn his head, his eyes going wide, as Draco slammed into him, forcing him out of the way. They landed in a heap on the ground, panting.

Harry looked bewildered, seemingly trying to reconcile that Draco Malfoy had just saved his skin, but then his eyes went wide and the blood drained from his face.

“Shit, Malfoy, don’t move. You’re going to be ok, just stay still, stay still, ok?” He ripped his badge from his robes and yelled, “Tonks! Malfoy got hit! We need a healer, RIGHT NOW.”

It was only then that Draco started to feel it. Somewhere in his mind he realized that the curses aimed at Harry must have hit him, and looking down he saw the blood seeping through his shirt at his abdomen. His brain started to feel fuzzy as the pain rolled through him. On fire, it felt like he was on fire. He had to put it out, someone had to get water to put it out. He felt his body start to shake, causing Harry—who had been holding their cover—to look down.

“Fuck!” Harry scrambled to his knees and pressed his hands into Draco’s shoulders, trying to hold him still.

Draco stared back at him, thinking how ironic it would be if, after all these years, he ended up dying to save Harry Potter.

It was the last thought he had before the world went black.

**

The next time he opened his eyes, the light around him was blinding. His vision was blurry and he had no idea where he was, how he had gotten here, what was happening, or even if he really was awake. He heard voices, frantic yelling, but he could only pick up bits and pieces.

“What hit him, Harry?” Oh, that voice was nice, he liked that voice.

“I don’t know, Hermione. Two curses, I think. He pushed me out of the way. The bastard pushed me out of the way…” The second voice trailed off, but he’d said something interesting. Hermione. Was Hermione here? He loved Hermione.

He faded out again.

Suddenly, the smell of honey and lavender overwhelmed him, and his eyes opened to see that very witch, his witch, eyes wide in fear, standing over him, frantically maneuvering her wand.

He tried to move his hand up to touch her.

“Draco, can you hear me? Focus on my voice, ok? Try to stay awake.” Her voice sounded scared, he hated it when she was scared.

She wasn’t looking at his face. Instead, her eyes kept bouncing between some colorful writing hovering over him and his stomach, where her wand continued to move.

“You’re going to be okay, Draco. Do you hear me? You’re going to be fine. You were hit with two curses, but I can reverse them. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.” She was chanting it like a mantra.

He was finally able to force his hand to do what he wanted, raising it up slowly to touch her face. He was momentarily confused when a smear of red appeared on her cheek, under his fingers, but he didn’t have the brainpower to dwell on it for long.

She paused and looked down at him, eyes wide. He just smiled lazily back.

“Don’t be scared, Hermione. It’s just a dream.” His voice came out as a rasp.

Her eyes went glassy, a single tear dropping from one and landing on Draco’s cheek. She placed both of her hands on his face and looked down.

“This isn’t a dream, Draco. You’re at St. Mungo’s. I’m here to help you, ok?”

He moved his head, but he wasn’t sure if it was a nod or something else.

She darted her eyes away quickly, and then leaned down to whisper into his ear.

“Don’t you even think about dying on me, Draco Malfoy. Not now, not when we just…” Her voice broke. She moved her head to stare into his eyes, their noses almost touching, a fierce look on her face.

“I swear to Merlin, if you die, I will find a way to bring you back and then I’ll kill you myself. Got it?”

Her perfect honey eyes were the last thing he saw before he faded out of consciousness.

**

He had no idea how much time had passed, but when he opened his eyes again, he was in a quiet room with dimmed lights. He could hear whispering at the foot of his bed.

“One of them was a modified wasting curse, the other seemed to be attacking his blood. I managed to reverse them so he shouldn’t have any long-lasting damage. The wound in his abdomen was severe, and the curses mean the healing will be slower, but he’s going to be ok.”

“Oh Hermione, thank you. Thank the gods for you.” His mother’s voice sounded scratchy, overcome with emotion.

“Did he really take those curses for Potter?” Was that Theo?

“That’s what Harry said. Draco pushed him out of the way.” Hermione’s voice broke on the last word. He wanted to get up, he wanted to hug her, comfort her, but his body wouldn’t move.

He tried to move his head, but it sent a wave of pain through him, causing him to groan.

Suddenly his mother was at his side, Hermione at the other, with Theo, Blaise, Pansy, and Luna all huddled at the end of his bed.

“Oh, my dragon, don’t try to move. You’re alright.” Narcissa placed a small, soothing hand on his cheek.

Suddenly he felt Hermione’s warm hand lightly against his shoulder. “Take this, Draco, it will help with the pain.” She tipped a vial of herbal-tasting liquid into his mouth, looking down on him with so many emotions written on her face that it was hard for Draco to pinpoint a single one.

A wave of fatigue came over him and he faded away once again.

**

“Hermione, dear, do you want to go get cleaned up?” Narcissa’s voice brought him out of his haze once again.

“What? No, no I’m fine.” Hermione sounded exhausted.

“Dear, you…well, you’re covered in his blood.” His mother’s voice was gentle, coaxing.

“I don’t want…I can’t leave him.” Hermione’s voice was a broken whisper, and even in his hazy state, Draco could tell that there were tears streaming down her face.

“Oh, my dear, it’s alright. He’s going to be fine—because of you. You saved him, Hermione. He’s alright now. The rest of us aren’t going anywhere, we can watch him for a while. You’ve been running around all night helping the other healers. Take a moment, get some clean clothes. I’ll call you immediately if he wakes.”

Draco could sense her hesitation, but after a moment Hermione breathed a sigh, and he heard her stand from her chair and walk toward the door.

“Hermione? Does this mean…are you two?”

“I hope so.”

“Oh, my girl, trust me, he’ll never let you go again.”

Hermione quietly shut the door as Narcissa came to sit next to Draco’s bed. He saw the bright smile on her face before his eyes shut again.

**

Draco came to slowly, his mind finally clearing of the fog he’d been in for…well, he didn’t know how long. But as he took stock, sorting through his jumbled memories, he was able to piece back together what had happened.

There’d been a raid. It had gone badly. He took a bad curse. He ended up in St. Mungo’s, and Hermione had healed him.

Hermione…gods. Right before he’d left, they’d been about to…

He turned his head at the memory, smiling as he looked out the windows to see the sun beginning to rise.

Slowly, he hoisted himself up into something resembling a seated position, and it was only then that he saw all of them.

His mother was asleep in a chair near the head of his bed, her arm outstretched to lay on the mattress next to him.

Across the room, Blaise was curled around Padma, who had her head resting on the top of his as she slept. She was still in her healers’ robes and Draco vaguely remembered seeing her tending to other injured Aurors when he arrived.

Next to them were Pansy and Luna, the golden-haired witch leaning into Pansy as Pansy buried her head into her blonde locks.

Rounding out the group was Theo, who was quietly reading the Prophet as the others slept.

As Draco moved to sit up, Theo’s head snapped to him and a relieved smile came across his face.

In a whisper, he called, “well, if it isn’t the hero himself!” He pushed up from his chair and made his way to Draco’s bed, clapping him on the shoulder.

“You really with us this time?” Theo’s tone was still teasing, but his eyes betrayed his concern.

Draco cleared his throat. “I think so. How long have I been out? Was anyone else hurt? Where’s Hermione?”

Theo smiled a knowing smile and squeezed him on the shoulder. “One thing at a time, mate. How are you feeling?”

Draco tried to take stock. “Tired. Sore. But mostly okay, I think.”

Theo nodded. “Well that’s due to the exceptional talents of your girl Granger. She didn’t stop working until she was certain you were alright. I think she may have permanently scarred some of the other healers who tried to offer to take over after a while…” A warm feeling spread through Draco. It must have shown on his face, because Theo’s eyes softened in response.

“As to your other questions. The raid was a little over a day ago. You’ve been in and out since then. A lot of the other Aurors that were there got injured, but you caught the worst of it, by far. And yes, Hermione is still here. Your mother convinced her to go shower and change about an hour ago, it looked like she had taken a bath in a tub filled with your blood.” Draco cringed, flinching enough for Narcissa’s hand to drop from the mattress, waking her with a start.

“Draco!” Unlike Theo, his mother made no effort to lower her voice as she jumped out of her chair, managing to wake everyone else in the room.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re up! Do you know where you are? What year is it? How are you feeling? Do you need anything? I should go get the healer…”

Draco reached over and grabbed her hand. “Mum, calm down, it’s ok. I remember everything.”

She squeezed his hand between both of his own, tears welling in her eyes. “Don’t you dare scare me like that again. Do you hear me?”

He cracked a smile. “Yes, mum.”

“I’m gonna have to agree with Narcissa, mate. I’d quite prefer you to leave the dramatics to the Gryffindors in the future, alright?” Blaise smirked as Padma smacked his chest and quickly waved her wand to produce the diagnostic charm.

“Everything looks good, the healing spells are working. Hermione’s work was flawless. Let me go find her, she’ll want to know that you’re awake.” Padma gave Blaise a quick kiss on the cheek and then headed to the door.

Pansy sniffled before quickly turning her head to try and hide it.

“Pansy Parkinson, are you crying over my sick bed?”

She huffed a single laugh, wiping away her tears and pinning him with a glare. “Don’t you ever do that again, Draco Malfoy. I will hex you into the next century!”

Luna gently wiped away the tears still streaming down Pansy’s cheeks. “I think you were quite brave, Draco. Your aura is positively golden.” She smiled her dreamy smile.

“…Thanks, Luna.”

“They’re calling you a hero, mate.” Theo picked up the Prophet from his chair. “Former Death Eater saves Chosen One and all that shite.”

Narcissa fixed Theo with a withering look. “Apologies for my language, ma’am.”

“Don’t you ma’am me, Theodore.” Her eyes turned back to Draco, one hand coming up to smooth his hair.

The door to his room burst open, Hermione, dressed now in her signature Cambridge hoodie and leggings, practically tumbling inside, panting. Her eyes looked around wildly, pieces of her hair falling out of the bun she’d tied it into atop her head.

“Padma said he was…oh, apologies, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

She straightened up, composing herself.

“Nonsense, dear. You are most welcome here at all times, isn’t that right, Draco?”

His mother’s eyes were filled with mischief as she turned them on him.

Draco’s voice was commanding as he responded. “Yes. Always.”

Hermione looked him in the eyes then, his heart rate rising as he stared back, falling into the depths of her gaze.

“Well, I for one could use a freshen up and some tea. Let’s give these two a moment, shall we?” Narcissa leaned over and kissed Draco on the forehead, smiling as her hand cupped his cheek. “I’ll be back in a few hours to check on you, dragon.” Draco just nodded in response as his friends began to shuffle out of the room, offering quiet greetings to Hermione.

Narcissa crossed the room, stopping in front of Hermione to gather her into a brief hug before stepping out the door and closing it with a soft click.

Hermione stepped further into the room, heading straight for the parchments showing Draco’s vitals at the edge of his bed.

“How are you feeling? Are you experiencing any pain? Dizziness? Your vitals all look good but maybe I should run some more—”

“Hermione, stop. Look at me.”

She stilled, her eyes slowly tracking up to meet his.

“I’m ok, love. All thanks to you.”

Hermione stared back at him for a moment before the wave of emotions finally overtook her and she let out a sob, her body doubling over from the weight of it all.

His lungs contracted. He hated seeing her in pain, and he hated being the cause of it even more.

“Come here, love. It’s ok. I’m ok, I promise.”

She stumbled a few steps forward to sit on the side of his bed, and leaned her body into his as he wrapped her in his arms.

“I was so scared, Draco. I thought you were going to…I thought this might be it. That you and I wouldn’t get a chance to…I thought I was going to lose you. I can’t lose you, Draco. Not again. I won’t survive it.” The sobs were shaking her small frame as she clutched the fabric of his hospital pajamas.

Her words forced a vision into Draco’s mind, of what he would feel if their positions were reversed. If she had…he refused to finish the thought, instead tightening his arms around his precious, beautiful witch and kissing her temple softly.

“You’re not going to lose me, my love. In fact, you’re quite stuck with me now. It’ll take more than a measly curse to get rid of me. Plus, I have it on good authority that were I to die, a very powerful, very sexy witch has plans to bring me back in order to kill me herself.”

Hermione raised her head up to look at him, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

“It’s not funny, Draco.”

He smirked while bringing his fingers to her face to wipe away her tears. “It’s a little funny.”

She pinned him with a ferocious glare. “This is the second time I have found myself covered head to toe in your blood, Draco Malfoy. I do not wish to do it again, do you understand me?”

Still tracing her face, he nodded. “Understood.”

She reached up, grabbing his hands with her own, holding them against her skin.

“When the call came in last night and I thought you were…” She looked down briefly, trying to regain composure.

“You left before we could even…I thought you were going to die and we’d never...” Her words were whispered, filled with both fear and hope.

Draco smirked. “Hermione Granger. Am I to understand that your biggest concern about my possible demise was not the loss of my fantastic wit or sparkling personality, but your fear that I’d never be able to fuck you again? Well, I quite agree that I’m fairly unmatched, and I do so appreciate the complement. Give me a couple of hours and I’d be happy to satisfy your needs, love.”

She looked up at him, a spark of humor dancing in her eyes.

“After that little speech, you’ll be lucky if I ever let you fuck me again, Auror Malfoy.”

Draco moved his hands so his thumbs could trace the hinge of her jaw, his fingers lightly brushing the nape of her neck. Taking stock of her features, he could see the strain, fear, and love etched into every line of her face, and it both broke and filled his heart to see it.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m sorry I scared you. I’m not going anywhere, not now that I have you back. I’ve got big plans to make you deliriously happy every single day of the rest of our lives, ok?”

Her eyes grew glassy and she bit her lip at his declaration.

“Do you promise?” Her words were barely a whisper.

“I promise, love.”

Her eyes were boring into his as he gently pulled her toward him. When he could feel her warm breath on his face, he whispered against her lips.

“I love you, Hermione.”

And then he closed the space between them, his lips pressing against hers again. She let out a small moan as her hands came around to twine in his hair, their lips moving in perfect synchronicity, as if no time had passed. A reminder of how well they fit together.

Fuck, this is heaven.

Why had he waited so long to do this again? He should have kissed her the second he saw her standing in Theo’s kitchen.

As Hermione leaned further into the kiss, lightly pressing her tongue against the seam of his lips to beg entry, Draco’s mind emptied of everything except the feeling of her lips, the taste of her tongue against his. His own moan escaped as he tightened his hand against her neck, pulling her closer, trying to meld their bodies into one.

She pulled away briefly, panting as she whispered her own declaration. “I love you, Draco.”

Their smiles grew in tandem as they looked into each other’s eyes and leaned back in, kissing one another like they had finally found an oasis after years wandering in the desert. In a way, that’s exactly what had happened.

The way Hermione felt against him, the love that filled every inch of his body, that caused his heart to beat a frantic pace against his chest—she was the only one who had ever made him feel this. And now that it was back, he never wanted to stop feeling it again.

Unfortunately, just as Draco was about to say fuck it and strip Hermione naked in the middle of St. Mungo’s, he twisted just slightly, but it was enough to set off a sharp stab of pain on his right side, forcing him to pull away with a sharp intake of breath.

Hermione jumped back, immediately producing another diagnostic charm over his bed.

“Oh gods, did I hurt you? I shouldn’t have done that, I’m so sorry Draco.” Her face was filled with concern as she looked him over.

Still out of breath for the best reason he could currently imagine, he grabbed her hand, twining their fingers together.

He brought her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to each finger and watching, amused, as she melted into his touch.

“You didn’t hurt me, love. And I’d happily endure much more pain than that if it means I get to feel your lips on mine again.”

She smiled bashfully at him.

“I hadn’t let myself remember,” she whispered, “what it felt like to kiss you. How right it is, how much more intense…Gods I missed you.” She rubbed her hands lightly across his chest.

“We’re meant to be, love. We were always meant to be.”

She released a shaky breath and smiled back before quickly looking over the information from the diagnostic charm again.

Draco watched her with interest while she worked, and he saw as a yawn suddenly stretched across her face.

“Gods, I’m so sorry.” She clamped a hand over her mouth and shook her head, clearly trying to wake herself up a bit.

Draco’s hand came to the side of her face, his thumb running circles along her cheek.

“Have you slept at all?”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t. Not until I knew you were really okay.”

His heart clenched. “And I am ok. Lay down with me and close your eyes.”

Draco could see in her eyes how badly she wanted to, but the logical side of Hermione held her back. “I don’t want to hurt you, Draco. You need to get some rest, you’re recovering.”

He pinned her with a stare. “Hermione. I assure you I’ll get far more rest if you’re here with me. Now lay down before I’m forced to pull a classic first year Hermione Granger move and petrify you.” He quirked an eyebrow at her.

Her face broke into a wide smile. With no more convincing required, she toed off her shoes and snuggled into Draco’s uninjured side, her head on his shoulder and her arm crossed over his chest, as he secured her to him with his left arm.

“I’ll remind you that I did that for a good reason.” Her voice was already starting to trail off, the exhaustion catching up to her.

He chuckled, kissing her on the head. “And I maintain that my reason is just as valid. Now close your eyes for me, love.” He slowly rubbed up and down her arm.

“Mmhmm.” Draco listened as her breathing evened out and she relaxed into sleep.

**

Draco had watched Hermione sleep for at least two hours, unable to close his eyes and stop looking at the miracle in his arms. A part of him wondered if he had in fact died at that raid, and this was heaven. It’s certainly how he imagined it.

It was only the twinge of pain in his side that reminded him it was all real.

Hermione was his. Really his. And he was hers. They’d found each other again.

A tear rolled down his cheek at the overwhelming thought of it all.

His mind began to wander, in the same way it often had when Hermione was sleeping next to him in the Room of Requirement all those years ago. He imagined their future together. Sharing the same bed every night, sitting across from each other every morning while they drank their coffee. He saw how he would propose—he’d known exactly how he would do it since they were 15. He saw her walking down the aisle in a white dress. He saw them sitting in the garden, watching little curly blonde headed toddlers trying to catch fireflies.

He'd stopped breathing for an entire minute when he realized that the only difference between his fantasies then and now was that this time, there was nothing standing in their way. No war. No megalomanic hell bent on destruction. No blood supremacist father. This time they could actually come true. And he was going to do everything in his power to make them reality.

He gently pulled Hermione closer to him, smiling wistfully down at her sleeping frame.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the door open, or the person walk to the end of his bed.

“You know, I pride myself on being able to sniff out secrets, but I’ll be honest, I did not see this coming.” He whipped his head around, ready to cover Hermione, only to see Tonks, eyes wide as she stared at the scene in front of her.

Calming down, Draco responded in a low voice. “Don’t wake her, she needs the rest.”

Tonks eyes darted back and forth between him and Hermione, taking in the way Hermione was draped over him and the protective way Draco was holding her, clearly trying to put the missing pieces together.

“This doesn’t look…new.”

Draco shook his head back at her.

A silence stretched between them, before Tonks shook her head and turned to face him.

“I came to check on you. Seems like you’re in good hands?”

He nodded. “Healing nicely, they say. How is everyone else? What happened with the raid?”

Her eyes turned serious. “What a complete disaster. Dawlish has already requested that the trainee Aurors who planned the raid all be terminated.” She shook her head in frustration. “The experimental ward specialists from the DoM arrived right after you were hit, and they were able to dismantle the runestones the dealers were using to apparate their soldiers in. We pulled our teams out and got an impenetrable barrier around the whole property. Dropped a few containers of powdered sleeping draught inside and voila, six very drowsy arms dealers and two dozen mercenaries are on their way to Azkaban. A lot of bumps and bruises, a few broken bones, and Corner’s down the hall recovering from a concussive curse to his head. You took the worst hit.”

Draco nodded solemnly. “I should have been faster, maneuvered better.”

Tonks scoffed. “Fuck you, Draco. You sprinted across an open battlefield to save a fellow Auror. You were the best of all of us out there. Take the accolades and shut up about it, you got me?”

He laughed quietly, raising the hand not wrapped around Hermione in defeat.

“The head healer said you’ll probably be discharged later today or tomorrow, but you’re not going back into the field for at least two weeks. Understood?”

Draco nodded, holding his tongue against his instinct to push back. “Yes boss.”

Tonks nodded her head and turned to walk toward the door.

Before she opened it, she paused, turning back to face him.

“On your first day you told me that you hadn’t held the beliefs of your father in many years.” Her eyes darted to Hermione. “How many years, exactly?”

Draco looked down at Hermione’s face, relaxed in sleep, before fixing his eyes on Tonks. “Since I was 14.”

The Auror’s eyes went wide, her hair transforming from a muted blue to a vibrant, brilliant purple.

“Well fuck me.”

She was still shaking her head as the door closed behind her.

Hermione woke an hour later, stretching her back and revealing a tantalizing strip of skin on her stomach. Before she opened her eyes, Draco reached out, gently gliding over the skin before settling his hand on the skin of her lower back and pulling her closer to him.

“So, it wasn’t just a dream?” Her voice was teasing.

“Which part?”

She pulled back, propping herself up on an elbow to take in his expression. “All of it.”

He ghosted his fingers along her spine and leaned in. When he was just a breath away he whispered, “not a dream.”

She smiled against his lips when he kissed her tenderly.

He leaned in to deepen the kiss and she responded in kind, her free hand coming up to card through his hair.

But before they could go any further, a knock sounded against the door, Narcissa walking inside with a “How are you feeling, my dear? Oh! Quite well, it seems.”

Hermione pulled back and jumped out of the bed so quickly, Draco was almost certain she had apparated. He couldn’t contain his laugh.

“Very subtle, love.”

“Yes, Ms. Granger. You are a ballerina, after all. I’ve come to expect much more grace from your attempts to sneak out of my son’s bed unnoticed.” Narcissa cocked her brow at Hermione, mischief in her voice.

Hermione’s jaw dropped open, her eyes darting between Draco and Narcissa. “I didn’t…I’ve never…how…well, it’s…”

“My dragon, what is that phrase? Do not shovel yourself further into a pit?”

He responded with a smirk. “Don’t dig yourself deeper into a hole.”

“Ah, yes that’s right. Don’t dig yourself deeper into a hole, Hermione.”

Both Malfoys held nearly identical looks as they stared at her, humor sparking behind their eyes.

Hermione pointed back at them. “I did not miss the teasing.”

“Well dear, I certainly hope that you’ll be learning to live with it for quite a long time. Yes, Draco?”

Draco held Hermione’s gaze, his smile shifting to be deeper, more sincere. “Quite a long time, indeed, Mother.”

As Hermione smiled back, Narcissa leaned forward to kiss Draco on the cheek.

“Well it’s about time. I’d like to have grandchildren while I am still young enough to enjoy them, Draco.”

Draco watched Hermione’s expression for any hint of fear at the words, but all he saw was love shining out of her like sunlight.

“Now that’s settled, how are you feeling, my dragon?”

Hermione stepped forward, illuminating another diagnostic spell over his bed.

“I’m alright. Ready to go home.”

“Your vitals have all remained stable.” Hermione was focused on deciphering each symbol and measure swirling above him. “The healing spells have made their way fully through your system now, and they haven’t detected any residual dark magic. The wound on your abdomen is still there, it will likely take a few days to fully heal because of the curses. But otherwise, I don’t see why you can’t go home.”

Narcissa nodded along, relieved.

“So, can you get me out of here then, Healer Granger?”

She returned his smirk but shook her head. “Unfortunately not. I don’t have privileges to discharge patients. Smethwick will have to clear you.” She looked down at her watch. “He should be on his afternoon rounds as we speak, so he should be here anytime.”

Draco leaned his head back and groaned.

It took another twenty minutes of Narcissa and Hermione convincing him not to just get up and walk out of the room for Smethwick to arrive.

The healer had an impressive head of grey hair and wore square glasses perched on the end of his nose, his fingers tapping the parchment displaying Draco’s vitals.

“Well, Mr. Malfoy, I’m certainly glad to see you up and awake. I must say, you’re quite lucky that Healer Granger was with us yesterday, brilliant mind and absolutely excellent under pressurized situations. Excellent work, Hermione.”

Hermione gave the Head Healer a small smile and nod in thanks, but Draco reached out to take her hand in his. “Lucky is a bit of an understatement if you ask me, sir.”

Smethwick gave a passing glace to their entwined fingers. “Yes, quite. All your diagnostics look good, the only cause for concern I can see is that you seem to have a fair bit of scar tissue around the major muscle groups in your body. Are you aware of that being present prior to this injury?”

Draco gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to repeat it in front of his mother or Hermione, but it appeared that Smethwick required an answer if he wanted to get home today.

“Yes, sir. It was caused by repeated exposure to the Cruciatus Curse.”

Smethwick’s head snapped up from his notes, his eyes going wide. “The Cruciatus Curse? How…for how long were you exposed?”

“Nearly every day for a year.”

Hermione’s grip on his hand became crushing, her sharp intake of breath audible throughout the room. Narcissa whimpered, a tear falling down her cheek as she stepped forward to grab hold of Draco’s calf.

She’d been present for nearly every session, perpetrated by her own sister, Voldemort himself, and a few times even by her husband. He knew that every time it broke her a little more, but he would rather have sacrificed himself than have her take his place.

“Mum, it’s ok. It’s over.” His voice was smooth, soothing.

She nodded vigorously, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

“My gods, son. I’m so sorry.” Smethwick was looking at him with shock. Draco simply nodded in reply.

Clearing his throat, the healer continued. “Alright, well, let’s have you stand up then and get a look at you.”

Draco sat up and went to move his legs to the edge of the bed, but as he turned, his hand was drawn back, still held in Hermione’s. Her stare was unfocused, her face still marred with a look of horror.

“Hermione.” His voice was low and calm.

Her eyes shot to his, frantic in their intensity. He just looked down to their hands and then back up at her and she immediately jumped back, releasing him.

“Sorry…”

Smethwick had Draco twist and bend and walk around the room to test his level of pain. As long as he didn’t move to quickly or put too much strain on his abdomen, he was perfectly fine. Smethwick was satisfied.

“Well alright, I can approve your discharge. I’d like you to remain on bedrest for the next twenty-four hours, and you are not to participate in any vigorous physical activity for at least five days to allow for your wound to heal completely. You may return to work after your bedrest, but should remain on desk duty for a full week. No participation in raids, no exercise or dueling practice, no heavy lifting, no sexual activity, no…”

He stopped listening. Somewhere in his mind he had known that was coming, but it didn’t hurt any less to have it confirmed. He thought he might ask Tonks for approval to go to Azkaban and hex off the bollocks of whoever had cast those curses. Spending another week without being able to have sex with Hermione was going to be torture.

“…do you understand, Mr. Malfoy?” His name brought him back to the present.

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Good. Do you have someone who can stay with you tonight to monitor you?”

Draco paused. He saw the look pass between Narcissa and Hermione before the older witch nodded in assent.

Hermione stepped forward. “I can stay with him, sir.”

“Excellent. You’ll be in very able hands with Healer Granger, Mr. Malfoy.”

You just told me I won’t be in her hands for another week, asshole.

He gave a false smile. “Thank you, sir.”

With a final signature on the parchment, Smethwick left the room.

Draco sighed in relief. “Let’s get out of here. Please.”

“I brought you some clothes from home, dear.” Narcissa pulled out a piece of fabric no larger than cocktail napkin from inside her robes, tapping it with her wand to enlarge the pants, shirt, socks, and shoes to their regular size. “I believe the clothes you were wearing when you arrived we’re rather unfit to keep.”

“Thanks, mum.”

“I’ll wait outside while you change.”

“I’ll join you, Mrs. – Narcissa.”

Draco shot her a challenging look which she ignored.

“Lovely, my dear. I can tell you all about the color schemes I’ve already worked out for your wedding. I have options for Fall, Winter, and Spring…” Her voice trailed off as the two stepped into the hall.

As light as her tone was, he knew his mother wasn’t joking. In fact, he was certain that she’d had those plans worked out in her mind since they were 14, and had likely begun putting together binders full of fabric swatches and invitation samples from the moment Draco returned to England.

It made Draco smile. He and Hermione would talk about it when the time came—hopefully sooner rather than later—but he would be ready whenever it did. He’d had the ring he’d use picked out from the family vaults for years.

He opened the door to the hallway a moment later to see his mother and Hermione, heads close, whispering to each other.

“See, this was my only concern about getting you back, Hermione. I’m being shuffled aside by my own mother.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Draco. You’re welcome to accompany Hermione to my home at any time.”

“Oh, thank you for the kind invitation, Mother.”

“You are most welcome, dear.”

They slowly made their way to the public floo, both Hermione and Narcissa hovering on either side of him in case he suddenly collapsed.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at the Manor while you recover, Draco? You’re both most welcome, of course.” Gone was the teasing, worry had invaded his mother’s tone.

“I’ll be fine at my own house, mum, I promise.”

“I’ll keep a close eye on him, Narcissa. Don’t worry.”

Looking between the two, she sighed in defeat. “Well alright, but if you need anything, you floo call me immediately.”

With a final kiss on her cheek, Draco sent Narcissa home through the floo.

Like magnets, Hermione and Draco stepped toward each other automatically, his arm wrapping around her shoulders and hers around his waist. They shared a look with each other, both experiencing the same emotions to be standing together, holding each other, in public.

Draco smiled. “Well Healer Granger, care to come to my place to tend to me at my bedside? I assure you that it is far more comfortable than the straw cots in this place.”

She pursed her lips in mock contemplation. “I suppose I could be persuaded.”

“Well then, let’s go.”

Grabbing a handful of powder, he called out for his flat and stepped, arm in arm with Hermione, through the flames.

Hermione took one step into his flat and her eyes went wide.

“Draco…this is gorgeous.”

She made her way to the tall, floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the Mayfair district, then turned to observe the large, open-planned living space complete with plush leather sofa and chairs, sleek wooden tables, and white granite kitchen island big enough to seat ten.

“Have you been using this lair to create your plot for world domination?”

“Mostly, I’ve been using it to think about you, actually.”

Her eyes softened and she walked back toward him, melting into his arms.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head, breathing her in.

“Do you want anything to drink? Eat? I could make us some tea.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Draco. I’m your healer and you are under strict orders to be on bed rest, so let’s get you settled and then if you want something, I will make you some tea. Got it?”

He huffed a laugh into her hair. “Yes ma’am.”

Grabbing her hand, he led her down a long hallway off the main room to the last door on the left, ushering her inside his bedroom.

He held his breath as she stepped inside, quietly observing the spacious but minimal room.

She stepped forward, her hands grazing over the soft cream silk of his duvet.

“Why am I not surprised that you have the largest bed that I have ever seen?”

He laughed. “You can thank Pansy for that, she furnished the whole place and picked out the beds.”

Absently, while walking toward the large windows overlooking Hyde Park she hummed. “Be careful, she’s been known to steal them back…”

He laughed and then groaned, gripping his side from the sharp pain that lanced through him.

Hermione was by his side in an instant. “Let’s get you into bed, no more walking around.”

“Wait, love. I desperately need to take a shower first. I can still feel the grime on me from the raid.”

She stepped back, observing him carefully. “Fine. Do you need any help getting undressed?”

He pinned her with a stare. “Hermione, if you help me take off my clothes, you’ll have to explain to Smethwick why I’m back in the hospital after participating in an extremely vigorous physical activity.”

Heat filled her eyes for a moment before she gained control of herself. “Right, yes. None of that. I’ll go make us some tea. Maybe shove my head into a bowl of ice water…” She mumbled as she left.

Draco couldn’t stop himself from staring at the perfect roundness of her ass in those damn leggings as she walked away, his cock stirring in his pants.

It was going to be a very, very long week.

Chapter End Notes

It will indeed be a long week...but next Sunday, it all happens ;)

Thank you as always for your comments and kudos, I'm absolutely blown away by your continued kindness!

See you next week!

xoxo,

Flames

Sparks Fly

Chapter Notes

Surprise! A little tiny extra chapter for you to tide you over until Sunday!

We're still in Draco's POV and this picks up right where the last chapter left off.

Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

As Draco stepped into his spacious bathroom and toed off his shoes, he took stock of how quickly his life had changed.

Two months ago, he was in New York.

Now, he was taking off his clothes while Hermione was in the other room of his flat, preparing to make him tea and then stay the night in his bed. At least, that was what he was hoping was about to happen.

As he stepped into the cavernous, dark marble-covered shower and let the hot water soothe his aching joints, he couldn’t help but think someone, Merlin, Morgana, Circe, hell, maybe Godric fucking Gryffindor, had manipulated the cosmos to give him such a gift.

He wouldn’t take it for granted.

The longer he stood under the spray though, the more his mind wandered to some of the more exhilarating moments of the last 36 hours.

Hermione telling him that she still loved him.

The feeling of her silk soft, plush lips against his.

Her hardened nipples rubbing against his chest.

The delicious torture of her ass in his hands as she writhed against his cock.

Looking down, he saw that same cock now standing at full attention, dripping precum from the memories alone. Which was why Draco turned the handle to freezing and stood, breath heaving, for at least ten minutes, until his dick and balls had all but crawled inside his body.

Finally stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel low on his waist, he stepped back into his bedroom, half hoping that Hermione would already be there, even if it would render his cold shower entirely moot.

Unfortunately, he could still hear her busying herself in the kitchen, so he threw on a pair of loose sweatpants before padding out to the living area to join her.

She was faced away from him, gathering a teapot, cups, and saucers, but evidently, she could still hear him coming.

“What exactly do you think ‘bed rest’ means, Malfoy?”

She twirled on him, ready to chastise him further, but her eyes immediately went wide, locking on the tattoos covering his chest and left forearm.

Hands trembling slightly, she set the teacups down onto the counter as her eyes raked over him.

He smirked. “See something you like, Granger?”

Silently, she walked toward him, her eyes taking in more and more details of the tattoos as she got closer.

She inclined her head and reached out her hand toward his chest. “May I?”

Far less cocky with her standing so close, he nodded silently.

Gently, so gently, Hermione let her fingers run over the detail of the dragon’s tail across his left pectoral, stepping closer as she moved up to the ball of his shoulder, seemingly mesmerized by the colors and shapes that formed the scales and wings of the dragon’s body.

Never removing her hand, she circled around his form until she was behind him, now seeing the landscape and rising sun from which the dragon had taken flight, covering his shoulder blade.

She stepped back in front of him and moved her hand down his arm, gripping it gently before holding it up and turning it to see his triceps and forearm. She smiled in understanding as she used the fingers of her other hand to trace the outlines of the splash of narcissus flowers and then down toward the line of runes.

“Protection. Forgiveness. Patience. Penance.” Her tone was quiet, reverent, as she translated the meaning.

Draco followed her movements with his eyes, awed.

When she reached his forearm where their words of love for each other shone through the flames, she paused, rubbing the pad of her thumb along the exact location that used to bear his Dark Mark.

Draco shakily released the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “It faded after he died, but not all the way. I started getting the tattoos as soon as I moved to New York. I never wanted to see it again…” His voice was a gravely whisper.

Slowly, as though to make sure he knew what she was doing and could stop her if he wanted, she leaned in toward the spot, and pressed a gentle, healing kiss against his skin.

As she pulled away, her eyes finally met his, sparking with unshed tears. “They’re beautiful, Draco.”

He lifted one hand to cup her cheek. She leaned into his warmth as he reached out with the other hand to capture her left arm, and with as much care and veneration as she showed him, brought his lips down over the scarred flesh now covered by her twin tattoo.

It was Hermione’s turn release her own breathy sigh.

She placed her hand on his chest as he reached to hold her by the waist, and together they just stood there, foreheads pressed together and breathing each other in. The improbability and the perfection and the sanctity of it all washing over them.

After several long moments, Hermione’s hand slid down his chest and brushed light as a feather over his bandaged wound.

“Bed, Draco. You need to lie down now.”

“Only if you join me.”

She smiled. “Fine. Go lay down, and I’ll bring in the tea.”

For the next several hours, the two sat together on Draco’s behemoth-sized bed, drinking tea, eventually eating some Chinese takeout, and talking.

Talking about anything and everything. Stories from Draco’s time training to become an Auror in America. Trips he had taken to Los Angeles and New Orleans—and how badly Hermione wanted to visit the latter.

Hermione told him about the potions master who trained her during her mastery, and how he would unknowingly switch into rapid Czech whenever he got excited about a new topic. She told him stories about Theo from their time working together, and Draco smiled when Hermione told him how grateful she had been that Theo had never given up on her, how kind he had been when she needed him the most. To his core, and despite the horrors of his upbringing, Theo had always held on to his kindness and generosity—it was something that consistently astounded Draco.

The conversation was slowing as the sky grew dark.

“Draco…” Hermione was sitting cross-legged on the bed, fiddling with the comforter and looking down.

“Hmm?”

Her words came out in a strained whisper. “Every day? They…they used the Cruciatus Curse on you every day for the whole year?”

She glanced his way, fear and devastation in her eyes, before resuming her gaze onto the bed.

Draco had never really spoken of it. After each session, his mother would help him back to his room, give him a pain potion, and sooth him as much as she could—but they’d known that they couldn’t discuss it beyond that for fear of being overheard or having Voldemort of Bellatrix break into their minds.

Theo, Blaise, and Pansy knew that a lot of awful things had happened in the Manor that year, but not the specifics. He’d told Theo that he had been tortured with the curse, just as Theo had been at the hands of his father, but never the full truth.

But he didn’t lie to Hermione. And as much as he wanted to keep this knowledge from her, he didn’t want to start lying now.

Reaching out, he placed his hand over top of hers, stilling them on the mattress.

“Almost every day, yes.”

She recoiled.

“Why? Who?”

“Voldemort, Bellatrix, my father a few times.” Her eyes snapped to his, her mouth open in shock.

“It was punishment. For not killing Dumbledore, for my father’s many failures, for the three of you…” He cut himself off, but it was too late.

“Because we escaped the Manor…” Her tone was resigned. He nodded in assent.

Her unshed tears began to fall. “I’m so sorry, Draco. For all of it. You never deserved…I’m just so sorry.”

He used his thumb and forefinger to gently grasp her chin and bring it up so she looked into his eyes, while using the other hand to wipe away her tears.

“Hermione, listen to me. You told me last week not to hold myself responsible for the actions of those psychopaths. I expect the same from you, ok? You told me to live my life and be happy, and I want to do those things with you. Can we do that together?”

Her eyes were still shining with tears, but she took a steadying breath and nodded.

“Good.” He leaned in and kissed her tenderly on the forehead.

“Now, I don’t know about you, but the last 48 hours have been a bit taxing, and I for one would like to get some sleep…”

She started to scoot toward the edge of the bed. “Yes, you need to rest. I’ll stay in the chair over there to monitor you…”

Before she could plant her feet on the ground, Draco reached over and grabbed her wrist.

“Hermione. Under no circumstances are you spending the night in a chair. Stay with me, I promise to keep my hands to myself.” He put on a face of mock contrition.

When she still looked conflicted, he continued. “If you sit in that chair, I will just wait for you to fall asleep and then levitate you over here anyway. Your choice.”

Rolling her eyes with a huff, she conceded. “Fine. Let me just set an alarm…” She got out her wand and pointed it at the gold band she wore on her pointer finger (her mother’s wedding band, she’d told him, recovered from the crash).

“There, this will vibrate every two hours to wake me so I can check your vitals.”

She slipped off her Cambridge sweatshirt, leaving her in just her leggings and a thin cotton t-shirt, and began settling herself under the covers while he did the same.

“You know, if you’re turning things into vibrators, I can think of a far more enjoyable use for them…”

She turned her body to face him, and with a face severe enough to rival McGonagall, she pointed at his chest. “One more innuendo and I will march straight through that floo to St. Mungo’s and bring back Batilda, the oldest and meanest medi-witch on staff, and she can monitor you. Got it?”

He put his hands up in defeat, a sly smile still playing on his lips.

“Alright, alright. Whatever you say, Healer Granger.” He waved his hand to shut off the lights, and the two settled into the pillows in the darkness.

“Are you really going to sleep all the way over there?” Hermione had managed to situate herself at the far edge of the mattress, as far from Draco as she could get without falling off.

“I am simply removing the temptation, Draco. Now go to sleep.”

He closed his eyes with a laugh.

Draco awoke when Hermione’s vibrating alarm went off two hours later, as, predictably, the two had made their way together to the center of the bed in their sleep, Hermione’s back now nestled into Draco’s chest, his arms wrapped securely around her.

When he felt Hermione trying to carefully move away, he tightened his hold.

In a voice still thick with sleep, he spoke. “Don’t you dare move, love.”

She simply took a deep breath, settled further into him, and brought her hand to her chest to twine with his.

“I love you, Draco.”

“I love you, Hermione.”

Chapter End Notes

These two... <3

I'll see you back here again on Sunday when, finally, it all happens. ;)

xoxo,

Flames

This Love

Chapter Notes

Happy Sunday!

Fair warning: this chapter is explicit. Very explicit. So if you're not here for that...I mean, I don't know why you would be here in the first place, the door is to your left.

And with that...

**throws chapter and runs**

See the end of the chapter for more notes

January, 5th Year

“Now. Although I am confident that my time instructing many of you will come to a blissful end this year…” Snape’s eyes slid first to Neville, who visibly cowered, then to Ron, who was clearly not paying attention, and finally to Harry, whose fists clenched, before continuing. “I am charged with preparing you all for your O.W.Ls, no matter how slim a chance you have at receiving above a Dreadful.”

Hermione would be incensed for his dig at her friends later, but for now, her quill was poised in her hand over a clean piece of parchment, ready to take thorough notes if the potions master was about to provide any insight that could help improve her chances on the upcoming exam.

“Your exam will be split into two parts.” Hermione dipped her quill and began furiously writing. “The first will be a written exam covering your knowledge of potions theory, the specific uses for a variety of ingredients, as well as identification of various poisons and antidotes.”

Hermione nodded along. She knew all of this, but it was nice to have it reaffirmed by Snape himself.

“The second part will involve the practical brewing and application of potions. The specifics of this section of the exam change each year, but you can be sure that you will be provided the name of a potion and asked to brew it from memory.”

Hermione was already cataloguing all of the potions recipes she would need to memorize. She’d make flashcards.

“I believe it’s time to test your skill in performing such a task. But as I have no desire to endure any explosions today, let us limit this experiment to those most likely to succeed. Mr. Malfoy, come forward.”

Hermione’s head snapped to the left, eyes locking on Draco’s form as he slowly stood from his stool and made his way to the front of the classroom to stand in front of Snape, his face betraying nothing as he looked out onto the class.

“I would like to see how you perform under pressure.” A knowing smile spread unbidden across Hermione’s face, and she saw Draco pause for a fraction of a second, eyes catching hers, before moving them away to stare at the back of the room.

“I will provide you with the name of a potion, Mr. Malfoy, and you will be given thirty minutes to brew it. Once the time has elapsed, I will determine if you have produced something worthy of a passing O.W.L. grade. Do you understand?”

Draco nodded, moving to the edge of the table in the front of the room. “Yes, sir.”

“Now, I’m certain your classmates would find the simple act of you brewing alone quite boring, so let us make the process slightly more interesting.” Snape turned back toward the class, now watching him with rapt attention.

“Ms. Granger. Join Mr. Malfoy.” Hermione shot out of her seat, eyes going wide.

She could hear the snickers and taunts as she quickly made her way to the front of the room, making a concerted effort not to look at Draco.

When she had taken a position across the table from Draco, Snape continued. “You will both be given the same potion to brew, and I will determine who has been most successful at the end of half an hour.”

She couldn’t help it, her competitive nature took over. Her eyes slid to Draco, fire inside them as she gave a half smirk and tilted her head to the side in challenge.

He smirked back, maintaining the pompous air he wore in public. “Good luck, Granger.” She could hear the Slytherins laughing from their side of the dungeon. She ignored them, turning her head to Snape and nodding once in acknowledgement of the rules.

“You will be brewing Calming Draught. Your time begins…now.”

Draco and Hermione moved in unison, running toward the ingredient stores off the side of the lab. Once inside the small closet-like space, they both quickly began searching and grabbing ingredients.

“You can’t look at me like that in public, love.” His voice was so low, she could barely hear it.

She smirked. “Get used to it, I’ll be looking at you like that again in thirty minutes when I win.”

They’d both grabbed everything they needed, but before exiting the room they turned briefly to face each other, no more than an inch away from the other’s body. Desire. Heat and desire flooded through Hermione, and she saw it reflected ten-fold on Draco’s face. Throwing the same smirk at him again, she pushed past him and back into the classroom.

For the next thirty minutes, the two worked in silence, adding ingredients, counting the number of stirs, and closely monitoring the flames under their cauldrons as Snape stood in a corner observing impassively and as the Gryffindors and Slytherins whispered insults at the two of them in turn.

Hermione was confident. She was watching Draco work out of the corner of her eye, and he was certainly keeping up, but she had been quicker to achieve the desired deep plum color of the potion, and she knew that she had sliced her salamander eyes more evenly.

With two minutes to spare, Hermione stepped back from her cauldron.

“I’m finished, sir.” Snape simply raised an eyebrow.

Less than a minute later, Draco mimicked her movement. “I’m finished, sir.”

The two locked eyes, the charge of competition flickering between them.

Snape made his way slowly to the table, first observing Draco’s potion and then stalking over to look into Hermione’s cauldron.

After a moment, he took a step back.

“Mr. Malfoy, your potion would receive an Exceeds Expectations in your exam.” Draco smiled, nodding his head.

“Ms. Granger…” His tone took on a hiss. “Your potion is passable, but you’ve been careless with your ingredient vials.” She looked down. All of her vials were in a neat line, but one, containing powdered peat moss, had fallen over. “Had the contents reached the flame under your cauldron, you could have lit the entire room on fire. Deducting those points, you would earn an Acceptable—at best.”

Hermione was surprised that actual steam was not spilling out of her ears. That was nonsense. Her potion was perfect, and peat moss was entirely inert, absolutely nothing would have happened, even if she had poured an entire cauldron full of it directly over an open flame.

Her eyes, now barely slits, slid to Draco, who she could tell was using all of his efforts to keep himself from laughing. He knew how much this would annoy her.

“Next time, take more care with your surroundings, Ms. Granger. Five points from Gryffindor.”

She heard the uproar from her house mates, but she didn’t respond. She would not yell at a teacher. She knew she could not yell at a teacher. So instead, she simply turned on her heel and stalked back to the table she shared with Harry and Ron.

“That was utter shite, Hermione. He’s just favoring Slytherins like always.” Ron patted her arm stiffly.

For the remainder of class, she sat silently, barely taking notes, and letting her anger flow freely. By the time the bell sounded, she felt like she might explode.

Harry and Ron had to rush off to Divination, leaving Hermione to pack up her things and follow the rest of the class out of the room.

She’d trailed behind her classmates, uninterested in hearing more taunts from the Slytherins, but had only made it one hallway down from the potions lab when an arm appeared out of nowhere, quickly dragging her into a broom closet obscured by a large tapestry.

As soon as she was inside, Draco cast a locking charm on the door and pushed her against the back wall.

“Fuck you’re hot when you’re angry.” He leaned in, capturing her lips in a hard kiss. Hermione returned it with fervor, letting her frustration infuse every movement of her lips.

Breathless, she pulled back and, using all of her strength, grabbed hold of Draco and spun him so that his back was now against the wall.

She shoved him as he looked down on her with hooded eyes.

“My potion was perfect, Malfoy. I beat you. You know that, right?” She shoved her finger into his chest.

He just laughed, running his hands over her hips and up the sides of her body.

“If I say yes, will you let me snog you until we have to go to class?”

She quirked a brow at him, unamused.

He put his hands up in defeat. “Yes, yes, I know your potion was better. I am under no illusions that I could ever best the one and only Hermione Granger. How can I make up for the unacceptable slight?”

She grabbed his tie, pulling his face toward hers. “You can help me make potions flashcards to study for our O.W.Ls.”

His eyes sparkling, he leaned in until his breath fanned over her lips. “Sexy little swot.”

She surged forward, crushing their lips together.

Thirty minutes later, after a quick cleansing charm and confirming that their uniforms were both in order, she tiptoed out of the closet, her anger forgotten.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

May, 2002

As Hermione stood in her lab on Wednesday, investigating various ingredient recipes for the cure, her mind drifted. She’d turned the volume on the stereo system set up in her lab to the highest level possible, hoping that blasting Pearl Jam would help distract her from the buzzing in her body that had been growing more intense by the day, but it wasn’t working.

Hermione had spent much of Monday sitting next to Draco in his bed, while he looked over case files that Tonks had sent over and as she did more research for the cure from the notes she had grabbed when she briefly returned to her home through the floo that morning. It had been both strange and familiar. Draco and Hermione had studied together in companionable silence so many times at Hogwarts, but to be sitting here now, each doing important work that had much bigger consequences than just a class grade, was new. Good, Hermione thought, very good. Just, new.

She and Ron had never done this. Ron never brought work home, and he would complain if Hermione spent her off hours researching, so she had worked to keep it to a minimum.

But not Draco. He’d worked just as hard as her, sitting next to her and sometimes running a hand up her arm or lightly massaging her shoulders, only stopping when Hermione insisted that they go walk around the block to keep his muscles from atrophying.

She’d finally left around dinner, when Draco’s bedrest was up and after he assured her for the hundredth time that he could, in fact, take care of himself for the evening.

When she stumbled out of the floo and into the atrium at the Ministry on Tuesday, she was barely able to keep from swaying as she pounded her third cup of coffee. She hadn’t slept at all the night before. One night back sleeping in Draco’s arms, and now her bed felt empty and cold, and she had tossed and turned for hours before finally giving up and 3am and going down to her potions lab to brew various remedies and draughts that had been running low in her stores.

She had only seen Draco once, and just briefly, in the elevator midmorning as she was heading to a meeting in the Minister’s office and he was heading to the records department with Michael Corner.

“Oh! Hello Dra—Malfoy. Michael. How are you both? Is your abdomen healing alright, Malfoy? Michael, I saw Padma working on you that night—concussive curse, right? How are you?”

Michael smiled jovially and raised his fist to knock lightly on his head. “Right as rain, Hermione. Thanks for asking. Was feeling a bit off-kilter for a day or so, but all’s well now.”

Hermione nodded absently. “Good, that’s good. And you, Malfoy?”

Draco’s face remained neutral as he responded. “Healing nicely, thank you. Though I did struggle to get to sleep last night.”

Taking a deeper look at him, she saw the same dark circles and bloodshot eyes on him as she bore herself, and a quick look passed between them confirming that each knew what had happened with the other.

The lift was approaching the records department now. “Well, I could prescribe you some sleeping draught if you’d like? Just let me know…”

The lift glided to a stop and the gates parted.

“I’ll do that, Granger. Thanks.”

Michael wished her a good day and the two men stepped off the lift, but not before Draco brushed his fingers across the back of her hand.

She spent her entire meeting with the Undersecretary for Defensive Strategy focused on the line of burning heat he had left behind.

When Hermione had gotten home that night, she did an hour of the hardest yoga series she could muster to try and recenter herself, and then drank three glasses of wine while soaking in the tub in order to calm down.

She was losing it, and every ounce of her resolve was cracking.

It’s only Tuesday, Hermione. You’re a healer! If you break down now you will hurt him and you will hate yourself for it.

But I could just go to him to sleep. Just to sleep. That would be fine, right?

It was almost midnight and Hermione was pacing in front of her fireplace, wearing a silk camisole and shorts sleep set, trying to either talk herself into or out of stepping through the floo to Draco’s flat.

They’d connected their floos on Monday, and it certainly wasn’t the case that she wouldn’t be welcome.

But he might be asleep. And he needs rest.

But he said that he hadn’t slept last night.

She was near tears for the stress and indecision, wanting so badly to be in his arms but worried about her own self-control.

Just as she had finally decided to say fuck it and just go through to his flat and climb into his bed, her floo activated and a mildly frantic-looking Draco walked through.

They both gasped, clearly surprised to see the other, before Draco ran his hands through his already mussed hair for what did not seem to be the first time tonight.

“I can’t sleep, Hermione. I can’t sleep. I know we can’t have sex, I know that. And trust me, I am counting down the fucking seconds until we can. But I always slept better with you in my arms, and now that I’ve done it again, I can’t just go back. I just want to hold you, that’s all, I promise. Can we just…sleep? Please?” His voice was pleading. He spoke as if all of his nerve endings were frayed and raw.

She knew how he felt.

“I can’t sleep without you either, Draco. I was about two seconds away from coming through your floo and giving you the same speech.”

“Oh thank the gods.” He took two strides and wrapped her in his arms. “The feel of you, Hermione. I need it. I can’t live without it.”

She ran her arms up his sides. “You don’t have to, Draco. Ever again.”

He hummed a contented sigh, tracing his fingers up and down her spine.

After a moment, she stepped back and smiled up at him, taking his hand in hers. “Let’s go to bed. I nearly fell asleep into a boiling cauldron today…”

Once they had settled into the darkness of Hermione’s bedroom, Draco on his back, Hermione draped over him, her head on his shoulder and arm across his chest, she felt like she could breathe, really breathe, for the first time since she left his flat on Monday.

He used the arm wrapped around her to pull her tighter to him. “Remind me to thank Pansy the next time I see her.”

“Hmm?”

“For stealing your beds that day you came to Theo’s. I nearly passed out from the sight of you.” His voice was trailing off.

“And I handled seeing you again just fine? Even though you somehow managed to get taller and more handsome? It’s deeply unfair, Draco.”

“And what is it about me that you find so handsome, love?”

“I’ll tell you on Friday.”

With twin sighs, they both closed their eyes and drifted off to a restful sleep.

She’d woken up this morning with her back once again pressed to Draco’s chest, and his hand underneath her camisole, warm pressure against her ribs and his fingers just barely skimming the underside of her breasts. She’d had to use every ounce of her remaining control to hold in the moan that crawled up her chest.

And that is where her mind had wandered while standing in her lab, singing along as “Corduroy” blasted loud enough to shake the walls. That hand, those long, elegant fingers, splayed across her skin. Even now, wearing just a tank top, ripped jeans, and converse trainers, she felt as though she was overheating.

Suddenly, the light in the lab flashed briefly blue, the signal she had set up with her assistants to let her know that she was needed when she’d gotten lost in her own thoughts.

She turned toward the door to find none other than the owner of that damn hand and those damn fingers standing next to Harry and a starstruck looking lab assistant.

Narrowing her eyes, she waved her hand to lower the volume on the music.

“Callum, have we not talked about letting strangers into the lab?” Her tone was flat, almost bored.

“Yes, ma’am, but…well you told us the blond one was allowed in, and, well, that’s Harry Potter.” He whispered the last words, excitement running through him.

Hermione just rolled her eyes. “Is it, really? I didn’t know.” Draco smirked, Harry, as usual, looked uncomfortable about the recognition.

“Fine, Callum. Let’s just hope they’re not assassins who’ve polyjuiced themselves.”

His eyes went wide, but Hermione paid him no mind. “Get back to work, I’ll yell for you if they start attacking.”

Chastened, Callum scurried from the room and closed the door.

“The blond one?” Draco quirked a brow. Hermione stared him down.

“It was descriptive. And why exactly are you, Auror Malfoy, in my lab? Do you need me to explain to you what desk duty means? Because I do not see any desks.” She turned around dramatically, motioning to the tables and work stations all covered in a variety of magical and scientific equipment.

“Unless you’re planning to attack us, I don’t anticipate any duels in the middle of Cambridge, Granger.”

Harry, who had been watching the back and forth between the two with confused interest, spoke up. “Tonks sent a note to you this morning, Mione. She asked us to come check the wards and make sure there were no vulnerabilities. She said you’d agreed that...Malfoy could investigate? I’m just here to help.”

Hermione’s face softened. She had agreed with Tonks that Draco could check her wards. “Ah, yes. I haven’t been to my office yet, I came straight in here when I arrived.” She motioned around the lab. Pulling out her wand, she flicked it at the ingredient lists glowing in the space in front of her, pulling them down to be transcribed in her research notes.

“Alright, let’s get started.”

“Do you want to check to make sure we aren’t polyjuiced assassins first?” Draco’s voice was teasing.

Hermione crossed her arms and gave him a challenging smile back. “No need, there are detection wards around the whole building, if anyone who had ingested polyjuice walked in, they’d be immediately stunned and restrained in a cell in the basement.”

“Damn, Hermione. You’re not messing around, are you?”

She fixed him with an unimpressed glare. “No, Harry. I’m not.”

“I suppose you would think to check for polyjuice, having used it to sneak into my common room in second year. Well…” a devious smile grew on his face. “I suppose you didn’t sneak into the room, did you Granger?” He turned to Harry. “By the by Potter, I’d be willing to pay you a very large sum if you’d agree to show me your memory of when she was a cat...”

Harry, the bastard, laughed and shook his head at the memory of it, while Hermione stood, staring daggers at the both of them.

“Did you know that I have potions in this lab that would melt the skin straight off your bones? Just something to keep in mind.”

She breezed past them as Harry’s eyes went wide.

She spent the next hour walking them through the lab, explaining the security measures she already had in place. Her lab space took up the entire second floor of the magi-medical building in the wizarding section of Cambridge’s campus, split into her main lab, two smaller secure lab spaces where her assistants primarily worked, her office, a shared work space for her assistants, as well as a secure, specially warded clean room to conduct experiments or efficacy tests in a secure, hermetically sealed space.

Because the lab was part of a larger building that was open to all of Cambridge’s wizarding students, Draco wasn’t able to place the same protective ward he had around Hermione’s house, but he did strengthen her detection wards, adding triggers for werewolves (“You’ll need to tell Lupin to stay away for now, Granger.”), anyone under disillusionment or other spells to avoid detection, as well as anyone carrying weapons other than a wand.

She was both impressed and deeply turned on by Draco’s skill.

Harry, to his credit, had identified two points of weakness within the lab where an intruder might sneak in, and worked with Draco to close and ward them.

As they finished up and Harry went to run one final sweep of the floor, Draco stepped into Hermione as she stood against a work table in her lab, holding himself just far enough away to not press his entire body into hers. Slowly, he took his right middle finger, the one displaying his signet ring, and ran it down the side seam of her jeans, from her waist to the bottom of her hips.

“These jeans…they’ll be the death of me, Granger. How am I supposed to go back to my office and not get myself off to the image of your ass in these things, love?”

He leaned his nose into the side of her head, taking a deep breath in of her scent as Hermione gripped the back of the table, her knuckles going white with the effort not to touch him.

“Would that be too vigorous a physical activity? What if I just watched you get yourself off instead? Watched you come undone for me? Could you be a good girl and not touch me after that?”

Hermione let out a desperate keening moan, and Draco laughed while bringing his hand into her hair, taking a single curl and wrapping it around his finger.

“Or maybe I should make you wait. Wait until I can feel you lose control. Until I can feel you come all over me. Would you like that, love?”

Hermione gasped a breath. “Y-yes.”

That sly, cocky smirk she loved so much grew across his face. “Good girl.”

Her core throbbed as the praise sent a bolt of lightning straight through her.

His eyes had gone dark, his pupils dilated, as he stared into hers, wild and hungry.

He leaned in one final time, his lips ghosting over the shell of her ear. “Don’t you dare touch yourself after I leave. I want you just as desperate as I am. Do you understand me?”

She could only nod, goosebumps forming over every inch of her body.

He stalked to the door of the lab, and with a final wink in her direction, he left.

Hermione had to sit in her office, with the door locked and the lights off, for a full hour before she could think about anything other than his words.

That night, she’d planned to throw him off by showing up to his flat, but he, the cocky bastard, beat her to it, showing up in her living room at 9pm wearing nothing but a t-shirt and loose sweatpants and carrying a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a book tucked under his arm.

She glared at him from the couch, tonight wearing only an oversized t-shirt from her old dance studio and her knickers.

“I’m quite cross with you, Draco Malfoy.”

He smiled indulgently and held up the wine. “Which is why I’ve come with a peace offering.”

He settled into the couch with her and they spent the next couple of hours drinking wine and reading, content by each other’s side.

Hermione woke up with a start as she felt herself being laid down onto her mattress, the covers being pulled around her.

“Shh, go back to sleep, love. You’re safe.”

As he wrapped his arms around her, she knew it was true.

They didn’t see each other at all on Thursday, Hermione dealing with an influx of dark objects to decommission with Theo from a bust in Cardiff, and Draco serving as the coordinator on an operation to capture Marine Orsay, a French Death Eater who had helped recruit for Voldemort on the continent and who had been spotted in Dover earlier that day.

Hermione stumbled home after dark, and received a note from Draco through the floo just before 10pm. They’d captured Orsay, but she was resisting interrogation and he’d likely have to sleep in his office after spending a few more hours trying to crack her.

A part of her was upset that she’d have to find a way to sleep without Draco next to her, but another part had been relieved—if they’d woken up together on Friday morning, the day Draco was cleared for sex, she didn’t think they would have made it into the office.

She indulged herself in half a vial of Calming Draught so she could get a few hours of sleep before tomorrow, when she hoped that sleep would be the last thing on her mind.

Hermione didn’t think she had ever felt as wired as she did on Friday. Not when she had stayed up for three days straight to study for her make-up N.E.W.T’s, not when she’d drunk two pots of coffee in less than an hour before she defended her thesis for her potions mastery, not even on Draco’s birthday at the end of fourth year, when she’d known that she wanted to walk out of the Room of Requirement that night having left her virginity behind.

The anticipation of finally, after almost five years without him, being able to feel him inside of her, to watch him come undone, to feel like their bodies had become one, had driven her almost to madness.

The buzzing in her skin was so intense she felt like everyone around her could see her vibrating with excitement.

Even though she had known that he wouldn’t hold it against her if she did, she had done what Draco asked and had not touched herself, and it felt as though he’d been edging her, or she’d been edging herself, for days.

She’d accidentally shot red sparks from her wand while working to break a curse on an old cloak with Theo, causing him to jump halfway across the room and look at her as though she’d sprouted antenna.

“You’ve been jumpy all day, Gorgeous. What’s going on?”

She leaned forward, both hands on the work table, and took a deep, calming breath.

“Nothing, it’s…I’m just…it’s nothing.”

Theo looked contemplative for a moment, before his eyebrows rose and a devious smile broke across his face. “Ohhhhhh, I see. Today’s the day that Draco is cleared for ‘physical activity,’ right? And little miss ‘of course I never had sex in a secret room in the castle when I was supposed to be on prefect rounds how dare you suggest such a thing’ is positively dying for it. Good for you, gorgeous, get yours!”

“Theo!”

“Don’t even try to tell me that I’m wrong, Curls. I know that look, and I can see it all over your pretty little face.” He pointed and twirled his finger at her for emphasis.

“You know, I’m sure you could just go up to his office and let off some of this steam. Somehow, I bet he’s in even worse shape than you are…” He cocked a brow at her.

She let out a loud groan. “I’ve been trying to convince myself NOT to do that all day, Theo. Please don’t tempt me.”

He let out a laugh and shook his head. “Fine, fine, gorgeous. Have it your way.”

By the time 3pm rolled around and Hermione was meant to head to the DMLE for their weekly meeting, she wasn’t sure if she would be physically able to sit in the same room with Draco for an hour without combusting.

She had never felt this way before. Had never been this desperate and this turned on, so far gone that she had considered dosing herself with dreamless sleep just to get through the day.

Mustering every ounce of her self-control, she managed to make it to the lifts and through the bullpen to the conference room only five minutes late. But of course, because the universe really wanted to test her today, the only available seat was at the far end of the room, next to Draco.

She sat down quietly while Tonks continued her briefing, trying to look straight forward and not breathe in the apples and spice and peppermint of his scent.

“Tardy, Ms. Granger?”

Hermione could feel her nipples harden under her blouse at his low, chastising tone, quiet enough that only she could hear.

She took a shaky inhale and moved her hands to her lap, grasping her own knees so hard she was certain she would leave bruises.

Her only consolation came from the fact that, as the meeting went on, she could tell that Draco was just as affected as she was. He was gripping his quill so tightly she knew it was on the verge of snapping, and each time he cut his eyes to hers, they were hooded and dark, the muscles in his jaw working desperately to keep his face neutral.

They were both so attuned to the other, and each time either of them made any movement at all, it was as if the tension between them rose another degree.

Hermione was breathing so fast now that she was concerned she might pass out, and she was fairly certain that if anyone looked at her too closely, they would be able to see that she had gone positively feral.

The room started to feel smaller and smaller, Draco’s presence next to her growing larger and larger, and by the time Tonks finally excused everyone, she practically jumped over several Aurors to get out of the room, half running down the hallway to try and calm herself down.

She wasn’t sure how she ended up in the supply closet near the lifts, but as soon as the door closed behind her, she leaned forward, hands on top of her head as though she’d just run a marathon, gasping for breath.

The door opened and Draco slipped in, and the second she met his eyes and saw the same fire and need in them, she rushed forward.

“I can’t do this…”

She crushed her lips against his, pressing every inch of herself against him as tightly as she could. Desperate moans broke from both of them as Draco moved one hand behind her head and the other to her low back, pushing her backward into the shelves on the far end of the closet.

His tongue wasn’t gentle, wasn’t teasing, it was demanding—mimicking, she knew, exactly how he wanted to take her. Further evidenced by the feel of him, hard against her hip, as he crushed his hips to hers with a groan.

The passion and need and relief of it all was heady. Hermione snaked her hands from around his neck to the front of his shirt, frantically pawing at the buttons.

After a moment, Draco moved his hands to cover hers, and while still pinning her to the shelves with his hips, he pulled away from their kiss.

Panting, eyes nearly black, he shook his head.

“The first time I fuck you in five years is not going to be a quickie in a supply closet, Hermione.”

Her whimper was nearly a sob in reply.

Draco leaned forward, his mouth skimming along her temple and to her ear.

“I’m going to spend my time with you, love. First, I’m going to kiss up your neck and bite that spot that drives you crazy.” He pulled the lobe of her ear in between his teeth.

“Then, when you’re ready, I’m going to fuck you with my fingers until you come all over my hand. Then…” he slowly ran his hands up her sides, causing her to shudder and melt into him further. “I’m going to lay you down and lick every single drop you give me from that delicious cunt until you scream. And after that…after that I’ll slide my cock inside of you and fuck you as hard as you want.”

If his hips weren’t holding her up, Hermione was certain that her knees would have given out.

“Does that sound good, my love? Can you wait just a few more hours?”

She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to. But his promises sounded so good that she would find it in herself to make it.

“Yes, Draco. Yes.”

He pulled back to look at her, his hands coming up to smooth her hair and replace a few of her curls behind her ears. “Good.”

With a smirk, he leaned in and pressed a final, chaste kiss to her lips.

“Can you make it back to your office?”

Taking a deep breath, she nodded.

“Ok. You go, and I’ll see you tonight at 8, ok?”

“Are you going to stay in here?”

He laughed. “Hermione, if I leave this room right now, I think my colleagues are going to have a lot of uncomfortable questions for me.” He motioned down to the sizeable bulge visible in the front of his trousers.

Her mouth watered as she focused on it, nodding absently.

“Yes, ok, yes.” She smoothed her hands against her pants and straightened her blouse. With a final deep breath, she caught his eyes again.

“I’ll see you tonight, Draco.”

His eyes were molten. “Yes, you will.”

She bit her lip and smirked, before turning the handle and walking, as casually as possible, back toward the lifts.

Hermione could only remember brief moments of the rest of her day.

She remembered returning to her office and seeing a new stack of paperwork on her desk.

She remembered Freya, who ran the records department for the DoM coming to her office to drop off an old diary of a werewolf from the 1600’s who had tried to find a cure.

She remembered staring at the cracked leather cover, unable to read the words embossed into it.

She remembered Theo popping his head into her office to tell her he was going home, and laughing uproariously as he left.

She had no idea how she made it to the floo and back into her living room at 6pm.

But as soon as her feet touched the carpet, her mind seemed to boot up again, running a million miles an hour.

As quickly as she could, she devoured some leftovers while standing over her sink.

She ran upstairs and checked around her bedroom to make sure it was tidy. Somewhere deep in her brain, the rational part of her was yelling that Draco had spent two nights sleeping in her bed this week, he already knew what her room looked like.

But the rational part of her brain was not currently in charge.

After cataloguing every inch of the room, she stripped out of her work clothes and got into a scalding hot shower, trying to let the water and the calming scent of her body wash convince her heart to beat at a normal rate.

After performing quick drying charms on her body and hair, Hermione stepped into her closet and, in a moment of brazen confidence, put on the same jeans she had worn on Wednesday when Draco had visited her lab. She added her favorite, square-necked short sleeved peasant top and, leaving her feet bare, she padded back down the stairs to wait.

It was only 7:15, and she had no idea how she would pass the next 45 minutes.

Unfortunately, her brain knew exactly how she could spend her time. Worrying. Second guessing. Drowning in anxiety.

As soon as she sat down on her couch, the intrusive thoughts and self-doubt started to creep in.

It had been five years, what if she disappointed him? She had disappointed Ron, hadn’t she?

She looked different now. Her hips were wider, her stomach less flat, her thighs were fuller. She’d already seen him close to naked and had confirmed that he was even more of an Adonis now than he had been back then. But he hadn’t seen her. Would he be let down?

The rational part of her started to pound on the walls of the room Hermione had locked her in inside her mind, screaming that this was Draco they were talking about. He loved her. None of her insecurities mattered.

Hermione ignored her.

She was just about to be pulled fully under by her anxiety when she jumped and nearly knocked over her coffee table as the floo burst to life, and Draco walked through.

He was in yet another pair of perfectly tailored black trousers, but had exchanged his normal white button down for a soft, grey v-neck cashmere sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, showing off the tattoos on his left arm.

He somehow looked calm. More than calm. Fucking serene. And he was holding a bouquet of wildflowers. Despite her nerves, she broke into a wide smile.

“You remembered.”

He scoffed. “Hermione, you remain the only woman I’ve ever met who only likes flowers that grow like weeds on the sides of roads.”

She harumphed and stepped toward them. “They know how to survive on their own, against all odds. I think that’s beautiful.”

She was standing toe-to-toe with him now, looking up into his grey eyes.

“I think you’re beautiful, Hermione.”

She smiled bashfully, her stomach flip flopping, as he reached out to brush a curl behind her ear.

A wave of nerves gripped her, and she took half a step back, reaching for the bouquet.

“I…um…I should put these in water. Do…you need to recharge the wards?”

A brief question crossed his face, but he just stepped back into her, his nose going into her hair as he breathed in. “Yes, I should. It’ll only take a few moments.”

He stepped back, running his hands down her arms, leaving goosebumps in his wake, as he walked around her and out toward the door to the back garden.

She let out an uneven breath, and stepped into the kitchen, quickly filling a vase while she watched him walk into the yard.

With the flowers safely on the counter, she walked out through the greenhouse and onto the terrace, her stomach clenching as she watched the effortless skill he deployed in his spell work.

After just a few moments, he replaced his wand in his pocket, and slowly prowled back up the steps toward her, hunger evident in each move.

“All set.”

“Good. Good. That’s…good.” Her words were rushed and nearly an octave above her normal tone as she wrung her hands together in front of her, looking anywhere but at his face.

He paused, taking her in, before taking two large strides to come directly in front of her.

“Hermione. Is something wrong?” He was so earnest, his face so open, that, like always, she could do nothing but be honest.

With a giggle that was half hum, she let the words tumble out on an exhale. “I’m nervous.”

He took a step closer and reached out, twining his hand with hers and bringing it up to his mouth for a quick kiss.

“Nervous about what? About us? Tonight? Love, we don’t have to do anything, we can just…”

She cut him off. “No! No, that’s not. I want to, gods I want to, I just…I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

He looked as if she had stupefied him.

“Dis…disappointed? For what possible reason would I ever be disappointed, Hermione?” He let go of her hand and moved both of his to the sides of her neck, forcing her to look at him.

Embarrassment gripped her, but she forced the words out. “It’s just…I don’t look the same, Draco. Not like I looked before. It’s been so long and…and I don’t want to let you down.” The last words came out as a sigh.

He added more pressure to his hold on her. “Hermione. Look at me.”

Her eyes flicked to his.

“I have wanted you every single second of every day we’ve been apart. Not because of how you look, but because of who you are. I love every single part of you, Hermione. Your brain, your smile, your passion, your smart little mouth,” he smirked, “and it wouldn’t matter to me if you looked like a flobberworm, as long as you were still you. But apparently some celestial force has decided to smile down upon me, because you also happen to be the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”

He began caressing her neck, her shoulders, up and down her arms as she stood silently, transfixed.

“I nearly came in my pants like a 13-year-old when I saw you in those damn leggings that first night at Theo’s. Fuck, Hermione, I’ve had to wank at least three times a day since I got back just thinking about your ass, your tits, the curve of your lips.” He ran the tips of his fingers over each body part as he spoke. “After every Friday meeting at the DMLE, I had to go back to my office to get myself off because of how hard you made me just sitting there. Just seeing your neck, your clavicles, your fucking wrists set me off…”

She was panting now, leaning fully into his touch.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled it down, placing her hand flat on the hard length of him now fully on display even while contained in his trousers. She moaned, and he groaned, thrusting into her hand in response.

“This is what you do to me, Hermione.” His voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper. “Let me show you. Let me show you how much I want you. How much I love you.”

Her hand still running up and down the hard ridges of him, she nodded.

And he let loose.

Fully pressing into her, his hands went into her hair as he crushed his mouth to hers.

His hands started roaming as his tongue pressed between her lips. His fingers played along the skin between her bellybutton and the waist of her jeans, before they slid out and up, finally landing over her breasts and squeezing. It was impossible to tell where one moan ended and the other began.

She felt electrified, every touch of his hands against her skin sending shockwaves through her body, as he began to slowly walk them backward, back through the door into the greenhouse, before spinning her around and pinning her against the glass wall.

He broke away from her mouth, bending to place his lips against the bottom of her throat, licking and sucking all the way up, then ghosting across her neck to the sensitive spot at the juncture with her shoulder.

She yelped as his teeth bit down, the intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain nearly sending her over the edge. He laved his tongue over the spot, soothing the sting, before moving his mouth up to her ear.

“I believe I made you some very specific promises, love. And I intend to keep them.”

Recapturing her mouth, he pressed her more fully against the wall of the greenhouse as he wrapped one arm around her back and moved the other down to the button of her jeans.

He briefly pulled back, breathing heavily, to look in her eyes. “Yes?”

She nodded harder than she had ever before. “Yes.” It came out as a hiss, as his deft fingers slid the button open and glided the zipper down.

She was gasping and keening now, desperate for him to touch her.

His hand slid in between her open jeans and her knickers, sliding over her pubic bone and then down, down over her silk-covered clit and to her slit. He let out a broken moan when he felt her.

“You’re so wet for me, love. Have you been like this all day?”

He began lightly rubbing his fingers up to her clit and then down, causing her to buck against him.

“All week. Longer. Since I first saw you again…” She was writhing, her head knocking back and forth.

“Fuck, Hermione.” And with that, he slipped his fingers under the waistband of her knickers, pulling both them and her jeans down her thighs before his fingers brushed over her trimmed pubic hair and then pressed down, finally touching her, really touching her.

They groaned in unison.

“You’re dripping, love.”

He pressed two fingers directly against her swollen clit and she yelled out, her head flying back against the glass. His movements started slow, circling her nub, sending jolts of pleasure through her, before he finally moved his fingers down between her lips, spreading them before plunging a finger into her cunt.

She grabbed onto his arms for support, and he leaned his body into her, his breaths coming out in jagged pants.

“Gods, you feel so good Hermione. So good.” He moved his finger in and out, her eyes shutting against the sensation.

“Please, Draco. More. More, please.” She dug her nails into his biceps, her mind beginning to fracture in every direction.

With a hum, he added a second finger, crooking them to hit the spot against her front wall that made her see stars. She barely had time to adjust to that sensation when he pressed his hand against her and she nearly collapsed. She didn’t know when he’d done it, but at some point, he had flipped his signet ring around, and now the ridged, flat surface displaying the Malfoy crest was pressing directly against her clit, pushing her higher and higher, faster than she thought possible.

Her breathing became shallow, the muscles in her abdomen tightening, as she felt her core start to pulse as the heat began to gather at the base of her spine. Draco could feel it too.

“Come for me, Hermione. Let me feel you.”

His words, and the way he pressed his fingers against her inner wall while rubbing his ring against her clit, was more than enough to send her over the edge, colors exploding behind her eyes as she yelled out his name, rocking her hips against him and holding on as wave after wave hit her. He guided her through the orgasm, playing her perfectly to tease out the aftershocks. When she finally came down and opened her eyes, he was staring at her with awe.

“You are…you are perfection, Hermione.” He slowly, gently, removed his fingers and brought them to his mouth, sucking them in and licking them clean. Her breath started to speed up again as his eyes rolled back.

Removing his fingers, he looked down at her with animalistic intensity. “I need more.” It came out like a growl.

She nodded. Using both his hands, he yanked her jeans and underwear fully off, kicking them somewhere deep in the greenhouse, before grabbing her roughly around the waist, hoisting her up to wrap her legs around him. With one arm supporting her, he walked them back into the house and toward the stairs, all while Hermione licked and nipped up his neck and ground her exposed core against him.

He had to stop several times on the way to her room to capture her lips and thrust his tongue into her mouth, becoming more frantic with each moment.

Finally, he used his foot to kick open the door to her bedroom and with a gentleness completely at odds with his fervor, set her down on her feet. His eyes observing her with reverence, he moved his hands to the hem of her shirt, lifting it slowly over her head, fully exposing her body.

He inhaled a broken breath as his eyes raked over her naked form. Her chest was rising and falling in quick shallow pants, as he leaned in and captured one of her nipples in his mouth, causing her back to arch and her core to throb.

Switching to lick and suck her other nipple, Draco dropped to his knees. His large hands covering the span of her hips and most of her waist as Hermione’s hands came to his shoulders, her head bowing over the top of his.

After a moment he removed his mouth from her and leaned his head against her, his cheek pressed against her stomach. She could feel his heavy breathing.

“Gods, Hermione. You’re so beautiful.” It came out like a prayer, as though he had fallen to his knees in supplication to her, to her body.

Her hands came up to his hair and slid down to the sides of his face, holding there until he tilted up to look her in the eyes. The pure love and pure need reflected equally in both of their faces.

She grabbed a handful of his sweater.

“Draco, please.”

Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he stood. Hermione’s hands slid down his chest the hem of his sweater, pulling both it and his t-shirt over his head, exposing his hard, muscular chest and arms.

She leaned in, placing featherlight kisses along his chest as Draco’s arms came around her and his eyes briefly stuttered closed.

He toed off his shoes and socks as Hermione used her hands and mouth to explore his body before leaning back as her hands dropped to his belt.

He shivered as she touched the skin there, before unbuckling his belt and, with far defter fingers than she would have imagined, undid the buttons and lowered the zipper of his trousers. Grabbing hold of both them and his briefs, she slowly lowered them as she dropped to her knees.

“Hermione.” Half a question, half plea.

She leaned forward, licking and kissing the tight skin of his lower stomach, feeling the muscles clench against her, before moving to the side, just over the location of his new scar from last week’s injury. She ran her fingers over it lightly, before leaning in to place a kiss at its center.

Finally, she leaned back and took in the impressive length of him. She couldn’t contain her moan, her hands coming up either side of his thighs. Draco wasn’t just the first man she had ever been with, he was also the biggest, and as she looked at him now, a bead of liquid already glistening at his tip, she realized that her mind had not let her remember just how large he really was.

Rubbing her thighs together, she leaned in and tasted the salty musk that was uniquely Draco, before taking him fully into her mouth.

Draco’s knees shook as he let out a strangled, ecstatic moan. Using her hands to cover the difference, she took him as deep as she could, until he hit the back of her throat, before pulling back, caressing her tongue along the vein on the underside of him the whole way. She repeated the process for a few moments, becoming more and more aroused with each movement. Draco’s hand tangled in her hair, pulling hard enough to cause a delicious sting and forcing a broken moan out of her, vibrating against his cock.

“Fuck, Hermione.” He used his hand to pull her off of him, and brought her to standing by her shoulders, immediately crushing his mouth to hers in a punishing kiss. He pulled back, his hands still on either side of her face as he surveyed her swollen lips, her pink cheeks, and the wanton desire in her eyes.

“The first time I come, I want to be inside of you.” She groaned, biting her lip.

“But I need to see you come apart again, first.” He grabbed her by the waist, gently knocking his knees against her as he walked her backward until she hit the bed. She stared at him as she moved backward toward the headboard and he followed, prowling on his hands and knees toward her. Before she could think, he grabbed her ankles, spread her legs wide, and leaned down to bite the inside of her thigh, causing her to scream and collapse backward into the pillows.

She lifted her head and looked down to find him smiling devilishly at her. “That’s what I want to hear.”

He dropped his head back down, kissing and sucking up one of her thighs to the juncture where her leg met her torso, before crossing over to repeat it on the other side, careful never to touch her where she wanted him most.

Once he had completed his second ascent, he dragged his nose along her pubic bone, stopping directly over the hair covering her mound. He breathed in, his hands squeezing tightly around her hips.

“Do you want this, Hermione?”

He flicked his eyes up to hers as she nodded furiously. “Yes, please, yes.”

He didn’t make her wait. Dropping his head, his tongue came down and licked all the way up her slit before swirling around her clit. Hermione’s legs tried to squeeze shut automatically, but he held them apart, a hand clutching one thigh while he tossed the other over his shoulder.

“You taste like heaven, love.” She keened, her hands coming to his hair, holding on for dear life.

He continued the long, indulgent licks with the flat of his tongue, before finally plunging it inside of her, moving it up and back while she writhed under him. Slowly, so slowly, he replaced his mouth with two of his long, talented fingers and moved up to suck her clit between his lips.

She wailed as his tongue began its assault, his lips maintaining suction around her swollen nub the entire time and his fingers curling and pressing against the bundle of nerves inside of her.

She started to thrash as her muscles tightened and that vibrating, volatile heat began concentrating in her core, ready to snap.

“Draco, I’m, I’m going to…” Keeping his fingers moving, he sucked even harder on her clit, and that was it. She exploded, electricity charging through every nerve in her body as her vision went white.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been like that, but when she finally came to, Draco was staring up at her, still lightly licking her and moving his fingers.

She ran her fingers up his cheek. “Come here.”

He kissed his way up her body until he was fully situated between her legs, his head directly over hers.

His eyes were soft as he leaned down to kiss her tenderly. She could taste herself on his tongue and she couldn’t help as she bucked her hips, her folds sliding against his length. The sensation ripped twin moans from their lips.

Draco leaned back to look at her face, bringing up one of his hands to brush her hair behind her ear. He looked down at her, opening his mouth as if to speak, then closing it again, unable to find the words.

She brought her hand to his face. “I know. I know.”

And she did. She felt the devotion, the relief, mixed equally with the lust and desire, rolling off of him just as she felt it equally inside of herself.

She caressed his cheek and pulling his head lightly down toward hers until their lips just brushed together. “I need you, Draco. I need to feel you inside of me. Please.”

His breath stuttered and his eyes closed for a long moment, before he summoned his wand from the floor, pointed it at her stomach, and muttered a quick contraceptive charm.

Resting his weight on his forearms, he leaned forward until the tip of his cock rested at her opening. Eyes locked, he slowly pushed in, in, in, until his hips met hers, bottoming out inside of her.

She’d expected the stretch, the blissful feeling of fulness, but she hadn’t been prepared for the overwhelming emotions that broke open inside of her. It became real, everything became real. She was here, in this moment, with the love of her life. They’d been through war and death and loss, but they’d made it. They’d made it back to each other.

She pulled in a broken breath as a single tear slid out of the corner of her eye. She could see the tears in Draco’s eyes as well as he leaned forward, kissing each of her eyelids before hovering his lips over hers.

“I love you, Hermione.” It was a reminder and a promise.

She nodded gently back. “I love you, Draco.”

Her arms came around him, gripping his shoulders as he pulled out all the way to the tip and snapped his hips, thrusting back in.

She came alive. Ever cell in her body was awake and attuned to this moment, to the feel of him moving inside her, to the pure ecstasy building deep in her body.

He set a steady pace, his head dropping to the crook of her neck as he pressed his lips into the spot she loved and began whispering to her.

“It’s never been like this. I’ve never felt anything like this.”

“I missed you so much.”

“You’re so tight, fuck you’re so tight.”

“I don’t ever want to stop. We can never stop.”

Her brain was spinning out. “Yes, gods yes. Just like that. Please don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

She was starting to shake, and as her core began to pulse, Draco’s thrusts became harder, more erratic, as he groaned into her ear.

Rearing up slightly, he shifted his weight to one arm, snaking the other between their bodies to rub tight circles against her clit, pushing her higher and higher and higher.

His eyes focused on her face, her eyes, her expressions as he kept moving, feeling her core grip him over and over again.

“Please, Hermione. Please come for me. I need to feel you come on my cock. You’re so beautiful. You’re perfect like this. Come for me, love.”

The steady build suddenly sped up, and before she could even think, her orgasm was on top of her, all of her muscles locking up as the most euphoric pleasure she had ever felt washed over her again and again and again.

With a final whispered, “Hermione…” Draco’s hips stilled, and he followed her over the cliff, roaring loud enough to shake the walls.

Draco collapsed against her chest. Hermione didn’t know how long they laid there, breathing in and out in tandem, the feeling of love, the sparkling gold of magic, palpable in the air. Draco softened inside of her, but for long minutes, he made no attempt to move away.

Hermione brought her fingers up to lightly card through his hair, needing to feel him everywhere she could. He lifted up slightly onto his forearms, and shifting his weight to one side, brought a hand up to caress her cheek, her lips, the column of her neck.

Neither spoke. They didn’t need to. It felt as though this had been their first time together all over again. The culmination of so many moments, big and small, that had pulled them back together.

Eventually, Draco rolled off of her, pulling her with him as he laid on his side, Hermione’s leg still flung over his hip.

“Never.”

Hermione turned her head slightly at his word.

“I’m never spending another day away from you. Ever again.”

A bright, unrestrained smile spread across her face as she nodded. “Never.”

They laid there together, Draco rolling onto his back and Hermione draped over his chest, their hands lightly roaming over each other as the moonlight cast a soft glow across the room. Hermione wasn’t sure how long it had been, they could have been there for weeks and she would not have cared. As long as they were there together.

“I want to know everything about you, Hermione.” His words broke through the quiet. She chuckled against his chest.

“You do know everything about me, Draco.”

“Not the last three years.”

“Oh…”

He brought his hand up to her hair, slowly running his fingers over her scalp. “If you want to tell me…about him…about all of it, and only if you want to tell me, I’d like to hear it.” His words were gentle, without an ounce of demand.

She took a deep breath.

Her heart pounding, she pushed off from his chest and spun around, sitting cross-legged next to him, the sheet covering her lap but her breasts exposed in the moonlight. If they were going to have this conversation, and they should, she needed to be able to look at him.

“At first, it was good. Easy. You know that everyone always expected that I would end up with one of them, and once Harry and Ginny got together, a relationship between Ron and I took on a sense of…inevitability with his family and our friends.

He started pursuing me as soon as the final battle ended. He didn’t even really ask in the beginning, it felt like he thought I was a prize he had earned. I’m not sure he ever even really liked me, you know? I think he just felt…entitled to me.” She saw Draco’s jaw tick.

“Did you know that he abandoned us for almost two months when we were on the run because he was convinced that Harry and I were secretly together?” She shook her head in disgust at the memory.

“I just kept putting him off, and with all the chaos and grief, no one really questioned why I didn’t just say yes.”

She looked over briefly, moving her eyes from the wall to Draco in explanation: She had put him off because she was waiting for Draco to get out of Azkaban so they could be together.

“But then you left.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper, and she saw the muscles in his neck and jaw tense. There was no easy way to talk about this, but she knew that they had to. “I stood in that room for…hours, Draco. I felt like my life was over, that I didn’t have anything left that was worth it…”

Draco reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it to give her strength, but staying quiet to let her continue.

“After a while, I realized that the only way I would be able to walk out of there, the only way I’d be able to keep going, was if I locked all of my feelings for you away. I made the decision right there that I was going to learn occlumency, and that I would just put us in a box somewhere deep in my mind so I never had to think about it again.

It didn’t happen right away. I sort of…lost it for a few weeks. I disappeared from the wizarding world, I barely spoke to anyone, and I just spent all of my time at muggle bars or dancing at clubs until I couldn’t feel my feet and my mind had finally gone blank. I got my tattoos. Those are the only things from that time that I don’t regret.”

She took a steadying breath.

“And then I just decided to stop fighting. That I’d say yes to Ron and go off to live the life everyone thought I was supposed to live. I…I need to be honest, though. There was a part of me, a conscious, active part of me that wanted to do it just because I thought that you would hate it. That my dating him would hurt you the most.” Shame and guilt washed over her at the memories, but Draco just squeezed her hand again.

“It’s ok. I understand, love. And I deserved it for what I did.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t. I was just…the grief and the anger just consumed me. There will always be a part of me that believes that I deserved it, him cheating on me, because my intentions were bad when things began. I was lying to him the entire time.”

She turned Draco’s hand over in her own, tracing the lines on his palm.

“For the first six months, things were…good, fine. I was part of their family, and we were all grieving and rebuilding together. I started to think that I really could let this be my life. It wasn’t the life I wanted, but it was stable and familiar and simple.”

A single tear dropped from her eye and onto their clasped hands, as she continued to stare down at them, as if the feel of her hand in his could give her all the strength she needed. And it could.

“And then my parents died.” Her voice broke, and Draco reached over to wipe the tear from her cheek and hold her.

“I was…I was so lost, Draco. It felt like everything I had fought for just crumbled to the ground. And I think…I think I hadn’t really let myself grieve any of the losses from the war before then. I always felt like I didn’t deserve to be as upset as the people who lost a loved one, because the people I loved were still alive. But when they died it felt…it was a tidal wave. All of the emotions, all of the sadness I had been holding at bay crashed over me, and it pulled me under.

For the first few weeks, everyone was so kind, so loving. Ron was excellent. He’d gone through losing Fred, and he really did help, he was there for me. He sat with me when I cried for hours, when I couldn’t get up, when I wouldn’t eat…But after that first month, something changed.

Ron was the first one to really seem…annoyed? Frustrated, maybe? About my behavior. Everyone had just begun to really heal, to put the war behind them, and all of the sudden I was pulling them back, making them remember. I was starting the process all over again. And I think Ron didn’t understand why I couldn’t just pull myself out of it like I always had before. I was always the rational one, the strong one, the one good in a crisis. And suddenly I couldn’t even handle putting on clothes or leaving the flat.

For six months, the most I could muster was going to work. And I was barely able to do that. And the second I got home, I just crawled into bed. And after a while, Ron just…stopped trying. I’d come home and he wouldn’t say anything. We barely spoke at all.

But eventually he exploded. He’s never been one to control his anger, and it just bubbled over. He told me he couldn’t take it anymore, and it wasn’t fair for me to ask him to live like this. I only realized in the last few months that he had already started seeing Daphne at that point, and instead of just breaking it off with me, he was trying to goad me into doing it for him.”

She laughed humorlessly.

“But I didn’t take the bait. I went back to doing what I always do. I tried to solve the problem. I told him I’d get better, that I’d try harder, that he was my priority.” She rolled her eyes. “And so, I did it. I did start trying. I focused all of my energy on moving on, and on making our relationship work. I’m honestly not even sure why I did it…I wasn’t happy, I was just existing, but I think maybe I was just tired, and staying with him felt easier than starting over.

I came home from work earlier. I never talked about my research. We went to dinner at The Burrow at least twice a week. I smiled. I helped him as he started his first year as a full Auror. I tried to show him how much I cared.” She let out a long breath.

“Sometimes it felt like it was working, but then he’d just swing in the opposite direction and start ignoring me again, start picking fights. I’m honestly not sure if he was just trying to get me to end things, or if he was trying to figure out if he wanted to choose me or Daphne. Or, I guess, if he wanted to stay with me and be with Daphne. But for the last few months, he kept talking about how he expected me to quit my job when we had kids. That I would be a terrible mother if I didn’t focus all of my time on the children rather than my ‘obsession with work.’” She rolled her eyes.

“It devastated me, the insults he threw. And then a part of me started to believe it. I started to believe that if I wanted to have a career, I could never have children, that I’d be failing them somehow…” More tears slipped down her cheeks. Draco brushed them away with a shaking hand. It was clear that he was holding back what he wanted to say so she could finish.

“Luckily, some part deep inside of me started to get louder and louder the more I thought that. Eventually it was screaming at me that what he was saying was wrong. That both of my parents had worked and they’d been the most caring, loving, present parents you could ask for. And it just became clear to me that it was never going to work. That we wanted different things. So, I finally broke it off. You want to know the craziest part? He was devastated. He cried. He begged me not to leave him. I can’t even begin to understand that pathology now. I feel like a fool…I was such a fool, and I let myself live like that, be treated like that, for years…”

She looked up at him, falling into the depths of his grey eyes, alive like mercury glinting in the moonlight.

Draco reached up, running the back of his hand down the side of her face, her neck, over the ball of her shoulder, and down her arm.

“You’re not a fool, Hermione. You lived your entire childhood with a sword hanging over your head, and against all odds, you made it out. But when you made it to the other side, the world had turned upside down. I did…what I did.” His eyes clouded with the shame of it. “And then you lost your parents. You were barely 19 years old! That would have destroyed anyone, but it didn’t destroy you. You became like those wildflowers you love, you survived, even under the harshest conditions. You are a miracle, Hermione.” She dropped her head, resisting his words. He placed his hands over both of her thighs and squeezed.

“What was wrong with trying to find a stable life? With trusting the people who had said they were your family since you were eleven? That’s not foolish. What they did, how they treated you, that was foolish. They took advantage of the pure, brilliant love you give the people in your life, Hermione. And telling you that you wouldn’t be a good mother…Merlin, Hermione. Listen to me, you, my love, will be the greatest mother any child could ever ask for—because of your drive and your ambition. Because of how much you care, how deeply you love. I’ve known that since we were fourteen.” She caught his eyes and they both smiled. But he shook his head and continued.

“I could kill them all for trying to snuff out that light in you, that beauty. You bear no fault, love. None. But I do…”

She leaned forward. “Draco…”

He shook his in return. “No, love. I do. I do. By the time the final battle ended—no, from the moment she lifted her wand to you in the parlor, I gave up. I decided I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t drag you down with me. That I deserved to be punished for what I’d done, for what I let happen to you, and I just made the decision, all on my own. I decided that I knew what was best for you, and that I was…doing you a favor by leaving.” He shook his head.

“I gave up. I did the thing we always promised not to do, the thing you never did. You fought so hard, and I just…I just gave up. I’ll never be able to forgive myself for that. And I realized immediately when I got to New York how stupid I’d been, how careless, how wrong, but I just kept managing to convince myself I couldn’t go back, that you were better off.

And when I found out you were with him…well, first I destroyed my apartment and drank every wizarding liquor store in Manhattan dry, but after, I just let myself believe that this was how things were supposed to be. I saw all the pictures they printed of you in the Prophet, and I could see it in your eyes that you weren’t happy, but I just told myself it wasn’t my place, that it wouldn’t be fair of me to try and come back.

So, I just sat back and watched. The first year I was in New York, all I did was go to work and come back home to sit and drink on my couch. I didn’t even attempt to make friends. I was so, so tired.

And then I ended up doing the same thing as you, Hermione. I just decided to exist. I couldn’t have the life I wanted, so I just tried to cobble something together that was tolerable. That’s how I was living when Theo called me on New Year’s Eve…”

Hermione’s eyes sharpened with interest. She had never heard this story.

“He told me what happened. He told me you had shown up on Christmas night, that you were there with him at the Manor. He said you were broken, Hermione.” The words were no more than a whisper.

“That night. I decided I was coming home that night. That it didn’t matter if you never wanted to be with me again, that I could at least be your friend. That I could make sure you knew that there were people who cared about you, who would never, ever do what they did. But then I saw you. I saw you and I knew that I’d never be able to just watch you from the sidelines. That I couldn’t just keep existing. That I wanted to live, I wanted to have a life with you.”

“I want to have a life with you, Draco. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. But…I need to tell you something first.”

Draco’s face was open, waiting for her to continue.

She shook the thoughts free from her head, but then paused, realizing what she needed to say next.

“After I left Ron, and again really after everything came out last Christmas, I…well, I wasn’t exactly a nun. I went out a lot, I had…more than a few one-night stands, including with…” she clenched her jaw and gritted her teeth, this was definitely the biggest hurdle she was going to throw at him. “…with Viktor.”

“Krum?” His tone was more curious than accusing.

She looked him in the eyes and nodded, reluctantly.

He took a deep breath and rubbed his hands soothingly along her thighs.

“Hermione, love, stop looking at me like you think I’m going to storm out of here in a rage. Do I love that you were with Krum or Weasley or anyone else? No. But not because of what you did. Because of the choice I made. I could have saved you from all the pain that asshole caused you if I had just been stronger, if I hadn’t run away with my tail between my legs. But I wasn’t. I ran. And I knew what would happen when I did. How can I be angry at you for moving on and living your life when that’s exactly what I told you to do? I wasn’t exactly celibate in New York, either. What matters is that we made it back to each other. What matters is that I want to spend every night for the rest of my life with you, Hermione. No one else.”

“I want to spend every night for the rest of my life with you, Draco.” She leaned into his chest, whispering the words like a prayer. He brought his hands up to trace over the lines of her body and into her hair, placing a gentle kiss on the side of her head.

“You and me. Together. That’s what matters.” She nodded into his chest.

They sat like that for a long time, just breathing each other in, listening to their heartbeats. Draco running his hands gently up and down her back, her arms.

Eventually, he focused on her left forearm, pulling it away from his chest to ghost over her tattoo with his fingers.

“Where—where did you get my handwriting?”

She leaned back a bit, smiling up at him.

“The journal. I took a page from our journal where you’d written it, and I had the artist copy it.”

He nodded, but his eyes clouded and his face closed. She leaned back further, both of her hands coming up to the sides of his face.

“What is it, Draco?”

He sat for a moment, just looking at her tattoo, before finally taking a slow, stuttering breath.

“I had to burn it. I had to burn everything. I was terrified that Voldemort or Bellatrix or, hell, even my father, would search my room and find something that tied me to you, and that it would make you even more of a target. So…I burned everything. Photos, notes, the…the journal…I don’t have anything left. It’s all gone.”

Her heart broke for him. For the choices he’d had to make so young.

But at least here, with this, she could help. A knowing smile spread across her face as she shuffled off the bed, grabbed his discarded t-shirt, and threw it on.

She reached out her hand and gestured to him. “Get up. Come on.”

He was confused. “Why?”

She just rolled her eyes and reached down, grabbing his briefs to throw at him. His Seeker reflexes still at work, he caught them before they hit his lap.

“Just get up, I want to show you something.” The excitement in her voice seemed to bleed into him, and with a smile and a shake of his head, he threw back the sheet and stood, stepping into his briefs.

Without a word, she grabbed his hand and led him out the door, down the stairs, and to the end of the hallway on the first floor.

Without fanfare, she pushed open the door to the library and led him to the center, positioning him to face one of the large bookcases.

She stood in front of him, smiling as she bounced on her toes in anticipation. He smiled back, amused at her.

“What is it, love?”

She bit her lip, and turned toward the bookcase, pointing her wand at the shelving in the center.

“It’s not all gone, Draco.”

With a flourish, the books and shelves in front of them peeled away, revealing a hidden compartment in the wall, with several boxes inside. Hermione levitated them out to hover in front of Draco. He eyed her with such raw hope it made her heart clench.

She nodded. “Open them”

With shaking hands, he reached out and opened the flaps to reveal the contents of the first box.

The first thing he saw was a picture of the two of them, taken over Christmas during their fifth year, when they had celebrated their first anniversary in Chamonix. They were smiling and laughing as Draco leaned in and kissed her.

More pictures were piled beneath. Muggle photos taken at her parents’ home. Pictures from the time Hermione spent at Malfoy Manor in the summer after 4th year, and again during Spring Break of their 5th. Photos they’d taken in the Room of Requirement. All of them. Every photo the two had together.

Hermione watched as his face shifted from hope to relief to awe.

In the second box he found notes. So many notes. Every note they’d ever written to each other and secretly sent through the post, or snuck into the other’s bag. Hermione had them all.

And in a final, small box, the journal. The journal that showed all of their messages back and forth. Their innermost thoughts. Their declarations of love. It was all there. Draco let out an incredulous sigh.

“How…?”

She smiled. “We kept everything in the Room, and, well, you know me, I duplicated everything we had so that no matter what, each of us would always have copies of everything. After…after Dumbledore’s funeral 6th year, I went into the room and collected everything that was left. I knew neither of us was coming back to Hogwarts. So, I hid it all in a safety deposit box.” Draco raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Sort of the muggle equivalent to a vault at Gringots. I hid it there before we went on the run. I didn’t think Death Eaters would think to look inside a random Muggle bank.”

Draco picked up the journal, running his fingers along the cover, the spine, before opening it tentatively and scanning the pages.

“Hermione. This…this is…I never thought I’d see any of this again.”

She stepped toward him, wrapping her arms around his middle.

“Yes, well, unfortunately, I quite like you, and I had no intention of losing our memories.”

He let out a quiet snort, his arms tightening around her.

“I quite like you too. I’m a little bit scared of you, but I like you all the same.”

Hermione leaned back in his arms, looking up at him as a devilish smile grew on her face. Pushing on his chest, she walked him backwards until he sank into one of the enormous, overstuffed chairs. She followed him down, straddling his lap and lowering onto him, slowly grinding back and forth.

“Are you scared of me right now, Auror Malfoy.”

His eyes were already becoming hooded as he reached out to grab hold of her hips, continuing to move her back and forth as he hardened below her.

“Granger, you could hex me right now and I wouldn’t even notice.” He groaned as she reached in between them and pulled his cock out of his briefs, pumping up and down with her hand while she teased the head against her opening, already wet and ready for him.

“Where would be the fun in that?” Without warning, she sunk down onto his cock, causing them both to groan as pleasure coursed through them.

Hermione began to rock back and forth, getting used to the feeling again of just how deep he was from this position. It was divine.

Draco helped her set a pace, supporting her and lifting her up and down, up and down, up and down. Hermione moved one hand to his hair and placed the other on the back of the chair for stability, their moans filling and echoing across the room.

There was nothing like this, there had never been anything like this. The feeling of him deep inside of her, hitting her over and over exactly where she needed. The look of him as his eyes darted from her face down to where they were joined, enraptured by it all. It was magic. Pure, unadulterated magic.

Draco leaned forward and took her nipple between his teeth, biting just enough to send her into overdrive.

“Fuck, Draco!” She threw her head back, arching against him as her hips sped up, growing more and more frantic.

“Yes, love. Let go. Let go for me.” He released one of her hips to bring his thumb down to her clit, rubbing hard circles as she began to pant, the string inside her pulling tighter and tighter…

“Look at me.” His voice was commanding, and she snapped her head forward to meet his eyes.

“Good girl, you’re such a good girl. Come for me, Hermione.”

For a second, the world stopped. Then the string inside her snapped, and she thought she might be screaming, she thought her limbs might have floated away from her body as wave after wave of her orgasm hit her. With a strangled yell, Draco followed her over the cliff and into oblivion.

She wasn’t sure how long they sat there, with their sweat-slicked bodies held together as they both tried to catch their breaths.

It was bliss.

Chapter End Notes

......

The idiots are now well and truly lovers, and we have tipped into the second half of the story.

I know some folks thought this was going to be the big reveal to Harry and Ron, and I'm sorry if I got your hopes up! I hope this makes up for it? And I promise, I PROMISE, that is coming. There is a whole plan. We've all just got to trust the plan. :)

I also really wanted to take a moment to say thank you to everyone who is reading. This story passed 20k hits and over 800 kudos this week, and I am so blown away. You are all wonderful, and I am beyond grateful.

Thank you thank you thank you, and I'll see you next week.

xoxo,

Flames

Afterglow

Chapter Notes

Welcome back and happy Sunday everyone!

It's fluff. It's smut. It's smutty smutty fluff.

I hope you enjoy :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Fifth Year

Gods he was warm. Warm and so, so comfortable, wrapped around Hermione, whose rhythmic breathing against his chest was lulling him back into peaceful sleep.

But Draco knew he couldn’t let sleep take him again. They had agreed to take a quick nap in the enormous, plush bed that the Room of Requirement had helpfully added to their space at the beginning of the year, but he knew that they needed to sneak back to their dorms before anyone woke up and started asking questions.

Reluctantly, Draco rolled gently away from Hermione to grab his wand and cast a Tempus charm. He knew that Filch always did a final set of rounds between 1:30 and 2:00am, so they would need to time their escape around the old man’s desperate attempts to catch students out of bed.

Speaking the incantation as quietly as possible so as not to wake Hermione before it was necessary, he whispered, “tempus.”

He didn’t believe the number that hovered over the bed. He even cast the charm twice more, refusing to accept the truth.

7:45am.

“Fuck!” Draco shot up, jostling Hermione enough to cause her to roll over and groan at the harsh intrusion.

“Hermione, get up. Get up! It’s morning, we slept here. We slept here all night. Shit. Shit shit shit.”

He was scurrying around the room, grabbing discarded pieces of clothing and desperately shoving his legs into his school trousers, nearly toppling over in his haste.

He’d managed to get his shirt buttoned and was frantically tying his tie when he heard Hermione start to giggle.

Pausing, he looked up at her, annoyed that she was just sitting in bed, holding the sheets around her and making no effort to get ready.

“Joining Gryffindor, are you?” Her voice was teasing as she nodded her head toward his chest.

He looked down and realized he had been tying Hermione’s crimson and gold tie around his neck.

Groaning, he ripped it off and threw it at her, along with her skirt, which she caught while still laughing at him.

“Hermione! You need to get up! Breakfast has already started! How are we supposed to get out of here in broad daylight? Do you want Umbridge to catch us?!”

Her indulgent smile only grew as the panic built in his voice.

“Why are you smiling?!” He was entirely failing to see anything funny about this situation.

“I never get to see you this flustered. It’s quite cute. I’m rather enjoying myself.”

Observing the ever-increasing pinch of his brow, Hermione released a sigh and shuffled off the large four poster.

Draco was momentarily distracted from his panic by the fact that she was wearing nothing but his undershirt, her golden skin shining in the morning light as she made her way toward him.

When she reached him, she ran her hands slowly, soothingly up his arms, stopping at his chest.

“Draco. It’s alright. I’ve got the map, and as you just said, breakfast has already started so it won’t be unusual for us to be walking around the castle. No one will even ask me where I was, they’ll all just assume I fell asleep in the library, and don’t you think Theo and Blaise will believe you if you say that you were ravishing some Ravenclaw in an abandoned classroom all night? It’s not entirely a lie…”

She ran her hands suggestively up and down his chest before he caught them with his own.

“Did I ravish you, Hermione?”

She bit her lip, her eyes darkening as she nodded and melted into him.

Draco hummed as he wrapped her in his arms. “Well alright then. It’s not as if I didn’t enjoy spending the night here. I sleep so much better when you’re with me, love.”

Hermione nodded against his chest. “It was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a while. I’d very much like to do it again.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “The sleeping or the ravishing?”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “Both, please.”

They stood together, both smiling, for a moment, before Hermione backed up and began slowly putting on her uniform.

When they were both dressed, she cast cleansing and ironing charms on both of them.

“There, good as new!”

With a final sweet kiss, they both grabbed their bags and headed to the door as Hermione pulled out Potter’s map of the castle.

“Peeves is in the Charms classroom, Umbridge is still in her office, and if you take the hidden staircase behind the tapestry of Humbert the Hairy you’ve got a straight shot to the Great Hall.”

Draco looked down at her, warmth spreading in his chest. He reached out and twisted one of her curls around his finger before cupping her face in his hand. “You’re the most diabolical witch I’ve ever met, Granger.”

Her face broke into a smile. “I do enjoy breaking the rules, don’t I?” She reached up on her tip toes and gave Draco a final, breathless kiss before pushing him out the door.

He didn’t stop smiling until he sat down in Transfiguration after breakfast.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

May 2002

Draco returned to consciousness in small measures.

He saw light behind his eyes as the morning sun welcomed him back to the waking world.

He began to feel the duvet and the luxurious cushioning of the bed where he lay.

He realized his arms were wrapped around something soft. Something soft and warm. Something that made him feel at peace. Something he never wanted to let go of.

As his mind began to throw off the sluggishness of sleep, he remembered. Tentatively, girding himself against the possibility that it was all a dream, he opened his eyes. If he hadn’t been laying down, the truth of it would have bowled him over.

The thing in his arms wasn’t a thing at all. It was Hermione.

He tightened his arms around her. It hadn’t been a dream. None of it had been a dream.

And now he was holding a naked Hermione in his arms, watching as her chest rose and fell steadily, after spending the night touching her again, feeling her, being inside of her, watching her come undone…

His cock twitched as the memories flooded back, his morning wood making itself known.

The sex had been even better than he had remembered. Sex with Hermione had always been the best he’d ever had, but as he slid inside of her for the first time in five years, he had realized with absolute certainty that his brain had not allowed him to remember just how good it was. How exquisite she was. How overwhelmingly perfect it felt.

He smiled into her hair. Merlin, he was the luckiest man in the world.

Breathing in her scent, a memory from last night floated to the top of his mind.

I don’t want you to be disappointed.

He still could not for the life of him understand how she could have believed that—but, somehow, he knew that the Weasel had something to do with it.

Because in this moment, looking down on Hermione’s golden skin, glowing in the morning light, he was once again astounded by her beauty.

Lifting his arm, he gently brushed her hair out of her face and over her shoulder, running his fingers across her neck, over her shoulder, and down the side of her body. Feeling the silky softness of her skin as he traversed the swell of her breasts, the planes of her stomach, the breadth of her hips, and the delicious softness of her ass.

Still asleep, Hermione moaned and moved slightly, grinding herself against his now painfully hard erection.

His breathing grew heavier as his hands continued to explore. The one tucked under her body came up to massager her breasts, rolling her nipples back and forth between his fingers, as the other ghosted down, skimming over her public bone before stopping atop her clit, adding pressure as he began to slowly move two of his fingers in a circle around her.

She moaned again, and he could feel how wet she was becoming as he continued to play her. She was moving in sync with him now, her whole body undulating with him.

“Wake up, my love.” He whispered it into her ear before dragging his lips down the column of her neck, kissing and nipping the whole way. When he got to the spot at the juncture with her shoulder that always drove her wild, he bit down just slightly and she gasped, her hand coming back to dig in to his hip.

“Uhhnghh.” She was waking now.

He moved the fingers rubbing her clit down, spreading her folds and gathering her wetness before gliding back up and redoubling his efforts on her bundle of nerves.

“Draco…” It was nothing more than a breathy sigh.

He smiled against her ear. “Are you with me, love? Do you want this?”

She dug her fingers further into his hip, fully opening her eyes and looking over her shoulder at him, nodding.

He wasted no time. He couldn’t. He would not survive another second if he didn’t get inside of her.

One quickly cast contraceptive charm later, he grabbed her leg, throwing it over his own, before positioning himself at her entrance and thrusting all the way inside of her from behind.

She released his hip to grab a handful of the sheets as she moaned.

“Oh fuck, love. Are you already close? Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me already…” He set a slow but hard pace, unable to move faster because of how tightly her cunt was pulsing against him, causing stars to pop up in his vision.

“Yes, yes Draco. Oh gods, yes.”

He reached back down and began rubbing his fingers against her clit again as her back arched, yelling out as the throbbing inside her became even more intense.

“That’s it, love. Fuck, you’re so tight. Unghh.” He snapped his hips harder, aiming to hit the spot inside of her that would make her toes curl, and after three more thrusts she went rigid, yelling out his name as her orgasm hit her, wave after wave squeezing his cock so deliciously as he remained deep inside of her.

He kept his fingers working her clit as she came down, her muscles relaxing as she gasped for breath.

“Can you handle another?”

She whimpered in response, and he smiled.

“Hands and knees, love.” He slipped out of her, still hard and now dripping with her slick, gently helping her to roll onto her stomach, propping herself up on her forearms as he grabbed her hips, pulling her ass further into the air. Without preamble, Draco thrust back into her, bottoming out with his hips grinding against her ass as she screamed into the pillows and he groaned in response.

It was even deeper like this, and he watched as Hermione’s hands scrambled for purchase, desperate to hold on as he set a punishing pace behind her.

He could feel himself getting closer, the overwhelming ecstasy of being surrounded by her driving him toward his own orgasm at breakneck speed. But he needed to feel her come again first. Fuck, he needed to feel it.

Reaching out, he grabbed her hair, wrapping it around his hand and pulling—hard enough so she would feel it, but not hard enough to hurt. Her response made him shudder. She began an unending stream of keening, desperate cries.

“Harder, Draco, please.”

He pulled harder and thrust his hips with even more force.

“Oh gods yes. Oh gods. I’m going to…I’m going…I…” Her words turned into a broken scream as she came, squeezing him so tightly he couldn’t move. He let go, bending forward, one hand bracing himself near her head, biting her shoulder as his own pleasure coursed through him, uncontrolled and unending, tearing away his breath, his vision, and narrowing his entire world to just the feeling of release.

When he regained himself, he rolled off of Hermione’s back, not wanting to crush her into the mattress. She turned, throwing herself partially over him and kissing him lightly on his chest. After a moment, she snorted into his chest.

Reaching his hand over to tangle in her hair, he looked down, unable to move his body more than that.

“Something funny, Granger?”

Her eyes closed, she smiled. “How are we ever going to survive at work?”

He massaged her scalp with his fingers. “Mmmm. Lots of quickies in supply closets, if I had to guess…”

“Yes, I imagine so.”

Draco’s heart filled as he wrapped his arms around her.

**

Two hours and one very enjoyable shower later—that ended with Hermione on her knees with his cock in her mouth—the pair finally made their way downstairs and were now sitting across from each other at Hermione’s dining table, drinking tea and eating the food Hermione had been able to cobble together, reveling in the quiet simplicity of the moment.

Draco had imagined moments like these so many times. Had imagined what their life could be together if they didn’t have to hide, if they both survived the war, if their lives could really start. He’d wanted nothing more than these small, domestic moments together where there was no need to rush, where they could simply be.

He couldn’t contain the smile on his face as he looked at Hermione, curled in her chair, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, an oversized sweater keeping her warm.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been staring when she caught his eyes, smiling back at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He chuckled and looked down into his teacup. “It’s just surreal. Being here with you. There were so many times when we were sitting with each other or studying in the Room when I would pretend that we were sitting in our own house, having breakfast and reading the paper together before we went to work.”

She smiled warmly. “I did the same thing.”

“Did you? Tell me love, what did you imagine.”

She smirked, bringing her finger up to tap on her lips before replying.

“Well, I thought we would start our days at the kitchen table, eating breakfast and trading off reading different sections of the Prophet before you kissed me goodbye and left to go run your own financial firm—you being an Auror is much sexier, by the way—and then I would head to my lab to do research. We would meet for lunch whenever we could, and then at the end of the day you would come and pick me up and take me to some ridiculous restaurant with bottles of wine that cost hundreds of galleons and that you only knew about because you got the secret password from some insanely wealthy client who wanted to thank you for your incredible work. Then we’d come home and have mind-blowing sex, of course. And then we’d do it all again the next day.”

Draco’s heart swelled. “I like the sound of that. I like the sound of that a lot. I don’t know of any restaurants that require a password, but I certainly know a few places with bottles of wine that cost hundreds of galleons that I would like to buy for you. And I am in utter agreement about the mind-blowing sex. So much mind-blowing sex.” He quirked an eyebrow at her and she smiled, turning her face into her shoulder bashfully.

He laced his fingers together in contemplation.

“Hermione.” She looked up at him, her face open.

“What do you want to do now? About us? Do you want to keep it a secret?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “What?”

It was his turn to be embarrassed. “Well, this week at the Ministry. With Corner in the elevator and during the meeting at the DMLE, it just seemed like maybe you didn’t want people to know? Which is fine, honestly. We don’t have to tell people. I just want—”

“No, Draco! No.” She was shaking her head furiously and piercing him with her stare. “I don’t want this to be a secret. I don’t want you to be a secret. I fought a war to make sure this didn’t have to be a secret. If you want, we can send an owl to Rita Skeeter right now and let her publish an exclusive in the paper tomorrow. I just…well, I wasn’t sure what you wanted this week, and I didn’t want to make the decision without you.” Her voice grew quiet.

He reached across the table and grabbed her hand.

“I don’t want you to be a secret either, love. But…I won’t lie and say that I’m excited by the idea of being a story for the gossip columns. I…I know things are better than they were three years ago, but, my history being what it is, the thought of someone judging you for being with me, or it making you a target, still terrifies me. I can’t stand it.” His heart had already started to pound just thinking about it.

Hermione leaned over, placing her other hand on his cheek. “I love you, Draco. I love how much you care about me. And I understand where you’re coming from, but of all the things to be worried about, I really don’t think that’s anywhere near the top of the list. For Godric’s sake, the Prophet has been falling all over itself all week to call you a hero for protecting Harry at the raid. People are calling for you to get an Order of Merlin.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned his lips into her hand, kissing her palm.

“But what we can certainly agree on is our aversion to having our lives plastered across the papers. And I think it’s fair to say that the heir to the wealthiest family in the Sacred Twenty-Eight dating a famous muggleborn witch is probably enough to make headlines for a while.”

Draco dropped his head with a groan.

“What about this: We don’t hide. We tell our friends. But we stay low profile in Diagon and at the Ministry. No shoving your tongue down my throat in the atrium. That way we can keep the press at bay, at least for a while.”

Draco cocked a brow. “Shoving my tongue down your throat? Is that a critique?”

In response, Hermione got up from her chair and straddled his lap, capturing his lips and, taking advantage of his surprise, plunging her tongue into his mouth, massaging it against his own. Draco took charge after a moment, threading his fingers through her hair and pressing her face harder into his. But just as things were about to get interesting, she pulled back and stood up, returning to her own chair.

Nonchalantly picking up her teacup, she shrugged her shoulders. “No complaints here.”

Still panting slightly, he responded. “You are a wicked, wicked woman.”

Draco’s heart swelled as he looked at her. Gods, he loved her. And although their previous time together had been filled with stress and concern over what would happen if they were discovered, the part he did like about sneaking around was that he got Hermione all to himself. They were in a warm, beautiful bubble where no one could judge them, no other opinions mattered, and they could simply be. The chance to extend that feeling, even for a bit, before the whole world undoubtedly found out—it would certainly be hard to keep it a secret when they got married, a plan Draco knew he wouldn’t be able to hold off on for long—was appealing.

As confident as Hermione was, Draco knew that there would be people who hated her for being with him. Both people who thought she was a traitor for deigning to touch a Death Eater, and those who were still carrying the banner for blood supremacy and would detest her for sullying a Sacred Twenty-Eight bloodline. They would have to face that reality at some point, but if he could protect her from it for a while, he would.

“Ok. We stay low profile in places where people might see us and run to The Prophet for a quick paycheck. That means you can’t undress me with your eyes in DMLE meetings, Granger.” He quirked an eyebrow and she affected a look of mock shock.

A devious smirk spread across his face. “Plus, fucking with Rita is always a good time. I suppose you could always just lock her in a jar again, though.”

Hermione laughed in return, before her eyes grew more serious and she set down her teacup, turning to face him fully.

“There’s one more thing…” She was nervous, he could tell from the way she was playing with her hands and chewing on her lip.

Taking a deep breath, she continued. “I know this is going to sound petty and I know I should be the bigger person and I really don’t want you to take this the wrong way or think that somehow this has anything to do with you, it’s completely about me, but –”

He knew that if he didn’t bring her back down she would work herself into a state, so he reached out and gently grabbed her face in both of his hands. “Hermione, love, take a breath.”

She did as he said, her eyes darting down briefly before returning to his.

“I don’t want to tell Harry and Ron. After everything, I don’t want them to know anything about my life. I don’t want them involved. They can find out whenever the rest of the world does.”

Draco chuckled and leaned in, kissing her lightly.

“Love, did you honestly think I would have a problem sticking it to Potter and the Weasel?”

The idea of letting those two idiots learn the whole truth when the rest of the world did, to finally understand, completely, that she had fully removed them from her life, filled him with a sense of glee.

She huffed. “I suppose you’re right.”

Growing more serious, Draco lowered his hands from Hermione’s face and grabbed her hands.

“Listen to me, Hermione. Those two fucked with your life for years. You have every right to keep them out of your life now. You’re not being petty, love. You’re setting a boundary. That’s the healthy thing to do. Ok?”

She smiled at him. “When did you get so wise?”

He sighed dismissively. “I’ve always been wise, love. But I did read a few mind healing books when I was in New York, and they taught me all about boundaries.”

Hermione leaned back in her chair. “You are full of surprises, Draco Malfoy.”

**

Draco and Hermione spent the remainder of Saturday holed up in her house, bouncing effortlessly between talking and laughing with one another and having sex on as many surfaces of the house that they could.

On the kitchen counter.

On a chaise in the greenhouse.

Up against the desk in her office.

The only place Hermione shot down was inside her potions lab, citing a very real fear that they would smash ingredient vials and end up setting the house on fire.

The only time they spent apart the entire day was for the ten minutes it took Draco to go back through the floo to his flat and get some new clothes to last for the rest of the weekend, because, as he told Hermione, he had absolutely no plans to sleep without her in his arms.

Their fervor for each other hadn’t slowed at all on Sunday morning, when Draco found himself in the glorious position of having Hermione writhing on his lap while he sat on her couch, his hands roaming under her shirt, slowly making their way toward her breasts.

He had just skimmed the soft skin around her nipples when the floo roared to life.

“Well well, please don’t stop on my account. I’m more than happy to watch!” Draco and Hermione pulled their mouths away from each other and turned to see Theo, eyes sparkling, standing just feet away and looking down on them with a mixture of joy and humor on his face.

Hermione went to move off of Draco’s lap, but he clutched her hips tightly, holding her in place.

“You’re interrupting, Nott. Get out before I hex your balls off.” He leaned back into Hermione, fully prepared to start up where they’d left off, but she gave him a look of warning and carefully climbed off his lap, sitting forward on the couch to face Theo.

“Now now, no need for such violence, Draco. I’m quite thrilled to see my two best friends in the throes of passion. Merlin knows you’ve both earned it. Also, if you’d be willing to tell me the number of times you two rascals have fucked in the last 48 hours, I’d be much obliged, Luna and I have a bet.”

Hermione pointed at him. “Careful, Theo. More quips like that and I’ll let him hex off your balls.”

Theo laughed and threw up his hands. “Fine, fine! Honestly, it’s almost as if you’re not happy to see me! And here I am, inviting you to dinner at my home. My home, I say!”

Draco shook his head, he had no intention of going anywhere that would require them to spend multiple hours not having sex until it was absolutely required when they returned to work. “We’ll pass, Theo.”

Theo affected a mock grimace. “Ah, afraid not, my son. Your presence is demanded. Pansy will march in here and force you through the floo naked if she has to.” Theo slapped his hands on his thighs and stood, walking back toward the fireplace.

“Tonight, seven o’clock. Dress in your finery. And don’t be late!”

And with that, he grabbed a handful of floo powder and stepped through the flames with nothing more than a quick wave over his shoulder.

Draco growled and leaned forward, dropping his head into his hands. “We don’t have to do this, Hermione.”

Hermione huffed a laugh. “Really? What about Pansy makes you think she wouldn’t follow through on dragging us there if we didn’t show up?”

She was right, of course. Draco had tried to back out of attending a trip to Hogsmeade with Pansy at the beginning of 4th year, and she had marched into the boys dormitory while Draco was in nothing but his boxers, and held him at wand point until he put on his clothes and led her out of the castle.

“You’re right. Looks like we’re going to dinner.”

Hermione rubbed his back soothingly. “Hey, at least Pansy didn’t come marching over here last night. She told me weeks ago that when we got together she would require a personal thank you. And diamonds.”

Draco laughed and leaned into Hermione. “That sounds like her.”

At 6pm, Hermione shooed Draco out of the house and back to his flat so that they could both get ready for dinner. Draco had protested, but the reality was, he hadn't brought any clothes that would be appropriate to wear in public, and no matter how far away from his upbringing he got, he would never be able to shake the need to be properly dressed for every occasion.

Which is how he found himself, thirty minutes later, standing inside his closet, deciding between three different sets of cufflinks before returning to Hermione's so they could floo to the Manor together. He was still pissed at Theo—and by extension, Pansy—for interrupting his time with Hermione, but, he supposed, this was the first opportunity they'd have to be open with their affection for each other in front of others, and that thought made him smile.

Finally deciding on a pair of golden cufflinks with star-shaped emeralds embedded on the face, he began to make his way down the hallway and toward the floo.

That's when the painting of the French countryside caught his eye. It had been here when he moved in, and as he had gone through the place in those first days to decide what he wanted to keep and what he wanted to return to storage, he'd slid the painting slightly off center and discovered that it was covering a small safe built into the wall.

Fear had lanced through him when he first found it. Draco knew that his father had used this place over the years, and he had no idea if the man had hidden any dark objects here to keep them safe should the Ministry ever raid Malfoy Manor.

With his wand at the ready, he'd placed his hand over the door, hoping that it was keyed to Malfoy blood and would open for him. He'd been right, and the locks had all melted away at his touch.

He'd expected to find poisons or some of Voldemort’s knickknacks inside, which is why he was so shocked when he discovered that it was filled with jewelry. Diamond necklaces and bracelets, ruby and sapphire pendants, even a few broaches. Small parchment tags were affixed to each item, all with a variety of women's names written on them in his father’s handwriting.

And it all clicked. Lucius hadn't used this flat to conduct Death Eater business. He'd used it to have affairs.

Draco had always suspected that his father, on top of being cruel and abusive, was also unfaithful to his mother. But being faced with his father's secret cache of Malfoy jewels, each marked to be given to at least a dozen different witches, was more confirmation than he ever wanted. He'd spent several days after the discovery unable to think about anything else. He spun himself into knots, terrified that this was the blood he came from, and did that mean he was capable of the same thing?

In the end, he'd come to the conclusion that if he'd never met Hermione, if they had never been given that detention 4th year, he likely would have continued blindly on the path his father had set for him, and at this point in his life—if he’d survived—he'd be on his way to filling his own safe with baubles for his mistresses. It was yet another way that Hermione had saved him.

Faced with it again now, on his way to return to Hermione's home and go together, as a couple, to dinner at his oldest friend's house, he breathed a sigh of relief. His life would never look like his father's. He was sure of that now.

But a thought did take hold of him as he stood there, and with a smirk he stepped forward and placed his hand on the safe.

**

At 7pm on the dot, he took Hermione's hand and squeezed it, looking down to take her in. She looked incredible. Her hair was loose, curls cascading down her back, and she'd chosen a deep burgundy short sleeve, high necked shirt, tucked into a matching tule skirt, and finished with a pair of velvet heels. She hadn't glamoured her tattoos, and the writing on her arm was proudly on display.

"Ready?"

She gave a half smile. "I've ridden a dragon, this can't be nearly as terrifying as that."

He laughed and shook his head, reaching for a handful of powder and calling out for Nott Manor.

They walked through the green flames and into the receiving room hand in hand.

The second their feet touched the floor, they could hear the boisterous laughter coming from the dining room several halls away.

With a final look of confirmation to each other, they wove their way through the halls toward the noise.

The second the couple walked through the doorway, Theo, Pansy, Blaise, Luna, Padma, and even George Weasley all turned their way and simultaneously broke into a chorus of celebratory yelling, clapping, and a fair amount of wolf whistles.

“Alright, alright. That’s quite enough.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, my boy,” came Blaise’s amused reply.

Theo nodded. “We’ve been waiting years for this, Draco. Settle in, I’d say we have enough to keep this up for…what do you think, Blaise? A full year?”

Blaise casually poured himself a glass of wine. “Oh absolutely.”

Pansy was conspicuously silent, leaning against the table, wine in hand, playing with Luna’s hair.

“Anything to add, Parks?” He might as well get this over with.

The witch slid her eyes between Draco and Hermione. “I’m simply waiting for my thank you, Malfoy. I’ll remind you, I am responsible for this.” She inclined her head toward them.

Draco quirked a brow. “How’s that, exactly?”

A feline smile took over her face. “Well, I did steal that one’s beds so she would be forced to come here the day you returned. I figured I could kick start things since I could already tell that you idiots were going to need help.”

Next to him, Hermione’s mouth fell open. “I KNEW that story about the Japanese bedmaker was bullshit! Gods, Pansy!”

Pansy simply shrugged. “Are you complaining, Granger?”

Hermione closed her mouth, seething momentarily before she conceded. “No, I suppose not.”

Pansy smiled, and Luna leaned in to kiss her cheek. “And so, I say again, I am simply waiting for my thank you.”

Draco reached into his coat pocket, pulling out the narrow velvet box containing a diamond necklace from his father’s safe, and tossing it to Pansy who caught it effortlessly.

“I was told you expected diamonds, Pansy.”

Pansy opened the box with a satisfied smile. Letting go of Luna, she walked forward until she was toe-to-toe with Draco and could lean up on her toes to kiss one of his cheeks while patting the other indulgently. Her eyes cut to Hermione.

“Be thankful that I am disgusted be penises, Granger. You would have had to fight me for him.”

Hermione fixed her with a challenging stare. “I would have gladly accepted the challenge, Pansy.”

Pansy chuckled. “Oh, I’m certain of that.”

“Just so you know, Gorgeous, my offer to buy you the crown jewels still stands, all I ask in return is for a detailed description of blondie’s little friend.” Theo made a lude gesture toward Draco’s crotch.

“Merlin, Theo! Enough!” Draco dropped his head, his fingers coming up to pinch his nose. He didn’t mind Theo’s teasing, but he didn’t want to make Hermione uncomfortable.

Luckily for him, she continued her streak of surprising him. “Sorry, Theo. I’m afraid that the truth would make you so jealous that you’d no longer want to speak to me. So for the sake of our friendship, I’ll pass on the tiaras.”

Draco was momentarily struck dumb as the attention in the room turned toward ribbing Theo. Hermione turned toward him and shrugged her shoulder playfully.

Regaining himself, Draco leaned in. “I have plenty of tiaras I could give you, love. You just have to promise to wear it, and only it, to bed.” He smirked.

She leaned in until their lips were almost touching. “That could certainly be arranged.” With a quick kiss to his stunned lips, she turned on her heel and skipped toward the crowd, leaving him in her wake.

He watched as she started laughing with Luna and Pansy while Blaise poured her a drink, taking in the moment. Before he could join them, George appeared at his side.

The ginger man, who Draco did not think he had ever properly spoken to, assessed him.

“Listen, Malfoy. I’ve got no problems with you. I can see how much you love her, and you clearly make her happy. She deserves that, and if you do that for her, as far as I’m concerned, that is proof enough that you’re a good guy.” Draco had not been expecting that. George was perhaps the only member of the Weasley family Draco thought he could like, and given how smitten Theo seemed to be, he figured he would have to get used to him being around. But he hadn’t expected Ron Weasley’s brother to be on his side, even if he had abandoned his family to support Hermione.

Just as he opened his mouth to thank the golden-eared man, George stepped forward and his eyes hardened.

“But listen well. She is my sister. I would have killed my own brother for what he did to her. If you hurt her…” his voice turned sinister. “no one will ever find a single piece of your body. Do you understand me?”

Draco did not have a single doubt in his mind that George wouldn’t follow through on his threat.

He responded to George with as much seriousness as he had shown. “If I ever hurt her, I’d ask you myself to kill me, I promise you. But, mate, I’ve loved her for a decade. The years I spent away from her were the worst in my life, and my singular goal for the remainder of my days is to make her happy. I don’t care about anything else.”

George’s face remained blank for a moment, before the mischievous smile the Weasley twins were known for appeared.  He slapped Draco on the shoulder.

“Well, alright then! Let’s drink. And maybe you can tell me if your friend Theo is fucking with me, or if he is really serious about wanting to date me.

Draco threw his head back and laughed as the pair walked together toward the rest of the group.

For the rest of the night Draco had bounced between being overwhelmed by happiness and simply overwhelmed, taking in the scene of his friends all sitting and laughing around a table while he openly had his hand on Hermione’s knee, or she had hers on his thigh, and at several points during the night they had simply kissed, out in the open. It was certainly going to take some time to adjust to his new reality.

They’d told the group that they planned to keep their relationship out of the papers as long as possible, and everyone enthusiastically agreed to help, with Pansy giving an impressed nod about how wise it was to “control your own narrative.”

When they had stepped back through the floo into Hermione’s living room at the end of the night, they’d both paused, looked at each other with slightly stunned faces, and embraced, breathing in each other’s arms for several minutes before heading upstairs.

Draco wasn’t sure what to expect Monday morning when he and Hermione had to return to their normal lives and they could no longer sit around naked all day, talking and…well…more moaning than talking.

But, somehow, they both managed to get dressed, though Hermione nearly derailed the entire morning by wearing the tightest pencil skirt Draco had ever seen, causing him to stare, open mouthed, at the curve of her ass for a full minute before he was able to get control of himself.

They did what they’d discussed in their fantasies. They sat together at the table, drinking their coffee and eating breakfast—a breakfast that Draco cooked to prove to Hermione that he had actually learned how to do it in New York. Draco was reveling in it, the domesticity. The ease. He’d given up on the idea that he could have a life like this, and yet somehow here he was. He had been repeatedly pinching himself throughout the weekend to make sure this wasn’t all a dream.

So when she kissed him goodbye and stepped through the floo—they planned to go through five minutes apart—he felt steady, calm, and ready to make it through the day without her.

That is, he felt steady until 1pm when Hermione walked, no, sauntered, he swore she was sauntering, into the DMLE conference room for yet another meeting about the failures of the McClaren raid.

She had smiled kindly at Tonks and the other Aurors before taking a seat at the corner of the rectangular table, with Draco now sitting kitty-corner to her. As she sat, she gently rubbed one of her feet (her feet, which happened to be covered by a pair of stilettos that should have been illegal) against Draco’s leg while giving him a much more heated smile than she had the others. The feeling went straight to cock.

He arched a brow at her and the challenge in the look she returned sent him into overdrive.

With the look he gave her back he tried to convey his thoughts: So, that’s how you want to play this? Game on.

For the remainder of the hour, Draco waited for Hermione to make her move—angling her body toward him just enough that he could see down the front of her silk blouse, “accidentally” running her fingers over his thigh as she reached for an extra quill from her bag, casually biting her lip as she not-so-inconspicuously darted her eyes toward his dick—and then responded in kind. Rolling his quill between his fingers in the exact same way he would her nipples, leaning over her to grab the parchments being passed around and running his arm against her breasts, and, his piece de resistance, dropping his quill and running his hand all the way from her ankle to her thigh as he sat back up.

He smirked when he saw the gooseflesh across her arms and chest after that.

Blessedly, Dawlish started yelling at Tonks about firing all the trainee Aurors again, causing the meeting to come to a close before either Draco or Hermione could make their next moves.

As the rest of the Aurors scuttled out of the room to avoid the escalating screaming match, Draco turned to Hermione.

“Granger, can you join me in my office? We need to go over the plans to recharge your wards.”

Hermione smirked, fire in her eyes. “Of course, Auror Malfoy.” She drew out his title and it sent a shiver up his spine.

Draco got up, pulled out Hermione’s chair for her, and then opened the door to the conference room, ushering her out and down the hallway toward his office.

He practically pushed her inside the door, and in the same second that the door snicked closed he waved his hand to lock it and crushed his mouth to Hermione’s. She returned his kiss with fervor, locking her fingers into his hair and pushing her whole body against his.

He pulled back after a moment, kissing and nipping along her neck and to her ear.

“What were you going to do next, love?”

“I’m not sure. Probably this.”

One of her hands came slithering between them, down, down until she was palming his now fully hard cock.

Draco let himself lean into the sensation for a moment before grabbing both of her arms, pinning them to her sides.

“Is that so? Well, that’s very naughty of you, love.” He leaned in, running his tongue down the side of her neck before sucking on the spot that made her gasp. “Why don’t I show you what I was going to do next.”

Draco flipped Hermione around so her back was now pressed to his front before walking her toward his desk. With one hand still wrapped around her, he used the other to push papers and quills aside, before lightly pressing her back until she bent at the waist, her chest now pressed against his desk.

In the same breath, he reached down and grabbed the hem of her skirt, harshly raking it up until it pooled around her waist, leaving her lace-clad ass on display. He palmed it while leaning forward, whispering.

“You know what they say about naughty girls…they need to be punished.” He punctuated his words by more aggressively grabbing her ass as she stifled a moan against the table.

“Yes, please. Please, Draco.” A thrill went through him. They’d done this before, but not since they got back together, and as caught up as he was in the moment, Draco would never do anything he thought might cross a boundary unless he knew that Hermione wanted it, and wanted it badly.

With a smile, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of her knickers and slowly, teasingly, drew them down, helping her step just one foot out of them.

He brushed his hands up her legs as he stood, before massaging her ass once again.

“Are you ready, love?”

Hermione’s arms spread on the desk and nodded. “The room. You need to silence the room.”

Draco gave a single laugh. “No, I don’t think I will. You’ll just have to be a good girl and stay quiet.” And then, without any additional warning, he drew his hand back and landed a spank on her right ass cheek, before rubbing it once again to sooth the burn. Hermione’s hands scrambled for purchase as she bit down on her lip to stifle the strangled moan trying to escape.

“Was that ok, love?”

The enthusiasm with which she nodded in return brought a smile to his lips.

“More, please Draco.”

He leaned forward, pressing his chest against her back, and drew her hair over her shoulder to give him the space to kiss the back of her neck.

“How about this.” His breath fanned over her and he watched as she shuddered. “I’m going to spank you five times, and you’re going to count for me. If you miss one, we start over again. And once we’re through, I’m going to fuck you against my desk. Ok?”

Hermione was already nodding before he’d even finished. “Yes, yes.” Her words were more sighs than anything at this point.

Draco gave her a final kiss before standing back. “Good girl.”

He ran his hands lightly over the skin of her ass, reveling in the perfect supple feel of it. His fingers teased her and Draco watched as she began to pant, her head moving back and forth, unable to remain still. He knew that the anticipation was driving her mad.

Without warning, he reared back and smacked her left cheek, just slightly harder than he had before.

Hermione moaned, the sound of it making Draco’s cock impossibly harder. He could see how hard she was trying to stay quiet, how crazed her eyes were becoming.

“One.” She forced the word out.

Before she could settle down, he landed another on her right cheek, the sound reverberating through him.

He watched the muscles in her legs and back tense as she turned her head to the other side.

“Two.”

Smack.

“Three.”

It wasn’t just Hermione that was panting now.

“You’re doing so well, love.”

She whimpered at his words.

Smack.

“Four.” It was no more than a choaked whisper.

Draco’s hand came down for the final, satisfying spank, and Hermione cried in relief.

“Five.”

Draco wasn’t sure how he was still standing. He couldn’t tell if he was still breathing. All of the blood in his body had gone straight to his dick.

“You did so well, Hermione. So well. You’re such a good girl.” He hardly knew what he was saying as he frantically undid his belt, yanked down his zipper, and lowered his trousers and briefs enough to finally release his throbbing cock.

His fingers slid from her ass to between her legs, feeling her silken folds.

“Fuck, love. You’re so wet. Did me reddening your arse turn you on?”

Hermione just keened in response.

Holding on to the last vestiges of his sanity, Draco leaned forward, running his hands up Hermione’s sides as his mouth attached to her neck.

“It’s ok, love. I’m going to take care of you.”

Faster than he ever had before, Draco summoned his wand, touched the tip to the side of Hermione’s stomach, and muttered the contraceptive charm before unceremoniously dropping his wand to the floor, lining himself up, and pushing into her warm, wet cunt.

He couldn’t contain his groan, and Hermione had to bring her hand to cover her mouth in order to stifle the broken yell that escaped from her.

He was so turned on, it felt so good, she was so tight and already pulsing around him, that Draco had to stay still for a moment, trying to rein himself in before he embarrassed himself by coming before he got Hermione off.

“Gods I love you, Hermione. Fuck.”

He started to move, plunging in and out of her wet heat in a punishing rhythm, leaning over to place one hand on the desk, while the other wrapped around Hermione’s body to find her clit so that he could start rubbing circles against her bundle of nerves.

Hermione reached out with the hand not covering her mouth and grasped the edge of his desk so hard he could see her knuckles turn white.

“Fuck, Draco. Yes.” She whispered it against her fingers, spurring him on.

He sped up his thrusts, the wicked sound of their flesh slapping together filling the room.

She felt so good. She felt like heaven. She was heaven.

Just as he felt the lightening begin to build at the base of his spine, Hermione’s muscles began to go rigid.

“Yes love, give it to me. Come for me.”

Hermione clamped her hand over her mouth—hard. Her desperate cry of relief muffled against her skin as she lost control, her cunt pulsing so hard that Draco too had no other choice but to remove his hand from the desk and cover his mouth to stop the roar as he followed her into the abyss.

By the time Draco floated back into his body, he was leaning over Hermione, his chest pressed into her back, as they both breathed heavily in and out, trying to catch their breaths.

Draco leaned his face to the side, burying his nose in her hair and breathing in her honey and lavender scent, before placing a kiss against her scalp. With a final deep breath, he hoisted himself up and slowly pulled out of her body before summoning his wand to perform quick cleansing spells on both of them.

Hermione was still grasping the edges of his desk as he bent down to help her step back in to her knickers before replacing her skirt around her body and moving his hands soothingly up and down her hips.

“You still with me, love?”

She took one shuddering breath before finally pushing off the desk and turning herself around, still leaning against it for support as she placed her small hands on his chest.

“If this is what is going to happen every time I tease you in a meeting, our productivity is about to plummet.”

He huffed a laugh and stepped into her, wrapping her in his arms as he placed a kiss on her temple.

“It’s not my fault that my girlfriend is a minx.”

She pulled back to look at him, smiling at his endearment.

He brushed her hair behind her ears, smoothing it down to ensure she looked no different walking out of here than she had walking in.

She stepped forward and grabbed his lapels. “And it’s not my fault that my boyfriend is so hot he makes me completely lose my mind.”

Draco curled his hand around the side of her face, looking down on her indulgently. “I make the brightest witch of our age lose her mind? Well, someone call the Minister, I think I just earned my Order of Merlin.”

She snorted a laugh and twisted out of his grasp, checking that her clothes were set to rights in the mirror near his door before grabbing the bag she had dropped as soon as they walked in and turning back to him.

“Thank you for the quickie, Auror Malfoy. It may not have been a supply closet, but I enjoyed it all the same.”

He smiled. “Anytime, love.”

Her smile grew wistful. “I have to get back to the DoM. Will I…see you tonight?”

Draco almost didn’t understand the question. He walked toward her and reached out, grasping her hips.

“Of course you will, love. Was I not clear about never wanting to spend a night away from you again? Besides, I believe you mentioned something about being taken to dinner at a restaurant that only serves wine that costs hundreds of galleons?”

She smiled bashfully, turning her head. “I didn’t mean that literally.”

“Ah, well, unfortunately for you, I did. Meet me at the corner of Sentiment and Horizont Alley at 6?” He squeezed her hips in punctuation.

“Well, I suppose I could make the time…” She bit her lip, holding back a smile.

“Thank you so much for your consideration.” He leaned in and placed a small kiss against the side of her mouth.

She took a deep breath, leaning her body into him momentarily before she slid out of his grasp. Clearly, she wanted to leave just as little as he wanted her to go.

“Ok, I’ll see you tonight at 6.”

Just before she reached the handle, he called out.

“By the way, love.” She turned, her face curious and open. “My mother sent me an owl this morning, we’re expected for dinner on Wednesday.”

Hermione’s smile grew, warmth radiating from her. She nodded and turned. “Sounds like a plan.”

Draco stood for several minutes smiling and staring at the door after she left.

**

The next two days went by quickly.

Draco had kept his promise and purchased a three hundred galleon bottle of wine at the French restaurant where they ate on Monday, much to Hermione’s chagrin. But, after she begrudgingly took a sip, even she had to agree that it was worth the money.

They had ended up flooing back to Draco’s flat that night, and they were now back again, preparing to floo to the Manor for dinner since Hermione’s floo had not yet been connected.

Hermione was in the ensuite finishing her makeup as Draco stood in the closet putting on his cufflinks when he yelled out to her.

“When was the last time you were there, at the Manor? Did you visit while I was gone?” He continued fastening the golden cufflink.

He heard her step out of the bathroom and walk his way.

“No, I never did. Your mum came to visit me a few times and we met up shortly after my parents’ funeral, but I never went back to the Manor. The last time I was there was…during the war.”

Draco froze, the cufflink still in his hand falling to the floor as Hermione made her way into the closet.

Horror. Icy, terrifying horror shot through him as the blood drained from his face. He turned slowly to face her and saw that she looked calm, only a slight twinge of concern evident on her face.

“Hermione, I…I didn’t…I had no idea. We don’t have to go there. We don’t ever have to go there again!”

She was already shaking her head and walking toward him before he finished his sentence.

“Draco, no. I don’t want to let memories from the war dictate my life. The Manor is your family’s home, we can’t just stop going there. Besides, I have far more good memories there than I have bad. Memories of the gardens, the library, your bedroom…” She gave him a teasing smile.

Draco pulled her into him, feeling her warm skin, reminding himself that she was here, she was alive, they had made it out.

“You’re astounding, Hermione Granger.”

She laughed lightly and turned around, walking out of the closet.

“Eh, not really. I’m just willing to overlook a lot if there is food involved. Now get your cufflinks on, I shan’t be seen with a man as grossly underdressed as you.” With a final twist around and a wink, she walked out of the room and down the hall.

Draco was still buzzing with nervous energy when he grabbed Hermione’s hand as they stood in front of the fireplace.

He squeezed her hand. “You’re sure?”

She gave him a calm smile and nodded. “Yes.”

With a final deep breath, they stepped together into the flames.

Draco smirked when Hermione’s jaw dropped as soon as they landed in the receiving parlor. Gone were the dark velvet window coverings and gothic accents, they’d been replaced by bright cream and gold curtains, colorful antique rugs, and additional windows to let in the light.

Hermione turned around the room, eyes wide with shock.

“This is…I had no idea that this place could lo—”

“Look like colors other than black and green existed?” Narcissa had glided into the room and stood several feet away, smirking at Hermione.

Draco watched as Hermione’s eyes lit up. “I was going to say that I had no idea this place could look so beautiful, but I suppose that works too. It’s gorgeous, Narcissa.”

His mother smiled warmly and walked forward. “Thank you, dear. Though I must say, having such a gorgeous couple inside these walls doesn’t hurt.”

She leaned in and gathered Hermione into a tight hug before turning to Draco to kiss him on the cheek and do the same.

“Well! I hope you’re hungry. I’ve had Pip make your favorite pumpkin soup, Hermione, and I believe he has added about six additional courses to the dinner. He nearly fainted when I told him you would be returning today.”

Hermione’s smiled widened. “Well, if Pip is cooking, I may never leave.”

This was nice. More than nice. The warmth here, radiating between the three of them, filled Draco’s heart.

Narcissa stepped back and turned. “Ah, but, before we can settle in for an aperitif, I need your assistance, Draco. Some documents arrived this morning about several of our investments at Gringotts, and they require your signature. I’ve left them in the study. Can you accompany me to take care of this before we eat? You’re welcome to join us of course, darling.” She turned to Hermione who waved her arms.

“Oh no, don’t worry about me, I can certainly entertain myself. I’ll just go find Pip and try to convince him to give me extra portions tonight.”

Draco leaned in and gave her a quick peck. “I’ll be right back, love.”

Hermione just nodded and began slowly walking down the hallway and further into the Manor.

Without another word, Narcissa turned and walked gracefully toward the stairs, with Draco following. They arrived quickly to the study before she shut the door.

“Alright mother, where are the documents?”

Narcissa arched a perfectly shaped brow. “My dragon, honestly. There are no documents. I wanted to speak with you privately so that we could discuss a trip to our vaults.”

Draco was confused. “A trip to the vaults?”

Narcissa rolled her eyes. “Honestly, dear. Sometimes I wonder how men are able to tie their shoes in the morning. A trip to the vaults so you can begin perusing the family rings, of course. Or do you not intend to ask that beautiful woman downstairs to marry you?”

Draco was caught between two emotions. On the one hand, his mother had managed to somehow reach a new level of meddling, and his annoyance was palpable.

But on the other. She was showing how much she loved Hermione, and she certainly wasn’t wrong about his intentions to marry her.

“Mother. Take a deep breath. We’ve only been together for a week and a half!”

Narcissa’s smile softened. “Oh, dear, no. You’ve been together since you were 14. Just because you didn’t see each other for a time doesn’t mean your souls were any further apart.”

Draco felt tears prickle the backs of his eyes, overcome by her sentiment. Leaning forward, he grabbed both of her hands and kissed her on the cheek.

“Thank you, mum. Just give me a bit of time. Not too much, I promise, just enough so we can get settled into our life together.”

Narcissa surveyed him. “I’ll give you six months, and not a second longer.”

Draco smiled, stepping forward to link her arm through his to lead her back downstairs.

“It’s a deal, mother. And don’t worry, we don’t need to take any trips to the vaults to look at the rings, I already know which one I’m going to give her.”

Narcissa was nearly vibrating with joy as they made their way back down the stairs and toward the sitting room to find Hermione. But she wasn’t there.

The pair looked at each other before Draco turned and walked into the hallway. She hadn’t been in any of the other rooms they’d passed. He couldn’t hear her talking to Pip in the dining room. There was only one other room in this wing…

Panic went through him as he turned and began running toward the room on the far end of the hall, Narcissa silently and urgently following.

As he got closer he saw that the drawing room door had been opened, and he knew she must be inside. Neither Draco nor Narcissa ever went in there. They had sealed it after Draco was released from Azkaban and as far as he knew, no one had been back inside since.

With shaking hands, he pushed the door open and was immediately flooded with his memories of that awful day.

Narcissa had no bothered to redecorate this room, it was still covered in dark tapestries and stone, cold and grim.

And in the center of the room, directly over the spot on the floor where she had lain as Bellatrix yelled “Crucio!” over and over and over again, was Hermione. Her eyes fierce but her expression calm.

Carefully, concerned he might frighten her, Draco took several tentative steps inside. He could feel his mother behind him.

“Hermione, love. What are you doing?”

She didn’t turn.

“I’m reminding her.” Her voice was determined. “I’m reminding her that I survived. That we survived.”

A wave of emotions hit him, and he surged forward, coming up behind Hermione and wrapping his arms around her. This witch, his witch, was truly the strongest and bravest person he had ever known.

Leaning down, he placed a reverent kiss on her temple. “We did survive, love.”

Hermione nodded.

Narcissa appeared next to them, tears in her eyes. Hermione simply reached out her hand for the older witch, who took it and squeezed fiercely.

Eyes glassy but filled with relief, Narcissa turned toward both of them.

“Our family survived.”

A tear escaped and made its way down Draco’s cheek. Hermione nodded, smiling at Narcissa.

This was his family, and even after everything, they had survived.

Chapter End Notes

Narcissa and the gang needed to get back in here, huh?

The next two chapters are going to be doing a lot of plot development so we needed a little fluffy interlude first!

Thank you as always for reading and for your comments and kudos!

See you next week.

xoxo,

Flames

You Belong With Me

Chapter Notes

Happy Sunday, everyone!

Welcome back for another chapter. We’re back with our favorite swot this week, and she certainly has some plans…

TRIGGER WARNING: There are explicit descriptions of torture as well as some gore throughout this chapter. If that’s not for you, please scroll down to the end, I’ve included a synopsis in the author’s note at the bottom if you’d rather skip this chapter. Xoxo

See the end of the chapter for more notes

March, 1998

“We’re not taking these ones to the Ministry. They’re going to the Manor. Let them sort out what do do with ‘em.”

The snatcher who had hold of Harry was grinning like a kid in a candy store—he may not know exactly who he had just captured, but he clearly knew they were valuable. Hermione could see his excitement even behind his sallow skin and filthy hair, and she watched as his dirt-covered fingers clenched tightly around his wand before flicking it to quickly bind Harry and Ron together with Dean and Griphook.

But not Hermione.

Greyback had already placed his hand around her neck and crushed her into his filthy, foul-smelling form while he sniffed exaggeratedly up her neck and into her hair.

“I remember you, pretty.” She could hear the threat in his voice.

Hermione and Greyback had met once before, in the corridor outside of the astronomy tower on the night of Dumbledore’s death, and she was trying as hard as she could not to let her mind slip back into the memory of his hand squeezing her throat, lifting her off her feet and slamming her against the rough stone wall, of the threats he had whispered to her... She needed to think. She needed to plan.

They weren’t going to the Ministry. Good. The Ministry would certainly have the ability to determine who they were immediately.

They were taking them to “the Manor.” What Manor, she didn’t know, or at least, she hoped she didn’t know. There was a small voice in the back of her head that immediately flashed to an enormous, foreboding stone façade, hallways lined with dark velvet, a library out of her dreams, gardens with the most beautiful flowers she had ever seen, and a bedroom with soft gray walls and an enormous four poster bed where she had spent hours with the man she…

No.

She could not let that train of thought derail her.

If they were going to a Manor, any Manor, she needed to stay alert. There would certainly be Death Eaters inside, but it was unlikely to have the same level of warding as the Ministry or Hogwarts.

If she could figure out a way to get their wands back before the stinging jinx she had placed on Harry wore off, they would have a chance. And with Dean…and Griphook, Griphook who could perform more and different magics without a wand than any of the others…yes, yes they could do this.

She surveyed the snatchers around her. Nothing special, clearly not privy to the inner workings of Voldemort’s followers.

Except Greyback. Hermione knew that Greyback had more access than the rest. He was allowed to wear the mask and robes. He was the biggest obstacle.

As these thoughts ran at lightning speed through her brain, Greyback was continuing to smell her and murmur in her ear as the other snatchers prepared to apparate them out. She could see Ron looking at her with open terror on his face, so she tried to remain outwardly calm. They’d be dead immediately if he tried to do something rash.

Hermione attempted to take a step forward as the other snatchers forced Harry, Ron, Dean, and Griphook to stand and begin walking, but Greyback’s hand tightened around her throat, holding her back.

Gripping her forearm, he spun her around and she found herself staring directly into his eyes, yellow and black and filled with nothing but death.

“I always knew I’d find you again, pretty. We may have to take this little detour.” He threw his head toward the larger group. “But don’t forget, you belong to me .”

Quicker than she could react, Greyback slid one of his calloused, filthy hands below her shirt, and using a single sharp, pointed nail, sliced a deep cut across her entire chest, grating over her entire rib cage.

Hermione tried to stop herself, she tried to be strong, but the pain was too shocking. She felt momentarily that he had gutted her. She let out a muffled scream and doubled over, holding her arms around her waist against the pain as blood began to run down her stomach and seep into her jeans.

Ron and Harry began to struggle against their bonds, screaming for her, screaming for them to stop.

The snatchers just laughed as Greyback lifted his blood-soaked finger to his mouth and licked, a look of sinister satisfaction on his face.

Hermione was panting and trying to staunch the blood with her clothing as he grabbed her chin.

“Just as sweet as I thought you’d be, pretty. We’re going to have so much fun together.”

Hermione let out a sob as he ran his hand slowly down her face before crouching, grabbing her under her knees, and throwing her over his shoulder.

The pain from the movement made her scream.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

June 1, 2002

Hermione gasped as her eyes snapped open into the darkness, a pair of strong hands pinning her arms down.

She began to thrash and scream, or maybe she had been thrashing and screaming already. She tried to bring her hands up to cover the wound on her abdomen. She could still feel the blood dripping down her stomach, the overwhelming, burning pain of it. She needed help. She was going to die. She was going to die and leave Harry and Ron to fight on their own.

“Hermione! It’s me! It’s me, love. It’s Draco. You’re ok. You were dreaming. You’re safe. You’re safe. Breathe for me.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in.

Draco. Draco was there. It was Draco. Why was Draco there? Draco couldn’t be here. It must be a trick. Her heart was pounding and her breath was coming in short, quick pants. What was happening? What was happening? Where was she? She had to get her bearings and figure out her next move. Immediately.

Using all her mental strength, she calmed herself enough to look around and assess the situation.

It was then that the world started to come into focus. She wasn’t in that forest. She wasn’t in a cell. She was in bed. Was it her bed? In her bedroom? in her house? Or was it all an illusion?

The moonlight was casting a dim light across the room as her eyes darted around frantically. And above her, silver eyes. Silver eyes that immediately focused her, grounded her back to…some form of reality.

“Draco…where am I? What happened? How did I…How did you? Where are Harry and Ron? Are they safe?” Her voice was hoarse, urgent.

She saw fear flash in his eyes.

“Hermione, you’re at home. This is your bedroom. We’re in your bed. It’s 2002, the war is over. Voldemort is dead. Harry and Ron are fine. You’re safe. It was a dream. You were dreaming. You’re not hurt. I promise.”

Her brain felt sluggish, and it took a moment for his words to sink in.

She wasn’t bleeding. She wasn’t hurt. It was a dream. It was a dream. The war was over. It was a dream. Hermione released a shuddering breath.

Cautiously, Draco let go of her arms, bringing one hand up to rub soothing circles on her cheek and the other to rub her shoulder. Watching her expression, watching as the truth sunk in.

“It was just a dream.” She whispered it, needing to hear herself say it out loud.

He nodded carefully, clearly trying to make sure she was fully aware and not still stuck in a flashback.

“Yes, love. It’s ok. You’re ok.”

Tears pricked her eyes as she took another deep, unsteady breath. A wave of emotions crashed over her and she reared up, wrapping her arms around Draco’s shoulders and pulling him down to her, breathing in the smell of him, feeling the warm, solid planes of his body against her. He was real. This was real. She was ok.

He was only momentarily frozen before he rolled them onto their sides, snaking his arms around her and throwing his leg over her hip, squeezing her tightly and covering as much of her body as he could.

Somehow he knew, instinctually he knew, that this is what she needed.

It had been almost a year since Hermione had a nightmare like that—a flashback to the war.

For the first six months after the final battle, she hadn’t been able to sleep through the night. Every time she closed her eyes, her mind would play the worst moments from the war over and over on a loop. She had reverted to sleeping just four hours a night at most, using the rest of the night to sit on watch just as they had when they were on the run.

Just as the night terrors had started to fade, the death of her parents had reopened the door and added a whole new series of awful dreams to the roster.

But she had worked hard to move past them. And the flashbacks were few and far between now.

But this one…this one was so vivid. As vivid as they had been at the very beginning. She shuddered against Draco’s chest.

They stayed like that, locked in a crushing embrace, for several minutes, silent, holding each other while Hermione’s breath returned to normal.

Without loosening her grip, she whispered. “I’m sorry. That hasn’t happened in a long time…”

Draco somehow held her tighter, speaking in a soothing, deep tone as he rubbed her back. “You have nothing to be sorry for, love. Nothing.”

She burrowed her face further into his neck, and he took a slow, steadying breath.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She knew she needed to, no matter how much she didn’t want to bring this particular memory to his attention.

“It was a flashback. A memory.”

He pulled his head back slightly to look into her eyes, their faces almost nose to nose.

“From the war?”

With a deep breath, she nodded.

Draco was patient, he didn’t push her. He just continued to hold her, to make her feel safe, while Hermione found her words. Nestling into his chest, she began to speak.

“When we were captured, after we broke the taboo, the snatchers didn’t realize that Harry was there, but Greyback, Greyback recognized me. He had tried to…attack me that night sixth year.” Hermione flicked her eyes up to Draco’s. His eyes closed briefly against the memory, against his part in it, and Hermione hesitated before she went forward.

But, as Draco so often did, he didn’t let it stop her. Bringing one of his hands up to securely cradle her head, he quietly spoke. “Hermione, I’m never going to be able to forgive myself for that day. For any of it. Not fully. But that can’t stop you from talking to me about it. Not knowing is worse. And not being able to comfort you because you don’t want to remind me of my part in it isn’t an option. Protecting you, loving you, that is what matters most to me, ok?”

She brought her hand up to caress his cheek. It never stopped overwhelming her, just how much he loved her. How much she loved him in return. It felt unending, bigger than the universe, more powerful than any magic she could imagine.

“Ok.” She leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his lips before she continued.

“When they captured us, the snatchers tied Harry and Ron up quickly, but Greyback held on to me. He wanted to remind me that I belonged to him. To prove it, or just to hurt me I’m not sure, he used his fingernail to cut me…to slice me open, really. It was excruciating.” She leaned back in his hold and placed her hand over the place under her breasts that was still marred with the scar, running her finger along the length.

Draco looked stricken. “That’s why. That’s why you were covered in blood when they brought you in.”

Hermione nodded, remembering how Bellatrix had laughed when she saw Hermione’s blood-soaked clothing, how she joked that there couldn’t be any blood left in Hermione as she carved that word into her arm.

“I’m not sure if it made it better or worse—the torture. I was already in so much pain, I think I was in shock. I think it might actually have helped against the cruciatus, actually.”

She felt Draco shudder. “I thought you’d been stabbed. It was too much blood, I thought…I thought you were dying. I tried…when I went into your head, I tried to see what had happened, to see if I could perform any silent healing charms to help you, but I couldn’t…” His voice, filled with desperation, trailed off.

Hermione started to shake her head. “No, Draco. Don’t do that. We’ve already talked about this. About that day. And I’m here. I survived. It’s ok.”

She could feel how fast his heart was beating, could almost taste the fear in the air.

Moving slowly, Draco gently laid Hermione down on her back and propped himself up on an elbow, using his other hand to lightly glide down her arm and across her stomach, before catching the hem of the t-shirt—his t-shirt—that she had worn to bed. Looking down at her with somehow even more intensity, he lifted the shirt, exposing her stomach and eventually her rib cage, but stopping before he exposed her breasts, making it clear that his actions were not meant to be sexual in any way.

With her scar, now covered by her Medusa tattoo, revealed, Draco let go of the shirt and wrapped his large hand around the side of her ribs before leaning his head down and placing a soft kiss over the raised skin of her scar. Hermione took in a shuddering breath, her hand reaching up to grasp his hair as Draco moved to kiss the entire length of her scar. He had seen it before of course, but this moment, what he was doing, it was somehow more intimate than before. Reverent.

It took her breath away.

His lips still against her skin, Draco whispered. “You astound me, Hermione.”

A single tear escaped her eye as she looked down at him, at this man who owned her entire heart. Who made her feel whole.

Astounding was the right word for it.

Draco leaned his head against her stomach as Hermione moved her hands to draw patterns on his shoulders as they sat in comfortable silence for several more moments.

“I haven’t thought about that moment with him in a long time. I guess…working on the cure, all the talk of him returning…maybe it is getting to me more than I thought.”

The last words came out as a questioning whisper, as though Hermione wasn’t willing to speak them into being.

She felt Draco’s fingers tighten around her.

“Hermione, I can go to Tonks. You know she’d happily give you a 24-hour security detail. You shouldn’t have to suffer because of this…”

His words were pained, and it gave Hermione pause. For the first time since Tonks had brought it up originally, she actually thought about the offer. Really considered it. But after she worked it back through again, her answer was still the same.

“No. Not yet. I can handle it for now. This…tonight, it was just a fluke. I’m sorry if I scared you.” Draco leaned back on his side to face her, and she ran her hands up his chest soothingly.

He pulled back and looked intently into her eyes for a moment, assessing her answer. She watched the emotions flit across his face, and she could tell that he wanted to argue, he wanted her to take the protection, but seeing the determination in her face he huffed out a breath, shaking his head in defeat.

“Okay, love. Okay.”

She nodded before a yawn escaped her, exhaustion creeping in as she remembered it was the middle of the night.

Draco smiled indulgently and shifted her so her back was against his chest and his arms were securely locked around her.

He kissed her on the back of her neck. “Go back to sleep love, I’ve got you. I’ll protect you from the nightmares, I promise.”

Hermione brought her hands up to twine with his fingers around her chest before taking a slow, soothing breath and closing her eyes, the feeling of Draco’s soft breath reminding her that she was safe.

**

Luckily, the following few days were so busy that Hermione quickly forgot about her nightmare. She had been rushing around, making her way through to-do lists that seemed to only grow each day—while simultaneously attempting to hide her frenzy from Draco.

She’d managed to sneak off to meet with Narcissa, then Blaise, and had somehow wrangled the whole group together to remind them—with the threat of facing a very, very rude hex should they not comply—to keep their mouths shut and not give anything away.

And somehow she’d made it to June 5, Draco’s birthday, and she was relatively confident that he did not know what she had planned.

Even now, as she silently maneuvered around her kitchen as the sun had just begun to creep over the horizon, casting cooking and stasis spells over the extravagant breakfast she had insisted on making while Draco slept upstairs. With the charms set, Hermione leaned back against the counter, took a deep breath, and allowed herself a moment to think back over the last month.

Had it only been a month since she and Draco had officially gotten back together? Hermione shook her head, it felt so much longer. It certainly did not feel like their relationship was new, but more like they had just pressed pause on their lives all those years ago, and a month ago, they’d pressed play and picked up where they had left off.

It was that conviction that had led Hermione to decide on one of Draco’s birthday presents. Or, at least, she hoped he would think of it as a gift…

Over the last month, they had not only fallen back into each other’s arms, but their lives had slotted together like puzzle pieces. Effortlessly, their lives had combined.

They had spent all but two nights together—once because Draco had been out with Blaise and Theo and (wisely) realized it would not be safe for him to try and apparate or floo back as the world was already spinning around him, and another when Hermione had made a breakthrough on the delivery agent for the lycanthropy cure and had stayed in her lab all night to run tests.

They got drinks and had raucous, laughter-filled dinners with their combined group of friends at least twice a week. They always had brunch at the Manor with Narcissa on Saturdays. And every day they were able, Hermione would make her way to the DMLE and the two would have lunch together, either at a café near the Ministry or, if they were hungry for something other than food, inside Draco’s locked and silenced office.

Hermione smiled contentedly, her heart swelling as warmth spread through her chest. She was happy. So happy. Happier than she’d been in…ever. Happier than she’d ever been.

A bird call from the garden snapped her out of her reverie, and she looked around to realize that the sun had now fully risen and she had been lost in her thoughts for at least half an hour.

As quickly and quietly as she could, she made her way back upstairs and to her bedroom, creeping through the door, her eyes fixed on Draco’s form, watching his bare chest rise and fall rhythmically, his face still relaxed in sleep.

She admired him for a moment. The taut muscles across his chest and stomach, his strong, toned arms, and the beautiful art of his tattoos dancing across his skin. He was breathtaking. With a smile, Hermione crawled back into bed and nuzzled into his chest, Draco’s arm automatically snaking around her waist.

She lay like that for a while, breathing him in, as the anticipation for the day built in her veins. This was the first birthday, the first holiday of any kind, that they’d celebrated together since finding each other again and it felt to Hermione like the last piece of the puzzle falling into place.

Finally, the clock reached an appropriate time to wake, and Hermione smirked, biting her lip as she began step one of her plan.

Moving sensually against his skin, Hermione reached up and began placing warm, soft kisses to Draco’s neck, down to his shoulder, and across his chest. He moaned and rolled onto his back as she nipped at his skin before moving further down, kissing and licking across his stomach before moving lower, grazing his hip bones and nipping just above where his splash of platinum hair began to trail down.

She moved the sheets further off of his body, nipping the place where his leg met his torso, before snaking her hand inside his briefs and smiling when she met his already hard cock. Wrapping her hand around it, she began lazily stroking up and down, still kissing and licking across his abs and watching him closely. He’d continued to moan as she worked, but it wasn’t until she squeezed a bit tighter and gave a harder stroke against him that he gasped, his hips thrusting as his hands reached out to tangle in her hair.

Smiling, she lowered his briefs as he lifted his head to look down at her with a lazy, satisfied smile on his face.

She smirked. “Happy birthday, Draco.” And then lowered her head, licking all the way up the vein on the underside of his cock before taking it fully into her mouth.

“Fuck, Hermione!” His hands tightened in her hair as he threw his head back.

She hummed around him, causing him to take a sharp breath as she sunk back down, taking him in until he hit the back of her throat. She relaxed against the instinct to gag, increasing the suction and intensity of her movements while bringing her hand to the base to move in tandem with the ministrations of her mouth.

Draco’s hips were thrusting of their own accord as his moans grew more frantic.

“Gods you’re perfect…your mouth is going to kill me…Hermione…You’re going to make me come if you keep going, love. You…”

He reached his hand around to cup her cheek, clearly indicating that she could stop and he would fuck her instead. But this wasn’t about her. This was just for him, so she locked eyes with him and shook her head as much as she could while redoubling her efforts.

A thrill shot through her as she watched his eyes roll back in his head.

After a few more moans and whispers of praise, Draco’s hand tightened around the side of her head.

“Fuck, love. I’m so close. Look at me, Hermione. I want you to look at me as I come down that pretty throat.”

Hermione couldn’t help the moan that escaped her as she flicked her eyes up, or the way she rubbed her thighs together, want coursing through her and making her throb.

Panting, he tugged on her hair. “Good girl, love. Fuck you’re so good.”

She moaned again while keeping her eyes fixed on Draco’s as she watched him fall apart. Two more pumps was all it took until he let out a strangled “Hermione,” as his release shot down her throat and she greedily swallowed everything he gave her.

She kept going until he was fully spent, licking her way back up his shaft to make sure she didn’t miss a single drop. When she finally released him and began kissing back up his chest, she giggled at how utterly wrecked he looked, his arms limp at his sides, eyes closed as his chest rose and fell rapidly.

Settling against his chest, she leaned up to kiss him on the cheek while rubbing soothing patterns across his shoulders.

“Happy birthday, Draco.”

His lips curved into a smile as he turned his head and cracked open just one eye.

“Best birthday I’ve ever had—but I think you’ve killed me, love.”

Hermione snorted, smiling into his chest as he shakily reached one arm to wrap around her.

“You can’t die yet; I’ve got far more planned for today…”

Draco hummed. “Is that so? Because that gift is really all I needed.”

“Oh, is that so? Ok, I’ll just go and make a few calls to cancel everything else.” There was a smile in her voice as she began to sit up as if to leave the room, before squealing when Draco’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her down onto her back while simultaneously flipping himself on top of her.

There was mischief in his eyes as he looked down at her, now playfully holding her wrists above her head. “Now now, don’t get cute, Granger. I’m both a Slytherin and a deeply spoiled heir, I am never going to turn down gifts.” He bent down, crushing his lips to hers in a searing kiss that caused Hermione’s mind to blank entirely.

When he pulled back she tried to follow him, reaching with her head to capture his lips again, but he just laughed before placing a final, chaste kiss to her lips and rolling off of her.

“Now, do I get my gifts now, or must I find it in myself to wait until a designated time?”

Hermione’s heart began to beat frantically against her ribs as she bit her lip in contemplation. This was the moment, and in order for her plan to work she had to give him this gift now. And although she was nearly certain he would be happy about it, she couldn’t help but have a tiny niggling sense of doubt scratching at the back of her mind.

Draco noticed her change in attitude and reached out, his hand caressing her face before tugging on the lower lip turning white under her teeth.

“Hey, none of that. I’m just joking, sweetheart. This, right here,” he ran his hand down her side before squeezing her hip, “this is all I want. To be here with you, naked in your bed. It’s more than I could ever ask for.”

His eyes were soft as she looked into them, feeling the love radiate off of him. It gave her the strength she needed.

Reaching behind her to grab her wand off of the bedside table, she quickly accio’d the gift from where she had hidden it on the top shelf of her closet.

The tiny box, hardly big enough to contain anything at all, landed in her hand. Draco sat up against the headboard, and without a word, she handed it to him.

He looked between her and the box curiously, before gently removing the lid. Hermione watched as his brows furrowed before he reached inside and pulled out the small metal object.

“Your key?”

She nodded. In his hand, Draco held her house key. The key she had used for years to come in and out of this house. The key that always sat in a dish next to her bed.

She took a steadying breath.

“I don’t want this to be my bed, Draco. I want it to be ours . I want…I want us to live together—officially. We’re basically doing it already, but I don’t want keep doing it half way. I don’t want us to have to go back and forth to get clothes even though we spend every night together. And I know it seems fast, but, fuck it, it’s not, right? It’s us. I’ve known this is what I wanted since we were fourteen. So, it’s not fast. It’s slow, really. Too slow. And I just love you so much that I never want to be away from you. So, that’s it. That’s the gift.”

Hermione finally paused, realizing she hadn’t taken a breath since she started talking. Cautiously, she looked up at Draco, who was still holding the key in front of himself, his eyes darting between it and Hermione, intensity written across his face.

His eyes finally locked on hers. “You…you want me to live here?” His words came out in a whisper and fear shot through Hermione.

“It doesn’t have to be here! We could move into your flat. Or we could find someplace new. I just…I want it to be ours, Draco.”

She kept her eyes on him as his expression turned from one of shock to awe. He wrapped his hand around the key as if it were precious, a single tear tracking down his cheek.

Hermione held her breath.

“Yes.”

His word was so quiet she wasn’t sure if he’d actually said it.

“Y-yes?”

His eyes snapped up, locking with hers, as he threaded their fingers together and brought her hand to his mouth to kiss.

“Yes, Hermione. Of course, I want us to live together. And of course, we should live here! I love this place. I love everything about it. This is…I’m just…I don’t know what to say. This is the most incredible gift I’ve ever been given.”

Relief washed over her and she smiled, placing her other hand atop the one still clutching the key.

“Hey, you can’t be the only one making grand romantic gestures, can you? I want in on that as well.”

His face cracked into a smile as he shook his head indulgently and leaned in, kissing her senseless.

Somehow, he ended up on top of her again, her legs wrapped around his hips. Draco pulled back, panting.

“Do we have to be somewhere soon?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, not until lunch.”

A devious smile spread across his face. “Good, because I think I know how I’d like to spend the next few hours of my birthday. Hearing you scream my name while I fuck you on our bed.”

Warmth filled her as a wide smile broke across her face. She laughed against his lips and Draco leaned back in to kiss her again.

An hour later, they did make it downstairs to eat the veritable feast that Hermione had prepared, but soon enough Draco windlessly removed the food, replacing Hermione on the kitchen table, and feasting on her instead.

**

By the time they finally stumbled through the floo to have lunch with Narcissa, they were both still punch drunk and giggling, eliciting a raised brow and knowing smirk from the elegant woman as they greeted her in the parlor.

“Happy birthday, my dragon.” She came forward and enveloped Draco in a hug while Hermione stood back and watched the pair.

Stepping back, Narcissa looked knowingly at Hermione before turning back to Draco. “I take it your first gift of the day was gratefully received?”

Draco turned to Hermione, who simply shrugged. She had indeed told Narcissa she planned to ask Draco to move in, a conversation that had ended with her surrogate mother hugging her tightly and whispering how much she looked forward to planning their wedding. Hermione had just blushed without responding.

The three enjoyed a joyful lunch together, with Pip bringing out tray after tray of Draco’s favorite foods as Narcissa showered him with more gifts—most of which were shockingly expensive new robes, a dragonhide work satchel, and the most expensive quills Hermione had ever seen.

The affair ended with Pip himself wheeling out an enormous snitch-shaped cake with a long, narrow box hanging above it. Hermione and Narcissa smiled at each other while Draco tore through the wrappings only for his jaw to drop when he saw the brand new, state-of-the-art Limited-Edition Firebolt Diamond displayed inside. Draco stared at them, completely speechless, as the two witches congratulated each other on managing to overcome their utter lack of Quidditch knowledge in order to purchase what Draco began chanting was the “fastest, highest caliber, most exclusive racing broom ever created.”

Hermione had visions of a young teenage Draco as she watched him jump from the table and nearly sprint into the gardens to take the broom for a spin as Narcissa linked arms with Hermione to watch.

The women had gone through three pots of tea before Draco finally landed again, rushing toward Hermione and lifting her bodily from her chair to spin her around and kiss her soundly, clearly still high on the endorphins from his flight.

They spent the rest of the afternoon with Narcissa, before Hermione finally corralled Draco through the floo, telling him they had dinner reservations at a brand-new French restaurant in Diagon Alley and couldn’t be late.

When they stepped through the floo to a chorus of “Surprise!” as Pansy, Luna, Blaise, Padma, Theo, and George all whooped—and George set off a few of the newest Weasley Wizard Wheezes indoor fireworks—Draco turned to her, a look of genuine surprise and happiness on his face.

A Cheshire cat smile spread across Hermione’s face. “I told you, it’s a brand new restaurant! Blaise just happens to own it.”

Draco leaned in, framing her face between his hands. “It’s like I’ve always said, Granger. You were meant to be a Slytherin. You are the most devious witch I’ve ever met.”

Hermione leaned her face into his hands. “You love me for it, don’t deny it.”

Draco kissed her and then whispered in her ear, “I have never loved anything or anyone as much as I love you. The broom comes close, but you’ve still kept the top spot.”

She blushed as their friends all crowded forward to pass Draco drinks, gifts, and bombard him with birthday hugs.

For the next few hours, the group drank, ate delicious French food that Blaise was deeply proud of having sourced from the best organic wizarding farms in the South of France, and laughed while the Slytherins reminisced about their favorite stories from Draco’s youth—including several of his less-than-believable excuses to his housemates when he turned up to the dorms at 7am after being absent for the entire night.

The whole scene filled Hermione’s heart. She spent the night vacillating between participating fully in the conversations and sitting back, taking in the tableau of Draco laughing and at ease, enjoying his birthday and routinely leaning in to kiss her and tell her how much he loved her.

It was better than she could have imagined. It was perfect.

When the group finally shoved Draco and Hermione back through the floo just before midnight, arms laden with even more gifts for Draco—including several texts and guides to proper usage of his new broom provided by Blaise and Theo, who had advised Hermione and Narcissa about the purchase—Hermione’s heart felt full to bursting.

The second they stepped into the living room—their living room—Draco unceremoniously dropped the gifts he held and pulled Hermione to his chest, forcing her, too, to let go of the gifts in her hands in order to wrap her arms around his neck, steadying herself as he captured her lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue tracing her lips before she opened her mouth, allowing their tongues to caress each other as she melted further into him. Draco began to walk the pair backward toward the stairs, until he bumped into an object that had not been in this path of the living room when they left.

He pulled his mouth away, whipping his head around. Clearly, his Auror senses had kicked in, as he took in the space looking for an intruder. Hermione just giggled behind him as he stepped back to observe the room for the first time.

The plush, warm leather chairs that had sat in the living space of Draco’s flat now joined Hermione’s couch, several paintings that had been on his walls were now hung throughout the living and dining rooms, and as Draco slowly turned, Hermione watched as he saw pictures of them, pictures taken when they were at Hogwarts as well as a few they had taken in the last month, now framed and displayed on the fireplace mantle and throughout the house.

Finally, he turned his eyes toward Hermione. “Wha—How?”

Smug that she had managed to complete every step of her plan without being found out, she shrugged. “Blaise, Theo, and George moved everything while we were at the Manor. I don’t want you to think that you are just moving into my house. This is our house now, Draco. Yours and mine, together.”

Draco gave her a secret smile, stepping close to grab her by the hips and drag her to him. “Devious, devious witch…”

“You may be right…I did have ulterior motives.”

Draco stepped in, running his nose up the side of her face and to her temple, brushing a kiss against her. “Is that so? And what exactly were those ulterior motives?”

Hermione ran her hands slowly up Draco’s arms until the rested on his shoulders. “I’m selfish, you see. Once you said yes, I didn’t want to spend a single day longer before you were here, with me, permanently. Pansy already expanded the closet again and organized all of your clothes in there…”

“Hmmm. Very practical of you.” Draco ran his hands up her back until they snagged on the zipper of her dress. Slowly, so slowly, he pulled the tab, unzipping the dress until it fell open and cascaded down her body into a pool on the floor, revealing the matching set of emerald green lace bra and thong she had put on that morning.

“Merlin, Hermione. You really are going to be the death of me...”

His hand dropped down her stomach, his fingers leaving fire in their wake, until they grazed over her core, pushing the scrap of fabric aside and landing at her entrance, spreading her wetness around before pushing two fingers inside.

Hermione gasped and grabbed handfuls of Draco’s jacket to hold herself up while pleasure coursed through her body.

“What do you say we break in this new house of ours, love?” He punctuated his question with a tantalizing curl of his fingers, pressing directly against the spot on her front wall that made her eyes cross in ecstasy.

“Gods yes, please Draco.”

With a smirk, he leaned in. “Let’s get started…”

**

The next three weeks passed in a blur.

As Hermione had hoped, the adjustment to living with Draco had gone smoothly, their routines both shifting to accommodate the other.

Well, mostly smoothly.

There had been a debate in week one over the proper way to organize the spice drawer—alphabetically, as Hermione preferred, or by type and usage, as only a heathen would choose—that had now turned into a silent battle of wills, with each of them reorganizing it whenever they cooked, only for the other to switch it back the following day. And Draco had been appalled by the state of Hermione’s tea service, all but refusing to use it until she relented and allowed him to cart an antique set over from the Manor that she was sure cost more than her entire house.

But otherwise, it had been blissful.

Hermione only wished she’d had more time to spend basking in their newly shared space, but she’d made a discovery in her research ten days ago that upended those plans.

Hermione had been in her office in the DoM, attempting to reorganize the teetering towers of reference materials that occupied every corner of the room, when she happened upon the 17 th century journal that Freya, the DoM records keeper, had dropped off weeks earlier.

Hermione had carefully opened the leather-bound book and begun reading. It was written by Bartholomew Edgecombe, a well-known inventor and potioneer at the time.

He had been investigating a cure for Black Cat Flu, which was spreading rampantly through England at the time and had claimed many lives, when he theorized that microscopic doses of werewolf venom could be used in a potion to kill the virus. Werewolves had no legal protections at the time, which meant that no one was open about their status and most wolves lived off the grid in forests dotted around the country.

Edgecombe was able to identify the location of a small pack of wolves in Cornwall, and made the decision to attempt to infiltrate their den during the full moon, tranquilize one, and collect a venom sample.

Predictably, it had not gone as planned, and Edgecombe had been bitten.

To spare his family the persecution, he had immediately gone into a self-imposed exile and, Hermione guessed as a way of occupying his mind to avoid the devastation of losing the ones he loved, had thrown himself entirely into work to find a cure.

He’d gone about it the opposite way as Hermione, attempting first to identify the combination of ingredients that could counteract the virus itself before working out how to deliver the cure into the body safely and effectively.

But as she continued to read, Hermione’s heart started to pound, adrenaline racing through her veins. Edgecombe had worked through hundreds of different potion ingredients, testing all of them on himself to determine their usefulness. He spent several months refining a brew that had essentially been the prototype for what would eventually become the wolfsbane potion, and it was for that reason that his journal had been preserved by the DoM.

But that wasn’t what had Hermione’s mind spinning like a top. In just the last ten pages of the journal, Edgecombe began discussing a breakthrough toward creating an actual cure. He theorized that since the transformative aspects of lycanthropy were triggered by the full moon, that those plants and animals that only appeared during the new moon—or possibly during a full lunar eclipse—may hold the key to breaking the grip the virus held on those infected.

Hermione’s palms were sweaty by the time she turned the final page of the journal. Edgecombe had been about to list out all of the potential ingredient candidates and the status of their testing, but instead of finding any names, all that appeared on the last page of the journal was a single scratched line of ink.

Hermione became frantic, looking up from her spot on the floor of her office as though there would be something floating above her that would reveal the missing pages.

Seeing nothing, she shot up, blood rushing into her legs and feet as she realized she had been sitting motionless on the ground for several hours reading, and dashed from her office and down the hall to the records room.

“Freya!” She was out of breath when she finally reached the older witch’s desk, always perfectly tidy and organized.

The graying woman looked up, taken aback by the intrusion and Hermione’s general appearance.

“Yes, Miss Granger?” She delicately placed her hands atop her desk.

Hermione held up the journal. “You dropped this off for me a few weeks ago?”

Freya’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. And it was due back the following week. You are not allowed to hoard reference materials, Miss Granger, I believe we have had this conversation before.”

Hermione quickly nodded her head, for once entirely uninterested in violating the rules of a library. “Yes, yes, my apologies. And I didn’t mean to rush in here so abruptly, but I need to know immediately if we have any other writings by this author? Or if we have any records of his family and if they may have any of his other papers?”

Freya’s sharp eyes narrowed for a moment, before she raised her wand, flicking it backwards lazily toward the unending stacks protected and monitored by the eagle-eyed woman. Hermione had a theory that Freya herself was an experiment by the DoM, and that somehow all of the knowledge contained within these shelves had all been implanted directly into her brain.

A moment later a single piece of parchment appeared and Hermione eagerly stepped forward.

Freya scanned it quickly, her mouth pinching as she read.

“I’m afraid not, Miss Granger. It appears that the life of Mr. Edgecombe ended quite tragically, before he was able to finish the research contained in that journal. He had been living in a charmed dwelling deep in the Forest of Dean when he was happened upon by a group of magical hunters. The Ministry had a policy of, forgive me, executing werewolves at the time and when the hunters realized what they had found, they killed the poor man and burned the entire area where he had been living. The only item to survive the attack is that journal. The hunters took it to the Ministry as proof so they could collect their bounty, you see.”

Hermione’s stomach rolled. The brutality of the story hit her like a bludger. This man, a man who had dedicated his life to helping wizardkind, who had done nothing wrong and was on the brink of an enormous discovery, had been murdered simply for being a werewolf. Hermione’s knees felt weak.

“Miss Granger, are you alright?” Freya stood from behind her desk and quickly conjured a chair for Hermione, who fell into it heavily, her mind racing.

Hermione sat there silently, attempting to organize her thoughts, until Freya waved a hand in front of her face sometime later, alerting her that it was time to go home.

Hermione had stepped out of the floo and immediately begun pacing the length of the living room, still clutching the journal. She retold the story to Draco at breakneck speed—so fast that when she finished and finally looked up at him, she wasn’t sure if her words had even been coherent—before rushing into her office to send off a series of urgent letters.

She’d written to Neville, who was leading a team of Herbology researchers at St. Andrews, to explain what she was looking into and to ask if he could help her identify plants that only appeared during the new moon or an eclipse. He’d written back, enthusiastically agreeing to help and setting one of his graduate students the task of identifying the plants and sending samples of all of them to Hermione’s lab.

She’d then written to both Hagrid and Rolfe Scamander to inquire about the animal species, hoping that one or both would be able to provide her with a comprehensive list.

And thus began many days and nights of research, several of which ended with Draco prying a book from her hands and scooping her up from the floor of her home lab, reminding her that she was “no use to the magical world if you pass out from exhaustion mid-apparaition and end up splinched.”

But now she stood in her lab, examining the array of ingredients that had been sent by Athena, one of Neville’s students. There were over two hundred, and Hermione was silently calculating exactly how she would build a testing plan to go through them systematically.

She stepped forward, gently picking up a vial containing black striped moonthistle, a plant Hermione had never come across in any of her previous research. She had just brought the vial up to the light to examine when she felt it.

The floor of her lab shook.

Glass tinkled across the room as vials and instruments on tables and shelves clinked together.

Hermione only had a second to feel her stomach drop, to realize that something was wrong, before a massive BOOM sounded from the far end of the building, shaking the lab so violently that she was thrown from her feet. The magical lights on the floor immediately flashed to red—someone had just blown straight through the wards.

Hermione jumped up and pulled out her wand, immediately focused and ready thanks to the instincts she had honed during the war.

Greyback , she thought. It must be him. Tonks was right.

Greyback or not, Hermione calculated that whoever had just ripped open the protections on the lab would arrive to her floor in thirty seconds at most, so she had a decision to make.

There was one emergency beacon in the lab, but it was all the way back in her office, which would take her at least fifteen seconds to reach. The Aurors would arrive within a few minutes once they were called, but it would likely give the attackers time to attack Embry and Callum, the two lab assistants with her today, and potentially destroy the research.

The answer was clear. She wouldn’t risk anyone else’s life—or the lives of thousands of werewolves who could be saved by her work. There were sweeps of her wards by Aurors every fifteen minutes, so no matter what, they’d be alerted to the break in and would be apparating in soon.

Mind made up, Hermione quickly swiped her wand through the air and watched as hundreds of vials, papers, and other materials levitated and shot immediately into a waiting, magically extended bag. Hermione was nothing if not paranoid about her work, and so to prepare for just such an occurrence, Hermione had magically tagged everything in the lab relating to the cure, so they could all be swept up and hidden immediately if needed.

It had been at most five seconds since the explosion, and just as the last vial landed in the charmed bag, Embry and Callum ran to the door, eyes wide in fear.

Hermione grabbed the bag and shoved it roughly into Embry’s chest.

“Both of you get into the clean room and lock it right now. It’s impenetrable from the outside, you’ll be safe in there. Do not come out until Auror Malfoy arrives. When he does, ask him where he was on December 26, 1995. The answer is Chamonix. If he answers incorrectly, do not open the door. Do you understand?”

The two young men looked terrified. Hermione realized in that moment that they had both been too young to be involved in the war, and had likely never experienced anything like this.

“It’s going to be ok. The Aurors will be here soon. We’re all going to be fine. Just go, ok? Stay safe. Chamonix. Remember Chamonix.”

Nodding shakily, the two turned and ran, and seconds later Hermione heard the locks on the clean room door activate, calming her nerves.

Embry and Callum were safe. The research was safe. Now Hermione just needed to hold her own for a few minutes until the DMLE descended on the place.

Steadying herself, Hermione took up a position in the middle of the lab, facing the door. Wand out and curses on the tip of her tongue.

She was remarkably calm, having slipped easily back into the clarity that battles, that war, brought in their wake. She could feel the muscle memory readying her to move, to dodge, and to cast.

As she heard heavy footfalls make their way out of the stairwell and down the hallway toward the door, she counted down.

Five.

There were at least four of them. Two still advancing and two now ransacking the outer office areas.

Four.

They were talking to each other in gruff, low tones. Men. They were all men.

Three.

One yelled her name. They were looking for her. Definitely Greyback’s men.

Two.

They walked right past the clean room door. Embry and Callum were safe.

One.

Two large figures, both wearing Cambridge maintenance coveralls and heavy, probably steel-toed boots, stepped into the doorway, wands drawn.

Hermione was just able to catch their sallow skin and mangy, unkempt hair before she cast a silent reducto and dove behind one of the large tables covered in lab equipment.

Both men yelled as they were thrown back into the hallway.

Recovering themselves, one called down the hallway. “Oi! Get over here! Looks like we found the bitch.”

Hermione bristled.

“Come out, come out, little girl. We ain’t gonna hurt yeh…Our Alpha might, though. He wanted us to give you a message: He hopes you still taste as sweet as you did the last time he had you.”

A shiver ran down Hermione’s spine and she tightened her grip on her wand.

Quickly casting a spell to make it sound as if her voice was coming from the opposite side of the room, she responded. “Is that so? Lucky for me, I’ll never have to smell his stench again.”

The attackers had all begun flanking the left side of the room, trying to box in the place where they thought Hermione was hiding. As they came into view, Hermione pounced.

Jumping up behind them, she cast an incarcerus on the one closest to her, watching as he fell while rough rope bindings tightened around him. Before the others could react she sent a peterificus totalus to the one she believed had shared Greyback’s message with her. He fell backward, catching his head on the edge of a lab table before he hit the ground, blood pooling around him.

The two fighters left began shooting curse after curse her way. She was parrying or shielding against them all, returning fire as glass shattered on the shelves around her, tables splintered in half, and debris rained down on all of them.

She had finally managed to hit the third attacker with a stunner straight in the forehead, watching as he too fell, when the burning pain hit her wand arm.

She’d been too focused on him, and had given the final man an opening. And he’d taken it.

The world seemed to slow to a crawl around her as she watched her wand fall from her injured hand. As she saw a triumphant sneer spread across her opponent’s face. And as he raised his wand once again before Hermione was able to dodge.

She could tell what was coming before he’d even said the word. Her analytical brain was too fast for her own good—and while it served her well most days, she had needed her body to match it today, and it had failed.

Within a millisecond, her muscles braced for the impact, and when the red light of the cruciatus curse hit her chest, her brain tried as hard as it could to think clearly as her body crumpled to the ground.

But the pain.

She had not remembered just how bad it was.

Electricity was burning through her whole body, causing her limbs to flail and twitch of their own accord. But that wasn’t all. There was also the excruciating stabbing, the sense that her bones were being crushed, reformed, and crushed again, that paralyzed her. That was the sinister perfection of the unforgivable curse.

While she still could, Hermione tried to grab hold of her sanity, holding as tightly as she could to her mind. She knew that the Aurors would be here soon. She just had to endure it until they arrived…

But could she?

Hermione had already lost track of how long she had been held under the curse. Each second felt like a lifetime. Had it been a minute or an hour? She knew she was screaming, screaming just as she had when Bellatrix had held her at wand point all those years ago.

She was trying so hard. Trying to focus. Trying to remember who she was. Where she was.

But even Hermione Granger had her limits. It didn’t matter that she was the Brightest Witch of Her Age. She still had a breaking point, and as her attacker held steady, Hermione Granger hit hers. Her mind started to fracture, the wisps of her consciousness floating away like smoke.

All of the sudden, she wasn’t on the floor of her lab. She wasn’t 22. She wasn’t a healer.

She could feel the cold stones of the Drawing Room floor beneath her cheek.

She could hear Bellatrix cackling over her own screams.

She’d been captured. She’d failed Harry. She was going to die.

And she wanted to. She couldn’t take it anymore. She wanted to be swallowed by the darkness. She wanted to be nothing. She wanted it to end.

She knew that Draco and Narcissa were in the room and she was going to die in front of them. But Draco, Draco had been in her head. She could still feel him in there. She tried to focus her mind to share a message.

I’m so sorry, Draco. I’m sorry I couldn’t be stronger.

Please, please don’t tell them that it’s Ron and Harry.

I’m so sorry, Draco. I’m sorry I couldn’t be stronger.

Please, please don’t tell them that it’s Ron and Harry.

I’m so sorry, please don’t tell them.

I’m so sorry, please don’t tell them.

The pain was fading now. This was it. This was the end.

I’m so sorry, please don’t tell them.

She felt warm hands on her. She thought she could hear Draco’s voice but it felt so far away.

“Hermione! Stay awake! You have to stay awake. You’re going to be ok.” She couldn’t understand his words.

He sounded scared. Frantic.

I’m sorry, please don’t tell them.

I’m sorry, please don’t tell them.

I’m sorry.

Far away, so far away, she heard his voice again. It was desperate. “She thinks it’s 1998.”

The feeling of his hands on her suddenly faded, and she had nothing left to hold on to.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m…

The world went black.

Chapter End Notes

Sorry sorry sorry sorry! I knowwwwww that I’m being mean leaving you on a cliffhanger, but we just HAD to! We’ll get the rest of the story next week when our blond lover takes the stage.

Now, am I sorry that I misdirected you by titling this chapter after a militantly upbeat song? Nope! What can I say, the double entendre just really worked.

And I know we’ve been over this before, but I will remind you once again that this fic is tagged HEA. There will be no main character deaths here, I swear on every god-tier Dramione fic ever written.

As I’m writing this, this fic is four away from hitting 1,000 kudos, and I am absolutely, completely, entirely speechless. You are the loveliest, kindest, bestest readers there are.

Love you love you love you.

Xoxo,

Flames

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS:

Flashback:

The moments immediately after the trio was captured after breaking the taboo. Harry and Ron are tied up, but Greyback is there and he grabs Hermione, who he remembered from an encounter they’d had on the night that Dumbledore died. He threatens her, and in order to make the point that he is in control of her life, he injures her, leaving her with the scar across her chest that is now covered by her Medusa tattoo.

Present:

Hermione wakes up from a dream of the same flashback. She tells Draco and he comforts her, and she wonders aloud if all of the talk about Greyback returning is bringing up these memories. Draco asks if Hermione wants him to talk to Tonks about getting her additional security, but Hermione continues to refuse.

Several days later, it’s Draco’s birthday. Hermione wakes him up and smutty celebrations begin. Afterward, Hermione gives Draco his first gift: a key to the house and an offer to move in together. He enthusiastically agrees, and they spend the rest of their day celebrating with Narcissa and then their friends.

Time jumps three weeks, and Draco and Hermione are happily settling in to living together—but Hermione makes a breakthrough on the cure after she reads the journal of a werewolf in the 17th century who believed that plants and animals that only appear during the new moon or an eclipse may be able to counteract the lycanthropy virus. She reaches out to Neville, who leads a team of Herbology researches, asking for the plants, and he sends them to her.

While cataloguing them in her lab, an explosion sounds, and a group of Greyback’s men break in. Hermione is able to hide all of the research for the cure, but in doing so is forced to face the four attackers on her own until the DMLE arrives. She succeeds in stunning three of the four, but the fourth is able to corner her and torture her with the cruciatus. Hermione tries to hold on to her mind, to remember where she is, but after a while she fades into her memories and believes she is back in 1998, being tortured by Bellatrix in Malfoy Manor. She thinks she hears Draco’s voice telling her to hold on, but she is too far gone, and cannot stop herself from fading into unconsciousness.

Soon You'll Get Better

Chapter Notes

Aaaaaand we're back!

We're in Draco's POV this week and though I hope it will be obvious, this chapter (after the flashback) starts just a little bit before the previous chapter ends, so there is some overlap.

TW: some graphic descriptions of violence in the first 1/3 of the chapter

See the end of the chapter for more notes

March 1998

Please let this be a nightmare. No. Please let me be dead. Let this be the torment I’m meant to endure in hell.

Draco was begging in his mind, over and over again. Anything that would mean the scene in front of him was not actually taking place.

Because if it was, then Draco’s worst nightmare was coming true.

He had been holed up in his room, crouched in a dark corner of his closet and occluding to the point of near unconsciousness, when he had heard his mother’s voice call for him. He stumbled down the stairs, not caring that he had not showered or shaved in at least three days, and that the suit he was wearing was beyond rumpled and dirty.

This wasn’t the normal time he was usually called down for his daily torture, but he kept occluding anyway in preparation.

But even through the fog in his mind, he still noticed the horror on his mother’s face as she waited for him at the bottom of the stairs. Something was wrong. Something was even more wrong than usual.

As Draco reached the landing, Narcissa snapped her arm out, her fingers wrapping like a vice around his forearm, nails biting into his skin. The intensity in her gaze convinced him to pull back on the occlusion.

He could just see his father, Bellatrix, and what appeared to be a few filthy snatchers beyond the open doors into the Drawing Room.

Draco opened his mouth to ask what was wrong—but closed it again when his mother’s face set in a hard line and she gave the smallest shake of her head.

“Draco, my dragon, Bellatrix and your father have requested your assistance. Fenrir has captured several young people who dared to use the Dark Lord’s name, and he…he and your aunt, believe it may be Harry Potter and his two companions.”

Draco’s stomach dropped through the floor. His face must have betrayed his fear, because Narcissa squeezed his arm again and moved slightly, fully blocking anyone in the Drawing Room from seeing him.

“Listen to me, Draco. We need you to take a look at them, and positively identify if they are indeed Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and H-Hermione Granger. If we have captured them, the Dark Lord will be called. So, we must be absolutely sure. We cannot call the Dark Lord without definitive proof. Do you understand?”

Draco couldn’t breathe. He didn’t think he would be able to move. He simply stared back at her, unblinking.

Narcissa brought her other hand up to touch his cheek. “Don’t be afraid, my love. You will simply look them over and tell us yes or no. Can you be strong for me, for the people you love?”

Her last words were barely above a whisper, and her meaning was clear. Draco was about to have the opportunity to save Hermione’s life, he could not muck it up because of an inability to control his emotions.

Taking a deep breath and schooling his features into as much confident nonchalance as possible, Draco reached out, squeezed his mother’s arm, and nodded.

“Yes mother. I understand.”

Draco tried to steel himself. Occluding as much as he could without Lucius or Bellatrix noticing before taking a deep breath and walking into the room.

The slap of his shoes against the stone floor seemed to reverberate through his entire body.

He stepped inside, scanning the scene. His father, Bellatrix, and Greyback were all standing in front of the captives, and Bellatrix seemed even more crazed than normal. She was talking to herself about a vault, a sword, thieves…

His eyes finally landed on the shackled group.

Draco spotted Ron Weasley first, his ginger hair unmistakable.

He recognized Dean Thomas next to him, as well as a goblin he had seen several times when visiting Gringotts. Griphook?

And between them was Harry Potter. He’d clearly taken a stinging jinx to the face, but Draco would still have been able to spot him anywhere, plain as day.

“Draco, Draco! This is our chance, son. Look, look at them. It’s Harry Potter? Isn’t it? Isn’t it Draco? We must call the Dark Lord!”

Pathetic, his father sounded pathetic. So desperate to regain his favor with the noseless monster.

But Draco would not help him do it.

Affecting a sneer, he pretended to appraise the group. “I don’t believe so, father. That one doesn’t look a thing like him. Potter wears glasses, and generally does not have the countenance of a bullfrog.”

Bellatrix rushed over. “He is in disguise, Draco! Of course, these little thieves would try to trick us! Look at the others! That is a Weasley!”

Draco flicked his eyes to Ron, who stared back at him with a look of unbridled hatred.

Draco simply dismissed him. The idiot better pull it together and not damn them all. “I don’t recognize the others. They may be Hogwarts students, but I never paid much mind to those of such little importance.”

Lucius’ face fell. “Are…are you certain, Draco?”

He locked eyes with his father, attempting to keep the disdain from his face. “Yes, I’m quite certain.”

Bellatrix grabbed his arm and began dragging him forward. “What about this one, nephew! Look at her! It’s Potter’s mudblood! I’m sure of it!”

They rounded Potter and Weasley’s group and Draco was forced to use every single ounce of his will to stop himself from screaming. Crumpled on the floor, soaked in blood and panting, was Hermione. His Hermione.

Their eyes met, Draco saw the fear, pain, and desperation rolling off of the person he loved more than anything in the world. The person he had convinced himself he would never see again.

His vision tunneled, and he was only vaguely aware that Narcissa had grabbed his elbow to steady him.

But in an instant, Hermione’s eyes cleared. She looked at him with fierce determination, even while she was huddled on the ground, surrounded by people who wanted her dead.

She was fighting. She wanted him to know she was fighting. Draco had to fight too.

Keeping his eyes trained on her, he spoke. “That’s not Hermione Granger. I’d recognize the insufferable mudblood,” he nearly choked on the word, “anywhere, and whatever that is, it’s not her. Haven’t a clue who she is. Could just be a muggle the others picked up, you know how blood traitors like to sully themselves. Besides, looks like she’s half dead already.”

Draco tried to sneer while in actuality desperately scanning up and down Hermione’s body, trying to determine how and where she was injured. If there was something he could do without the others noticing…

He was so intent on Hermione that he didn’t hear Bellatrix call for the others to be taken to the dungeons. Everyone else in the room had faded away until Draco was being forcibly thrown back with magic while Bellatrix stalked toward Hermione.

Narcissa had to silently cast an immobilizing spell on him as Bellatrix kneeled down and screamed accusations at Hermione about breaking in to her vaults before pulling out a knife and slicing it against Hermione’s skin.

Hermione’s face twisted in pain. She grunted and released harsh breaths, clearly trying to stop herself from screaming.

Tears gathered in his eyes. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t watch this. He had to stop her, he had to do something.

The chaos that Bellatrix was causing gave his mother an opportunity, and she slid behind Draco, speaking directly into his ear. “Be strong, dragon. She will survive this, and you will help her. Wait for your moment.”

Against all of the instincts telling him to kill Bellatrix, to throw himself in front of Hermione, to burn the whole fucking house to the ground, Draco waited.

And then his moment came. He saw the shift in Bellatrix’s eyes. He’d seen it too many times before. She raised her wand and cast the unforgivable curse at the same moment her eyes dilated and she used her skills as a legillemens to enter Hermione’s mind.

Draco followed her in and, using every ounce of strength he had, built walls in Hermione’s mind to keep Bellatrix out. He worked even as Hermione’s screams shredded him apart. As his heart shattered to know what she was enduring. As he realized how utterly he had failed her. He had nothing left that he could give her, nothing but this.

He was frantically reinforcing her mental walls when he started to hear her voice. She was thinking so intently he could hear it echoing across her mind.

I’m so sorry, Draco. I’m sorry I couldn’t be stronger.

Please, please don’t tell them that it’s Ron and Harry.

I’m so sorry, please don’t tell them.

I’m so sorry, please don’t tell them.

It broke him.

Hours later, after she had escaped, after Voldemort had tortured Bellatrix, Lucius, and Draco for their failures, after he had slaughtered the snatchers who had brought them in, Draco huddled in the far corner of his closet, hidden behind walls of clothing, a pillow pressed over his face to muffle the sound as he screamed and wept with his head pressed against the wall.

He had failed her.

He had failed her.

It was over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

June 2002

As he so often did these days, Draco found himself on a Wednesday morning, sitting at his desk in the DMLE, a lopsided smile on his face as he reminisced over the last few weeks of his life since he had moved in with Hermione.

In the first few months of their relationship at Hogwarts, before Voldemort had risen again and any thoughts of the future were marred by the impending war, Draco had often imagined what their adult lives would be like together. How they would laugh as they read the paper together every morning. How he would kiss her goodbye when she left for work. How they would dance late at night in their kitchen, holding each other close.

The reality was so much better.

They did laugh as they read The Prophet each morning. He did kiss her goodbye as they both left for work. And they did dance around the kitchen almost every night. But he also got to see Hermione’s first smile every day as she woke up in his arms. He got to debate with her about the best muggle films or why wizarding music was just as good as the cacophony that was “rock n’ roll.” He got to breathe her in every night. And he got to learn every single sound she made when he kissed her, touched her, and made her come.

Draco was reminiscing on the very specific sounds she made last night after he distracted her from yelling at him for rearranging the spice drawer by lifting her onto the kitchen island, magically tying her hands over her head, and making her come on his tongue three times before he let her rest—honestly, who organizes every spice together alphabetically, instead of grouping them by their most common usages?—when Tonks knocked on his open door.

Clocking Draco’s far-off stare, she let out a frustrated groan.

“Honestly, cousin. I’ve known Hermione since she was 15. Every time I come in here and see you looking off into space, clearly fantasizing about fucking her, it makes me want to wash my brain off with Professor Bainbridge’s Extra Strength Cleaning Solution.”

Draco huffed a laugh. “Well, you may want to announce yourself before you enter my office then. I’ll make sure to rearrange my face to protect your delicate sensibilities.”

Tonks narrowed her eyes. “If you weren’t so fucking good at your job, I’d fire you.”

“Thanks, boss.” He joked back.

Shaking her head, Tonks stepped further into the office and pulled out a set of parchments and a photo, setting them on Draco’s desk.

“This just came in from the recon team. This woman was seen entering one of the locations we believe is being used as a meeting place for Greyback’s crew three days ago. They think she may be a new player. I want you to track her down.”

Draco picked up the picture, scrutinizing it for any clues. “She’s young. Barely looks out of Hogwarts.”

Tonks nodded. “I thought the same. The team who saw her are almost certain she was wearing a pin with a university logo, but they were too far away to catch which one.”

Draco looked closely at the woman. Tall and pale with light ginger hair, wearing nondescript clothing. She certainly didn’t have the unkempt look he’d usually encountered with Greyback’s followers. If she was working with him, she’d be an excellent plant, able to fit in without being noticed. “Ok, I’ll get started. Can I grab a few people to help canvass?”

“Of course, take whoever you—”

Tonks’s response was cut off by an ear-splitting siren ringing out across the floor. Instantaneously, Draco jumped from his chair and grabbed his wand out of his holster as Tonks whirled around, also grabbing her wand and marching quickly toward the floor.

That siren meant that one of the locations under warded protection by the DMLE had just been breached.

Draco jogged out of his office and saw Harry doing the same from next door, as every Auror in the bullpen readied themselves for a fight.

Tonks yelled across the room. “Finnegan! Where was the breach?”

Breathless, Seamus sprinted into the bullpen from the monitoring room.

“The lab! Hermione’s lab! It’s Hermione’s lab!”

Draco’s stomach dropped.

Without another word, he started running. He could hear Tonks shouting orders, but he didn’t care. He was sprinting toward the designated apparition room inside the DMLE, and he could hear Harry right behind him. He kicked open the door, and the pair’s eyes briefly met, a silent agreement forming in the space between them, before each man turned on the spot and disappeared.

Draco popped up an instant before Harry, both on the east side of Hermione’s building. The pair only had a second to assess the situation—including the massive hole that had been blown out of the side of the building—before the telltale flash of cursed light came whizzing their way.

Draco dove into the debris covered vestibule of the building while Harry tucked himself behind the large sign for “Humbert Pennyworth Magico-Medical Research Center,” both listening to determine how many assailants were approaching and from which direction.

Harry shot off a stunner, not meant to hit a target but instead to force a response and provide an opportunity to get their bearings. It worked. Two jets of orange light sped across each other, indicating two attackers, one on either side of the building.

“I’ve got left!” Draco yelled.

Harry responded without hesitation. “On it!”

Without another word, the two men jumped out, holding each other’s backs as they shot curses at the attackers attempting to surround them.

Fury was rolling through Draco as he saw his opponent come into view. This was a man who tried to attack Hermione, and he was going to make him suffer.

Draco didn’t waste his time on stunning and binding spells. No, he sent spells to boil blood, burn flesh, and break bones from the tip of his wand. He had already made a deal with himself to try five non-lethal curses before moving straight to Avada Kedavra. Whatever it took to get to Hermione, that is what Draco was willing to do.

It was unnecessary. It only took seconds for the man to scream in agony and drop to the ground. Only then did Draco cast an incarcerus and stun him into unconsciousness.

Harry had managed to dispatch his foe as well, and the two men turned back to each other, the area finally quiet enough to take in their surroundings and determine their next move.

Except it wasn’t quiet.

As soon as the rush of blood from the duel had faded from his ears, Draco could hear it. It was a sound that had been burned into his consciousness since that fateful day in March of 1998. It was the sound that haunted his nightmares.

Hermione was screaming.

Not just screaming.

She was being tortured.

The rest of the world faded away. Draco felt like he was a teenager again, rooted to the spot in his Drawing Room.

But this time he would not watch. He would not sit by. Without another thought, he turned, running as fast as he could through the hole in the first floor of the building, jumping over bricks and drywall, to the stairs, and up to the third floor.

“Malfoy! Wait! We need a plan! We have no idea how many people are up there!” Harry was whispering as he ran behind.

Draco did not need a plan. He had a plan. Save Hermione. Do what he should have done all those years ago. Stop the person causing her pain. Kill them.

They made it to the entrance of the floor. The hallway was dark, lights having been shattered from the walls, sparks flickering in their wake; paper, equipment, and debris spread everywhere. He couldn’t see any movement.

And from down the hall, inside the lab, came Hermione’s screams.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t look around. He didn’t care that Harry was yelling his name.

He just sprinted to the doorway. He saw a man in the same work clothes as those they had fought outside laughing as he held his wand aloft. He saw Hermione screaming and writhing on the ground. And he acted.

With a single swipe of his wand, the wand arm of the man holding Hermione under the cruciatus severed itself at the elbow and fell with a wet smack to the ground. The man fell to his knees, clutching the wound, releasing a blood curdling scream.

Good.

Another swipe and the man was levitated from the ground. Multiple loud, sickening crunches sounding as every bone in his legs, all of his ribs, and the bones of his still-attached hand were all crushed. He barely had time to scream before the pain pulled him into unconsciousness.

Deep inside his subconscious, Draco was grateful for the first time that he had been forced to observe Death Eaters like Dolohov and Rosier as they tortured captives. If he hadn’t, he would not have known that spell.

Draco barely saw the other men already lying, unconscious, around the room. All he saw was Hermione, still writhing, still screaming.

In a second, he was next to her, on his knees, one hand on her face and the other on her shoulder, attempting to steady her. Trying to determine if she had other injuries.

“Hermione! Hermione, love, can you hear me? You’re ok. You’re going to be ok. Open your eyes, love. You’re going to be ok.” The words came out rushed, frantic.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t tell them. I’m so sorry, please don’t tell them. I’m so sorry please don’t tell them.”

Terror. Freezing, burning terror shot through him.

Her eyes were closed, her head jerking back and forth as her body continued to writhe.

He leaned down. “Hermione, it’s me love. It’s Draco. You’re safe. I love you. Please, Hermione. Please open your eyes. Please.”

In the background, voices began to yell. The other Aurors had arrived and were starting to clear the building. They didn’t matter. Draco kept running his hands up and down Hermione’s face, her arms, her head, trying to break her out of the memory she was trapped inside.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t tell them. I’m so sorry, please don’t—”

“Malfoy! Oh gods…”

Tonks, wand out, ran into the room. Her eyes were on a swivel, assessing the threats, before landing on Hermione, on Draco holding her, pleading with her.

“Hermione! Stay awake! You have to stay awake. You’re going to be ok.” Draco was shaking, trying desperately to hold her gently, to not cause her any more pain.

But her words were fading, becoming quieter, her body now barely moving.

“I’m sorry, please don’t tell them.”

Tonks dropped to her knees next to Draco and pulled out a small, die-shaped object, placing it on Hermione’s chest before extending her wand.

Instinctively, Draco reached out, attempting to bat her wand away.

Tonks grabbed his arm. “Malfoy! Draco, look at me. She needs help. We need to get her to St. Mungo’s NOW. This is an emergency portkey, it will take her straight there and alert them what happened.”

His eyes darted between Hermione and Tonks before nodding his head.

Tonks tapped her wand against the portkey, speaking quickly to record Hermione’s injuries.

As she finished, she turned to Draco, her hand soft on his arm. “Draco, you need to let go of her. The portkey needs to take her to Mungos now.”

Draco didn’t understand what she was saying.

“I know. I’m going with her.”

Tonks was already shaking her head, her hand now grasping firmly on his arm but her voice remaining soft.

“Draco, you can’t leave here. You were the first Auror on scene and you acted without orders. The law requires that you stay and provide a statement. If you leave, the Ministry will automatically be alerted, and there will be a warrant issued for your arrest.” Draco could see the pain in Tonks’s eyes.

“I didn’t do anything wro—”

She cut him off. “I know. I know Draco. I don’t think you did. But if you leave it’s out of my control. They’ll take you to Azkaban, no questions asked. Hermione would not want you to jeopardize yourself like that, and you know it.”

A lightning bolt of pain shot through his chest as he looked down at Hermione, who looked so small, so vulnerable as she continued to mumble on the floor.

“Draco, we can’t waste time. She needs to go. Think about her. She needs to see a healer right now.”

A sob escaped Draco’s chest as he placed his hand lightly on Hermione’s cheek, leaning forward to lay a soft kiss on her forehead. “Ok. Ok, send her, I’ll stay.”

Tonks grasped his shoulders. “You are not leaving her. You’re helping to find out who hurt her. Stay here for ten minutes, then you can go to her, I promise.”

Tonks tapped her wand against the portkey, speaking quickly to finish recording Hermione’s injuries.

A commotion at the door had Draco turning, wand out to attack.

“What—Hermione! Oh gods. What happened?!” Harry ran into the room, panting, eyes wide, followed quickly by Ron, whose face went white as he saw Hermione’s body on the ground.

Draco said nothing, but lowered his wand and turned back to Hermione. Tonks paid them no mind, but finished describing the events before preparing to tap the portkey again to send it off.

“I’m sorry, please don’t tell them.” Hermione’s voice had slowed, her words beginning to slur.

“Wait!” Draco stopped her just before Tonks’s wand touched the die. She turned to him, eyes stern.

“She thinks it’s 1998. Tell them she thinks it’s 1998.”

A flash of confusion passed the Head Auror’s face, but she didn’t ask questions, just spoke into the die, and then tapped it again. With a final nod of her head, Draco reluctantly let go of Hermione and watched, helpless, as she limply snapped away. The warmth of her skin lingering on his.

Draco didn’t move, just remained on his knees staring at the now empty spot on the ground. Tonks gave him a final squeeze before getting up and facing Potter and Weasley.

“Tonks, what the fuck just happened? Is Hermione--? What? Why are you here, Malfoy?” Weasley was red faced, spinning wildly around, while Potter just stood quietly, staring intently at Draco.

“Weasley! Calm the fuck down. I sent her to St. Mungos. Potter, make sure all of the unsubs in here are tagged and restrained. Weasley, report.”

Harry turned, and it was only then that Draco fully took in the room. Every piece of furniture was in pieces, all the instruments and glass vials shattered, making a crunching sound with every step Harry took.

“We didn’t find any additional assailants in the building or outside. Looks like the two Harry and Malfoy took down were on watch while these ones broke in. The teams are just starting a sweep to determine what they were after, or if there were additional unsubs who escaped before we arrived. Unclear yet if they’re affiliated with Greyback.”

Tonks let out a snort as she turned. “Of fucking course they are.” She turned to Draco, who was still kneeling on the floor.

“Auror Malfoy, stand up.” Draco was numb. The second Hermione had disappeared he’d been torn in half. He couldn’t breathe. Unblinkingly, he got to his feet.

“Are you prepared to provide your statement?” Draco just stared out into the room. “Draco!” Tonks snapped in front of his face, causing him to jolt. “I need to take your statement now, then you can leave.”

Draco’s brain clicked into gear. The faster he gave this statement, the faster he got out of here and back to Hermione. He felt as though his soul coiled inside of him, a spring waiting to explode. He nodded, running his hands through his hair.

Tonks flicked her wand and a quill and parchment appeared in the air, ready to transcribe Draco’s words. “Please recount your actions prior to the arrival of the team.”

He spoke as quickly as possible. “Upon learning that the lab was the target, I immediately apparated to the building. I had been the one to set the wards and was personally responsible for the safety of lab. Upon arrival, Auror Potter and I discovered a large hole in the building. I would hypothesize that the attackers had access to an incredibly strong dark object, possibly functioning in tandem with a muggle bomb, to do the job. Within seconds of arriving we were attacked by two unsubs. We engaged them in a duel and succeeded in immobilizing them. It was at that point that I first heard screams from inside the building. On instinct, I entered and proceeded to the laboratory floor and toward the sound. Upon arriving in this room I witnessed a single attacker holding Hermione Granger under the cruciatus curse,” Harry and Ron’s heads both whipped in his direction, eyes wide, “and I took the actions I deemed necessary to stop him.” He turned his face toward the unconscious attacker, who was now lying next to his severed arm.

“What about the other three?” Tonks waved to the other three attackers in the room.

Draco just shook his head. “They were already down.”

“Hermione.” Draco, Tonks, and Weasley all turned toward Harry’s voice, part awed and part infuriated. “Hermione must have fought them off.” He looked down disdainfully at one of the three who seemed to be bleeding from the head, kicking him softly with his boot. “This one probably needs medical attention. Want me to reattach that one’s arm?” Harry flicked his chin toward the attacker Draco had taken down.

Tonks looked down, taking him in with a look of fury in her eyes. “That is outside your purview, Auror Potter, it would be against protocol. He’ll just have to wait for the medical staff to arrive, no matter how long it takes.”

“Tonks. Is that all? Am I free to go?” Draco’s voice was urgent, demanding.

Before she could answer, a voice shouted from down the hall. “We’ve got two unknowns over here!”

Tonks, Draco, Harry, and Ron all ran from the room and down the hall, where four additional Aurors had their wands trained on what Draco knew to be the clean room door.

“They say their names are Embry and Callum, Hermione’s lab assistants.” Michael Corner didn’t move his eyes from the door while he spoke. “Said she told them to hide in there. Said they should only come out when Malfoy arrived.”

The faces of all the other Aurors in the hall turned to Draco. His heart was beating faster with every second he stood here. He needed to get to Hermione.

“Wands out, everyone,” Tonks ordered. “Prepare to detain them, stun if needed.”

There were murmurs of assent as Draco stepped in front of the door.

“Embry? Callum? Are you alright?”

“Mr. M-Malfoy? Is that you?” Came the magically amplified voice from inside the room. Draco could hear the abject fear in his voice.

“Yes. It’s safe to come out. We’ve neutralized the threat.”

“Miss Granger told us we needed to a-ask you a question to make sure…to make sure it was really you.” A pang went through Draco’s heart. Of course she’d be sure to plan for the potential of imposters.

From behind him, Tonks huffed. “I swear to Merlin, she should have been an Auror.”

Draco placed his hand on the door. “Alright. What’s the question?”

“Wh-where were you on December 26, 19-1995?”

Unbidden, memories flooded Draco’s mind. Kissing Hermione as snow fell around them. Holding hands and drinking hot chocolate in a café while they watched all the people go by. Dancing under a gazebo…

He took a shuddering breath. Hermione was going to be ok. He was going to get out of here. He was going to be with her. She was going to be ok.

“Chamonix. I was in Chamonix, France.”

There was silence on the other side of the door, and Draco could hear the Aurors shuffling, readying for a fight.

But then they heard the magical locks on the doors disengage, and two terrified-looking graduate students peaked out.

“Get your hands up! Walk out slowly!” Corner had his wand trained on Callum, Angelina Johnson tracking Embry.

Her eyes fell to the bag he was clutching. “What’s that? What’s in your hand?”

Embry was trembling. “It’s the research! It’s Miss Granger’s research! She told us to take it with us so they…whoever they were didn’t get it.”

The two boys were led down the hall by Johnson, Corner, and two support Aurors, leaving Draco, Harry, Ron, and Tonks alone in the hall.

Draco turned back to his cousin, his eyes now hard with determination. “Tonks. I’m leaving right now. If the Ministry wants to arrest me, you can tell them where to find me.”

She met his eyes and nodded. “Alright. Auror Malfoy, as the Head Auror in charge I can confirm that you acted within the bounds of your oath as an Auror and complied with all existing statues, and by acting quickly you interrupted the use of an unforgivable curse. No action will be taken against you by the DMLE. You are released from the required legal hold.”

The second she finished, Draco turned and ran. He knew that the team would have placed anti-apparition wards around the building, but there was a fireplace connected to the floo in Hermione’s office.

Within seconds, he’d slammed the entire jar of floo powder into the hearth, called for the St. Mungos emergency department, and jumped into the flames.

The bright light and smell of antiseptic potions assaulted him as he stepped through into the waiting area, but it didn’t matter. Finding Hermione was all that mattered. He would tear through this entire place if that’s what it took.

He ran toward the hallway leading toward the patient rooms, only to be stopped by two shocked medi-witches before he made it halfway down the hall.

“Sir! Only authorized personnel are allowed in this section of the hospital!” The more senior of the two, evidenced by her dark purple robes, stepped forward.

Draco’s brain was starting to spin. He could stun them and keep running. Security would be called, but he was more than ready to duel them too.

“I need to see Hermione Granger. She was brought in several minutes ago by emergency portkey.” His voice brooked no argument.

The medi-witch’s eyes went wide and she briefly turned to her colleague before facing Draco once again.

“I-I’m sorry, sir. I can’t authorize you—”

Draco ripped his badge from his belt and slammed it onto the desk to their right so hard that the table cracked, the medi-witches both jumped, and several other hospital staff stopped what they were doing to look at the scene unfolding in front of them.

“Do you know who I am?” His voice was smooth, cold.

Both witches nodded mutely.

“Good. Then please consider what I would be willing to do if you refuse to let me pass.”

His tone had gone sinister, his grey eyes nearly black with fury. Draco was aware that by using his name and speaking in a manner that anyone over the age of twenty would recall as similar to the Death Eaters who took charge during the final year of the war, he might be able to frighten them enough to let him pass.

They certainly were afraid.

The younger of the pair began to move aside, but the senior medi-witch kept her eyes locked on Draco and grabbed her colleague’s arm.

“I-I’m afraid I cannot do that, Mr. Malfoy. Miss Granger has a very specific, magically-binding medical directive. If she is incapacitated, the only people authorized to make decisions on her behalf—including allowing visitors—are her medical proxies.” Her voice had grown firmer by the end of the sentence.

“Then tell me, who are her medical proxies?” He would hold them at wand point and demand they let him in.

Rushed footsteps sounded behind him. “We are! We’re Hermione Granger’s medical proxies!”

Draco’s eyes shuttered closed. It was Potter’s voice, and he knew without looking that it was the fucking Weasel running beside him.

Draco’s brain immediately began to sort through his options.

He could stun them. He was certain he could take Weasley down in an instant, and although Potter had certainly become more proficient in dueling, Draco was still confident he could beat him.

Or he could tell them.

He could tell them the truth. Hermione didn’t want them to know, but at this moment, Draco didn’t care. He’d make it up to her after he made sure she was alive.

He would tell them that he loved her. That she loved him. He would tell them everything. He’d beg them. He would do whatever it took.

But the terrifying reality hit Draco like curse. They wouldn’t believe him. Of course, they wouldn’t. There wasn’t a chance. Not without Hermione here to confirm it for them.

He’d have to stun them, then.

Draco snapped out of his internal debate. Only a second had passed since Harry and Ron had arrived.

To Draco’s surprise, the same medi-witch who had stopped him had raised her arms and was shaking her head in Potter and Weasley’s direction.

“My apologies, Mr. Potter, but I’m afraid you are not Miss Granger’s medical proxies.”

“What?!” Harry and Ron both yelled in tandem.

She drew her wand and flicked it, a piece of parchment appearing in the air above her. Grabbing hold, the witch scanned it, nodded her head, and looked back to Harry and Ron.

“Yes, here it is. Miss Granger updated her medical directive in January of this year. Harry James Potter and Ronald Bilius Weasley were removed as her designated medical proxies and replaced with Mr. Theodore Ignatius Nott and Mr. George Gideon Weasley. They have already been contacted and should be on their way.”

Draco released a deep breath. Thank you, love. Thank you.

“What the fuck are you talking about!? Let us through right now!” Draco finally looked to Ron, who looked on the verge of exploding.

But as his eyes scanned back down the hall, still looking for a route he could take to bypass this excruciating waiting, he spotted Padma, signaling to him at the end of the hall.

Draco took a step forward, ready to sprint to her, but she put her hands up and shook her head, indicating for him to wait. “She’s alive,” she mouthed, and Draco nearly doubled over. Nodding his head in thanks, he turned around, pacing while roughly grabbing his hair, somehow even more desperate now to see her. To know that she was more than just alive.

The medi-witch, who had suddenly grown exponentially in Draco’s estimation, had narrowed her eyes at Weasley while Draco was distracted.

“Mr. Weasley! This is a hospital. If you cannot control yourself, I will have you removed!”

The woman held her hands together in front of herself and puffed out her chest.

“Now. The three of you may wait here, and when Mr. Nott and Mr. Weasley arrive, they will determine who may see Miss Granger.”

Draco’s mind was at war. Hermione was back there. Somewhere back there. She had been held under the cruciatus for who knows how long, and although Padma had reassured him that she was alive, there was no way to be sure what state she was in, how her mind had been affected, if she would remember what happened, if she would remember him…

This is what it felt like to go insane. He was sure of it. He walked toward the corridor wall, yanking on his hair as he leaned his forehead against it.

He couldn’t wait.

Making up his mind, he unholstered his wand. Any thought of consequences faded into nothingness. The image of Hermione screaming on that floor the only thing he could see. He tightened his grip and prepared to lift the hawthorn wand into the air, ready to hit the medi-witches first.

“We’re here! We’re here!”

A commotion sounded, and Draco snapped his head back to see Theo and George running toward them, hands clasped and faces ashen, having just stepped through the floo.

He released a stuttering breath. The sound of their feet, the looks on their faces, pulling reality down around him.

The medi-witch stepped forward. “Names?”

“George Weasley.”

“Theodore Nott.”

They spoke simultaneously, both out of breath and panicked.

“We received patronuses that Hermione Granger had been injured? What happened? Where is she?” Theo’s voice shook and George swayed a bit.

“Miss Granger is being treated for spell damage caused by prolonged use of the cruciatus curse.” Theo stumbled backward, his mouth dropping open. “As her medical proxies, we will need your assistance consenting to any treatments with elevated risks, as well as approving all visitors. Miss Granger is stable now but—”

“What treatments does she need? What—” Theo’s head whipped around, seeming to take in fully that Draco was there for the first time.

“Theo.”

The word was choked. Desperate. A plea. Tears were burning Draco’s eyes, his skin prickling, the spring inside of him coiling tighter, a sense of dread choaking him.

Theo’s eyes widened and he spun back to the medi-witch. He pointed at Draco. “He can see her. He can see her right now.”

Draco turned, not waiting for another word. Maneuvering around the medi-witches and running down the hall to where Padma was still standing.

As he went, he heard raised voices behind him.

“What the fuck! George! Tell them we can see her, not fucking Malfoy!” There was indignant fury in Ron’s voice.

But George’s was calm. “Neither of them are approved. They are not allowed to visit her.”

“WHAT!”

Draco just heard the response as he reached the end of the hall.

“Try me, brother. I’ll do more than break your jaw this time.”

He reached Padma, who immediately grabbed his arm and led him down another corridor.

“She was semi-conscious when she arrived, but unable to respond when we asked her questions. You’re the one who said she thinks its 1998?”

Draco nodded, frantic. “Yes.”

Padma released a hum in assent while they continued to hurry down the hall. “That makes sense. Extended exposure to that level of pain can cause temporary fugue states, amnesia. Given the length of her exposure, I think it is likely that she will recover her memories, but it may take her some time to piece it back together.”

They had reached a door at the end of the hallway. “She’s unconscious now, we gave her sedatives as well as a paralytic potion to allow her nerves and muscles to rest.”

Draco’s mind slid back to the aftermath of his daily torture those years ago. His muscles would twitch for hours, and the longest he’d ever been held under the curse at one time was forty-five seconds.

“Are you ready?” Padma’s voice was soft.

Draco didn’t wait, he just reached behind her and opened the door.

As soon as he saw her, the tension in his body snapped and he lost the battle with his control. Her skin was almost gray, her hair lying limply around her as she lay motionless on the bright white hospital sheets.

Padma closed the door quietly behind them.

“Can…can I touch her?” His voice was a broken whisper.

“Yes. You won’t hurt her. The presence and touch of loved ones has been proven to help the healing process in these cases.”

He didn’t even bother with a chair, just striding forward to the side of her bed, his hands coming to her face as he leaned in, placing a kiss on her cheek.

“I’m so sorry, love. I’m so sorry.” No tears fell. He was silent. Still. Just staring at her form, watching her chest slowly move up and down.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, but at some point, he felt two hands come to rest on his shoulders, Theo and George had come in and both were staring down at Hermione, tears flowing openly down their cheeks.

Draco took a breath. He would not fall apart. There was no time for that.

He turned to Padma. “What do we have to do? To determine if she has any permanent brain damage?”

Draco’s voice was steady, even as he could see Theo and George flinch in his peripheral vision. Thankfully, Padma didn’t miss a beat.

“The best option now is to give her a potion to reverse the sedation and let her wake up. We need to see if she’s coherent, if she knows where she is, if she knows when it is.”

“And if she doesn’t?” George’s voice was small as he asked.

Padma looked at him reassuringly. “Then we’ll put her back under, let her mind rest, and try again in a few hours. Cases like this are unpredictable. Sometimes it takes time for the brain to reorganize itself.”

Theo stepped forward “Are there risks?”

Padma nodded solemnly. “Some, yes. We’ll need to control the environment. If Hermione wakes up and thinks its 1998, it’s best if she is not confronted with another reality. Patients can become…hostile, confused, scared. Draco, if she thinks it’s 1998, I assume it would not be a shock for her to see you?”

Draco nodded. “Yes, that makes sense.”

Padma nodded and made a note on her parchment. “Alright then, we’ll clear the room and I can give you the reversal potion to administer, plus an additional sedative dose if she needs it. We’ll need your approval…or, well, I guess we need you’re approval to run the test.” Padma nodded to Theo and George, who turned to each other, eyes wide.

A silent conversation passed between them.

Surprisingly, it was George who spoke up. “We’re not the ones who should make these decisions. It’s your call, mate.” He turned to Draco. “Whatever you want to do, that’s what we’ll do.”

A thread of warmth spun through Draco’s chest. What an interesting turn of events to feel thankful for a Weasley.

He bowed his head in thanks toward the ginger wizard, before turning to Padma. “Let’s do it.”

Several minutes later, Draco sat alone in Hermione’s room, two potion vials on the table beside him. They’d lowered the lights and silenced the room, trying to avoid any shocks when Hermione awoke.

With a final deep breath, Draco took Hermione’s hand in his, and used the other to raise the potion to her lips. It only took seconds to work.

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, honey and gold bright against the gloom of the room. Draco placed a hand on her cheek, turning her face slightly to face him.

“Hermione, love.”

It took her a moment for her eyes to focus, but when they did they flashed with fear. “Dr-Draco? Draco? What? What happened? No…no, you can’t be here! Where are Harry and Ron? Are they? Are we? Draco you have to leave! They’ll kill you! She’ll kill you! She can’t kill you Draco! Draco please. Please…” Her voice was frantic, tears spilling out of her eyes and down the sides of her face, sinking into the fabric of her pillows.

Draco’s heart cracked, but he tried to stay calm. “Shh, it’s ok love. You’re safe. Everything is ok.” He lightly caressed her face, trying to calm her. “Here, take this, it will help, I promise.”

Hermione’s eyes were roving wildly, unseeing. He wasn’t sure she even knew that he was really there, but she still opened her mouth for him when he brought the vial to her lips. He tipped it into her mouth and leaned forward, kissing her cheek.

“It’s ok, sweetheart. You’re going to be fine. I promise.”

Draco sat for a moment watching her after her eyes closed and her breathing evened out, trying not to let himself dwell on what had just happened. She would remember. She would. It would be fine. She had to be fine.

Draco hadn’t realized how deeply he cared for Padma, how much he valued her steadfast, calm demeanor, until she was in charge of Hermione’s care. When Draco had opened the door to her room and seen Theo and George’s faces drop when he shook his head, Padma had simply made a note on the parchment and said that they would let her rest and try again in three hours. No concern, no question, just a plan.

Draco returned to Hermione’s side, sitting sentinel as she slept. Theo and George sat around the edge of the bed, bouncing between watching her, talking quietly between each other, and approving various visitors to join them.

Within an hour, Blaise, Pansy, and Luna had all joined the silent guard, Narcissa gliding in quietly, her face drawn, a few minutes later. Draco wasn’t sure who had called her, but had he been able to focus on anything other than Hermione, he would have been grateful.

The three hours came and went, and suddenly it was time again to wake her. This time Narcissa and Luna remained in the room, both people that had been present that day in 1998 and who they hoped would not frighten Hermione when she woke.

Draco felt the lack of air in the room as he tipped the vial between Hermione’s lips. Nacrissa stood on the other side of the bed, Luna at the foot and uncharacteristically serious, her hands tightly gripping the footboard railing. Draco understood in that moment why Pansy loved her.

Hermione’s eyes opened slowly and all three of them seemed to lean in. Draco once again caressed her cheek.

“Hermione? Love, can you hear me?”

Her eyes shifted and after a moment seemed to focus in on him, confusion crossing her face.

“Dr-Draco? Wh-what? The lab…what happened at the lab? Embry and Callum…Greyback…Was he there?”

Draco’s heart started to pound and he heard the quick intakes of breath from the other two witches in the room.

“Everything is fine at the lab, Hermione. Everyone’s safe. Do you know where you are, sweetheart? Do you remember what happened?” His voice was tentative, almost desperate.

Hermione’s brows furrowed, her mouth opening and then closing without sound. “I…I don’t…I don’t…”

Her eyes started to swivel again, landing first on Luna, who smiled kindly, before turning to Narcissa.

His mother reached up, placing a hand softly on Hermione’s hair. “Hello, dear. I’m very glad to see you.” There was just a slight tremble in her voice.

Hermione’s eyes held hers for a second before they seemed to become unfocused.

“Narcissa, Narcissa please. Please. They can’t hurt Draco. Tell them to hurt me. Tell her to hurt me. Don’t let them hurt Draco. Please. Please…” Hermione’s voice became desperate again, and Draco watched as Narcissa’s face crumpled.

“I won’t, dear. Draco is safe. You’re both safe. I promise.” Her voice broke on the last word.

Carefully, Draco brought the second vial back to her lips. “Here love, take this. Everything will be alright.”

Both Luna and Narcissa were crying when Padma and the others reentered the room, but not Draco. Draco was holding on to the positives. She had remembered the lab, she’d said the names of her assistants. Those memories were still there.

Padma, too, was pleased. She told the group that being able to recall those moments so quickly after the event was unheard of—which surprised no one in the room, of course Hermione would excel even at regaining memories after unimaginable trauma.

They all retook their places, gathered around Hermione’s bed and quietly waiting for the next test.

Tonks came, allowed in by Theo and George’s orders, to say that they had the entire DMLE working on the case and the best legillemes from the DoM sifting through the thoughts of the intruders that had been captured.

Draco barely heard a word she said.

The tension seemed to grow in the room with every passing moment, as everyone silently watched the clock tick down until Hermione could be awoken once again.

Draco wasn’t sure if he had found a preternatural ability to remain calm or if he was just in shock, because he was not able to think about what could happen when they tried again. His only thoughts were about the moment he was in, watching Hermione, making sure her chest continued to rise and fall.

After what seemed to him as no time at all, Padma reentered the room with the now familiar vials held in her hand.

Pansy grabbed Luna, pulling the blonde witch’s face into hers as she whispered words of encouragement and kissed her before heading to the door with Theo, Blaise, and George. Narcissa looked across the bed at Draco, nodding her head.

“It’s going to be alright, my dragon. I can feel it.”

The words didn’t register.

Draco just moved forward again, and tipped the liquid down Hermione’s throat.

He never moved his eyes from her face as she woke.

Repeating the same motions, he brought his hand to her cheek. “Hermione? Love, can you hear me?”

Hermione was quiet for a moment before her eyes found Draco’s.

“Dr-Draco?” He could almost see the gears of her brain turning. “What…what happened?”

Draco paused. “What happened?”

Her eyes seemed to sharpen. “What happened at the lab? Are-are Embry and Callum ok? Did you catch the people that broke in? Did anyone else get hurt?”

Draco’s fingers tightened around her face. “Hermione. Everyone is fine. No one is hurt. Can…can you tell me where you are?”

Her eyes moved around, taking in the room, taking in Luna and Narcissa for the first time.

“I’m in St. Mungo’s. At least, I think this is St. Mungo’s? How long have I been here? I don’t remember what happened after…he used the cruciatus curse on me. I don’t know what happened after that. Draco, Draco how long have I been here? Is everything ok? I…Draco. Draco I can’t move. Oh gods. I can’t, I can’t move!”

Draco was at once more relieved than he had ever been in his entire life and also terrified for Hermione, who he realized was still under the paralytic potions.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands coming to either side of her face, at the same moment that Narcissa moved to take hold of her arm.

Turning quickly, he caught Luna’s eyes. “Get Padma.” The blonde witch nodded and silently turned toward the door.

Draco turned his attention back to Hermione. “Hermione, love. Calm down, you’re ok. You are in St. Mungo’s. You’ve only been here for a few hours. The attack was this morning. No one else is hurt. You were given a paralytic potion to help your nerves heal after…after the curse. Breathe for me, ok? Match my breathing.”

She had begun to hyperventilate, but Draco brought her hands to his chest, slowly breathing in and out so she could feel the movement, his eyes never leaving hers. After a few moments, her eyes seemed to focus and she began to slow her breathing as Narcissa slowly ran her hand through her hair.

There was a commotion at the door as Padma entered, followed by a shoving crowd of Blaise, Theo, George, and Pansy.

“Reverse the paralytic, Padma. Now.” Draco’s voice brooked no argument.

Padma remained calm, focusing only on Hermione, who was still breathing quickly.

“Hello, Hermione. I understand that this is quite confusing. You are ok. I assure you. I can give you an antidote to counteract the paralytic potion you were given, but if I do so, it’s likely that you will experience pain, muscle spasms, potentially uncontrolled movement of your limbs.”

Draco grasped Hermione’s hands tighter as her breathing became shallow, his eyes narrowing at Padma.

“That will all be temporary, and I can provide you with muscle relaxants and pain relief potions afterward, ok?”

Draco turned to face Hermione. Her eyes caught his momentarily, fear shining through. He nodded at her.

“Yes, ok.”

Padma came forward and unstoppered a small potion vial, before tipping it into Hermione’s mouth.

The room went silent.

Almost immediately, Hermione’s face screwed up in pain as her muscles tensed, her back bowing off the bed.

Sound erupted from everyone in the room, yelling for the healer to help Hermione. Draco pulled out his wand and pointed it at Padma. “HELP HER!”

Padma ignored them all, coming forward and smoothly tipping three more potions into Hermione’s mouth, instantly relaxing her.

Hermione was panting as her body relaxed back into her bed, her limbs loose.

Draco’s eyes never left her as she took a deep breath in and out, before slowly nodding her head, seemingly testing her ability to do so.

“Better. That…that’s better.”

It was then that Draco felt her squeeze his hand. It was weak, the potions clearly reducing her strength, but it was the first real, tangible sign that Hermione was here. She was really here. Awake. Aware. Her mind intact. Silent tears began trailing down his cheeks.

Draco moved one of his hands, slowly bringing it back to her face, his thumb moving back and forth across her cheek. Hermione turned slowly toward him and they locked eyes. Emotion suddenly gripped her as the reality of the situation settled around them, tears beginning to fall, heavier and heavier with every moment.

Without breaking eye contact, Draco spoke to the room. “We need a minute.”

There was no contradicting him. He kept his eyes on Hermione, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against her skin, while the rest of the group slowly shuffled out.

When they were alone, Draco lowered himself into the chair next to Hermione’s bed, his other hand coming up to float along her shoulder and down her arm.

“You’re ok, love.” He wasn’t sure who his words were meant to comfort more.

“Tell me. Tell me what happened.” Her voice was hoarse with emotion.

Draco wiped away her tears. “What do you remember?”

Hermione took a breath and closed her eyes. “The sound. There was an explosion. I knew they must be coming to the lab, so I secured all of the research for the cure and sent Callum and Embry into the clean room. Did they, are they ok?”

Draco nodded. “Yes. They’re safe. They stayed inside the room until we arrived.”

Hermione let out a breath before continuing. “I remember dueling with three..maybe four…men. They were wearing Cambridge work uniforms, but one told me they were there on Greyback’s orders. I think I got a couple of them. One of them hit his head when he went down…but then I lost my wand. And then…pain. Just…pain. I don’t know what happened after that. It felt like I wasn’t…I didn’t know where I was.”

Draco looked her over again, reminding himself that she was still here.

“You singlehandedly took down three of them. Tonks said the one who hit his head had a bad concussion, but he’s alive, unfortunately. It must have been a few minutes before we were alerted to the break in the wards, by the time I got there you…whoever he was, he was holding you under the curse. Padma thinks for at least ten minutes.”

Hermione blinked slowly. “You found me?”

Draco nodded. “Of course I found you, love. I will always find you.”

New tears escaped her eyes. “You’re not hurt? What happened to the attackers in the lab?”

Draco dropped his head. “You’re in the hospital, having been tortured with an unforgivable curse, and you’re worried if I’m ok? I’m fine, Hermione. Don’t worry about me. I’m too busy worrying about you. Why didn’t you hide in the clean room with Embry and Callum when you heard them coming?”

Hermione looked almost sheepish. “I didn’t want them to escape. I knew that you’d be alerted that the wards had been breached. I figured I just needed to keep them busy for a few minutes until the DMLE arrived and you were able to arrest them. Whatever they used to break into the lab must have been incredibly powerful and incredibly dark. I didn’t want them to get away and be able to use whatever it was again.”

For the first time since she awoke, Draco let go of Hermione so he could drop his head into his hands. “You risked your life so the bad guys didn’t get away? That is…that is the most ridiculous Gryffindor nonsense I have ever heard.”

“It worked though, didn’t it?” He could hear the smile in her voice.

He looked up and caught her eye. “Yes. But…Hermione. I…When I found you. It was just like that day in the Drawing Room. You were screaming so loudly I could hear you from outside of the building. I can’t…please, please, I cannot hear that again. I can’t let you be hurt like that again.” His voice was breaking.

Hermione brought her had up to his cheek. “I understand. I’m sorry I scared you, Draco.”

He nodded and leaned in, pausing to breathe her in when his lips were just a heartbeat from hers. Slowly, gently, he closed the distance and pressed their lips together, pouring all of the stress, the fear, and the love swirling within him into the kiss.

After a few more quiet moments together, they allowed the rest of their friends and family back in.

Narcissa was silently crying as she fussed over Hermione.

Luna remained more stoic than Draco had ever seen her, Pansy filling the gap by rushing around, trying to rearrange the furniture in the room and making lists of all of the pillows, blankets, and “appropriate loungewear” she would be bringing for Hermione later that evening.

Blaise began making lists of all of the meals he would have sent over as soon as Padma announced that Hermione would need to stay in the hospital for several days.

But it was Theo and George that caught Hermione’s attention. They had both tried to chastise her about making them her medical proxies without properly warning them that she was preparing to make them actually step up and do it, but instead of listening to them, Hermione just watched, a smile growing on her face.

“What are you possibly smiling about, Curls? We’re both quite cross with you!” Theo’s eyes were shining, tears threatening to fall again.

“You’re holding hands.”

Theo looked confused. “What?”

Hermione tilted her head toward them, her eyes locked on where George and Theo’s hands were locked together, each of their thumbs slowly tracing patterns on the other’s skin.

“Oh. Yes, well…” Draco, who was now sitting on Hermione’s bed as she curled around him, cracked the first genuine smile since the siren had gone off this morning.

George huffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s all your fault, Hermione. You’ve no one to blame but yourself.” He brought their clasped hands to his face, placing a kiss on the back of Theo’s hand.

Hermione smiled, burrowing into Draco. “I am very happy to take the blame for this!”

Their friends remained in the room for the next hour, as Padma and several other healers came and went, performing tests to assess Hermione’s memory and motor skills. It seemed that her memory was intact, but every time they attempted to reduce the potions relaxing her muscles they would lock and spasm, causing her pain. Draco had come close to cursing at least six healers today.

Padma assured them that it was normal, and that with time she was likely to make a full recovery—but Draco could already see that Hermione was impatient to get out of the hospital and away from so many people taking care of her. His beautiful, stubborn witch.

Eventually, everyone but Draco and Narcissa bid them goodnight, promising to come back the following morning.

Hermione had tried to tell Narcissa that she didn’t need to stay, but before the words had even left her mouth Narcissa had given her a look that quieted her. She was staying. No questions asked.

The family sat in comfortable silence for a moment, before Hermione’s eyes began to really focus on Draco’s face.

“You look awful, Draco.”

Draco leaned back in mock offense. “Well! Thank you so much, love.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I just mean, you look exhausted. I know you haven’t left this room for hours. Go home and shower, eat something. I’m in very capable hands.” She looked back at Narcissa.

Draco’s eyes hardened. “I am not leaving here, Hermione.”

“At least go and splash some cold water on your face, my dragon. You look…well, you look rather haggard, my dear.”

Draco stared at Narcissa, affronted. Hermione let out a small giggle.

“It’s true, Draco. How am I supposed to get better if I am forced to look at such a terrifying image during my recovery?”

Her voice was light, but Draco could see the concern in her eyes. He knew that he must look awful, but none of that mattered as he had sat with Hermione, desperately hoping that she would wake up and remember. Remember that he still loved her.

Staring into her wide, warm honey eyes, he couldn’t deny her.

“Fine. I’ll be back in five minutes. No one get any heroic ideas while I’m gone, alright?”

He carefully maneuvered Hermione off of him and onto her bed, making his way to his feet.

“Don’t worry, darling. Hermione and I will just spend our time planning Theodore and George’s wedding while you’re away. I think late summer would be ideal, don’t you?” Narcissa turned her mischievous eyes on Hermione, who laughed as Draco rolled his eyes and reluctantly made his way to the door.

As the door closed softly behind him, Draco released a breath he had been holding since the moment the alarm went off in the DMLE—he looked at his watch, it was almost 8pm—ten hours ago.

Scrubbing his hands over his face, he began shuffling down the hall, trying not to let his anxiety overtake him with each step he took away from Hermione.

“Malfoy.” The voice was hesitant.

Draco turned to find none other than Harry Potter, clothes rumpled and hair impossibly more of a disaster than usual, hunched in an uncomfortable chair, one knee bouncing, about fifty feet from Hermione’s door.

Draco just stared for a moment. “How did you get back here?”

Harry shrugged. “I pulled the ‘I’m Harry Potter’ card.” He at least had the decency to look sheepish.

A zing of anger shot through Draco. Harry Potter could break through any red tape he pleased with a single sentence, while Draco just hours ago had been prepared to commit murder just to make it down a hospital hallway.

His gaze hardened. “What do you want?”

Harry’s face was strained, almost desperate. He put up his hands. “I just…I just want to know if she’s ok. Is she ok?”

Draco scrutinized him. He looked terrified. This was the man who had been at the center of causing Hermione pain, who had put her life at risk over and over and over again. Who had known her for years and never really seen her. And he was terrified. He had sat in this hallway for hours because, as loathe as Draco was to admit it, he still cared about her.

Draco’s eyes closed briefly. That, at least, he could understand. How anyone could not care about Hermione Granger was a mystery to him. Deep in the chambers of his mind, a sliver of empathy for his former enemy began to shine through a crack.

Opening his eyes, he pinned him with a stare. The anxiety was rolling off Harry in thick waves.

“She’s awake. It’s going to be difficult for her to move around for a while, but her memories are coming back. There was no permanent damage to her mind.”

Harry released a stuttering breath and nodded, dropping his head into his hands.

“Thank Merlin. That’s…her mind, she, if she lost…Hermione can’t lose her…” His eyes were shining with unshed tears as he looked back at Draco, searching his face.

Draco just nodded. Harry was right. The most beautiful, most special, most intrinsic part of Hermione was the majesty of her mind, how she thought, how her face changed as she worked through a problem.  “I know.”

There was silence between them for a long moment.

Finally, Harry looked up. “Before, at the lab, why did you say that Hermione thought it was 1998?”

Draco considered him for a moment before answering.

“Because, that’s what she was saying that day, in the Manor.”

Harry looked confused.

Draco continued, his heart breaking again at the memory. “When I was in her head. I could hear her. She just kept saying it over and over. ‘I’m sorry, please don’t tell them.’”

Harry’s eyes stuttered before closing, his head dropping into his hands.

“Don’t tell them what?” Harry’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

God, Potter was still an idiot. He rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell them that it was you. Don’t tell Bellatrix, or my father, or Voldemort himself that Harry Potter was locked in our dungeons. She was begging me to protect you.”

Harry looked up slowly, something seeming to click behind his eyes.

“And you didn’t. Tell them.”

Draco stared back, unblinking. “No. I didn’t.”

Slowly, Harry nodded.

“Mal—” Harry huffed, “Draco.”

Draco waited.

Harry took another deep breath before looking up at him again. “Ron may be living in denial, but I’m not. I know something is going on between the two of you, obviously.” He waved his hands toward Draco and the hospital hallway.

Draco kept his face carefully neutral as he arched a brow. “And what is it that you think is going on?”

“I don’t know what, exactly. And I don’t…fuck, I do not get it.” A flash of anger gripped Draco. What didn’t he get? He could understand if Potter thought Hermione was too good for him, hell, Draco knew he wasn’t good enough for her. But the way Potter had spoken, the question in his eyes as he regarded Draco, made him think that somehow Harry didn’t understand why Draco would want Hermione, and that moved him directly to the top of Draco’s need-to-curse list.

He kept talking.

“Look, she clearly doesn’t want to talk to us…to me, about it. I don’t know how much you know, but…things between us have been a bit…strained lately.”

Draco couldn’t help it, he let out an incredulous laugh.

Harry only paused for a second, a questioning look flitting across his face, before he continued, his face growing somber.

“But, please. If you care about her at all, please be careful. Be careful with her. And if you don’t, then please just walk away now before she gets attached.”

Now Draco was angry. And genuinely intrigued.

“What the hell does that mean, Potter?”

Harry ran his hands roughly through his hair and leaned back, seemingly looking for the right words.

“She…she’s been through a lot and she’s, well, she’s not as strong as she was in school. She’s…fragile.” That word. It almost made Draco laugh again. There were thousands of words he could use to describe Hermione, but one of the only ones that didn’t fit was “fragile.” Hermione was not fragile. She was more solid than granite.

But Harry wasn’t done.

“After her parents died, she…” he seemed to war with himself for a moment. “She tried to kill herself. She’s tried a few times over the last three years. And I just…I need you to be careful. I need you to know that her health is delicate and that she might…well, if she gets hurt again, I don’t think she’ll make it.”

Draco’s vision started to narrow. His palms began to sweat, his heart began to pound, as his mind worked through what Harry had just said. For one moment, one horrifying, mind-bending moment, he considered it.

Could that be true? Could Hermione have hidden that from him? Could she really have…?

Draco started to rewind through all of the conversations they’d had over the last several months. Over the last eight years. And the answer became clear immediately.

His head snapped up, his lips caught in a curious smirk. “How do you know that?”

Harry shook his head, confused. “What do you mean, how?”

“I mean, did she tell you that’s what happened? Did you see her do it? Did you see her in the hospital? Or…”

Draco could already see the gears turning behind Harry’s eyes.

“Or did your little sidekick tell you that’s what happened?” Draco knew before he even finished the sentence. He knew that he was right.

Harry’s eyes went wide. “What do you mean? Ron wouldn’t lie…about…” He trailed off as Draco began to laugh at the absurdity of it all. How easily that fucking piece of shit had twisted the narrative to fit his needs. How low he had been willing to go. How easily he had debased Hermione. And how easily Potter had believed him.

Draco shook his head. “Really? Because he didn’t have a vested interest in gaining your sympathy? Keeping you on his side? Honestly, Potter, you should be falling on your knees every single day to thank the universe that you had her,” he pointed back toward Hermione’s room, “because you would have been dead in an hour without her.”

Draco let the truth unfurl around him. Everything made more sense now. This is why Harry kept the secret. Ron hadn’t just told him that Hermione was fragile. He’d gone far beyond it. The despicable piece of infected pond scum had actually told him that Hermione had tried to take her own life. It was almost brilliant, really. What better way to convince Potter to keep his cheating a secret than to plant the fear in his head that Hermione was suicidal, and surely, if he told her the truth, he would be responsible for her death.

Draco hadn’t given him enough credit. Weasley was far more diabolical than he could have imagined.

Harry was silent, and Draco watched as emotions flicked across his face. “I don’t…that’s not…I don’t understand.”

Draco smirked. “Of course you don’t, Potter. Hermione is the one who always did the understanding for you. And yet here you are, over a decade later, and you still don’t know a godsdamned thing about her.” He was getting angry now. “You relied on her for so long, used her for so long, but you never actually took a moment to get to know her, did you? Not really. Fucking unbelievable, I must say. That woman, that beautiful, brilliant, kind woman stepped in front of an unforgivable curse this morning to make sure that the criminals attacking her didn’t get away to hurt someone else. She gave up everything, everything she had, to help you. To protect you, for years. And you think she’s fragile? Somehow, you actually know her even less than I thought you did.”

Harry was looking at him, eyes wide, at sea.

“But maybe it’s time you change that, yeah? Take some of those skills you use to solve cases and actually look at your own life. Your own actions. Your fucking friends. Maybe you’ll learn something. Realize where you went wrong. How fucking horribly you went wrong.”

The intensity had been growing on Draco’s face, color rising with each word he spoke. Harry just stared back silently, clearly unable to reconcile what Draco had just laid bare for him.

A chime went off down the hall, signaling the top of the hour. It seemed to break Harry out of his trance.

Exhaustion suddenly hit Draco. He didn’t want—didn’t need—to keep having this conversation. The only thing he needed was lying in a room halfway down the hallway.

“Go home, Potter. You can’t see her, so there’s no use sitting here all night. Go home.”

Harry seemed to consider for a moment, still clearly reeling. Finally, he nodded and slowly made his way to his feet. He turned to walk toward the exit, Draco resuming his walk in the opposite direction.

“Draco.”

He’d only made it a few steps. Slowly, he turned to face the dark-haired wizard again, an impatient look on his face.

Harry seemed to scan him for a moment.

“Fifth year, over Christmas, Hermione came to visit me.”

Draco stood, impassive, waiting.

“She was on holiday with her parents. She came back early. From Chamonix. She was in Chamonix.”

Draco just stared at him for a moment, before a knowing smile crossed his face. “I know.”

Harry stood for just a moment before turning to leave. Draco watched him.

“Harry?”

He turned back.

“If you ever accuse me of not caring about her again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

And with that, he turned and walked back down the hallway.

It was the first time Draco had ever called him by his name.

Chapter End Notes

Well! I bet Harry's going to have an interesting walk home...

I make no official promises, but I *believe* I'll be posting two chapters this coming week, so keep an eye out for a little something coming before next Sunday!

As always, thanks for sticking around, for your comments, and your kudos! You are all my very favorite people.

xoxo,

Flames

illicit affairs

Chapter Notes

YOU GUYS! Wow, the response to the last chapter blew me away! Thank you so much!

Best part: A majority of the comments where about what Harry’s thought process could have been to come to those conclusions about Hermione, and it just so happened that I was already deep into writing this very chapter about just that!

I do love it when a plan comes together ;)

And because my toxic trait is that I cannot post a chapter that is shorter than my average chapter length as a normal update, I’m posting it today.

This chapter is in Harry’s POV…

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Draco’s words swirled through Harry’s head as he made his way toward the exit of St. Mungo’s.

“How do you know that?”

“Did you see her do it?

“Look at your own life. Your own actions. Your fucking friends.”

Harry had been so caught up in replaying every word of the conversation that he didn’t even realize that he had walked right past the floo grates, down three flights of stairs, and out the door into the warm, breezy London night.

His mind was moving too quickly. Each bit of information a puzzle piece—but he could not yet see how they fit together or what the image would be once it was complete.

Making up his mind, Harry turned down the sidewalk and started to walk. Grimmauld was only three miles from St. Mungo’s, and he needed the time to think.

Malfoy—Draco Malfoy—had told him that he didn’t know Hermione at all. Hermione, who had been his best friend since he was eleven.

Rubbish. Of course he knew Hermione. He knew Hermione better than anyone, he and Ron both. Malfoy didn’t know what he was talking about.

Malfoy, who definitely had not denied that something was going on between him and Hermione when Harry brought it up.

And to be fair, that was definitely not something Harry would ever have guessed that Hermione would do. Date Draco Malfoy. But he’d seen her slip into his office or walk with him to lunch or share a look during a meeting far too many times for it to be a coincidence. Harry was almost positive that he’d seen them step into the floo together at the end of the day last week. Dating.

Or...were they even dating? Maybe it was just sex? Harry shuddered at the thought.

“If you ever accuse me of not caring about her again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Ok, yes, definitely dating. Hermione had started spending time with Theodore Nott earlier in the year, he must have reintroduced them after Malfoy returned to England. And then they…started to date?

It still didn’t make sense.

This was Hermione, after all. Quiet, bookish Hermione. Stern, focused, career-obsessed Hermione who cared more about her research than anything else. And she was dating Draco Malfoy?

Draco Malfoy, who had called her a mudblood for years at Hogwarts.

Draco Malfoy, who took every opportunity he could to mock Harry and get him in trouble.

Draco Malfoy, who was a godsdamned Death Eater. Yes, apparently a Death Eater who had been instrumental in their escape from Malfoy Manor during the war, but a Death Eater nonetheless.

He’d tried to kill Dumbledore, for Merlin’s sake!

And now she was dating him. Yet another reason for Harry to be worried about her mental health. Something had to be wrong if she had willingly agreed to date Draco Malfoy. And now Harry was almost sure that the two of them had come across each other over the Christmas hols in fifth year. Fifth year. What could that possibly mean?

Harry turned a corner.

The streets of London were bustling, commuters on their way home and groups of friends his age now crowded around outdoor tables at restaurants and cafés, talking and laughing as they sipped glasses of wine.

Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione used to do that. Laugh together at pubs in Diagon, talk about their days. Harry and Ron would share stories about Auror training, Ginny would talk about quidditch practice with the Harpies, and Hermione…Hermione would talk about…

What had Hermione talked about?

Harry recalled her talking about her healer training and potions mastery coursework in the first months after the war, but the more he searched his brain, the more he started to realize that over the past couple of years, Hermione had never talked about her own work when they were all together.

She asked Harry and Ginny questions. She encouraged Ron. But she…she didn’t talk about herself.

Was that because of her mental state? Or…was Draco right? Had Harry never asked her any questions?

“You never actually took a moment to get to know her, did you?”

“Somehow, you actually know her even less than I thought you did.”

“Take some of those skills you use to solve cases and actually look at your own life.”

Harry’s head was starting to spin. He had to go back to the beginning, retrace his steps, and try to solve this. He had to prove Draco fucking Malfoy wrong. Harry had to prove that he hadn’t missed something. That he hadn’t made an enormous mistake.

The beginning. When was the beginning? When did Harry know that things had shifted?

He ran his hands roughly through his hair, turning his head skyward as he walked. There was only one answer.

**

Eighteen months ago

Where the hell is Ron?

Harry was drumming his fingers on the wood of his desk, parchments of half-finished paperwork from the raid of an old Death Eater hideout in Wales spread across every bit of surface he could see.

Ron was supposed to be in his office thirty minutes ago to help him finish all of this. Ginny was returning from two weeks of games in Spain today, and Harry did not want to be in the office for a second longer than absolutely necessary.

Letting out a frustrated groan, he pushed back from his desk and stalked into the bullpen. He swore that if he found Ron arguing with Seamus about the Chudley Canons again he would curse off his eyebrows.

It only took a cursory glance around the large space to determine that Ron wasn’t there.

Quickly, Harry crossed the room and knocked on Ron’s closed office door before poking his head inside.

Empty.

Now he was starting to get pissed. If Ron had snuck out and left Harry with all of the paperwork—again—he was going to Tonks and demanding that Ron be forced to take every single late night stakeout assignment for the next month.

Stomping, Harry made his way through the floor.

Not in the surveillance room.

Not in any of the conference rooms.

Not in the supply closet near the lifts.

He’d all but given up when the door at the end of the hall caught his eye. It was the old records room, housing all of the DMLE reports from the last five years that had not yet been moved to the larger records department three floors down.

The idea of Ron pouring over old casefiles was laughable, but it never hurt to check anyway.

Harry made his way down and placed his hand on the doorknob, but it didn’t turn.

That made no sense. The records room was accessible to every Auror in the department. There was no reason to lock the door when the files themselves were spelled so only those with the proper clearance could see what was on them.

And yet, the door wouldn’t budge. Someone had placed a locking charm on it.

Momentarily forgetting about Ron, Harry’s eyes sharpened. Was someone trying to steal documents? Why? To help dark wizards avoid capture?

He pulled his wand from its holster and pointed it at the door. They’d been taught a series of unlocking charms in training, and he began the wand movements for each.

Harry checked the handle again after his third try, and found that it turned.

He raised his wand, prepared to stun whoever was inside, before swinging the door open.

Instantly, Harry felt as though he had entered an alternate dimension. Maybe he was dreaming. Or hallucinating. Because there was no way that what he was seeing was actually happening.

Because just inside, their bodies pressed against each other, were Ron and…was that Daphne Greengrass?

Yes, that was definitely their former classmate and now-DMLE assistant Daphne Greengrass with her hand down Ron’s unbuttoned pants.

And that was definitely Ron’s hand clutching her ass. And it was definitely Ron’s mouth licking her exposed breast.

Harry didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.

He felt like he had been standing there for days before the sound of the door opening registered to the two of them, both of their heads snapping in Harry’s direction, faces red and breaths coming out in quick pants.

Time seemed to speed back up. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.

“Harry! Mate, let me expl—” He could hear Ron’s voice, but his eyes remained focused on the fact that his hand was still clutching Daphne Greengrass, who still had her own hand down the front of Ron’s trousers.

Taking in his gaze, they both jumped apart and began to rearrange their clothing. Something about the action, the modesty of it, snapped Harry into reality. He was not dreaming. He was not hallucinating. He had just walked in on Ron and Daphne about to have sex with each other in the DMLE records room.

Without a sound, Harry turned and began quickly walking back to his office.

“Harry! Harry! Wait!”

He could hear Ron stumbling and trying to catch up to him, but Harry didn’t turn. He didn’t stop moving until he had made it back to his office, rounded the desk, and fallen into his chair, eyes unfocused and staring into the distance.

Ron rushed in seconds later, closing the door and throwing up a silencing charm.

“Harry, let me explain. I need you to let me explain before you do anything, before you tell Herm—well, anyone. It’s not what it looks like.”

That caught his attention, and his head turned slowly to look at Ron for the first time. His clothes were still rumpled, his eyes were wide, and his hands were up, almost as if to plead with him.

“Not what it looks like? Then please, do tell me what it is, Ron, because it sure looked to me like you were cheating on Hermione with Daphne Greengrass in our fucking records room.”

Harry’s hands came up to his hair, pulling harshly. “You’re CHEATING ON HERMIONE, RON?!?”

Ron was shaking his head quickly back and forth. “No, no that’s not it, Harry. No. I’m in love with her!” He gestured back toward the bullpen.

His words plunked like a single pebble in a pond, ripple after ripple spreading out around it.

“You…you’re in love with Daphne Greengrass?”

Ron released a deep breath. “Yes.”

“Her parents single-handedly funded Voldemort’s entire operation, Ron.”

Ron’s eyes turned fierce. “That’s not fair, Harry, and you know it! She didn’t do anything wrong! She’s a good person, she’s the best person I have ever met!”

Harry’s voice remained a monotone. “And yet, she’s ok with you using her to cheat on your girlfriend?”

Ron was pacing. “No Harry, that’s not what’s happening. Um…I…see…Hermione and I…we aren’t…We’re not really…”

A fissure of concern shot through Harry. “Ron, did you and Hermione break up? When did that happen? Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Ron stopped pacing and turned toward him, an uncertain look on his face.

“Not exactly.”

“What does that mean, Ron? How are you not exactly with Hermione? Or are you not exactly cheating on her?” None of this made any sense.

Ron scrubbed his hands over his face and sat down roughly in one of the chairs opposite Harry.

“She doesn’t want me anymore, Harry. Hermione doesn’t. She hasn’t…she hasn’t even touched me since her parents…”

Pain, concern, and confusion warred in Harry’s mind. He’d seen how absolutely devastated Hermione had been after her parents died. He and Ginny and the rest of the family had all tried to help, but after the first couple of months, Ron had come to them and told them all that Hermione had asked that they all just treat her as if nothing had happened. That she didn’t want their help. It had seemed odd to Harry, but everything had been so chaotic then that, if he was honest, he hadn’t really thought much of it at all.

“I didn’t realize it was that bad. I didn’t know that she was still struggling…”

Ron grimaced. “I didn’t…um…I didn’t want to, to bother you and Gin. You’d just gotten married! But Harry, mate, it’s so much worse.” Ron’s voice had gone quiet, his eyes searching Harry’s for a moment before he dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders shaking. Crying. Ron was crying.

Harry got up and made his way around his desk, sitting in the chair next to Ron and putting his hand on his back.

“I’m sorry, Ron. I should have paid more attention. I should have seen…” Harry shook his head. “We can figure this out, alright? Do you want to tell Hermione by yourself, or, I could go with you? Maybe it would help to have me there?”

Ron raised his head from his hands. “No. We can’t tell her, Harry.” His voice was just a whisper.

Harry recoiled. “What do you mean we can’t tell her? Ron! You have to fucking tell her. You’re cheating on her, mate. You’re cheating on Hermione. Our best friend, Hermione.”

Ron didn’t say anything, his eyes darting around the room.

“Was this the first time you were with Daphne?”

Ron didn’t look at him, but whispered his response. “No.”

Harry’s heart cracked. Fuck. This just kept getting worse.

“Are you going to break it off with her?”

“No.”

“Well then you don’t really have a choice then, do you?! You can’t do this to Hermione, Ron. She hasn’t done anything to deserve this!”

“No, Harry. I can’t tell her.” Ron’s voice sounded so small.

Harry shot to his feet. “Fuck this, Ron. If you won’t tell her, then I will. Right now.”

He strode to the door.

“You can’t Harry! She’ll kill herself if you do!” Ron’s voice was desperate as he blurted it out. Harry turned slowly.

“What the fuck are you talking about? This is Hermione. She’s not going to kill—”

“She already has! She…she’s already tried. Twice!” Ron was on his feet now too, and Harry couldn’t understand the look on his face. He didn’t look sad, exactly, it was more…he looked almost frantic.

Harry’s stomach had fallen through the floor at his words. “What?” Was all he could choke out in response.

Ron nodded his head slowly as he started to pace again.

“I…I didn’t want to bother you and Gin. And…and Hermione made me promise that I wouldn’t tell anyone. Threatened to do it again if I did. Yeah, yeah, threatened to do it again.”

Harry felt like reality was melting away around him. This didn’t make any sense.

“How? When?”

Ron turned away from him. “A few months after her parents died. She, um, she mixed together some of the potions she’d been messing about with in her lab. I saved her with a…a bezor! You know, just like sixth year? I begged her to get help after but she said no, said I was all the help she needed. I found her about to drink another bottle of the stuff three months ago. Managed…managed to knock it out of her hands.”

Ron finally turned, his eyes wide as they searched Harry’s. It almost looked like Ron was waiting to see if Harry believed him, but, no, that couldn’t be it. Harry was just in shock.

“I…I don’t…Ron, we have to, we have to get her help. Get her into St. Mungo’s. Something!”

Ron was shaking his head again. “She won’t go. I’ve already tried. That’s…that’s why we haven’t actually broken up, you see. I’m just trying to get her better. Trying to get her better enough that she’s willing to get help. That’s why I can’t leave yet, because, because she trusts me. I’m the only one who knows. And I can’t just leave her to hurt herself, Harry! Right?”

That made sense. Of course he wouldn’t leave like that.

“I love her, of course. I always will. Just, we’re not in love, you know? And I’m prepared to stay for as long as it takes, however long it takes for her to get…to get help. But, Harry. I can’t just live like a monk with her, not forever! And who knows how long this road will be! We’re not even really together anymore. That’s why it’s not really cheating with Daphne! She’s my soulmate, Harry! You understand? I can’t just turn my back on that! But I…I won’t leave Hermione to just fend for herself. That would be cruel, right?”

Harry collapsed into his chair again, his hands coming up to grab at the ends of his hair.

This was so confusing. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. But this was Ron he was talking to. Ron always tried to do the right thing, didn’t he? And—Harry shuddered at the thought—whatever it took to help Hermione, to save her, that’s what they should do.

“I…I guess you’re right? Yeah, yeah alright. That…this makes sense.” Harry nodded, trying to really convince himself.

Ron let out a deep breath. “Thank you, Harry, yes. It does, I promise. Oh Merlin, I’m so glad you know! I wanted to tell you for so long…”

Harry continued to nod absently. “Now that I do, I can help. I can talk to her too, me and Gin. We can try to convince her to get some help.”

Ron’s eyes went wide. “No! No Harry, you can’t. She…she told me if I told anyone she would do it again, that she’d make sure it worked this time. She can’t know that you know. Promise me? Promise me you won’t say anything, Harry?”

Ron sounded so scared, so frantic, that it bowled Harry over. Now he was scared too, and he nodded quickly to placate him. “Ok, ok, yes. Fine.”

Ron jumped up and rounded the desk, lifting Harry by his shoulders and throwing his arms around him in a crushing hug. “I’ve got this, Harry. I promise. It’s all going to be fine.”

Harry stood limply. There was something gnawing inside the pit of his stomach that told him that nothing was going to be fine ever again.

Harry had walked through the floo that night to see Ginny, dressed in nothing but a tiny scrap of lace, ready to jump him—until she saw the look on his face.

Harry had told her everything. Ginny was horrified and confused. They cried together about it. And then they both decided that they couldn’t risk it. They wouldn’t risk saying something to Hermione that could set her off. Not when she was as fragile as Ron had said. They would just try to help behind the scenes.

A month passed, and Harry and Ginny met Ron for drinks, hoping he’d tell them that Hermione was getting stronger. Instead, he had dropped his head into his hands, shoulders shaking as he said that she was waking up screaming every single night.

Two months, then three.

Harry saw Hermione at work, and she looked fine. Better, really, more like who she was before her parent’s death. The four of them went to dinner and drinks, and Hermione smiled and joked.

They asked Ron again, and he just shook his head. It was all an act, he said, she was just pretending.

Six months. Ron asked Harry and Ginny to go to dinner with him and Daphne. Harry wanted to say no, that it was just too strange while Hermione was still so sick, but Ginny convinced him to go. The two witches seemed to get along.

Nine months. The first good sign. Ron said he thought Hermione might accept help soon.

Finally, just after the one-year mark, Ron burst through the floo one evening and declared that Hermione had agreed to get help. That she would be seeing a mind healer daily, would be magically monitored to ensure she made no attempts at her life, and that she had agreed that it was the right time for Ron to move out so that he could start his own life.

They’d hugged and celebrated, so grateful that the whole experience seemed to be over.

And two months later, when Hermione walked out of Christmas dinner after Ron’s announcement, he tried to assure them that no, they didn’t need to be worried that she would hurt herself, he had told her the truth already and she had asked never to talk about it again. Surely this was just an echo of her illness, she was confused, and she had just left to go see her mind healer. She would be fine.

And they had believed him. Harry had believed him.

**

Harry had been walking for over an hour now, replaying and replaying that first confrontation with Ron, and everything that had come after it.

Harry had never even considered that Ron could have lied about it. About any of it. Why would he do that?

“Really? Because he didn’t have a vested interest in gaining your sympathy? Keeping you on his side?”

Draco’s words rang through his head like a bell.

And with each step, it was as if a crack appeared in the story he’d built in his mind to justify Ron’s actions—and his own.

That day in his office, right after he’d caught Ron, Harry had thought the clumsiness of his story was because of how emotional Ron had been about Hermione’s struggles.

But replaying it now, looking at it from the outside, Harry saw another option. Ron could have been making it up. He could have just been spinning a tale that he thought would stop Harry from telling Hermione what he’d done.

And Harry had just bought it. He’d agreed. Some part of him had decided that Ron was right, and there was no need for him to investigate further. That he didn’t need to prove it for himself, because Ron had done it for him. He was busy, just starting his life with Ginny, he didn’t have the time to take the lead, he needed Ron to do it instead. And if Hermione was sick, asking her wouldn’t have helped anyway…right?

But…had Hermione really been sick like Ron said?

Her parent’s death had flattened her, of that Harry was certain. But it was her parents, of course she had been devastated. She had done so much to protect them, only for them to die in a car accident so soon after the magical threats to their lives were gone.

It had taken her months to really start to recover, but when she did…she really seemed to get better. She came to family dinners and helped Molly cook. She baked pies for Ginny every time the Harpies lost, she’d even gone out with Harry a few times into the wee hours of the morning, drinking him under the table at muggle pubs as they shared stories about their lives before magic.

And, Harry recalled with cold horror, it had been Hermione who had encouraged all of them to see mind healers after the war ended, who had told them that struggling with that trauma was nothing to be ashamed of. She’d said it was important to talk about it, to be able to share what they were going through. Would that same Hermione really have kept her own struggles such a secret? Did it make any sense that she would be ashamed?

Could that all really have been an act? The only person who said so was Ron, neither Harry nor Ginny had ever seen it. It had made sense to believe Ron at the time, of course he would know things they didn’t, he lived with her!

But that meant it would be just as easy for him to make it up. Especially when Harry wasn’t able to ask Hermione about it for fear that it would cause her pain. And in the cold light of day, did any of it really make sense? Did any part of that story really square with the experiences Harry had had with Hermione over the previous decade of their lives?

Could Ron have made it all up?

Why would he have made it all up?

The only answer Harry had to both questions was: I don’t know. And that terrified him.

Because if Harry was really, truly, brutally honest with himself, there had been a part of him that always thought something wasn’t right. And yet…

For months he’d done nothing.

For months he’d kept the secret.

He’d considered telling Hermione a few times, even broke down about it to Ginny, but she’d convinced him not to. Convinced him the risk was too great.

But was that really it? Was he really only concerned about Hermione?

Or had that decision not been about her at all?

Because as each month went by that he kept Ron’s secret, there was a voice inside of him that grew louder and louder. That said that he couldn’t tell Hermione now, because he had already been keeping the secret for too long, and if she found that out, she would be angry with him, too. Not just angry—betrayed. He’d betrayed her, and he was too much of a coward to face her with the truth.

That, right there, was his inner demon, staring him straight in the face. Because that, that fear, that weakness, was why he was still unwilling to tell her the truth, even now.

Harry didn’t know what to believe.

He certainly didn’t want to believe that Ron would do that—build a web of lies like that and drag Harry into it just to protect himself—because if he did, a whole lot of Harry’s life would come crashing down around him.

And could he even believe it? Should he? When Draco Malfoy had put the idea in his head? Poncy little Draco Malfoy who had been well on his way to dark wizard infamy at age eleven?

Draco Malfoy, who had lowered his wand, unwilling to kill Dumbledore on the astronomy tower.

Draco Malfoy, who had risked his own life to stop Bellatrix Lestrange from learning that they were hunting horcruxes, probably saving the entire war.

Draco Malfoy, who had become an Auror and had caught more Death Eaters on his own than the entire DMLE.

Draco Malfoy, who had run into that building today without pausing for his own safety and cut off the arm of the man torturing Hermione.

Draco Malfoy, who earlier tonight had threatened to kill Harry if he ever suggested that he didn’t care about Hermione again.

Could he believe that Draco Malfoy?

An uncomfortably confident voice deep inside his head told Harry that yes, yes he thought he could.

How had his life become this much of a mess? How many bad decisions had he made to get him here? Or was it his lack of decisions that did him in?

And how the hell was he going to get out of it?

Without realizing it, Harry had made it all the way to 12 Grimmauld Place and was climbing the front steps, dropping his robes and bag on the foyer floor, and falling heavily into his favorite armchair in the living room with his head in his hands.

“Harry! Harry! My gods. What happened? I came home and Ron had sent a letter saying that Hermione was hurt? And he hadn’t been allowed to see her? That George hadn’t let either of you see her? What’s going on? Is she ok?”

Ginny had been yelling her questions rapid fire as she rushed down the stairs and into the room, only stopping when she saw the stricken look on Harry’s face.

She dropped to her knees in front of the chair. “Oh gods, Harry. Did Hermione…?”

Harry shook his head. “She’s ok. She’s going to be ok.”

Ginny released a shaking breath, her forehead coming to Harry’s knees. “Oh thank Merlin.” She lifted her head back up and looked at Harry, one of her soft, warm hands coming up to the side of his face. He reached up, covering it with one of his own. “Then what’s wrong, darling?”

Harry was silent for a long moment, just looking into Ginny’s clear, loving eyes.

“Gin…” The word was nothing more than a choked whisper. “I think we did something bad. I think I did something really, really bad.”

Chapter End Notes

There you have it.

One of the things I always found the most infuriating about Harry’s relationship with Hermione is how little he seemed to actively participate in her life. She participated in his, but he always seemed like more of a passive part of her own life. As though he felt like his life, his struggles, his needs, were more important.

And to me, the most sinister and devastating outcome is not that Harry made an active choice to hurt Hermione, but instead, that it was his inaction that led him down such a destructive path.

He didn’t try to determine if what Ron told him was a lie because he had never really tried to know Hermione as deeply as she knew him and therefore could make the assumption that the things Ron said were true.

He didn’t prioritize her when he thought she was struggling because he was busy with his own life, and someone else would be better at it than he would be.

He didn’t consider that Ron could be lying because it was easier to accept that his story was the truth as a way to “justify” Ron’s cheating and Harry’s agreement to keep it a secret. It gave Harry an out.

Here’s the thing, I don’t think Harry is a bad person. I think he is kind and good and strives to do the right thing, but no one is perfect. Everyone fails. And it’s not always because we choose to be bad. It’s the lack of choosing, the silence, the apathy, that can destroy us in the end. Harry was told for years and years that he was special, that he had a higher purpose, and it gave him an excuse to not really try when it came to the more mundane, everyday work of being a good friend, or building your emotional intelligence.

Harry has failed as a friend to Hermione. Entirely. But he is starting to realize how badly he messed up. And maybe, just maybe, he can redeem himself.

I guess we’ll see… ;)

There WILL be another, full-length chapter on Sunday, back in Hermione’s POV. See you then!

Xoxo,

Flames

Paper Rings

Chapter Notes

Again, WOW the response to the last chapter once again blew me away! You people are AMAZING.

I hope you enjoy this one—it’s long and a bit…well…you’ll see. 😘

Hermione’s POV this week!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Christmas, 5th year

Hermione was pacing back and forth, creating tracks in the snow along the patch of ground beside the main square where she had spent the last twenty minutes, trying not to let her anxiety completely pull her under.

Her parents had hugged her this morning as they left for the ski slopes, making her promise to be safe until they returned in the evening to meet her for dinner. Her and Draco. If he arrived.

The plan had been more complex than her liking.

Narcissa would tell Lucius that she wanted to visit her relatives in France for the holidays. She and Draco would take a portkey to Lyon, where Narcissa would stay while Draco took the muggle train into Chamonix.

If all had gone well, Draco should be walking up to the high street any minute, his train having arrived twenty minutes ago.

But Hermione wasn’t sure.

What if something had gone wrong?

What if Lucius had insisted that he go with them?

What if Draco had missed his stop on the train?

The possibilities spun out around her as Hermione continued to pace, her cheeks and nose turning red from the cold as she shoved her gloved hands inside her peacoat. She had wanted to look nice for Draco, spending over an hour with various magical styling products to tame her hair and choosing the nicest outfit she could wear that would keep her warm enough that she wasn’t at risk of frostbite.

But if he didn’t arrive, it would all be for naught.

All of the planning, all of the anticipation, Hermione was terrified that it would all come crashing down.

She made what must have been her one hundredth pass along her established pacing route, leaning forward to cast her eyes down the road, searching through the crowds for her boyfriend.

Just as she was about to turn around again, she spotted it. A shock of platinum hair atop a figure wrapped in a fine cashmere scarf and gorgeous wool overcoat, walking up the street, eyes scanning the sidewalks.

A euphoric smile broke across Hermione’s face as she stepped out from her waiting place, catching Draco’s eye from fifty feet away.

The smile on his face matched hers as he paused, drinking her in.

Before she could think, Hermione was running. They were in an entirely muggle area in an entirely muggle town in a completely different country, which meant there was no risk of anyone seeing them together who shouldn’t. Which meant that Hermione could throw herself into Draco’s arms in the middle of the street without any consequences.

So that’s what she did.

She ran toward him, watching as his smile grew and his arms opened for her before she flew into him, capturing him around the shoulders as his arms wrapped around his waist. Her feet left the ground as Draco spun her around, both of them laughing at the joy, the freedom of not having to hide.

After two full rotations, Draco set Hermione down softly on the snow-covered street, his arms still encircling her waist.

“Happy Christmas, love.” He smiled down at her.

She melted into him, grabbing his lapels. “Happy Christmas, Draco.”

She leaned in, capturing his lips in a brief but fierce kiss. They both broke away simultaneously, looking around at the crowds walking around them. Draco’s eyes went briefly wide, before he caught hers, smiling widely at the realization that they didn’t need to hold back, they didn’t need to worry.

With that, he reached out, linked their hands together, and turned, walking them into the crowd.

They spent the next several hours exploring the small town, going in and out of shops, laughing, teasing, and constantly touching each other just because they could. Hermione got to hear Draco speak fluent French to shopkeepers and the waiter at lunch, her heartrate accelerating at the melodic sound of his voice.

They sat in a cozy café drinking hot chocolate and people watching, imagining wild tales and histories for each person they saw.

Just before dusk, they were wandering aimlessly when Draco had spotted a partially obscured trail leading away from the cobblestone streets. He’d pulled Hermione along, convincing her to go by telling her that she didn’t know, maybe there could be a secret garden hiding behind those trees!

They walked for at least twenty minutes, the packed dirt path winding them slightly upward and through snow-covered trees that seemed to be sparkling in the late afternoon sun.

Just as Hermione was about to suggest that they turn around, the path curved, and several yards in front of them stood a beautiful gazebo. Hermione and Draco looked at each other, smiling at their discovery, before stepping onto the wooden floor and turning around.

They had climbed high enough that when they turned back toward the town, they could see all of Chamonix, the river that ran through the center, and the Alpes beyond. It was breathtaking.

They both stood for a moment, just taking it in, before Draco turned toward Hermione and reached out his hand. She obliged, and he immediately pulled her in, slowly spinning around the gazebo in an unhurried dance.

“This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had, love.” He whispered the words against the top of her head.

Hermione nodded, her heart swelling. “For me, too, Draco.”

“To be here, to be able to be out in public with you…it’s…” He released a deep breath and pulled back slightly, looking down into her eyes.

“When all of this shit with You Know Who is over—and it will be over, I know it—we’re going to do this every day. We’re going to walk down Diagon together and have tea at outdoor cafes and live in an amazing house and just…we’re going to live, Hermione. Together.”

She was at a loss for words. She wanted that life so badly she could taste it. She nodded, holding his gaze. “Yes, Draco.”

He released her hand, bringing his up to frame her face. “And when this is all over, we are going to come back here and dance in this gazebo and know that we made it, that we really, truly made it. Just like the person in my family that carved amor vincit omnia onto that crypt, love is going to conquer this, Hermione. Our love is going to conquer all of this.”

Tears were falling steadily down her cheeks. It felt like Draco had cracked her open, pure, golden love flowing out of every single cell in her body.

“I love you, Draco.”

“I love you too, Hermione.”

Hermione leaned up on her tiptoes and captured his lips in a deep kiss.

They kept dancing until the sun went down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

June 2002

Hermione did her best to stay positive, really, she did.

But the first few weeks of her recovery tested the limits of her control.

She had spent so many years taking care of others and never asking for help for herself that she had become more than proficient at turning inward to solve her problems. It made her extremely uncomfortable to need anyone else’s assistance.

But in the early days after her attack, she could barely stay awake for more than an hour without bone-deep exhaustion crashing over her, much less walk down a corridor or even make her own tea. She had to accept help.

She wasn’t sure if it made her more or less upset to have a frustratingly handsome knight in shining armor—or, well, merino wool sweaters and custom-made trousers—who managed to have an unending well of patience even when Hermione snapped at him that yes, she could indeed braid her own hair without help.

(She couldn’t.)

Her mood had not been helped by Draco’s recounting of his conversation with Harry, which he told her about the morning after in the hospital.

Hermione had sat, still and silent, for a full two minutes after Draco had finished, forcing him to wave a hand in front of her face to make sure she hadn’t slipped into a fugue state.

She hadn’t, she had just been sifting through all of her memories, replaying them with the understanding that, for years, Ron had not been spreading just any lies about her, he had made their friends believe that she was devastatingly, desperately sick. He’d twisted those lies to isolate her from them, to make her feel even more alone, and to ensure that he was the one who had all of the power over her.

She tried to understand why. Was Ron just cruel? Was he punishing her for something? Or was he just a cowardly little boy intent on hoarding all of his toys, unwilling to let anyone take them away until he was done playing with them?

Because that had been what he was doing, she could see that now. He had been playing with her. Trying to see how far he could push her. How hard he could squeeze before she shattered. How much he could manipulate her life and the lives of everyone around her.

And, if she had to guess, she’d bet he was doing the same thing to Daphne, too.

But to say she had tried to kill herself was…it was beyond the pale. To use such a real, devastating phenomenon that touched so many lives and turn it into an excuse for his cheating…And for her friends to believe it, to agree to such a flimsy lie…

Her thoughts had started to spiral. Did she do something to make them think it could be true? Was there something about her that set off alarm bells?

When Draco had waved his hand in front of her to bring her back to the present, Hermione’s head had snapped up, her eyes wild and filled with unshed tears.

“Draco, you don’t believe him, do you? Please, you can’t believe him. I swear to you, I never did that. I never would do that. I…that’s not who I am. You know that’s not who I am, don’t you?”

Tears were flowing freely from her eyes as she gripped his arms, desperate.

With a fierceness she had never seen before, Draco leaned in, placed his hands firmly on each side of her face, and took a deep breath.

“Listen to me, Hermione. I know you. I know exactly who you are. What he said about you was the worst kind of lie. The fact that anyone believed him says everything about them and absolutely nothing about you. Do not, for a single second, think I could ever believe them. Do you understand me?”

She closed her eyes and leaned into his hands, the warmth and security of them calming her. Draco leaned in, kissed both of her eyelids, and then pulled her in to a hug, holding her until her tears stopped.

There was a lot of holding over the following week that Hermione was stuck in St. Mungo’s.

On the afternoon of her second day on the ward, Padma had come in to talk about the healing process—well, to talk about the healing process and to serve as a witness as Hermione updated her medical directive to make Draco her official medical proxy and as he did the same with her.

Hermione did not want to be on a long-term pain potion regimen for fear that it would impact her work, and had already been trying to turn down as much of it as she could stand. Padma had hummed quietly and made a note on her parchment.

“If you’re interested in alternative options, there have been many studies done that show that healing cursed nerve injuries can be aided by flooding the body with the opposite sensations.”

When Hermione and Draco looked at her blankly, she continued, keeping the same calm, no-nonsense voice she had maintained in all of her interactions when she was in the role of Hermione’s healer.

“The hypothesis is rather straight forward. The cruciatus curse attacks the nervous system, causing the brain to be overloaded with a pain response. Given the extreme nature, the body goes into a state of subconscious shock and assumes that the only sensation it can or will feel ever again is pain, thus stalling the healing process. We need to retrain the body to remember that there are other things you can feel—warmth, softness, comfort, pleasure.

“The studies show that simply being touched or held by your loved ones, by someone you trust, can have incredible benefits.” She turned to Draco, “holding her as you normally would when you sleep, hugging, even just casual touching can all be beneficial.” Draco had already been sitting on the edge of Hermione’s bed, but he nodded and immediately swung his legs up and gathered her into his chest as she smiled.

“There is also quite definitive evidence proving that sexual gratification is the most effective form of cognitive reprogramming after injuries like yours, so you’ll certainly want to try that. I’d recommend starting with manual and oral stimulation first, before returning to fully penetrative sex.”

Padma’s voice had never lost its matter-of-fact tone, even while Draco and Hermione’s eyes nearly popped out of their heads. It felt to Hermione almost like an out of body experience, sitting here with her former quiet, reserved classmate casually suggesting that her boyfriend give her orgasms as a form of medical treatment.

As soon as Padma left the room Draco and Hermione had burst into laughter at the absurdity of it. Though, after settling down, Draco had made sure to tell her in no uncertain terms that he would be following the healer’s instructions to a tee.

From that moment on, Draco had taken up an almost permanent residence in Hermione’s bed, cradling her against him at all times, and only getting up when he needed to help coordinate the DMLE investigation that had begun to take shape. Unfortunately, the sexual gratification had had to wait, first because Hermione was still exhausted from her injuries, and then because of the constant parade of people coming in and out of her room.

Hermione had been brought in Wednesday morning, and by Thursday afternoon, the DMLE had cleared the entire wing of the hospital of everyone except for a contingent of Aurors acting as guards and healers who were required to pass a series of security charms before they were allowed in.

It was Friday when the first big break came.

Tonks had knocked quietly and stepped into the room, her face drawn as she took in Hermione’s appearance.

“I planned to yell at you when I came in here for trying to singlehandedly fight off four werewolves, but…I’m just really glad you’re ok, Hermione.” Tonks’s voice shook, a display of emotion so rare that Hermione had no idea how to respond when the now turquoise-haired witch leaned down and gathered her into a teary hug.

After a moment, Tonks cleared her voice and stood, roughly wiping her eyes. “Now that’s quite enough of that. I’ve got news.”

Draco tensed next to her. “Were you able to get details on Greyback’s plans from the unsubs?”

Tonks shook her head. “Not yet, the legillimens are still sifting through their memories. But we did find out how they found your lab, Hermione.” She pulled out a photo of a young woman, younger than Hermione, with light ginger hair who was walking into a nondescript building surrounded by old warehouses.

“You found out who she is?” Draco’s voice was breathless. Clearly, he’d seen this photo before.

Tonks turned to Hermione. “On the day of the attack, we got this photo from one of our recon teams who had been scouting several locations we suspected Greyback’s people of using. I put the whole team on it afterward. Her name is Athena Pembroke.”

Something about that name was familiar to Hermione. “I recognize that name, but I can’t put my finger on it…”

Tonks continued. “She is a mastery student in Herbology at St. Andrews.”

It clicked into place. A horrified expression broke across Hermione’s face as both Draco and Tonks watched her, Draco tightening his grip around her shoulders. “Neville’s research assistant? She…she’s the one who sent over all the plants for testing. I wrote to her a few times…”

Tonks nodded solemnly. “Yes. We were able to track her down and arrest her, and she admitted everything. Turns out her father had become a werewolf when she was a child and had joined a pack of lycanthrope supremacists with ties to Greyback. It seems that he was quite passionate about sharing his views with his daughter. He fought for Voldemort, was killed at the Battle of Hogwarts. Athena said when Neville asked her to collect all those plants and she found out what it was for, and who they were for, she reached out to some of her father’s old packmates to warn them. She added a magical trace to one of the vials she sent, that’s how the attackers found the location of the lab. They had access to a one-of-a-kind relic that contained a piece of very old, very dark magic that could be used to obliterate even the strongest wards. That’s how they got in.”

Draco looked stricken as he brought his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes roughly. Hermione reached out and squeezed his leg, she knew that Draco blamed himself that they’d been able to get through his wards.

Tonks saw his change in demeanor.

“Don’t even start that, cousin. Those wards were the best I’ve ever seen. There was nothing else anyone could have done. No way to anticipate an artifact like that. Your friend Nott has been having a field day examining it. Once we get a better sense of its properties, you can start working on new wards that can protect against it.”

Hermione regarded him. “She’s right, Draco. None of this was your fault. And look at me, I’m perfectly fine!”

Draco pinned her with a glare. “You’re in the hospital and can’t even walk ten steps without collapsing.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, challenging. “Yes, but I did walk nine steps this morning.”

She held his gaze for a moment before his expression broke, a reluctant smile crossing his face before he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips.

“Eughhh stop, please. Not something I need to see.” Tonks had turned away, shaking her head in mock disgust.

Hermione just rolled her eyes as Draco kissed the top of her head.

Huffing, Tonks flicked her wand to draw up a chair, sitting with her hands folded on the edge of the bed.

“We need to talk about what happens next, Hermione. Greyback might not have known for sure what you were doing before, but he definitely does now. The landscape has changed. I…” The witch took a deep breath, a look of devastation on her face. “I think you should stop. Stop looking for the cure.”

Hermione’s heart stuttered. For Tonks to even suggest it, knowing that without Hermione’s work it was almost certain that her own husband would die before their son started Hogwarts…

No.

She shook her head.

“Absolutely not, Tonks. I can’t stop now. Those plants? I think they’re the key. I’m getting close, I can feel it. I won’t stop now. If either of you try,” Hermione turned and gave Draco, who she could tell had been trying to hide the hopeful look on his face at Tonks’s suggestion, a pointed look, “I’ll stun you and lock you both in a tower in Switzerland until I’m finished. Understood?”

She looked between them, her eyes fierce.

“I hate Switzerland.” Tonks gave her a playful look.

Draco lightly pulled on the bottom of her braid. “Honestly, love. At least let me be on the French side of the Alpes.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and let out an annoyed groan. “Well now that we’re finished with that nonsense…”

Tonks nodded. “Yes, right. My official proposal as Head Auror is this: We move your lab to a new location, add all of the wards Draco can think of, and place it under a fidelius charm. Only you, those two squirrelly lab assistants of yours, and a select group of Aurors who can provide constant surveillance and protection while you are present will know the location. We’ll run extensive searches on any materials brought inside.”

Hermione nodded. As it turned out, it had just taken a quick round with the cruciatus curse to convince her to stop fighting against Auror protection.

“And I’d also like to place a fidelius charm on your home, Hermione. I understand that the wards are even stronger there than at your lab, but I don’t think we should take any chances. Alright?”

Hermione hummed her assent. “Yes, I think all of that sounds right.”

Draco nodded in agreement. “We’ll need to find a secret keeper. I can do it for the lab, but I live in the house too, so the spell won’t accept me there…”

Hermione’s mind began to work, sorting through her friends. Who was she willing to put at that much risk? She didn’t even want Draco as a secret keeper for the lab…

“Ah yes, I believe I have a solution to that.”

They both turned their eyes to Tonks, questioning.

“At first I thought I could do it, but I worry I might be too obvious a target. They’ll likely assume that the DMLE are organizing your security. Luckily, there’s been another volunteer. May I?” Tonks motioned to the door.

Confused, Hermione turned to Draco, and after a moment of silent conversation, nodded.

Tonks flicked her wand again and the door to Hermione’s room cracked open. A second later a figure wearing soft, worn-in robes, his greying hair organized neatly, warmth radiating from his tired but kind eyes, stepped through, closing the door behind him.

“Remus!”

He smiled as he stepped further into the room, pausing behind his wife, one hand placed comfortingly on her shoulder.

“Hello, Hermione. I’m very glad to see you.” Her favorite professor turned to Draco, still smiling but now a spark of humor passing his eyes. “Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco had gone very still. Hermione reached out, taking his hand and squeezing reassuringly.

Carefully, Draco nodded his head. “Professor Lupin.”

Remus looked between the two for a moment. “You know, there was a bet amongst the teachers as to whether and when the two of you would end up together. I believe the pool was started in your first year.”

“What?!” Draco and Hermione yelled simultaneously.

Remus just laughed. “Yes, I witnessed quite a tense moment between Minerva and Albus during my tenure. She was certain that he was trying to cheat by placing Slytherin and Gryffindor together for all of your classes. Albus was quite the romantic, you see, and you two were always his favorites. I bet that you would end up together, but not until at least ten years after you graduated. Apparently, I’ve lost a few galleons. I suppose you’ll have to make it up to me by allowing me to be your secret keeper.”

Remus raised an eyebrow.

The reality of it hit Hermione like a blow. “Remus…no, I can’t, I can’t let you risk yourself like that. What about Teddy?”

Remus stepped forward, reaching one hand down to knot with Tonks’s, and placing the other softly on Hermione’s ankle.

“Hermione. This is nothing, I assure you. What you’re doing, what you’ve already done…What it could mean for me, for my family…this is the least I can do. Greyback is shortsighted, he won’t suspect that another werewolf would be willing to help you like this, not even me. I’m the best option.” He looked down and released a harsh breath. “I didn’t try hard enough, fight hard enough, to force James and Lily to choose me back then. I will not make the same mistake again.”

His eyes met Hermione’s, clear and deep. She considered it for just a moment.

“Ok.”

Tonks let out a breath, and Remus squeezed her hand before releasing it and clasping his hands in front of him. “Wonderful. Mr. Malfoy, you and I will coordinate upon Hermione’s departure, and I will cast the spell as soon as you are ready to return home.”

Draco had been quiet, taking in the scene. Looking intently at Remus, he unwound his arms from around Hermione and slowly stood, rounding the bed until he was in front of his old professor. Without a word, he extended his hand.

A small smile played on Remus’s lips as he reached out, taking it in his own.

“Thank you, professor. I can’t begin to express how grateful I am. I’m in your debt.”

Remus brought his other hand up and patted him on the shoulder. “You can repay me by treating that young woman with the respect she deserves.” Draco turned and caught Hermione’s eye, smiling kindly.

“I can certainly do that, sir.”

Remus clapped him on the shoulder. “Very good. Very good indeed. Because Draco,” Hermione could see the hand on Draco’s shoulder tighten, “if you don’t, I will lock you in a room with me on the full moon. Do you understand?”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. She had never heard Remus make a threat of any kind, much less one as violent as that.

But instead of cowering, Draco merely chuckled. “I’m afraid there is already quite a number of people prepared to kill me should I ever hurt her, professor. You’ll have to join the queue.”

Remus’s eyes sparkled. “Well alright then.”

Releasing Draco, he turned back to Hermione. “I wish you a swift recovery, Hermione. I’ll see you soon.”

Tonks stood, taking his hand as they made their way toward the door. “Draco, I’ll be back tomorrow to discuss details for the security plans. You’ll be heading the team, of course.”

Draco nodded solemnly and strode back to Hermione’s bedside, running one hand down her arm while the other came to rest on her thigh. “Sounds good, boss.”

With a final nod, Tonks and Lupin left, Hermione and Draco watching the door close behind them.

They were silent for a moment.

Hermione spoke first. “The teachers were betting on us?”

Draco turned to her with a sly smile. “How much do you want to bet that Flitwick gave us those detentions to try to juice his chances?”

Hermione’s brow furrowed, but Draco just leaned in, kissing her between her eyes before bringing their lips together.

The next few days were a mix of progressions, setbacks, and more frustration-induced crying than Hermione previously knew to be possible.

Padma, who became the central focus of Hermione’s ire, had given Hermione a challenge: she could go home as soon as she could remain awake for an entire day as normal and could walk up and down the entire length of the hospital corridor with no more assistance than someone’s arm, and without stopping.

Hermione loved a challenge. Hermione never lost.

Hermione was losing now.

Defeating the fatigue was easy, she checked that box on Sunday.

But by Monday, Hermione was absolutely convinced that the corridor outside of her room was being magically extended—so much so that when Theo came to visit, she demanded that he check it using a series of DoM detection spells. Theo’s eyes had cut to Draco in question, but he had—wisely—kept his thoughts to himself.

All of her friends cycled through their visits, using different tactics to help her complete the task.

Blaise brought a fresh-cooked meal from his trattoria on the Amalfi Coast, and told her she could eat it once she finished her lap.

Luna had given her several talismans to wear around her neck, assuring her that a combination of Grindylow teeth and bark from enchanted willow trees were known to provide strength to hikers attempting long journeys. Hermione was almost certain that Luna had gotten the bark from the Whomping Willow, but she’d been too confused to even ask.

Pansy told her if she didn’t finish, she’d burn all of Hermione’s jeans.

George tried to distract her by telling her jokes and describing how Fred had spent a month in his second year enchanting all of Percy’s shoes to swap from only being for his right foot or his left foot each day and how Percy had ended up in detention after he screamed at Madam Pince when she shushed him after he tripped in the library.

Theo occupied her by going into vivid, unforgettable detail about his sex life with George. Hermione would never be able to look at George’s golden ear the same again…

But it was only Draco, sweet, stoic, encouraging Draco, who saw just how devastated she was that, no matter how hard she tried, Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, couldn’t manage to walk down a hallway.

She’d made it further than ever before on Tuesday morning, making it all the way to the end of the hall and at least one third of the way back to her room before her legs gave out and she burst into tears.

Draco had pulled her to him, enveloping her into a tight hug that also allowed him to hold all of her weight. “I know, love. I’m so sorry. It’s going to be ok. I promise it’s going to be ok.” He ran his hand through her hair and kissed her temple even as Hermione shook her head violently against his chest.

“What if it isn’t? What if I never get better?” She whispered her fears into him.

“You will, love. You’re Hermione Granger. No one and nothing beats Hermione Granger. Let us not forget that when I beat your score on a potions quiz by half a point fifth year you demanded that the Room turn itself into a fully functional potions lab and insisted that I brew potions all night so you could watch me and figure out what I did differently and how you could do it better. Your legs do not stand a chance against you. Now,” he tilted her back in his arms, bringing one hand up to cradle her face, “why don’t I carry you back to the room, place an impenetrable locking charm on the door, and spend the next…hmmm…hour or so fulfilling your healer’s orders by providing you with some sexual gratification?”

Hermione stared into his eyes for a moment, struck again by how overwhelming her feelings were for this man who managed to comfort her, make her laugh, and make her feel strong all in the same breath.

“You know, that was the night that I realized I would never love anyone else but you in my entire life. Because you, Draco Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin, beautiful, cocky Draco Malfoy agreed to brew obscure potions for hours for the sole purpose of making sure I beat you in our exams.”

She gave him a watery smile and he smirked back. “Beautiful, huh?”

Hermione laughed. “Cocky. So, so cocky.”

Draco’s face broke into a genuine smile before he closed the distance, bringing their lips together in a fierce kiss, a kiss that promised more to come…

A sudden commotion sounded from down the hall. Hermione wasn’t sure how it happened, but in the same instant Draco pulled his mouth away from hers, pulled out his wand, and maneuvered Hermione behind him, somehow still holding all of her weight with one arm curled around her waist.

“I’m not trying to sneak in! For Merlin sake, run whatever diagnostic charms you want! I just want to see Hermione. Please!”

Draco tried to force her back, but Hermione managed to poke her head from around his shoulder to see down the hall. She recognized that voice.

“Neville?”

The yelling stopped. “Hermione? Oh gods, Hermione! Can we talk? Please, let me apologize. Please!”

Hermione released a slow breath.

“No, Hermione.” Draco muttered cautiously in front of her. She scoffed in return.

“Yes, Neville! Of course.”

Draco groaned before turning and picking her up, carrying her back safely to her room before leaving to personally run the security checks on Neville.

It was almost ten minutes before they returned, Draco’s wand still trained on Neville’s back.

“He appears clean.” She could hear the reluctance in Draco’s voice.

She pinned him with a stare. “Well then, can you lower your wand, please?”

He only briefly flicked his eyes to her before training them again on Neville. “No.”

Neville looked cautiously between them. “It’s alright, Hermione. I..I understand. I deserve far worse than Draco Malfoy threatening to curse out my tongue for what happened to you.”

He looked beyond distraught. “Neville, no, it’s not your fa—”

Neville put up his hands. “Hermione, if you try to tell me it’s not my fault, I will demand that Malfoy curse me. It is my fault. It is. I…I should never have trusted any of my students with this, I should have helped you myself, I should never have told them what it was for…”

“You’re right about that, Longbottom.” Draco mumbled, causing Hermione to shoot him a glare.

Neville shook his head, running his fingers roughly through his hair.

“I am so sorry, Hermione. I don’t expect your forgiveness, but if there is anything I can do to…to help you, or to make this better, or, well, anything. I’ll do it.” He looked at her pleadingly.

“Neville.” Hermione reached out her hand, beckoning him forward and grasping his own. “Of course I forgive you! But truly, there’s nothing to forgive, ok?” She squeezed his hand, but Neville still looked gutted.

“But if you really want to do something to make it up to me…” Neville’s head shot up, eyes wide and focused on her. “I could use some help narrowing down the plants you sent me. I’m looking for a very specific set of properties, but with over 200 specimens, it will take me months on my own.”

Neville looked elated. “Of course! Of course, Hermione. I’d be honored.”

She smiled at her old friend. No matter how much time passed or how much changed, Neville’s steadfast dedication and kindness remained constant. It sent warmth through her chest.

“Ughh!” Hermione let out a frustrated groan, as her left arm began to spasm, a fun little quirk of her recovery that had begun to show itself over the last few days. Padma’s hypothesis was that because Bellatrix had carved the word into her arm just before using the curse on her those years ago, the scars now covered by her tattoo still held echoes of her dark magic, and when the curse was used on her again, the nerves and muscles in her arm had responded more acutely than the rest of her body.

Without hesitation, Draco stepped forward, finally lowering his wand and reaching out to tenderly take Hermione’s forearm between his own, his large hands encircling her entire arm before beginning to methodically massage it. Hermione leaned in slightly to his touch.

“You’ll need to take a vow of secrecy, Longbottom. The DMLE will need to sweep your offices, and I will personally be placing wards around any rooms where you are doing research for her. Got it?”

Neville didn’t respond, he just darted his eyes between Draco, Hermione, and his hands on her arm. “Huh.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed and Hermione cocked her head at her friend.

“So…the two of you are…?” He waved his hand in their direction.

Hermione grinned, turning her head to catch Draco’s eyes. “Together. Yes, we’re together.”

A smirk crossed Draco’s face at her words, and he brought her arm up, placing a kiss on her hand before resuming his massage.

Draco, turned, eying the other man suspiciously as Neville considered for a moment.

Finally, he shrugged. “Makes sense, if I’m honest.” He looked down at his watch. “I need to get back to Scotland, I’m overseeing a moonlight mandrake planting tonight.” He stepped forward, gently hugging Hermione even while Draco kept hold of her left hand.

“It’s so good to see you, Hermione. And again, I am so, so sorry.”

She hugged him back. “Thanks, Neville. It’s good to see you, too.”

He stepped back, giving her a kind smile before turning toward the door. Just as he reached for the handle, he paused, turning back around with a peculiar look on his face.

“Malfoy, if you hurt—”

Draco scoffed. “If I hurt her, you’ll kill me? Yes, Longbottom, I know. Join the club. Honestly, I’m beginning to get a complex here, Granger. Why is no one threatening to kill you if you hurt me?”

Hermione arched a brow. “I think we both know that Pansy would light me on fire if I hurt you, Draco.”

Draco’s expression was thoughtful. “I suppose you’re right.”

A half smirk creeped onto his face as he winked at her.

“You two really were meant for each other, huh?” The couple both turned to Neville, who was watching them with a warm smile on his face. He shook his head and began opening the door. “You’re welcome to come anytime to set up the wards, Draco. I’ll talk to you soon, Hermione.”

The door closed softly as Draco continued to kneed his long, elegant fingers into the raised skin on her forearm. “We were, you know.”

Hermione leaned against him. “Hmm?”

“Meant for each other.” The words were quiet, sincere, as he gently brought her arm to his lips and placed a kiss over her tattoo, over the center of her scar.

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath, breathing in Draco’s love, his trust, his devotion. It made her feel invincible.

“Alright, help me up.” She moved, throwing her legs over the side of the bed. “I’m trying that hallway again.”

Draco smirked, but his eyes shone with nothing but deep, undying love. Reaching out his hand, he helped her stand. “Let’s go show this hallway whose boss, Granger.”

It took Hermione until the following day, but she did, finally, defeat her archnemesis, the Fourth Floor East Wing Spell Damage Unit hallway of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

The second Hermione had touched the door to her room and turned her head toward him, she found Draco beaming down at her—but she only had an instant to see his wide smile before he lifted her up, whooping as he spun her around in celebration.

Padma made her do it again thirty minutes later as she watched, her expression giving nothing away. But when Hermione came to a stop directly in front of her door, the professional veneer that Padma had worn since Hermione arrived on the ward melted away, a tear falling down the healer’s cheek as she rushed forward and gathered Hermione into a bruising hug.

“Oh, thank Merlin. I knew you could do it, Hermione! Oh, I’m just so happy! I have to floo call Blaise, he needs to tell everyone. They’ve been asking for hourly reports, you know. This is wonderful! You’re going home!”

Padma was actually hopping up and down, and her excitement was contagious, causing Hermione to smile widely and giggle.

“Good, because I don’t think I can stand another shower in that bathroom. I’m planning to spend several hours soaking in my tub to try and forget about that infernal water pressure.”

Padma pulled back, a commiserating smile on her face. “Ugh, I know. It’s horrifying.”

It took another hour for Draco to coordinate with the DMLE team, for Padma to provide Hermione with detailed instructions about her follow-up appointments, and for Remus to cast the fidelius charm over their house, but by 6pm, Hermione was gripping Draco’s arm as he apparated them to their front garden, inside the bounds of the spell, and walked with her—slowly—into the home she had not seen for seven days.

As soon as Hermione was inside, she released a shuddering, relieved breath. She was home. Finally, she was home.

“I believe you mentioned a bath, Ms. Granger?” Draco stood behind her, lightly rubbing his hands up and down her arms.

“Mmmm, that I did.”

Without another word, Draco scooped her up and headed for the stairs. He set her down on their bed while he prepared the bath, lavender and eucalyptus steam wafting out as Hermione began pulling off her sweater.

“Hey now, don’t be taking my job, love.”

Draco sauntered out of the bathroom and stood in front of her, reaching out to finish removing her jumper, then her shirt, before kneeling in front of her and running his fingertips up her thighs before they hooked under her leggings, and with tantalizing slowness, peeled them off her body.

He didn’t say anything, just let his eyes roam hungrily over her form before standing, taking her in his arms, and walking her to the tub, slowly lowering her in to the hot water as she let out a satisfied groan.

“Is there anything you need, love?” His hand came up to cradle her face.

Capturing his eyes, she smiled and nodded. “You. In this bathtub with me. Right now.”

He chuckled. “I suppose that can be arranged.”

Hermione watched as Draco slowly stripped out of his clothes. She bit her lip, her eyes roaming freely up and down his naked body before he stepped behind her, settling into the tub so she could lean against his chest.

He immediately brought his arms around her waist, his head dipping down to place a slow kiss on her shoulder.

“Draco?”

He hummed, his lips still against her skin.

“Thank you.”

His movements stopped. “What do you mean, love?”

Hermione wrapped her arms around his under the water.

“Thank you for being there for me this week. Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for, for finding me.”

She could feel Draco’s heart beat speed up against her back.

His voice was soft but fierce. “I told you, love. I will always find you. I will always take care of you. You will never have to do this on your own, ever again. Ok?”

Hermione turned her head to look into his eyes. “I love you so much, Draco.”

He brought his hand up, rubbing his thumb across her cheekbone. “I love you, Hermione.”

They leaned in together, capturing each other’s lips in deep kiss that sent a very different kind of heat through every inch of Hermione’s body. She moaned against him as Draco’s tongue traced the seam of her lips before pushing inside.

His hands swept down her shoulders, skimming her collarbones, a single finger tracing a line between her breasts before his hand came up, caressing the sensitive skin there before circling around her nipple, eliciting another moan. His other hand made its way down her chest, below the water line, teasing as it played over her stomach and lower, lower until just the pad of his finger lightly brushed her clit.

Her mouth broke away from his as she gasped, her back arching into him.

“Is this ok?” He sounded breathless.

She nodded, her eyes tracking down, watching his fingers as they continued to rub exactly where she needed them.

“If you feel any pain, we stop, ok?” His mouth came to her neck, licking against her pulse point.

“I don’t feel any pain—oh! Draco, please…” she was starting to writhe.

“Good…” she could hear the smile in his voice. “Because there is something I want to try…”

He pulled away the hand on her pubic bone, causing her to whimper in protest.

“Shh, it’s alright love.”

He brought his hand up and out of the water, bringing it to her other breast, his fingers lightly caressing her nip—

A sound escaped her that she couldn’t describe, caught between a gasp, a moan, and a scream, overloading her senses.

Because when his fingers touched her…he’d managed to flip his signet ring around again. But, but this time, this time it was—it was vibrating.

“Oh gods, Draco. I…” She couldn’t think. Her mind had narrowed to only the pulsating sensation against her nipple, and the uncontrollable ribbons of pleasure unfurling down her arms, in her stomach, down her legs, and beating in her core.

“That first night you slept at my flat, when you turned your ring into a vibrating alarm. I told you I could think of a far better use for such a thing.”

All she could do was mumble incoherently, because now that hand had left her breast and was traveling back down, under the water, and right to her core.

The second his ring pressed against her clit, her body bowed, water sloshing in the tub as she yelled out in pleasure.

Draco smiled against her neck before biting her earlobe in the same instant he sunk two fingers inside of her, curling and pressing against the spot on her front wall while his ring stayed pressed against her clit. “That’s it, love. Let me make you feel good.”

Hermione was letting out a string of broken whimpers as she ground herself against his hand. She could feel him growing hard against her back, and all of the sensations—the vibration, his fingers, the heat of the water, his other hand holding her belly to secure her to him—it became overwhelming. She started to keen.

“Oh gods, Draco. Please. Please. Don’t stop. I need, I need…I…”

“I know love, I know. I can feel you.” He curled his fingers and pressed hard inside of her for emphasis. “Just let it happen. I’ve got you. Come for me, Hermione. I want to see you…”

He bit down at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and she was gone. She threw her head back against him, screaming his name as it felt like every single one of her muscles seized and then exploded, colors bursting behind her eyes as her release barreled through her. Crackling electricity seemed to start in the center of her chest and radiate outward, filling her from head to toe. It was as though her body was waking up, remembering how good it could feel.

The sensation seemed to last forever, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through her as Draco continued to work his fingers inside her cunt, only stopping when she finally brought her hand down to pull him away, the intensity becoming too much.

She was panting, eyes closed, sound ringing in her ears as Draco lightly ran his fingers up from her thighs, over her hips, and finally up her arms, rubbing soothingly as she started to come down.

“Still with us, Granger?”

Her head lolled against his chest. “I…you…that…I can’t…”

He laughed against the back of her head. “You better find your words, love, because I am nowhere close to done with you yet.”

Without warning, Draco looped one arm under her knees and the other around her back and stood up powerfully, stepping out of the tub without faltering and casting a wandless drying charm on them both while he walked assuredly into their bedroom.

Laying her down on their bed, her legs hanging off the edge, Draco leaned over her, holding his weight on one arm while he brought his lips to hers in an indulgent kiss. Hermione’s hands came up to twist into his hair, relishing in the feel of him, his confidence, his control.

Draco pulled his lips from hers, trailing kisses down her jaw, her neck, and to her chest, while his fingers skimmed along her breast, coasting over her nipple before continuing down her stomach.

“You drive me crazy. Your skin. The way you sound. The way you taste…” Draco dragged his lips down her breast as he spoke, before bringing his tongue out to circle her nipple, now hard with excitement.

“You drive me crazy.” Her words were breathy and strained. “Thinking about you. The way you make me feel. What it feels like when you touch me…”

Her words were cut off by a moan when Draco’s teeth closed against her nipple, sending a sensation hovering perfectly between pleasure and pain straight through her.

He continued his descent, licking and nipping down her stomach. Just as he reached her pubic bone, he pulled away, pushing himself back up to standing and staring down at her with the cocky expression only capable of a man who knew as well as Draco did exactly how to please her.

With difficulty, Hermione hoisted herself up on her elbows, still panting as she regarded him.

“Well, love. I believe we are under a very strict set of orders, and who am I to violate the expertise of a healer?”

And with that, he sunk to his knees.

Both hands skated up her legs, starting at her ankles, her calves, the sensitive skin at the back of her knees, until they came to a stop on her thighs, squeezing possessively.

Without warning, he brought his face down to her core and licked all the way up her slit. Hermione’s arms gave out as she fell back to the bed, allowing the sensations to wash over her.

Draco gripped one thigh, maneuvering it over his shoulder and using his hand to hold it in place, the luxurious movement of his tongue never stopping.

Hermione felt like she was floating. That the only thing holding her to the ground was Draco’s hand wrapped around her leg.

His mouth had moved its assault to her clit, licking and sucking hard enough to make her vision cross, even with her eyes closed.

And yet somehow he still drove her higher by plunging two long fingers inside of her, curling them again just as she needed at the same moment he sucked harder than ever on her clit.

She was falling. She was flying. Every atom of her being had exploded into the stratosphere.

Her hands were fisted into the sheets of the bed. Or maybe it was Draco’s hair. She just knew she was rolling her hips into his face while chanting…something. His name, probably.

When she finally regained herself enough to open her eyes, she found Draco, still on his knees, staring at her in open awe. His face was flushed, his breathing heavy, but his hands were soft as they lightly ran over her hips, her thighs, soothing her.

Limply, she extended her hand. “Come up here.”

His eyes never left hers as he slowly rose, climbing onto the bed and settling between her thighs—but carefully holding himself away, not allowing his cock to touch her.

That wouldn’t do.

As he leaned down to capture her lips, her arm snaked between them, closing around his length and pumping slowly. He released a guttural moan and pulled back.

“Hermione, no, we…we can’t. I don’t want to hurt you…” Her hand tightened, squeezing as it moved up and over the tip of his desperately hard cock, causing his whole body to tense as he let out a broken sound.

Continuing her ministrations, she brought her other hand to his face. “Draco, look at me.” He brought his face over hers, clearly using all of his strength to focus his gaze. “You are not going to hurt me. I know you won’t hurt me. But I promise, if anything doesn’t feel good, I’ll tell you, ok? Please, Draco. I need this.”

She did. She needed to feel him inside of her, surrounding her, making her feel whole.

And she knew he needed it, too. To feel her, to really feel her, and to know that she was ok.

She ran her hand down from his face, along his back until she pressed, encouraging him to sink down.

“Fuck, love.” His hips moved forward, bringing his cock to notch directly against her folds. She sighed at the sensation, guiding him into her with her hand before releasing him as he pushed forward, bottoming out inside of her.

Her hands came to his shoulders, her breath shallow as she adjusted once again to the feeling of him deep inside. The joy and the ecstasy of it.

Draco had dropped his head into her shoulder as he thrust into her, but he raised it back up, catching her eyes again. “Are you ok?”

Hermione bit her lip and nodded. “I’m perfect. Move, Draco, please.”

He nodded before pulling out all the way to the tip and slowly pushing all the way back in.

“Yesssss.” Hermione threw her head back. “Harder. Harder, please.”

Draco groaned, pulling back again before snapping his hips forward quickly, with a force that rattled through her whole body.

They both seemed to release a breath they had been holding for days. This, the two of them together, the love that bloomed between them like this, it washed away the stress and the fear and the pain of the last week. They were here and this was all that mattered.

Draco set a steady, hard pace, holding himself on one forearm while his other hand squeezed her breast rhythmically before sliding down to hold her waist. The feel of his large hand wrapped around her, holding her with such gentleness and strength, nearly brought tears to her eyes.

Draco leaned his head into her neck, speaking softly but with emotion filling each word.

“Never again. I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again. You’re safe. I promise. I love you, Hermione. Fuck, I love you so much. I can’t live without you. I won’t. Do you understand me?”

Hermione nodded against him. “Yes, yes I know. I love you, Draco. Forever. This is forever. I’ll never leave you.”

She could feel the tension building inside of her, mixing with the overwhelming emotion of the moment and growing into something undeniable. She was teetering on the edge.

Draco brought his head up over hers, his eyes now clear as he stared into hers.

“Forever. Forever, my love.”

With the next thrust, the damn broke. Hermione’s body bowed, her legs squeezing around Draco’s hips as her core pulsed, squeezing him so tightly that it only took one more snap of his hips until he was coming, crying out as he followed her into the abyss.

He leaned his body into hers, still holding most of his weight on his elbow but letting their skin slide against each other as they both tried to catch their breaths, Hermione’s hand coming up to card gently through Draco’s hair.

Shifting up slightly, Draco leaned in and captured her lips in a sweet, unhurried kiss. There was nothing more to say. Just this.

Carefully, he pulled his softening cock out of her and rolled, landing on his back and maneuvering Hermione to lay across his chest, her ear directly over his pounding heart.

She was spent. Totally content to lie here against his warm skin for the rest of time.

“Padma was right.” Her fingers traced patterns on his chest.

“Hmm?”

“That is the most effective form of cognitive reprogramming I can imagine.” She squeezed her hand against his ribs.

Draco huffed a laugh. “I’m glad to hear it, love. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be happy to reprogram you once again.”

She smiled and burrowed her face against him, closing her eyes.

**

Hermione remained at home, Draco at her side, for the following week as she continued to recover, only leaving the house to go to her first follow-up appointment at St. Mungos, escorted by a cadre of Aurors and hidden under a disillusionment charm.

Draco stayed by her side, cooking meals, guiding her on walks around the garden, and fucking her until she forgot her own name. He received daily reports from the DMLE and sent back directives, preparing for Hermione’s return to her work.

It was decided that Hermione would not return to the Ministry, because although the DoM was secure, there was no way for her to get in and out of the building without being in unsecured public areas. Theo would temporarily take over her role as liaison to the DMLE, continuing to work on the dark artifact that broke through the lab’s wards and collaborating with Draco on new warding spells to protect against similar objects.

Hermione, instead, would spend all of her time at her newly secured lab. Much to her distaste, the new location was housed in a disused building on the Oxford campus, and she grumbled about how superior Cambridge was at every opportunity. Thankfully, she did not need to explore the university, given that her lab was entirely hidden under wards and the fidelius charm, and the only access point was a single floo, connected only to her house and a secured floo inside the DMLE offices. Surprisingly, both Callum and Embry had been insistent about staying on as her lab assistants; they had both seemed awed at Hermione’s courage during the attack and were both more than willing to go through the hassle of flooing to the Ministry, going through a grueling security check, and then flooing to the lab each morning.

Aurors cycled through in shifts, at least two on site at all times when Hermione was present.

To Hermione’s consternation, Ron had initially been part of the protective detail, but after his first shift—during which he complained nonstop about the volume of the music Hermione played in her lab while she worked—Hermione had demanded that Draco remove him, much to his delight, particularly since it meant that Draco got to obliviate the location of the lab right out of Ron’s head.

Harry, however, remained on the team.

All of the other Aurors in the detail—even Draco—managed to disappear into the background as they stood watch while she worked in the lab, but not Harry.

Hermione could feel his eyes on her at all times, and every time she looked over at him, he always seemed to be assessing her, concern and confusion warring on his face.

He barely spoke to her during his shifts. He would greet her, oftentimes opening his mouth to say more, before looking away, too…skittish?...embarrassed to say something?...Hermione didn’t know.

In the first week of August, after a full month of this painfully awkward dance, Hermione reached her breaking point. She had been attempting to dissect the tiny, delicate stamen of a rare curled-leaf harmonium fern but wasn’t able to concentrate, acutely aware that Harry’s eyes were locked on her.

She leaned away from the plant in front of her, growling as she slammed her hands into the metal table.

“What, Harry?! What is it? Why are you staring at me?!”

She rounded on him, eyes fierce, her anger boiling over. Harry’s eyes went wide, clearly unprepared to be caught staring.

“No, well, I, I didn’t mean to…” He was looking anywhere but at her.

“Spit it out, Harry. I have work to do, and I can’t concentrate when you are thinking so loudly I swear I can feel it rattling my brain.” Her gaze was piercing as she looked at him expectantly.

He was chastened as he looked toward his shoes, a hand coming roughly to his hair. “I…I just…I wanted to know how you’re…doing?”

Knowing what she did about his conversation with Draco, she wanted to be disappointed that this was all Harry could muster, but if she was honest, Hermione wasn’t surprised.

She sighed. “I’m fine, Harry. Healing quite well. I’d say I’m at about 70% at the moment, but Padma expects that I’ll make a full recovery.”

Harry was staring at her intently. He nodded. “Good, good, that’s…that’s good. But…” He released a breath. “How…how are you, Hermione?”

Hermione cocked her head. “I don’t understand your question.”

She did, of course, but she wanted to see what he’d say about it.

Harry looked deeply uncomfortable, shuffling back and forth on his feet. “Well, I just, I know that it’s been a…a hard time? For you…and, I just, well, I just wanted to see if you were…ok? If you needed any…help? Because, well, if you need any help, I…I want to…well, I want to help, Hermione.”

The bar had been on the floor, and somehow, he still had not cleared it.

She tried to keep the derision out of her voice. “Why would I need help, Harry?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh! I don’t…Just…If you did, you know…If you were struggling or…or needed someone to talk to…I can, you can talk to me.”

It took all of her control not to laugh.

Instead, she stared him down, her expression hardening. “I am not ‘struggling,’ Harry. Minus the torture, this has been the best year I’ve had in…well, maybe ever. I don’t need to talk to you. I don’t need your help. Stop wasting your time worrying about me—I’m certain there are more…pressing issues in your own life for you to focus on.”

With that, she had waved her hand and Rage Against the Machine began to blast through the speakers, ending their conversation. Harry didn’t say anything to her after that, just nodded in greeting when he arrived for his shifts.

She gained her strength back little by little, helped along by the constant entertainment of her found family.

If she hadn’t had such incredible friends, and if Draco had not been the most amazing, creative boyfriend to ever walk the earth, Hermione would have gone stir crazy being couped up in her house. Given the concerns over her safety, she was not able to go out to dinner or drinks in Diagon or meet her friends in public.

Instead of these restrictions leading to isolation, her friends took it as a challenge.

Narcissa came for dinner once a week and brunch on Sunday, with Pip and his delicious creations in tow.

Blaise transported a variety of multi-course meals for the entire group to Hermione and Draco’s house three times a week, once on a weekday and twice on the weekend. For the weekend nights, Theo, George, Pansy, and Luna traded off turning the greenhouse or back garden into some type of unique experience.

George used one of his nights to run an hours-long fireworks show, complete with explosions in the shapes of dragons, lions, several penises, and one particularly hilarious depiction of Umbridge being chased by a pack of centaurs. They had all laughed and gotten drunk on fairy wine while lying on the grass.

Pansy had turned the greenhouse into a dance club, complete with flashing lights and pounding music. Hermione had let herself go, grinding against Draco to the beat until he growled in her ear and pulled her inside while their friends kept dancing, unable to wait any longer before he ripped off her pants and fucked her against one of the plush chairs in their library.

Luna had made them all dance around an alter made of colorful, intoxicating smelling flowers during each full moon, assuring them that the ritual would lead to good health and happiness for the coming month (though, as she reminded them each time, it would be more effective if they were all naked and covered in honey).

Padma set up movie nights, letting Hermione show them her favorite muggle films like Clueless, Legally Blonde, Romeo + Juliet (Draco had wept like a baby, no matter how much he denied it), and 10 Things I Hate About You.

And Theo had demanded that they get drunk and play Never Have I Ever. Hermione had no idea who had taught him that game, but boy was she shocked to learn just how different Padma was behind closed doors than in public. Blaise was a lucky man.

And then there was Draco.

Draco, who either cooked a delicious meal or ventured through the floo every night, bringing back his favorite dim sum from New York or jambalaya from New Orleans, regaling her with stories of his first year in America and how many times he had entirely misunderstood the American muggle customs and made a fool out of himself in public—including at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade when he had panicked and tried to duel the Snoopy balloon.

But that wasn’t all. Each night after dinner, he would lead her into the garden, flick his wand to start the music, and lead her around an imaginary dance floor. They waltzed and tangoed and quick stepped, and with each dance Hermione gained back a bit more of her mobility.

By the end of August, Draco had conjured a ballet studio floor in the garden and sat, watching her as she put on her pointe shoes and danced freely across the space, joy radiating from every part of her as she spun on her toes, leaping and twirling in the warm summer evening.

In the first week of September, the whole group was back together and eating on the terrace, enjoying some of the last warm nights before the weather turned. They had all been chatting happily, Hermione sharing that she was now able to walk an entire circle around the garden on her own, when Theo spoke up.

“That’s wonderful, gorgeous! Good that you’ve gotten so strong before your trip!”

Hermione furrowed her brow, confused. “What trip?”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Draco tense and capture Theo’s attention. Everyone else seemed to pause as well, waiting for their next move. Theo’s eyes went momentarily wide, George surreptitiously squeezing his arm, before Theo’s expression melted back into the kind, mischievous look he always wore.

“Hmm? What? No idea what you’re talking about. Blaise! Are you really going to buy that vineyard in Spain?”

The conversation shifted, but Hermione filed away Theo’s statement for later. After their friends had left and Hermione was standing in the center of the garden, slowly swaying a dance with Draco, she took her chance.

“Draco…”

He leaned his head into hers. “Hmm?”

“What did Theo mean when he said it was good that I had gotten strong before my trip?”

Draco paused momentarily, leaning back to look into her eyes. He searched hers for a moment, before a small, knowing smile crooked onto his face.

“Hmm. Well love, if I were to guess, I’d say that someone, couldn’t tell you who, has something planned for you that cannot yet be disclosed…”

Hermione smirked into his chest. “Is that so?”

Draco squeezed the hand he was holding, spinning her around as the music swelled. “Yes, I do believe so.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Well, alright then…”

She went to sleep that night with a smile on her face and love radiating from every piece of her soul.

Hermione didn’t think much more about it again until she walked (slowly) down the stairs on the morning of September 19th, after having experienced a very pleasant wakeup call of Draco’s tongue between her legs.

She hit the landing, Draco right behind her, and was suddenly met with a chorus of “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” from Pansy, Luna, Theo, George, Blaise, Padma, and Narcissa, the latter of whom rushed forward to gather her into a tight hug.

“Happy birthday, sweet girl.” Hermione smiled and hugged her back, a little overwhelmed by the reception but feeling extremely loved by this group of people.

Hermione turned her head to catch Draco’s eyes, but he just shrugged, a playful smile on his face.

After hugs from everyone, the group made their way toward the conservatory where Pip had prepared an enormous breakfast feast. As the others went ahead, Hermione hung back, grabbing Draco’s arm.

Under her breath, she whispered, “please tell me you put a silencing charm on our room this morning?”

Draco chuckled and leaned in, placing a kiss on her cheek. “Hmm, I’m not quite sure.”

He began walking backward toward the conservatory, a devious smirk on his face.

“Draco!” Hermione came forward and smacked his chest before Draco grabbed her wrist to stop a repeat assault.

“Alright alright! Of course I did, dear. As much as I love hearing the sounds you make in bed, I don’t much fancy my mother hearing them as well.” He raised an eye brow.

Hermione just rolled her eyes and followed him out to join the group.

Breakfast was a boisterous, love-fueled affair—with only two instances of Narcissa shooting a pinching jinx at Theo for making an off-color comment.

She was showered with gifts, more gifts than she had ever received before, including a rare set of potions books from Blaise, practically a closet-full of new clothes from Pansy and Narcissa, a beautiful but very strange sculpture from Luna who assured her it would bring her knowledge and success, a prototype cauldron from George that automatically recorded each ingredient as you added it to ensure nothing was forgotten or added twice, and tickets to the muggle ballet from Padma (“for after we kick that damn werewolf’s ass!”).

She was so overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of each that she had not even realized that there had been no gift from Draco until, their guests having left, he slid a tiny box across the table to her while sitting down, his hand on her knee.

Hermione smiled softly while pulling the lid off, only to pause in confusion as she looked down on what appeared to be…yes, it was a taper candle that had been burned almost all the way down.

“It’s a portkey. It’s time we take that trip.”

Hermione’s head shot up, excitement thrumming through her.

Draco smiled, bringing his hand up to caress her face. “We’ll be somewhere safe, away from the threats here. I think you’ve quite earned a bit of a holiday, love.”

Hermione was bouncing in her seat. “Where are we going? When are we going?”

Draco leaned in, a smile on his lips as he kissed her softly. “I can’t tell you where. And right now.”

Hermione leaned back, shocked. “What do you mean right now? I haven’t packed! And How can I pack if I don’t know where we’re going?!”

Draco continued to rub her cheek. “Calm down, love. We’re already packed. You’re not the only one that can put an extension charm on a bag, you know.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a pouch, no bigger than a coin purse, patting it knowingly. “All you need to do is put on your shoes. The portkey will activate in three minutes.”

Hermione was caught between excitement and anxiety and it had pinned her to her chair. Seeing her expression, Draco leaned in and crushed his lips to hers, kissing her with such intensity that it forced her out of her head—forced her just to feel.

Too soon, he pulled back roughly, face flushed and slightly out of breath. “Go put on your shoes.”

Dazed but smiling, Hermione nodded and rose silently, hurrying into the house to grab a pair of trainers by the door. By the time she stood up again, Draco had appeared in the foyer, the portkey held in his hand.

“Ready?”

She bit her lip. “I guess so…”

He held out his hand for her to take, the candle held between them. Just a few seconds later, blue light glowed from between their fingers and Hermione felt the familiar but still unpleasant tug from behind her bellybutton.

They landed together a moment later in a small alley between two buildings, cobblestones below their feet. Hermione could immediately smell the crisp, clean air she always associated with the mountains, but from her vantage point she still had no idea where they were.

Silently, Draco smiled and held out his hand, taking hers and leading her toward the street. As soon as they stepped out into the sunlight, Hermione’s jaw dropped and tears gathered in her eyes. They were standing in the middle of a wide pedestrian street, colorful old buildings on either side, and beyond them, enormous snow-capped mountains.

Hermione turned slowly toward Draco. “Chamonix?”

A smile spread on his face as he nodded and leaned in. “Happy birthday, my love.”

The smile permanently on Hermione’s face over the next several hours was so wide that at some point she began to wonder if she would ever be able to make another facial expression ever again. At this moment, she didn’t want to.

Draco had walked her through the square and to the same hotel they had passed when they were here as kids and dreamed of staying in together. Draco had booked them the penthouse suite.

They explored the town again, hand-in-hand, taking breaks when Hermione’s legs started to tire and using the time to play the same game they had then: Inventing wild and dramatic backstories for everyone they saw.

They had lunch at the same restaurant, and heat flooded through Hermione once again as Draco spoke in fluent, beautiful French to the wait staff. But this time, she didn’t keep her thoughts to herself.

Leaning across the small table as the waiter walked away, Hermione slide her fingers teasingly over Draco’s hand. “Can I ask you to do something for me, for my birthday?”

He turned his hand over, running his own fingers along her wrist. “Anything, love.”

She locked eyes with him. “Speak to me in French tonight, when you’re inside me.”

Draco’s hand stilled, and Hermione saw his pupils dilating and breathing become shallow.

A slow smirk spread across his face. “Tout ce que tu veux, mon amore.”

Whatever you want, my love.

Hermione bit her lip and smirked back. They didn’t speak again until their food arrived.

The rest of the afternoon passed slowly, luxuriously, as they wandered through the streets, taking in the sites, before returning to their hotel room to change for dinner. Well, to spend an incredibly enjoyable hour in the enormous bathtub in their room, and then changing for dinner.

Draco had booked them an early, private dinner on the rooftop terrace of a traditional French bistro where they indulged in meuniére, potatoes dauphinoise, the most delicious white wine Hermione had ever tasted, and ended the evening with a celebratory chocolate mousse so good that Hermione thought she might cry.

Sunset was barely beginning when they left, and Draco wrapped her in his arms while they slowly walked through town.

“This is the best birthday I’ve ever had, Draco. Thank you.” She leaned in, squeezing her arm around him and feeling love radiating between them.

He looked down at her and smiled indulgently. “We’re not done yet, love.”

She turned her head in question.

“Do you remember what we said the last time we were here? When we danced in the—”

“The gazebo? Of course I do.” Her heart soared at the memory. At the realization that they had made it a reality.

“Well, what do you say?” Draco stopped and turned them, now standing in front of the very spot where the path to the gazebo began.

Thankfully, Pansy had clearly been involved in choosing Hermione’s outfits for the trip, because she was currently in a gorgeous, flowing, periwinkle chiffon dress that hit just to her knees, a tailored deep purple satin coat that fell just to the end of her dress, and—thankfully—a pair of Pansy-approved flats.

Somehow, her smile became even bigger. “Let’s go.”

Hermione steadied herself against Draco, his arm wrapped securely around her waist, as they began the slow climb.

They were silent for several minutes, just taking in the beautiful nature around them, now lush and green unlike their last visit, and the early evening light breaking through the trees.

Hermione felt content. Possibly more so than she ever had before.

There had been so many times over the years since they had been here together where she doubted that they would ever return. That they would ever have that life together that she wanted so badly.

But now, after everything, they’d made it. Love had conquered all, and they had made it back here, together.

Hermione was lost in the beauty of it all when Draco began to speak.

“I have a confession to make, love. I’ve been keeping a secret from you for…well…since just after we visited this place that Christmas.”

Twisting her head, she looked up at him in confusion, anxiety that she couldn’t quite place suddenly rising in her belly. “Oh?”

He took a deep breath and kept his eyes forward, watching the path that was leading them toward the gazebo.

“After I returned home from here, I spent the rest of that break searching through the Malfoy family archives, and I made a discovery. My great, great, great grandfather was named Cygnus Malfoy.” Her brain was working a million miles an hour, trying to figure out where this was going.

“He was the heir to the Malfoy name, but he had always been an iconoclast. He’d never conformed to the traditional values set forth by our ancestors, had never had any interest in high society. His parents tried and tried to force him to get involved—parading eligible pureblood women in front of him and trying to set up marriage contracts. But he never cared about any of it. He was their only heir, and his parents knew that if he never married, the Malfoy line would come to an end. So, they were forced to put up with him, constantly trying to keep his lack of interest in pureblood politics away from the ears of society.”

Draco reached around, the arm not securing her to him grasping her hand and entwining their fingers.

“When he was in his twenties, he met a muggleborn witch named Cassiopeia, and fell in love with her. From what I read in his journals, she was smart, clever, and infinitely kind, and she broke him out of his stupor. Made him want to try. Made him want to be better. Shortly after they met, he informed his parents of his intentions to marry her.” Hermione’s hand clenched against Draco’s, shocked at this unknown piece of Malfoy history. He rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand.

“As you can imagine, his parents flew into a rage, demanded that he abandon her and marry a pureblood witch—but he refused. And as their heir, they were forced to comply. So, they manipulated birth records and lied to society about Cassiopeia being a pureblood witch from a famous French family whose parents had died when she was young. And everyone believed them.”

He paused. They were nearly to the gazebo now, just one more turn and they’d be able to see it. He grabbed both of her hands in his, staring down at her with adoration.

“He was the one who carved it in the crypt. Amor Vincit Omnia. It was his engagement gift to her.”

Hermione’s sharp intake of breath was loud in the quiet nature surrounding them.

“What happened next?”

Draco smiled, lifting his hand to caress her face. “They were married, and they lived happily with one another for several years. Cassiopeia gave birth to twins, and from everything I could gather, they both loved them unconditionally.”

He turned, resuming their walk, the sun now sinking below the horizon and the sky turning into a canvass of pinks, oranges, and purples. “But when the children were two years old, Cygnus and Cassie died during an outbreak of dragonpox that tore through the country. Because Cassie’s parents were muggles, the Ministry refused to place the children with them, leaving the twins to be raised by Cygnus’s parents, starting the whole blood purity cycle over again.”

Hermione felt her heart breaking. “That’s so awful. I…I don’t even know what to say.”

Draco hummed. “Yes, the way Cygnus and Cassie died is quite devastating, but I think the story itself is one of hope.”

The took the final turn, and as the gazebo came into view, Hermione skidded to a halt, a gasp escaping her.

Because the gazebo was not the same as it had been when they first discovered it.

Wildflowers, thousands and thousands of wildflowers, lined the path leading up to the wooden structure, and when the blooms reached the gazebo itself…they had been twisted around the railings, lined on the steps, encircled the floor, and hung from the ceiling. Bursts of blooms turned the whole thing into a technicolor dream. But that wasn’t all.

Flickering candles inside glass vases lined the path as well, and were placed strategically within the gazebo itself, joining floating fairy lights to illuminate the entire scene in a warm glow.

Without her noticing, Draco had let go of her and taken two steps forward, now facing her as she took it all in.

“Draco…” it came out as an awed whisper.

He smiled softly and reached out his hand. “Come with me?”

She stepped forward without hesitation, even as her heart beat out of her chest and that unfamiliar, indescribable feeling of anticipation rose within her.

As they neared the gazebo, Draco continued his story.

“Cygnus and Cassie’s story didn’t end with them. Their attempts to cut the hatred and darkness out of the Malfoy family may not have worked as they wanted it to while they were alive, but they did plant a seed. Or, more accurately, carved one into a stone wall. I saw those words so often as a kid, but I never really knew what they meant. Not until I met you, Hermione.”

They had reached the steps leading the gazebo. Draco paused, turning to face Hermione.

“Cassie woke Cygnus up. She made him realize that the trappings of his life had been completely made up, that they didn’t matter. She made him want to be better. He wanted to be better for her.” He brought his knuckles up and ran them down the side of Hermione’s face, sending shivers down her whole body. “You did that for me, Hermione. You do that for me. You woke me up. You made me realize that there was something I wanted—someone who mattered more to me than anything I had ever been raised to believe. You made me believe in you, Hermione. You became, and you are, the center of my whole world.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how to say that she felt the same way about Draco. That Draco had woken her up, too. That he had made her realize that there was something more important than school, than work, than success. That none of that really mattered. That loving him with her whole heart, and being loved by him in return, was all that mattered.

Draco was staring at her intently, and she was certain that he could see her thoughts written across her face. Taking both of her hands, he led her up the three steps into the gazebo, walking until they stood in the center surrounded by flowers, surrounded by love.

“When we were here last time, we promised each other that we were going to make it, that we were going to have a life together. I’ll admit, I wasn’t always sure it would happen, and I caused you so much pain along the way. So much pain…”

Hermione lifted her hand to touch his face. “We’re here now, Draco. We did make it.” Her voice was unsteady, emotion gripping her.

He stepped in, pulling her into a hug.

“We did. And the life we have…waking up with you every day, Hermione, it’s…I never thought it was possible to feel this much joy. And that’s how I know that we’re going to finish what Cygnus and Cassie started. And we’re going to do it together, forever.”

And with that, Draco took two steps back from Hermione, holding her gaze as he slowly, gracefully, sunk down on one knee.

Hermione gasped, one hand coming to cover her mouth as tears sprung immediately to her eyes.

Keeping his eyes trained on her, Draco reached in to the inside pocket of his suit jacket, bringing out a small, antique box. Hermione held her breath as he undid the latch and opened it.

Inside was the most gorgeous ring she had ever seen. A central, brilliant pear-shaped diamond was surrounded by a series of smaller diamonds and set on a simple gold band. Hermione immediately thought that it looked somehow like a beautiful, sparkling, flower.

Hermione had never thought of herself as a person who cared much about fancy jewelry, but the second she laid eyes on the ring in Draco’s hands, it was as if something clicked into place inside of her. The ring was an answer to a question she didn’t know she had. It was hers. She could feel it in her bones. They were meant to be together.

“This was Cassie’s engagement ring.” Draco’s voice shook slightly, but the strength and sincerity of his words were never lost.

“Hermione. I have loved you for half of my life, and I will love you for every single second that I have left. You astound me every day. Your brilliance, your kindness, your bravery, your heart. There has never been anyone like you, and I am in awe every single day that I get to experience the love you give back to me. If you let me, I will spend the rest of my life working every day to make you happy.”

Hermione’s vision was swimming, tears pouring down as she blinked quickly trying to clear them. She did not want to miss a second of this.

Draco took a deep breath, reached out and took her left hand with his free one, and squeezed reassuringly.

“Hermione Jean Granger, will you marry me?”

Hermione lost her battle with her emotions, a sob escaping her as she leaned forward, grabbing Draco’s hand with both of hers.

“All I have ever wanted is to be with you. Forever. To be your wife. For you to be my husband. So yes, yes of course I’ll marry you, Draco!”

A brilliant smile spread across Draco’s face as he carefully plucked the ring from its box, gently pulled Hermione’s left hand to him, and slid the ring onto her finger. The second it slid into place, Hermione began to simultaneously laugh and cry even harder than before. The overwhelming joy of the moment overtaking her.

Draco stood, taking Hermione’s face into his hands and pulling her in for a kiss—the best kiss they had ever shared. When he pulled back, tears were streaming down his face too, and through her own, Hermione leaned forward, kissing the wetness on both of his cheeks.

“I love you so much, Draco. More than I will ever be able to express.”

Draco’s hands skimmed down to her neck. “I know, Hermione. It’s the same way I love you.”

She nodded, smiling as he pulled her face back his, kissing her as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her up and spinning her around. She broke the kiss, leaning back as they both laughed, allowing the perfection of the moment to carry them away.

They stayed in the gazebo for a long while, cocooned in the love that seemed to be surrounding them like golden light.

Eventually, they had fallen into a dance, so similar to their first time here.

“I went to visit your parents’ graves.” Draco’s words were quiet.

Hermione leaned back in his embrace.

“Earlier this week. I…I didn’t want to ask you without telling them first. Without making sure they know how much I love you. I promised them that I would take care of you.” He looked down at her, his expression open.

The tears that had finally waned came back with a vengeance as Hermione gripped Draco’s arms. “You are the most incredible man I have ever known, Draco Malfoy.”

His smile was soft, comforting, as he brought his fingers up to wipe away her tears.

They remained inside the gazebo until the darkness of the night was complete, before Draco apparated them directly back to their room in the hotel.

Hermione felt like she was floating.

Later, as she sat astride Draco, riding him, it hit her that everything was different. That everything felt different. Because the final barrier between them had fallen. There was nothing else standing in the way of their forever.

And when Hermione looked down and saw the diamond glittering on her hand as she held it against Draco’s chest, the euphoria of it all pulled her over the edge.

Chapter End Notes

Have I been waiting to write that scene since the very beginning of this fic? Yep.

Did I cry consistently while writing it? Also yep.

I just love these two so much, and after the drama of the last few chapters, they deserved a little joy, don’t you think?!

And if you’re interested, this is what I imagine the ring would look like: https://www.annasheffield.com/collections/engagement-rings/products/camellia-petal-ring-yellow-gold-white-diamond-7x5mm

I’ll see you back here next week to check in on our favorite blond.

**

The response to the last few chapters has been completely out of this world. I don’t know how to really comprehend that you’re all here, and I just cannot thank you enough for sticking around, for adding this story to your collections, for your incredibly kind comments, and just for being on this journey with me!

Thank you thank you thank you.

Xoxo,

Flames

Shake It Off

Chapter Notes

Hello hello hello!

This one is a bit of a doozy, so let's get right into it!

We are staying in Hermione's POV this week.

Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Fifth Year

“That’s crazy, Parvati! Blue and green as your wedding colors? Do you want your bridesmaids to look like merpeople? I do not want to look like a merperson at your wedding!”

This debate had been going back and forth between Lavender and Parvati for at least an hour, and every single second that ticked by Hermione regretted agreeing to study with them by the lake. She should have known better, but the weather was so lovely and she had been craving a break from studying with Harry and Ron, which mostly consisted of Hermione explaining every single lesson to them since they had not paid attention in class.

“What, and your idea is better? Red and orange? We’ll all look like we’ve caught fire, Lav!”

Lavender rolled her eyes and looked back down to the copy of Witch Weekly she was perusing. “Exactly! It will be romantic.”

“Oh yes, the idea of burning alive is soooo romantic.”

“You have to do something flashy! That’s how your wedding pictures end up in here!” She held up the magazine, a dreamy look on her face.

Parvati hummed in agreement. “Well that’s true. And honestly, what’s the point if your wedding isn’t featured! Why even do it?!”

At that, Hermione furrowed her brows and said under her breath. “That’s the point?”

Lavender and Parvati stopped talking and looked at her. Clearly, her words hadn’t been as quiet as she thought.

“You don’t want your wedding to be featured in Witch Weekly?” Lavender looked affronted.

Hermione shook her head. “Not particularly, no.”

Parvati reared back as though Hermione had hit her. “Why??”

Huffing, Hermione gave up and closed her book. “Well, I’d say that a wedding is meant to celebrate your love for the other person with your friends and family. It should be private, intimate. It’s not meant to be a publicity stunt, it’s meant to be a moment to promise that you’ll remain devoted to another person for the rest of your life.”

Hermione had begun in a matter-of-fact tone, but by the end of the speech her words had grown wistful. She’d never tell Parvati or Lavender, but she had actually spent quite a lot of time thinking about her wedding. Her wedding to Draco, that is.

Parvati and Lavender stared back at her blankly.

“That’s ridiculous, Hermione.” Lavender sounded like she was speaking to a child.

Parvati just shook her head. “Yeah, you just don’t get it, Hermione. Maybe one day you’ll meet someone and it will all make sense!”

Resisting every urge to roll her eyes, Hermione moved to stand.

“Maybe you’re right. I’m going to head back in, if I leave Harry and Ron alone for too long, they’re bound to do something stupid.”

She waved goodbye as her two housemates immediately picked up their argument over wedding colors once again.

Taking a few steps away, Hermione rounded the trunk of the tree they had been sitting under, only to find a certain platinum blond wizard lounging against its other side, a book in his lap.

He caught her eye and Hermione knew immediately that he had heard what she said. Smirking, Draco winked at her as she gave him a bashful smile, her cheeks turning red as she scurried away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

September 2002

Hermione woke up gently on their final morning in Chamonix, the feather soft bed, plump pillows, and the warmth of Draco’s arms wrapped around her having held her in her dreams peacefully all night. It was the soft rays of morning light filtering in through the shuttered windows in their penthouse suite that slowly nudged her awake.

As she opened her eyes, she was met with her favorite sight: Draco. His face was relaxed in sleep, looking younger and less haunted by war and loss and strife than when he was awake, his platinum hair tousled, a lock falling over one of his eyes.

Hermione brought her left hand, now sparkling with her engagement ring, to lay gently against his chest, drinking him in while reminiscing on the previous few days.

They had spent the two days after Draco’s proposal—the memory of which still brought tears to her eyes—floating in a bubble of almost unimaginable happiness. Except, Hermione had imagined it. They both had. For years. And somehow, be it fate or strength of will or simply luck, their dream had come true, and now the whole of their lives were laid out in front of them. A story they would write together.

They’d apparated to a beautiful cliffside half way up Mont Blanc, enjoying a picnic (with the help of a warming charm) and talking about their wedding. They both agreed that they wanted to keep it small, only people who really knew and really loved them in attendance, that they wanted to do it at the end of April, on the same day that they had first kissed again earlier in the year, and that they would hold the ceremony in the Malfoy Manor gardens, a place they had spent many days lounging and talking about the future they wanted together during the weeks that Hermione had spent there before the start of fifth year.

They had wandered through the streets of the town, perusing the shops, eating their fill of delicious French cuisine, and enjoying a very memorable half hour behind a notice-me-not charm in a small alcove between two buildings.

It had been the most perfect birthday Hermione had ever had. There was a part of her that never wanted to leave—but at the same time, she was excited to get home, to share their news with their family, and, because she was Hermione Granger, to get back to her lab.

It was in that warm river of love that Hermione found herself this morning, staring at the face of her fiancé.

Fiancé.

She smiled at the thought.

Overcome, she brought up her hand, the diamonds causing it to sparkle in the morning sun, up to Draco’s face to gently swipe the hair out of his eyes, before letting her hand linger on his cheek, her fingertips caressing as she moved down to his neck before stopping on his shoulder.

Draco made a sleepy, contented sound before opening his eyes. As he threw off the sleep, a smile crept across his face, the arm wrapped around Hermione tightening a bit.

Hermione smiled in return. “Good morning, future husband.”

Draco’s smile widened. “Good morning, future wife.”

He leaned in, kissing her tenderly before leaning back, his hand coming up to tangle in her hair.

“Mmhhmm. If I can make a request, I’d quite enjoy being awoken every morning for the rest of my life with you calling me your husband.”

Hermione smiled. “I think that can be arranged, Mr. Malfoy. But only if you greet me every morning by calling me your wife.”

Draco lightly massaged her head. “I can certainly do that, Mrs. Granger.”

Hermione looked back at him. “Malfoy.”

He cocked a brow. “Yes?”

Hermione shook her head, regarding him curiously. “You mean Malfoy. Mrs. Hermione Granger-Malfoy.”

Draco’s expression changed, darkening a bit. “Hermione, no, I…I don’t expect you to do that. You don’t have to take my name. That’s…”

Hermione reared back slightly, hurt and confusion now bubbling up inside of her. “Why wouldn’t I take your name? I…I want to keep Granger to, to honor my parents, but I always thought I would take your name.”

Draco’s expression was unreadable, his eyes searching hers before squeezing shut. “The Malfoy name, Hermione. It’s…it’s tainted. There is so much darkness attached to that name. I don’t want that to touch you.”

Hermione’s heart broke. He didn’t want her to take his name because he wanted to protect her from his past. From his family’s past.

She brought her hand back up to his face. “Draco. Draco, look at me.”

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, and she held his gaze. “Yes, there is darkness in your family’s past. But as you said yourself, that’s not all there is. Cygnus and Cassiopeia, your mother, you. Draco, the light that shines from you, your goodness, it’s overwhelming. I’ve seen that since we were fourteen. Which is the same time I started daydreaming about becoming Hermione Granger-Malfoy. Of course I’m going to take your name. I’m honored to be a Malfoy. Because you are a Malfoy. And you, my love, are the most amazing person I have ever known.”

Draco’s expression had changed to one of awe while she spoke, and when she finished, he released a shaky breath and brought his forehead to hers. “You astound me, Hermione Granger...” He opened his eyes, a slight smirk on his face, “Malfoy.”

She grinned, nodding her head assuredly. “Now that’s more like it.”

Draco laughed and rolled, his body now covering hers before he brought his mouth down to capture her lips in a searing kiss.

Two hours later, Hermione and Draco walked hand-in-hand back to the same alley they had arrived to three days ago, and Draco pulled out the small, cracked ceramic salt shaker that would serve as their portkey home.

He looked at her hesitantly. “Are you sure you want to do this? We can just go straight home, she’d…”

Hermione placed her hand over his. “Draco. We’re going. I want to tell her! Don’t you?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course I do, I just know that she’ll already have fabric samples laid out and sample menus for us to review…”

Hermione chuckled. “I think I can manage some lace and dinner options.”

The portkey in his hand flashed blue, and Hermione curled her fingers around it just as Draco leaned forward. “You underestimate my mother…”

And with that, Hermione felt the tug behind her naval, and they were off.

Seconds later, the pair landed with only a small thump in front of the grand front doors of Malfoy Manor. Draco pocketed the portkey and reached out, twining his fingers with Hermione’s as they began to ascend the steps.

Inside of Britain, Malfoy Manor was one of the few approved locations to which Hermione could travel. According to Draco, there was no way Greyback or any of his goons would make it through the hundreds of years of magic and wards infused into the very walls of the imposing home and the property that surrounded it.

No sooner had Draco pushed open the door and led Hermione into the grand foyer than did Narcissa appear from the shadows, trying hard to obfuscate the fact that she had clearly been waiting there for them.

“Oh! Hello my dears! So wonderful to have you back! Tell me, how was France?” Narcissa Malfoy, who could hold court with the most powerful of people and who used her words as weapons to trap prey in corners, was utterly failing at hiding her nervous anticipation, her eyes wide and a bit wild.

Taking pity on her, Hermione very deliberately brought her left hand in front of her, the diamond on her finger now conspicuously facing out.

“I’d say we had quite the wonderful time, wouldn’t you, Draco?” She turned her head to him, smirking.

Draco smiled mischievously in return, taking hold of Hermione’s left hand and rubbing his thumb over her ring. “Oh yes, a lovely time indeed.”

They both turned back to Narcissa, who had tears running unabashedly down her face.

She pointed a long, elegant finger at them. “Do not even dare make fun of me. I am an old woman and this is the happiest day I can remember!”

Before Draco or Hermione could say another word, or even take a step forward, Narcissa surged toward them, throwing her arms around them both and kissing their cheeks.

“Oh, I’m just so happy. Been dreaming about this for so many years! So wonderful. Beyond my wildest dreams. There’s so much to do. So much to do!”

With a jerk, she pulled back, her eyes still brimming with tears but now shifting to the calculating, commanding look she so often wore.

Still keeping her hands wrapped around each of their forearms, she began to speak rapidly. “We must begin the planning immediately! I have options already prepared, of course. I’ve been collecting ideas since the two of you were teenagers. Venue first. France? We could of course host it at the summer house in Provence, or there are quite a few beautiful locations in Paris if you’d like a larger city…Or if you’d prefer to stay in Britain there are…”

Draco cut in. “We’d like to do it here, mum. In the gardens.” That quieted Narcissa’s ramblings instantly. Her eyes went impossibly wider, her head jerking toward Hermione.

“I’d be quite honored if we could be married here. If you wouldn’t mind the intrusion, that is…” Hermione’s voice was warm but tentative.

Narcissa’s mouth opened and closed silently several times. “Mind? If I wouldn’t mind?” Her voice was rasping. Without warning, she burst into tears and surged forward again, gathering Hermione into a crushing hug.

“Mind?! It would be my greatest joy for you to be married here in our home.” She pulled back, placing both hands on Hermione’s face. “In your home, Hermione. This is your home, as well.”

It was Hermione’s turn to tear up, causing Draco to step forward and wrap his arms securely around both her and his mother.

“Alright, mother. I’ll need to request that you stop making my fiancé cry, if you please.”

Narcissa reached forward to tenderly, and yet somehow also elegantly, wipe the tears from Hermione’s cheeks before leaning in and placing a kiss on each of them in turn.

“Well alright then. Let’s have some tea and we can begin discussing your plans. Plus, we need to tell…”

Pip nearly fainted when Hermione showed him her ring. He rushed forward, throwing his boney arms around Hermione’s knees and weeping into her jeans.

“Master Draco has done it! He has done it! Pip knew that he would, he did! Pip heard Master Draco practicing his speech to propose to Miss Hermione Granger many times. Many, many times over these years! And there is no one deserving of Master Draco but Miss Hermione Granger. Mistress! Mistress Hermione Granger! And no one deserving of Mistress Granger but Master Draco! Oh, what an honor for Pip. This is the happiest of days! Pip must bake a cake! Yes, yes Mistress Hermione, Pip shall bake her a caramel and chocolate cake! Tis Mistress’s favorite cake! Pip knows this!”

With a crack, Pip disappeared, apparently off to bake a cake at 9am.

Hermione turned to Draco, whose cheeks had gone quite pink at Pip’s speech. “When were you practicing how you would propose to me, Draco?”

Draco gave her a deadly look.

“Beginning the day after you left from your stay with us the summer prior to your fifth year, if I recall correctly, dear. Isn’t that right, my dragon?” Narcissa’s smile was lethal.

Draco shook his head, his hands coming to his face to cover his eyes. “I’ve made myself outnumbered. How foolish of me.” His hands came down and he pointed directly at Hermione’s chest.

“We are required to have at least one son, love. I need someone to be on my side.” His face was teasing, but as Hermione looked back at him, warmth radiating from her at the casual mention of their future family, Draco’s eyes softened.

“I hate to tell you this, my dear, but as you may yourself recall, I find that boys tend to be quite devoted to their mothers, so you may be quite out of luck in that regard.” Narcissa smiled as she turned, taking a graceful seat at the head of the table.

Draco’s eyes remained locked on Hermione’s as he stepped forward, grabbing her chin and capturing her lips in a sweet kiss that left her unexpectedly breathless, before he pulled her to take a seat at the table.

They spent the rest of the day at the Manor. Draco had been right, Narcissa did have stack upon stack of parchments detailing various meal options, color schemes, lists of Narcissa’s most trusted caterers and florists, as well as an entire book with ripped out photos of wedding dresses from Witch Weekly’s annual wedding edition going back to 1995.

There had been a massive row between Draco and Narcissa when the latter insisted that Hermione would have to go into Diagon Alley to meet with designers for her wedding dress immediately, to which Draco soundly refused.

The screaming had begun shortly after that, Narcissa accusing Draco of wanting his bride, the future matriarch of the Malfoy family, to be forced into wearing something off the rack (she had visibly shuddered at the words and Pip, who had been delivering tea and slices of cake at the time, shook his head so violently that his ears slapped against his skull) and Draco, in turn, accusing Narcissa of wanting to put both Hermione and herself at risk of death over a dress.

They had only stopped when Hermione suggested that maybe the designer could come to the Manor—after being thoroughly screened by Draco. Grumbling and still glowering at each other, they’d agreed.

Aside from that, Hermione was surprised by how enjoyable she found the whole experience. She had never been one for party planning and didn’t much care for the idea of being the center of attention, but for this, her wedding to Draco, she found herself quite unperturbed by the process.

Her heart was full as she wrapped her arms around Draco’s waist as they walked through the floo that evening, only to be immediately met with the sound of Theo’s voice yelling “they’re here!” followed by frantic scuffling and shoving of multiple bodies all trying to fit through the doorway into the living room all at once.

Once Blaise, who had managed to be pushed to the back, stumbled through the door, all eyes were wide as their group of friends looked nervously at each other, waiting for someone to ask.

Pansy, of course, was the first to speak. “Had an enjoyable trip, I presume?” She cocked a brow impatiently.

Draco barked a laugh, wrapping his arms around Hermione as he observed them. “You can all relax, she said yes.”

Hermione smiled into his chest as noise exploded around them.

Luna raised her wand, shooting gold, sparking lights across the room.

George rushed forward, yanked Hermione out of Draco’s arms, lifted her off the ground and spinning her around the room while Blaise and Theo both hugged Draco—then took turns spinning Hermione around as well.

Padma hugged Draco and whispered something Hermione couldn’t hear into his ear that made hm smile, before turning to Hermione and enveloping her in a warm hug. “Congratulations, Hermione. You deserve so much happiness. So, so much.”

Luna danced forward, pulling Hermione into an impromptu jig that she assured her would ensure that there was no rain on their wedding day while George pulled Draco into a hug and, as Hermione watched on, gripped his shoulder tightly holding his gaze sternly while whispering what she could only imagine was yet another threat of death should he ever hurt her.

She rolled her eyes before heading back to Draco, both of them smiling like fools.

As she tucked her hand into his, Pansy stepped forward.

Hermione took in her pinched face, glassy eyes, and trembling lip. So un-Pansy-like it nearly bowled her over.

“Parks…” Draco’s voice was gentle, a warm smile on his face.

Pansy’s eyes cut to him, and in the span of a blink she had burst into hysterical tears and thrown her arms around both Draco and Hermione, weeping as she gripped both of them with all of her strength.

“I knew you two idiots would figure it out. I knew you would. You’re so perfect together. It’s disgusting. You’re going to have such beautiful babies. You have to make me their godmother, they’ll need to know someone whose idea of fun doesn’t involve a fucking book. You have to let me help plan the wedding. Oh, it’s going to be such a gorgeous wedding. I love you both so much.”

Hermione had been struck dumb. Never could she ever have guessed that this would be Pansy’s reaction. She didn’t even think Pansy was capable of such a reaction. But here she was, the mask she had adopted to protect herself dropping completely, revealing her gooey romantic center. It filled Hermione with more emotions than she knew what to do with, and reminded her just how badly they had all misjudged each other when they were children.

Here, in this room, four Slytherins and members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, a blood traitor Gryffindor from the Weasley family, and two Ravenclaws, one quiet but deep-feeling and the other possibly the strangest but most loyal person Hermione had ever met, were all together, celebrating Draco Malfoy asking Hermione Granger to marry him. Surreal didn’t even begin to cover it.

Tears sprang to Hermione’s eyes as she squeezed Pansy back. “We love you too, Pansy.”

Draco hummed and kissed the top of Pansy’s head. “We do, Parks.”

Pansy pulled back, letting her arm fall from Hermione and moving to stand in front of Draco, her hands coming out to grip both of his forearms.

Tears were still streaming down her face, her voice raspy and filled with emotion. “We did it, Dray. We did it. We got out.”

The rest of the room was still rowdily celebrating behind them, but Hermione stood quietly, the overwhelming weight of Pansy’s words hitting her as she watched tears begin to fall down Draco’s cheeks. He stepped forward, pulling her into a tight hug.

“We really did, Parks.”

Draco and Pansy had known each other their whole lives. Hermione knew that Draco was the first person that Pansy had told about her sexuality, and that he had promised to protect her from her parents because of it. That the two of them had promised each other that they would do whatever it took to stop their parents from shoving them onto the conveyor belt of pureblood tradition, marrying them off to fulfill some political scheme.

But Hermione also knew that both of them had felt, always, that their promises to each other were futile. That the chances that they could really get out, really choose the lives they wanted for themselves, were near to impossible.

And yet.

Here they were. They’d both been through an odyssey, and they had made it to the other side not just alive, but better for it.

Hermione was so overcome that she couldn’t stop the loud, very inelegant sniffle that escaped her as her tears intensified, causing both Draco and Pansy to break their embrace and look over at her.

Pansy, cheeks still wet with tears, pointed a finger at her. “You stop that right now, Granger. Do you hear me?”

Draco unwound his arms from Pansy and stepped to Hermione, gently wiping the tears from her eyes before leaning down and placing a soft kiss on her lips.

“Alright, enough of that! It’s time to celebrate!” Theo punctuated his exclamation with the pop of a cork from what Hermione had to guess was a very old, very expensive bottle of champagne.

Several hours later, they were all spread across the greenhouse, the stars (as well as a fair few of George’s long-lasting indoor fireworks and Luna’s golden sparkles) twinkling above them as they laughed and drank and celebrated together.

She watched as Theo, Blaise, and George all forced Draco to the terrace for a celebratory cigar, leaving her to chat with Luna, Pansy, and Padma while sprawled across cushions on the greenhouse floor.

“Granger, you realize that I am going to plan this thing, right? Narcissa and I have been discussing it for weeks. Neither of us will leave decisions about the ceremony chairs or dinner china up to you. No offense.” She added the last line as an afterthought.

Hermione smiled, but as she opened her mouth to respond, another thought hit her. She looked around at the three women who had become some of her closest friends—and really, the only female friends she had ever had, if she was honest.

“Please do feel free to choose as many chairs and plates as you want, Pansy. But…” Pansy raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I’d like, if you want to, if all of you want to,” she turned her head to Padma and Luna, “well, I’d…I’d be quite honored if you would be my bridesmaids.”

Luna smiled serenely, nodding while playing with Pansy’s hair.

Padma’s eyes had gone wide before she leaned forward and took Hermione’s hands. “Of course, Hermione. I’d love to.”

Pansy simply stared at her blankly for a moment, before her lips curled into a smirk. “Well of course, Granger. Was it really even a question?”

Hermione threw her head back laughing. “I suppose not.”

They all broke into giggles after that, and didn’t stop until the boys returned, eyeing them as if they’d all been hit with a bit too vigorous a cheering charm.

But, as it turned out, Draco had had the same thought, and had asked Blaise, Theo, and George to be his groomsmen while they’d been outside as well.

Over the following few weeks, Hermione settled back in to her routine—with a few slight alterations.

She was still pushing forward with the cure, working back and forth with Neville to narrow down the list of plant candidates for the potion, and only traveling between their home, her lab, and an occasional trip to the Manor.

Their dinners and nights with their friends remained constant, as did Draco’s insistence that he would be cooking for her on any night that Blaise didn’t deliver a meal.

But peppered throughout her days were letters from Pansy and Narcissa with color scheme options, debates about Hermione’s insistence that they use wildflowers in the bouquets and floral arrangements, swatches upon swatches of white fabric, and times that she was required to present herself at the Manor for meetings with wedding dress designers.

Which was how Hermione found herself one evening in the kitchen, pouring herself a hefty glass of wine while staring down at a spread of at least twenty—identical, in Hermione’s estimation—different types of silk when Draco walked through the floo.

Draco walked into the kitchen, smiling as he flicked his hand to levitate a wineglass and the already open bottle in front of him, pouring himself a glass as he rounded the island.

“Hello, love. How was your day?” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek before spotting the fabric in front of her. His eyes furrowed. “Is that all the same fabric?”

Hermione sighed and threw up her hands before grabbing her wine glass. “That’s exactly what I said! Your mother looked at me like I’d slapped her.”

Draco huffed a laugh and began rubbing her back. “Well, speaking of weddings, I had a very…interesting conversation today.”

Hermione kept her eyes on the samples, trying desperately to use all of her scientific skills to try and spot the differences between them. “Hmm?”

“Daphne asked me if I was coming to her wedding.”

That made Hermione pause. She turned to face him. “What?”

He nodded. “She ambushed me in the office. Asked why I hadn’t sent back my RSVP, because of course I must be coming to the wedding, it would be so uncouth to miss a wedding of ‘one of my oldest and dearest friends.’” Draco rolled his eyes.

Hermione regarded him for a moment.

They had both received invitations to Daphne and Ron’s wedding back in August. Hermione had incendio’d hers immediately, aghast at the audacity of Ron to expect that she would attend his wedding after everything that he’d done.

“Do…do you want to go?” She asked softly.

Draco’s eyes went wide. “What?! Fuck no. Why the hell would I attend your cheating ex-boyfriend’s wedding? Well, unless I was there to curse him into oblivion while he took his vows…”

Hermione chuckled softly. “Well ok then.”

She had assumed that would be the end of it.

But, of course, that wasn’t the end of it.

Just the next day, Hermione was in the groove at her lab, having eliminated five more plants from the running while Jagged Little Pill blasted in the background and Harry, on his shift, sat quietly in the corner.

The music lowered as a soft chime sounded through the lab, a compromise Hermione had agreed to so that she would be alerted when the new Auror arrived for their shift.

She turned briefly to see Draco walk inside the lab, giving her a wink and a smile as he headed over to take Harry’s place. Hermione tracked him with her eyes, which was when she noticed that Harry was standing awkwardly, nervously wringing his hands and looking at her as though working up the courage to speak.

With a reluctant groan, she swiped her hand in the air, pausing the music.

“Do you need something, Harry?”

He seemed to consider for a moment, looking between Hermione and Draco, who had paused half way across the room.

“Asking to speak to you privately is probably a waste, right? You’ll just tell him about it when I leave?” He nodded his head in Draco’s direction. Draco, clearly unable to stop himself, had affected a sneer the likes of which Hermione had not seen since their time at Hogwarts.

Hermione tried to control her own smirk as she cocked her head at Harry, a challenging glint in her eye. “Why would I tell him about it, Harry?”

Hermione knew it was petty of her to needle him like this, but she couldn’t stop herself from trying to force him to finally admit something, anything.

Harry’s eyes went briefly wide. “I…well…” He let out a frustrated breath. “Never mind. I just, Molly asked me to talk to you.”

Her heart sunk. She wasn’t sure why she was still allowing herself to be disappointed by him, but she supposed that ten years of what she had considered friendship was harder to shake than she would have liked.

“Why is Molly asking you to deliver a message to me?”

Harry looked embarrassed. “She…she knows that you’re not really leaving your house because of Greyback, and she didn’t think you’d read it if she sent a letter through the post.” Harry walked forward a few steps, his eyes searching.

Hermione took a deep breath. “What’s the message, Harry?”

“She wants to meet with you.” At Hermione’s widening eyes, he pushed forward. “Just for a little while. She…she really needs to speak to you, Hermione. Says its really important. Really important. She, well, she told me to tell you that she was begging you. Please, Hermione.”

Hermione’s heart started to beat very fast, anxiety rising inside of her. She flicked her eyes briefly to Draco before turning back to Harry.

“Is everything ok? Is she…is she hurt? Is she sick?” Her voice was quick, scared.

Harry shook his head. “No. Well, I don’t think so, at least. I just…” He released a deep sigh. “She misses you. She’s been trying to leave you alone like you asked, but, Merlin Hermione, she’s known you for half your life! I don’t know exactly what she wants to talk to you about, I just know that she’s desperate to see you. She loves you, Hermione.” Harry’s eyes turned briefly to Draco, as if considering whether he should say something with him in the room. “We all love you, Mione.”

Too many emotions began flooding through her. She felt suddenly like she was about to cry.

Harry didn’t love her, not really, because you would never do what he had done to her to someone that you loved. But she could see in his eyes that he actually believed what he was saying. Anger and hurt and sadness and pity all swirled in her stomach.

But Molly…

Her relationship with Molly was strained. More than strained. But deep down, she still had a great affection for the woman and did not like feeling as though she was causing her pain.

With a huff, she caught Draco’s eyes again, clearly communicating that she was about to agree. He looked back, eyes asking if she was sure.

With a small nod to him, she turned back to Harry. “I’d like to meet with her, Harry. But I don’t know how we can do it right now. Our…my house is under a fidelius charm and so is the lab, I can’t meet her here. The Burrow’s not warded…”

She turned back to Draco, unsure. His eyes were soft as he regarded her before briefly squeezing his eyes shut.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Draco beat him to it. “The Manor. She can come to the Manor.”

Harry looked taken aback. “Your…your Manor?”

Draco simply held his gaze and nodded.

He turned back to Hermione, eyes wide. “And…you, you’re ok with that?”

Hermione nodded. “It’s a good idea. The Manor is well warded. It’ll be safe there. Will you tell Molly I can meet her there on Saturday for tea?”

Hermione was feeling almost dizzy from this conversation and just wanted it to be over.

Harry looked momentarily hesitant, but then relieved. “Yes, yes ok! I will. Thank you, Hermione.”

She simply nodded at him as he began to make his way toward the door, Draco now stepping further inside to stand next to her.

Unable to stop herself, she called out. “You were right.”

Harry paused, turning with a confused look on his face, his hand on the doorframe.

Hermione inclined her head toward Draco, who was now next to her, leaning against a lab table. “I would have told him about it as soon as you left.”

Draco chuckled next to her. Harry, who was clearly trying to control his expression, only allowed himself to look mildly shocked before he turned and walked out the door.

Draco immediately stepped in, curling his hand around her hip. “Cheeky, love. Very cheeky.”

Hermione didn’t turn toward him, her eyes instead trained intently on the empty doorway, concern marring her features.

“Hey.” Draco squeezed her hip. “You don’t have to do this, love.”

She looked up at him. “I think I do, actually.” Her words were no more than a whisper.

He nodded as she turned into him, letting his warmth envelop her as her emotions continued to war in her chest.

**

Three days later, Hermione was standing in front of the floo in their living room, Draco’s hands comfortingly on her shoulders as she tried to calm her anxiety and convince herself that stepping through the flames was, indeed, a good idea.

She’d had several middle-of-the-night conversations with Draco since she’d agreed to the meeting, letting her fears, concerns, hopes, and everything in between tumble out.

They’d discussed the possibility that Ron had sent her to apologize on his behalf.

They’d discussed the possibility that all of them had sent Molly to apologize on their behaves.

That maybe they had all finally realized that something was in fact going on between her and Draco and she was coming to confront her.

That maybe she was here to actually ask Hermione if all of the lies Ron had told them were true.

They’d even discussed the possibility that it was an ambush—that she did believe that Hermione was suicidal or severely mentally ill and that Molly was coming to try and force her into a locked ward at St. Mungo’s.

Hermione thought she was prepared for all outcomes. Draco (and Narcissa) were certainly ready to stun Molly and lock her in the dungeons should she try to take Hermione anywhere.

But, as the day unfolded, Hermione realized that she never should have assumed.

After twenty minutes of waffling, Hermione had finally screwed up the courage and, hand in Draco’s, stepped through the floo and into the traveling parlor in the Manor.

Narcissa was seated across the room in a chaise, serenely reading a book. She snapped it closed when they stepped out, a reassuring smile on her face as she walked toward the pair.

“Your guest is in the solarium, dear. I must say,” a devious smile spread across her face, “she was quite perturbed about being led further into the house before you arrived. I’m not sure what she thought I would do, hit her over the head with a candlestick?”

The laugh that erupted from her chest eased some of the tension Hermione had been feeling.

“Thank you for letting us meet here, Narcissa.” Before she could take a step forward, Narcissa pinned her with a glare, a delicate finger pointed at her face.

“Hermione. This is your home as well. You may use it as you please. And if I hear you thank me for the hospitality of having you in your own home again, I will hit you over the head with a candlestick.” She smirked, causing a grin to break across Hermione’s face.

Putting up her hands, she surrendered. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll make sure to show up unannounced with a party in tow more often.”

Narcissa nodded once, and then gestured with her arm for the group to all walk forward toward the solarium.

Stopping just out of earshot of the door, Draco gave her hand a squeeze. “We’ll wait in the sitting room for you, love. If you need anything just yell.” He leaned in, placing a light kiss on her lips and whispered. “It’s going to be fine.”

Hermione wasn’t so sure, but she nodded all the same, gave each of them a final look, and then walked forward and through the door.

Molly was sitting in the far corner of the room, anxiety and suspicion on her face as she regarded the full tea service in front of her.

As soon as she heard Hermione’s footsteps, Molly shot out of her chair, tea cups rattling, and made her way quickly across the room.

“Oh my dear! Thank Godric you’re here! I wasn’t sure if…” She’d reached Hermione at that point, crushing her into a hug that stole the breath from Hermione’s lungs. It was an odd sensation, being hugged again by Molly Weasley for the first time in nearly a year, and once again Hermione found herself caught between the old comfort of it and the crawling, slimy feeling that now covered every single interaction she had with anyone from her old life.

Still tucked into the hug, Hermione responded. “Wasn’t sure if I would actually come? I wouldn’t stand you up, Molly.”

The older witch pulled back, holding Hermione by the arms. “Oh, no dear, that’s not it at all. I just…” Molly looked behind her, toward the door of the solarium, then lowered her voice. “I didn’t know if these people were planning some sort of trick, if they were planning to…to attack us.”

Hermione’s brain seemed to slam to a halt. “A-attack us? What are you talking about, Molly? Why would they attack us?” Anger was starting to rise in her gut.

Molly leaned back and looked at Hermione as though the answer was obvious. “They’re dark wizards, Hermione! They let Voldemort live in this house! They’re Death Eaters!”

Righteous, red fury tingled through Hermione’s entire body. She yanked her arms out of Molly’s grip and stood back, trying to take deep breaths to stop herself from screaming.

Her voice like ice, Hermione pointed out the door. “These people are not dark wizards, Molly. They did not let Voldemort do anything. There was only one Death Eater in this house, and he’s now locked in a cell in Azkaban. Draco and Narcissa are innocent. They were victims. We would not have won the war without them!” Hermione could hear the pitch of her voice getting higher and higher as she went on, unable to stop herself.

Molly’s eyes had gone wide, and she was now regarding Hermione like a specimen she had never encountered before. Undeterred, Hermione held her gaze.

After a moment, Molly seemed to regain herself, shaking her head and putting up her hands. “I, I’m sorry dear. Yes, you’re…well, Harry did tell me that Draco has been coordinating your security quite well, and it was very…kind of Narcissa to offer her home for us to meet. I meant no harm, I assure you.”

Hermione didn’t believe her, and she hated the way Molly looked as though something unpleasant was under her nose as she spoke.

But, what was the point? This is not why Hermione had come here today. To justify herself or Draco and Narcissa to Molly. She was here to learn what Molly had to say. That, and that alone.

Taking a deep breath in and out of her nose, Hermione tried to calm herself. “Shall we sit? Harry said it was rather urgent that you speak with me?”

Molly immediately snapped back from the awkward moment, her eyes warming as she nodded quickly.

“Yes! Yes, dear. Quite urgent, indeed!”

They crossed the room and took their seats at the table, Hermione flicking her wand to pour them both some tea.

Molly took a sip, setting her cup down before giving Hermione a too-sweet smile. “I’ve come to ask you a favor, dear.”

Hermione raised a brow, this was not one of the scenarios she had planned for. “A favor?”

Molly nodded and pushed forward. “Yes indeed. Well, you know that the wedding is only two weeks away, yes?” Her eyes were sparkling with motherly excitement.

Hermione, on the other hand, was thrown entirely off her guard. She honestly hadn’t known that Ron’s wedding was in two weeks, nor was she at all prepared for Molly to ask her about it.

“…Yes?” Her answer was hesitant.

Molly nodded with a smile, before looking down at her hands, twisting them together on top of the table.

“Well dear…I, I want you to come. I’m here to ask you to come to the wedding. For me. As a favor to me.” Molly looked back up sheepishly, taking in Hermione’s shocked expression.

Hermione was certain she had heard incorrectly. Even more certain that this could not possibly have been the urgent reason Molly had requested they meet.

“You…you want me…to come to…to Ron’s wedding?”

Molly nodded vigorously. “Yes. Hermione, you’ve been part of our family for so many years and it feels…it feels wrong for you not to be there! Harry and Ron, they’re your best friends! The three of you have been best friends for so many years. And I know things are complicated right now, but this is just a bump in the road! You’ve been through so much together! You can’t let this little hiccough ruin that!” Molly’s eyes were pleading, with a hint of…was that chastisement?

Hermione felt like she must be in a nightmare. That soon enough she would wake up, Draco’s arms around her, and she’d tell him about the ridiculous dream she’d had. How implausible it was, because clearly, she’d had too much wine the night before.

But as she sat there, momentarily silent, she looked around to try and spot blurred edges of the scene, shimmery lights, something to tell her that none of this was real. And she found nothing.

She turned her eyes slowly back to Molly. Back to the actual Molly. Sitting here in front of her. In real life.

It took her a few tries, opening and closing her mouth, before she could speak. “A…hiccough? Molly, you’re asking me to attend the wedding of my ex-boyfriend and the woman he spent two years cheating on me with. And…what? Shall I give a toast about how wonderful their relationship is? How beautiful it is to find true love even in the vilest of circumstances?” She let out a humorless laugh.

Molly looked affronted. “Yes, dear. I…” She sighed, her eyes becoming cloudy and resigned as she met Hermione’s and reached out to grab hold of her hands. “What he did was terrible, Hermione. Absolutely awful. I know that. It breaks my heart that he did that to you, sweetheart. You didn’t deserve any of that. You do not deserve any of the pain I’m sure you are still in. I can’t imagine how terrible it is, what you’re going through. To try and recover after the person you thought was your soulmate broke your heart.”

Hermione couldn’t help herself, she let out a bark of laughter.

Oh, she knew what it was like to try and put yourself back together after your soulmate breaks your heart. That soulmate just was not, and never could have been, Ron Weasley.

Molly was regarding her with confusion, clearly taken aback by Hermione’s outburst. But she could see, through whatever else was shining in them, the truth, the care, and the love in Molly’s eyes.

Just like with Harry, it was hard to reconcile.

Because the real truth was: She barely thought about any of these people anymore. As harsh as it was to even think, they no longer held any power in her life. She wasn’t in any pain about what Ron had done. Frankly, she didn’t care anymore. It certainly bothered her that these people she had cared about had all lied to her for so long, but she no longer felt the urgent tug to get to the bottom of it. To figure out why.

She was almost grateful, in fact, because everything that had happened with Ron, with Harry, and with the Weasleys had put her on a path that had led her here. To a group of the best friends she could ever imagine. To a life filled with laughter and joy. To a family.

To Draco.

So, it was hard to square the reality as she looked across a small, intricate wrought iron table at Molly Weasley, sitting inside a glass-encased solarium in her home (her home!) and asking her to jump back into her old life like it was nothing.

“Molly, I appreciate that, I do. But I don’t think I can go to his wedding. I don’t think he would want me to be at his wedding, if I’m honest!”

Molly was already shaking her head before she had even finished. “Nonsense dear, of course he does. The whole family wants you there!” Molly took a breath, tears gathering in her eyes, her hands still holding Hermione’s.

“Hermione. Our family has lost so much. After Fred, after your parents…I can’t stand the thought of losing someone else. I don’t want you to lose anyone else. These last few months have been so hard. So, so hard. I want us to start fresh. Please, Hermione. I…I’m begging you. Please. Please don’t let our family fall apart.”

No matter how hard she tried to stop it, Molly’s words did tug at her heartstrings. A part of her knew, deep down, that Molly was likely manipulating her somehow, but she didn’t think she was lying, exactly. And as much pain as that family had caused her, she never intended to hurt them back just for the fun of it.

“Come to the wedding, dear. It can be the first step forward. The press will be there, they’ll take pictures of all of you together, it will stop all the gossip swirling around, get Rita and the others off your heels! I promise, Hermione. It will be great. Wonderful, even!”

No, it wouldn’t. Of that, she was sure. But Hermione hated the feeling settling in her gut at this moment. The feeling that, if she said no, she would be shoving a knife into Molly’s heart. There was a voice inside of her—a voice that sounded simultaneously like Pansy and Draco both—yelling that she was being a ridiculous Gryffindor, that she was being kind to someone who had not earned her kindness, that this entire encounter had been ridiculous.

But.

Hermione found her resolve crumbling. She knew this was wrong. She knew she should say no. And yet, she couldn’t stop herself from saying…

“Molly, even if I wanted to, I can’t. Harry’s told you about the threats, hasn’t he? It would be dangerous for everyone at the wedding if I was there.” Her voice was desperate.

But Molly’s eyes lit up. She’d found a crack. She had her opening. “We can add wards! All the wards you want! We were able to keep Harry safe for those weeks during the war! We can do that again! The DMLE can add whatever protections are necessary!”

Hermione had given her that one, free of charge.

Feeling as though she had been backed into a corner, Hermione sighed. “I’ll think about it, alright?”

Molly released Hermione’s hands, standing and rounding the table to lift Hermione to her feet and pull her into yet another hug. “Oh, my dear! How wonderful! Yes! Of course, think all you want. Just make sure you send me your answer by Tuesday, alright? We must confirm with the caterers!”

Molly danced out of her arms, picked up her handbag from the ground, and immediately began retreating from the room, leaving Hermione rooted to the spot. Clearly, Molly wanted to get out of there before Hermione had the chance to reconsider.

“It was so lovely to see you dear. So lovely. You look so well! Healthy and well! I must fly, so much to do at home! I’ll expect your word by Tuesday!”

And with that, she scurried from the room, Hermione listening to her footsteps retreat down the hallway.

Hermione trudged to a settee on the other side of the solarium and sunk down into it heavily, her head falling into her hands.

“You can stop pretending that you weren’t eavesdropping on the entire conversation now!” She called through her fingers.

Draco and Narcissa appeared instantly in the doorway, both walking confidently toward her.

Hermione looked up at them, still shell-shocked from what had just happened.

Narcissa plucked her wand from her robes and flicked it toward the far wall, levitating a large, ornate golden candlestick. “Want me to send it after her, dear?”

The absurdity hit her and she began to giggle. “I’m sure the second she could she started to run. She’ll already be through the floo. Didn’t want to give me a chance to come after her.”

Narcissa shrugged, sending the candlestick back to its proper place. “Next time, then.” Regarding Hermione more closely, she continued, “are you alright, dear?”

Hermione thought for a moment. Was she alright? No. Absolutely not. She felt like she’d just been hit by a runaway train. Had somehow been maneuvered like a chess piece. How had that happened? How had she almost agreed to actually attend Ron’s wedding?

“What the hell was she thinking?!” The words exploded out of her. “She was trying to manipulate me, right? I’m not crazy, am I? That’s what just happened? I…I can’t believe I was falling for it! I don’t owe any of them a goddamn thing! And here they are, after months, still lying to me! Still trying to pretend that…what? That I’m the one doing something wrong? That I’m punishing them unfairly? In what world am I obligated to go to his wedding? How could that possibly be a good idea? It’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard!” She was yelling now, the exasperation of it all carrying her away.

“Actually…I think it might be a good idea.”

Both Hermione and Narcissa snapped their heads in the direction of the contemplative voice. Draco. Draco had said that. No. It was impossible. There had to be someone else in the room. A ghost, perhaps? But when she turned her head to him, he had a finger pressed against his lips, his eyes intently on Hermione.

“What?!” Hermione was shocked none of the panes of glass shattered due to the volume of her voice.

“You…you think she’s right? You think going to his wedding is a good idea?” Hermione didn’t know how to compute what was happening.

Draco began shaking his head, stepping forward to sit on the settee next to Hermione.

“Of course she’s not right. The woman is out of her fucking mind. Her reasons for you to go are complete bullshit. But…” At Hermione’s raised brows, he put up his hands. “She did say something interesting. The press. She said the press would be there.”

Hermione looked at him blankly.

“And?” The word came from Narcissa, still standing to the side.

“And it may be an opportunity we can use. You’ve been completely off the radar for months now, Hermione. Ever since the attack. And there has been no sign of Greyback or his followers. He might think you’ve been scared into hiding or have stopped your work entirely. He might go to ground if he thinks that he’s stopped you. But if you’re photographed at a wedding, clearly out and about, not worried for your safety, it may get him to make a move. To do something sloppy to try and find you.”

Draco looked off into the distance, working through the idea.

“We could ward The Burrow. Put a full team of aurors inside as security. Screen every guest. We could make it safe. I could make it safe. And then afterward, you’d go back to the house and the lab, places we know he can’t get to you. You’d be completely secure. And the team might be able to catch a break. To catch him. It might force his hand…”

Listening to him, even through the fog of her anger over the last few minutes with Molly, she could see it. He was right. That could work. And it could mean that Hermione could get back the parts of her life she had to put on hold…

Merlin, this was not how she wanted to do it. Being forced back into the middle of her old life, spending hours and hours surrounded by people who, at this point, she was certain would only be lying to her through their teeth, didn’t exactly sound like a pleasant Saturday.

Though, it’s not as if she would be alone. Everyone else in their friend group had already decided to go. Pansy, Luna, Theo, and Blaise had all been invited, and after a night in early September that featured a bit too much firewhiskey they—and Padma as Blaise’s plus one—had all decided that they would go for the fun of it, the Slytherins all deeply fascinated by how Daphne Greengrass would behave at her wedding.

Hermione had even overheard Theo and Pansy discussing the creation of a drinking game for the day—one drink every time Daphne pretended to cry, two whenever she forced a guest to tell her how beautiful the decorations were, and three if there were any public mentions that her relationship with Ron had only begun after Hermione had broken up with him.

George, on the other hand, had no desire to be there. Ron had asked him to be a groomsman, to which George had laughed in his face and refused flat out, and he had only reluctantly agreed to be present on the day after Molly, Arthur, Charlie, and Bill had all pleaded with him to come.

At least if Hermione was there she could be some additional moral support for him—and with all of her friends in tow, she’d have quite a few buffers to stop any unwelcome conversations.

Draco turned his eyes back to her. “If you’re not comfortable, if you’re worried it won’t be safe, we can forget about it. It’s completely up to you, Hermione.”

Hermione gave a small smile, one hand coming up to Draco’s cheek. “Draco. I trust you entirely. If you say it’s safe, it’s safe. That’s all I need to hear. And you’re right. It is a good idea.”

She pulled in a deep breath, looked to Narcissa who was watching warily, and then back to Draco.

“Well. I guess we’re going to a wedding…”

**

The preparations had happened mostly out of Hermione’s control. She’d sent a note back to Molly, and Draco had simultaneously brought the idea to Tonks and the team at the DMLE. Most of the aurors in the department were already invited to the wedding, so maintaining security inside would be easy.

Daphne had apparently been less than enthused that such a plan would be executed at her wedding, but it appeared that Molly had convinced her that everything would be fine.

Draco had taken several trips to The Burrow—much to his distaste—to set up all the wards and refine the security plan.

All Hermione had done was stand in her closet, trying on dress after dress that Pansy brought over. When she had learned that Hermione would be attending, the Cheshire cat smile that had appeared on Pansy’s face had been unmatched. She had immediately proclaimed that Hermione would be using the wedding to “show that bitch never to cross Hermione Granger,” and had forced her to try on dress after dress that somehow became lower cut and more suggestive by the day.

In the end, Hermione had chosen a dress that looked as though molten gold had been poured over her body. It was a shimmering, supple silk fabric that hugged her curves and pooled at her feet, with a sweetheart neckline and thin spaghetti straps that revealed an open back showing off most of Hermione’s tattoos.

As she looked at herself in the mirror before heading downstairs, Hermione had to admit, she looked fucking hot.

Buckling her strappy sandals and checking her hair and makeup one final time, Hermione descended the stairs to meet Draco, who would be apparating with her to the wedding.

As soon as she stepped off the landing, Draco—who looked absolutely edible in his crisp, perfectly tailored double-breasted black suit—turned, his eyes going wide as he immediately groaned.

“I changed my mind. We don’t need to go. Let’s stay here. I can spend the next several hours ravishing you in that fucking dress…my gods, Hermione.”

Hermione smirked and did a twirl. “You like it?”

Draco stepped forward, placing both of his hands on her hips. “I’m going to be hard all night looking at you in this dress.”

Hermione placed her hands on his chest, slowly trailing them down toward his stomach. “Mmm, well. I suppose if you behave, I’ll need to reward you when we get home.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

Draco stepped further into her, his hands sliding from her hips to squeeze her bum. “I like the sound of that, love.”

With a frustrated groan, he released her and stepped back. “But first, we need to get through the next few hours. Are you ready?”

Hermione shrugged. “I guess we’re about to find out…”

They apparated to just outside the wards, Hermione pausing for a moment as a wave of nostalgia hit her as she looked up at The Burrow for the first time since Christmas. A lance of pain shot through her, and she squeezed Draco’s forearm tightly.

“Are you alright, love?”

She took a breath. “Do we have to go inside the house?”

Draco placed his hand over hers. “No, love. We’re not going into the house.”

With a relieved breath, she nodded, and they stepped forward, passing through the wards and into the safety beyond them.

Draco seemed to lose some of the tension in his shoulders once they were inside. Hermione was certain that he had his wand strapped securely beneath his jacket and would still be scrutinizing every person who came near her throughout the night, but she was also confident that she was safe inside the wards that he had cast.

There were several dozen guests milling around the garden, some that Hermione recognized from school or the ministry, including Remus and Tonks, standing a bit to the side and chatting quietly with each other. Hermione and Draco approached.

When they were still ten feet away, Tonks turned and exclaimed, “well fuck me, Hermione! You look bloody hot!” Hermione smiled as her cheeks turned red.

When they came to a stop, Remus reached out to squeeze her shoulder briefly. “You do look very lovely, Hermione.”

“Thank you. Where’s Teddy? I thought he would be here?”

Both Tonks’ and Remus’s faces morphed into amused distress. “He’s with Harry and the others inside. Molly insisted he stay with them until his duties as ring bearer are through.”

Remus added, “we warned them not to actually give him the rings. He loves to hide things and the child is far too good at choosing spots that he can never find again…”

Both Hermione and Draco chuckled.

“Draco, now that you’re here, I’d like to run through the security plan once more with the team. They’re all gathering around back.” Tonks began moving away.

Draco looked down at her, clearly not happy about leaving her on her own.

“I assure you, if any threats appear, Mr. Malfoy, I’m quite prepared to fight them off.” There was a smile in Remus’s voice, but when Hermione looked at him, she saw just how serious he was.

Draco must have seen the same, because he nodded, gave Hermione’s arm a final squeeze, and followed Tonks around the house.

“How are you doing, Hermione?”

She turned to Remus. “I’m well. Very well, actually. Fully healed now, without any lasting effects. And the cure…Remus, I think I really am on to something. I think I really might do it.”

He smiled kindly down at her. “I never had any doubt, Hermione. If there was one person in this world who could figure it out, it’s you.”

She nodded her head in thanks.

“And Mr. Malfoy? Is he treating you well, or should I plan to lock him in my basement during the next full moon?”

Hermione smiled widely. “There will be no need for that, Remus. In fact…” She brought her thumb to rub over her ring finger, feeling the ridges and edges of her ring. She had refused to take it off for the wedding, insisting that she would simply glamour it instead. Pansy had told her to just show it off and use the wedding as an announcement of her engagement to Draco, but no matter how angry she had been at Ron and the others, she had no desire to make a scene at his wedding.

“We’re engaged.” She finished the sentence with a dreamy smile.

Remus mirrored her, pulling her in to a warm hug. “Oh, congratulations Hermione. That’s wonderful.” He pulled back. “And you’re happy?”

Hermione nodded. “Deliriously so.”

“Well alright then, I suppose I will be celebrating doubly tonight!”

Hermione smiled, ready to respond, when she heard the unmistakable sounds of her friends having just stepped through the wards together. Remus bid her goodbye as she joined the group.

“Well Granger, I’d like to formally apologize to you for complaining about your wildflower addiction. I may vomit from all of the pink roses covering this godforsaken place.” Pansy, dressed impeccably in a deep blue dress that matched nicely with the voluminous silver tea-length dress Luna was wearing, was spinning slowly on the spot, mouth pinched in disgust at the pink flowers and streamers that seemed to be everywhere.

“Merlin. Theo! We need to add a new category to the drinking game. Look at those,” she pointed skyward. Hermione followed her gaze and her eyes went wide. “They’ve enchanted fairies to fly around. Fucking fairies, Theo.”

Theo, who had clearly been looking around for George, stepped forward with a smirk. “We’re all going to be absolutely off our faces before this monstrosity is over.”

He gave Hermione a once over, whistling suggestively before pulling her into a hug. “How ya feeling, gorgeous? Blaise and I are quite ready to curse anyone who crosses you today.”

Blaise, arm around Padma, nodded conspiratorially.

Hermione just rolled her eyes. “I’ve barely even seen anyone yet. No one needs to be cursed.”

“Yet.” The ominous word came from Padma, of all people.

The group chatted for a bit while more guests arrived. Hermione greeted Dean Thomas, who came in hand-in-hand with Seamus, as well as Neville and Hannah Abbott, while the Slytherins did their best to discourage any of their former classmates from approaching.

A tinkling chime sounded throughout the area, signaling the start of the ceremony. The group made their way around the house and took their seats toward the back of the pews set up in the back garden.

Draco rushed over just as the music began, taking a seat next to Hermione.

She wasn’t sure what she expected from the wedding. All Hermione really knew about Daphne was that she tended to be overdramatic and, clearly, loved the color pink. Hermione never would have pegged Ron as someone who would care much for planning, and the assumption seemed to hold true as the ceremony progressed.

Ron walked out wearing a suit with a pink tie and pocket square, Harry, Bill, and Charlie all similarly adorned.

The Ministry Warlock performing the ceremony stepped to the front of the gathered guests, looking awkward and uncomfortable in a set of ridiculously shiny pink robes, and as the procession began, every single person in the family and wedding party looked as though they had just been attacked by pixies flinging pink paint in all directions.

Molly and Arthur looked overjoyed, Daphne’s parents smug, and Daphne herself looked like someone had transfigured a cupcake into a human. Hermione tried to be kind about it in her own head, but she just couldn’t stop herself. The dress was wider than Daphne was tall, glittery and, of course, faded from white to pink as it cascaded toward the floor.

As Daphne made her way forward, a saccharin smile on her face as she looked at Ron, Draco leaned in and whispered into Hermione’s ear. “I know I don’t get a say in your dress. But if I can make a single request, please don’t choose something that would make it impossible for me to even stand closer than two feet away from you.”

Hermione turned toward him, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

The remainder of the ceremony continued in much the same way. Daphne wept dramatically, Ron made a dramatic show of giving her a handkerchief, Molly wept dramatically, the Ministry Warlock gave a dramatic speech, and everyone in their row tried desperately to stop themselves from laughing—even Luna.

They collectively lost their battle when, just as the newly married couple leaned in for a kiss, doves that (of course) had been charmed pink were released, wings flapping wildly as the fairies began zooming away from them.

Theo reached into his pocket, pulled out a flask, and passed it down the line—they hadn’t even thought to add an “enchanted doves” category to the drinking game.

The real gauntlet for Hermione began as the wedding guests all began to move toward the enchanted tent for the reception. She immediately began to notice sidelong glances and pitying looks, and she had to focus to keep a scowl off her face that could be caught by a photographer.

As they reached the opening of the tent, where pink, sparkling place cards were hovering, George finally broke through the crowd toward them, grabbing Theo’s face and kissing him roughly. “Never let me be forced into participating in one of these things again.”

George turned to Hermione. “Daphne had you at a table with Aunt Muriel,” Hermione’s eyes bulged but George shook his head, “don’t worry, I switched you to be with us. Well, not me, I’m being forced to sit with the family.” His teeth were gritted in frustration.

The mingling began.

Rita cornered Hermione quickly, asking for a statement, to which Hermione responded effusively about how happy she was for the newlyweds. Turning back toward Draco after that drive by, Hermione let out a deep sigh.

“I’m getting drunk.”

He smirked and immediately plucked a flute of champagne off a floating tray for her.

The next several hours were simultaneously better and worse than Hermione had anticipated.

Molly, who at this point Hermione was sure had asked her to attend solely to prevent Rita from writing an article about the wedding that overshadowed the event itself with the fact that Hermione was absent, gave her barely a passing hello as she rushed off to greet other guests. They never spoke again that night.

Arthur merely waved at her from across the room.

But Fleur. Fleur had rushed forward as soon as she spotted Hermione, unceremoniously shoving Victoire into Bill’s hands, and placing her delicate hands on Hermione’s face.

“’Ermioné, you look absolutely divine. I am so happy to be seeing you in person, I have not been wanting to write you a letter or some other nonsense, I needed to speak with you like this. I am so sorry for what happened. I still cannot believe…”

She began speaking in rapid, angry French that Hermione could not understand, but a quick look to Draco, who was standing close by and now pressing his lips together to hold in his laughter, told her that whatever Fleur was saying, it was not very kind to Ron.

“Fleur. It’s alright, truly. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Fleur shook her head. “Non, mais I am related to him! C’est horrible! I did not even want to come. That woman…she is…” Fleur shook her head, disgusted. “You are magnifique, Ermioné. I will never forgive him for what he did. And it will take years for me to forgive Bill for not telling me, or you, about it as soon as he found out.” She raised her voice for the last sentence to ensure that Bill, who looked quite chastised, could hear her.

Hermione smiled. She’d grown close to Fleur after sixth year and quite missed her. “Thank you, Fleur. Truly. I appreciate it. But I can assure you, I’m quite happy with how things turned out. Extremely happy.”

Fleur smiled and nodded her head, finally releasing Hermione. “Très bien! I am so much glad.”

Victoire took that moment to start loudly crying, causing Fleur to groan. “Well, we must go. But Ermioné, we must get tea soon, yes?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

With two kisses to her cheeks and an apologetic wave from Bill, they faded into the crowd.

“What did she say about him?”

Draco smirked. “A lot of things. My favorite was that he is a flea-covered stray dog who has decided to roll around in soggy, hot garbage.”

They had all sat down to dinner shortly thereafter, and Hermione was able to easily forget about any awkward encounters for a few moments while she laughed—and drank—with her friends.

Until Ron and Daphne arrived at their table as they made the rounds to greet their guests.

Hermione could see that Daphne momentarily didn’t recognize her, and then narrowed her eyes, clearly not expecting to see her at this table.

They greeted the others, receiving a less than warm welcome from the rest of the table, until Daphne got to Draco.

“Oh Draco, you see, I knew you would come! I’m just so gutted that your mother wasn’t able to make it. How has she been fairing on her travels in France?”

Pansy let out a snort, almost spraying a gulp of wine across the table. Daphne’s eyes cut to her briefly before she returned her saccharin smile to Draco.

Staring back at her, he deadpanned. “Yes. That is indeed where she is.”

It was at that point that Hermione noticed that Ron had been staring at her during the entire exchange, his eyes openly roaming up and down her body. Draco had noticed as well, and he cleared his throat loudly, looking at Ron as though he was seconds away from stunning him.

Ron startled back to reality and looped his arm possessively around Daphne.

“Yes, so nice of you all to come to support Daph! And Hermione, of course, so glad to have you here. I know you’ve never much been interested in weddings and the like, but I’m glad you were able to drag yourself away from your work for the night!”

A ripple ran across the table.

“What the fuck did you just say?” It was Blaise who spoke, his voice unnaturally calm, the others now all regarding Ron with open hatred.

Ron, startled, looked between him and the others at the table. “Oh, no, I…Oh, so sorry, I hear my Aunt Muriel calling for us! Come along, Daph!”

And with a tug on her arms, he pulled them both away.

The table was silent for a moment.

“You know, I know quite an effective spell to ensure that a man is incapable of pleasing his partner for at least a fortnight. I’ll have to perform it on the full moon, and I must ask Daddy for the right varietal of honey, but I think Ron has quite earned it.”

Luna spoke in that same dreamy tone she always did, so at odds with her actual words. To the point that it caused the entire table to erupt in uncontrollable laughter.

She managed to avoid any more Weasley encounters until the dancing was well underway, at which point Percy appeared at their table, and in the stiff, overly formal way that only Percy could ever manage, asked Hermione to dance.

When they began a surprisingly fluid waltz, Percy began to speak.

“Hermione, I, well, I know we spoke earlier in the year, but I just, I just wanted you to know again how absolutely unacceptable my brother’s behavior was toward you. I refused to come tonight, you know. Mum, Dad, Charlie, and Bill all had to threaten to ban me from Christmas to get me here.”

Hermione huffed a laugh. “Seems like you and George got the same talk.”

Percy gave a half smile. “Yes, I believe we did. And…well, speaking of George…I know that the two of you have become quite close. He’s told me a bit about how happy he is to have found such a wonderful group of friends. And…well…I’ve always quite admired you, Hermione, I hope you know, and I would very much enjoy the opportunity to, well, to be your friend.”

Hermione’s heart warmed. She and Percy had always been able to connect more than the other Weasleys because of their shared love of knowledge, and after Percy had pulled his head out of his ass after the war, Hermione had found him to become a very kind, if still extremely awkward, companion.

She squeezed the hand holding his. “We are friends, Percy. But I’d love to have you come and meet the rest of the motley crew George and I have found. They’re quite something.”

Percy’s eyes lit up. “I’d quite enjoy that, Hermione. And…well…” He looked around briefly. “George knows this, but I haven’t told the rest of the family. I’ve been dating Lee Jordan for a few months now, and I think he’d be quite keen to join as well.”

It took Hermione a moment to let that piece of information weave itself into what she knew about Percy. Her shock must have shown on her face, because Percy laughed softly.

“I know, it seems quite odd, the two of us. But what is it they say? Opposites attract?”

Hermione smiled. “I suppose they do, Perc. Well, if you’re happy, I’m thrilled for you.”

Percy nodded. “I am. And you? Are you happy? With him?” He inclined his head toward Draco.

Hermione looked back at him questioningly. Percy just rolled his eyes. “It’s not hard to spot if you’re actually paying attention. Just because the rest of these people are idiots doesn’t mean I am.”

Hermione giggled. “I suppose you’re right. And yes, I am happier than I ever thought possible.”

Percy’s smile softened, just as the song came to a close. “I’m so glad, Hermione.”

With a quick bow, he turned away. But before Hermione could return to her table, a hand grabbed her elbow, spinning her back around. Ginny and Harry stood in front of her.

Ginny smiled widely at her, while Harry wore the same cautious look he had whenever he had seen her since his conversation with Draco.

“Hermione! Merlin! You look gorgeous!” Ginny looked her up and down, admiring her dress.

Harry nodded and added quietly, “you really do, Mione.”

Hermione smiled tightly. “Thank you. You look wonderful too, Gin.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and smoothed her bubblegum pink dress. “I look like a melting ice lollie. But,” she put up her hands, “it’s not my day! So I shall grin and bear it.”

Hermione nodded and Ginny reached back out to take her hands. “How have you been holding up, darling? I can’t imagine how stressful the last few months have been, on top of all of…well…” Ginny waved her hands, indicating the reality of the wedding and Ron’s relationship.

Hermione smiled ruefully. “It’s been fine, really. More than fine, if I’m honest. Frankly, it’s been nice to be able to focus solely on my research instead of splitting my time at the ministry. I wish I wasn’t so limited in where I was able to go, but I’m not keen to run into Greyback’s people again any time soon, and I’ve had plenty of people around to keep me entertained.” Hermione gestured to the table where she could now see the entire group (minus Draco, who was openly staring at the interaction between Hermione and the Potters) playing a drinking game that involved some sort of intricate movement of shot glasses across the table. “Have you seen George’s newest indoor fireworks? They’re spectacular!”

Ginny looked at her strangely. “I…no, well…I’ve not had much time with George recently.”

“Oy! Harry!” Ron’s voice boomed from across the room. Harry looked over, a genuine smile breaking on his face as he saw Ron laughing with Dean and Seamus, and with one final look at Hermione, he turned and walked away.

As soon as he was gone, Ginny took a step forward, her eyes becoming more serious. “Hermione, I really wanted to talk to you. Harry’s been saying some things…he, well, he’s somehow gotten it into his head that he and I, that all of us really, somehow don’t know you very well. That, and I know this sounds absolutely nuts, that we didn’t really know what was going on with you for the past few years! He said Malfoy told him something? Draco fucking Malfoy, Hermione. I mean, honestly. Of course he’s wrong. Right? I mean, it’s wonderful that you’re feeling better! You certainly look well! I’m so glad to see that the program you’ve been following is working. But this idea that we didn’t know what was really going on for all those years…Hermione. We saw you! Ron…well, he told us. How you were…struggling. I don’t understand how Harry’s gotten this all into his head! We talked with Ron, and, well, he couldn’t believe that Harry thought Malfoy was reliable. Drove him mad! He explained it all again, but, well, you and I haven’t really been able to talk recently, and I just wanted to check in, make sure you’re ok? I know Malfoy has been coordinating your security, and I thought it was only fair that you knew that he was spreading rumors about you.”

Hermione had detached herself and was using her skills as a researcher to observe this conversation from the outside. She’d just gained a lot more pieces to the puzzle.

Harry had realized that something in the story Ron had told them about her was a lie.

But Ginny didn’t believe him.

And once again, they’d trusted Ron to tell them the truth. Not her.

But there was something niggling at her. “Program? You said I’ve been following a program? What program are you talking about Ginny?”

Ginny looked confused and almost…was that pity in her eyes? It almost looked like Hermione’s question had confirmed for her that she was unwell. “You know, Hermione. With your mind healers? Your treatments?”

“Jesus Christ, Ginny.”

Hermione rarely used muggle exclamations anymore, but this certainly called for it.

“I’m not seeing a mind healer, Ginny. I haven’t since just after the end of the war. And the only ‘treatment’ I’ve used in the last five years was the one Padma put me on after the attack to help me heal. Which I did, by the way. I have no idea what you’re talking about, but whatever Ron told you was not true.”

Ginny looked momentarily shocked, and for a second, Hermione thought that maybe, just maybe, she had gotten through to her. But then her eyes shifted, the cloying, pitying look returning.

Ginny squeezed her hands. “Oh, Mione. I think…I think you might be confused.”

Hermione ripped her hands from Ginny’s. “I am not confused, Ginny. You are though, I can tell you that.”

Ginny opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Hermione needed to get out of this situation. She’d told herself she would not make a scene at Ron’s wedding, but if she spoke one more word to Ginny, that promise was going right out the window.

Thankfully, at that moment, a soft, warm hand came around her elbow.

“Apologies for interrupting,” Draco’s voice was smooth but ice cold as he stared at Ginny. “But I wanted to see if you would do me the honor of dancing with me, Granger?”

Hermione let loose a breath, her shoulders relaxing. “I’d love to, Malfoy.”

She set her hand in his, and without another word, let him twirl her away from Ginny.

When they were out of earshot, he said, “it looked like you needed to be rescued…”

Hermione growled as Draco pulled her into him gracefully, the pair immediately falling into a familiar dance.

“I did, thank you.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Hermione stepped forward, following Draco as he led the steps. “Honestly? Not right now. I’d prefer not to think about it for a while.”

Draco smirked. “Well, I think we can accomplish that.” And with that, Draco spun her out, before twisting her back in, Hermione’s dress swirling around them. She smiled immediately, relaxing into the movement and Draco’s touch.

They let themselves go, dancing for song after song, laughing and smiling with each other and all but forgetting that anyone else was in the room.

It was only when Theo stumbled over to them sometime later, begging them to save him from an inevitable loss in whatever drinking game the table had devolved into, that they left the dance floor.

They spent the next couple of hours drinking far too much and laughing with their friends—well, Hermione was drinking too much, Draco was doing a much better job of controlling himself, telling her that he was still technically on duty—until eventually the crowd began to thin.

As Hermione slipped into a tipsy state, she found herself less and less able to focus on anything but Draco.

The way his long fingers wrapped around his glass, gently moving up and down it.

The way the muscles in his strong jaw tightened as he smiled.

The way that fucking suit hugged his body, pulling tight around his thighs.

Pansy and Luna had already made their exit, Padma and Blaise were talking with a group of Ravenclaws, and Theo had just gotten up to search out George when Hermione leaned in, her fingers tightly gripping the edge of Draco’s suit jacket as she whispered in his ear.

“You have two options. Either you slide those fucking fingers up my dress right here and get me off at this table, or we leave and I fuck you in more ways than I can count at home. Either way, I cannot sit here for another second without you touching me, or I am going to explode.”

Draco turned slowly to look her in the eyes, his pupils blown wide and desire rolling off his body.

“If I make you come at this table, you’re going to scream so loudly that every single person here will hear you. So unless you want Aunt Muriel to know what that sounds like, stand up right now and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

She smiled conspiratorially back and they rose, mirroring each other as they stood.

With a hand securely pressed against her lower back, Draco led her out of the tent and into the garden until they stepped just outside the wards.

He turned to her in the semi-darkness, pulling her into him as his hands slid slowly from her back, over her hips, until they reached their destination squarely on top of her ass.

Hermione’s breath was speeding up with each second.

Draco leaned in. “Do you want me to make you scream, love?”

Tipsy and floating in desire, Hermione could only moan and nod, her arms gripping his.

With a final smirk, Draco twisted, apparating them away.

As they were leaving, Hermione thought she heard some commotion back in the tent, maybe even yelling, but she was too far gone to care.

The second they landed in their front garden, Draco hoisted her up, her legs coming around his waist as he began walking them toward the door—Hermione grinding desperately against him the whole way.

They stepped inside and Draco forcibly pulled her off of him, marching her to the closest wall of the foyer and slamming their lips together in a desperate kiss. Pressed against the wall, he leaned his body into her, and Hermione could feel how hard he was against her stomach.

She moaned wantonly, her hands coming up to tangle in his hair while his roamed over her body, one grasping her hip and the other coming to tease her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress.

She pulled back. “Fuck, Draco. Please.”

He kissed down the column of her neck. “This fucking dress, Hermione. This fucking dress…”

The hand on her breast came up, fingers coming under the strap at her shoulder and pulling before doing the same on the other side, allowing the top of the dress to pool around her waist, revealing her chest.

“The dress? What about this fucking suit. Gods, Draco. It drives me out of my mind…”

She could feel him smirk against her skin, but instead of responding, he moved his mouth, taking her nipple into it and biting down hard enough to make her back bow off the wall as she let out a broken scream.

Using her strength, she yanked him back up to her mouth, her fingers moving deftly to remove his jacket, tie, and shirt with unnatural speed.

They had managed to move into the living room, but Hermione was so drunk with lust she knew she couldn’t wait any longer.

Breaking away from his mouth, Hermione palmed his cock through his pants. “Please, Draco. I need you. Right now.”

“Fuck, love. Yes.”

As Hermione’s hands came around to unbuckle his belt and pull his pants and briefs as far down his legs as she could reach, Draco reached around, roughly pulling the zipper that held the remainder of Hermione’s dress on her body until it floated lightly to the floor.

He stood back for a moment, eyes glazed as he took her in, wearing nothing but strappy gold heals and a tiny scrap of lace underwear. Hermione brought her fingers to the lace, ready to pull them off, but Draco surged forward, grabbing her hands.

“Leave them.”

And with that, he grabbed his wand, performed the contraceptive charm, before his fingers came between her folds.

Hermione threw back her head, the lightest of touches sending fire through her veins.

“You’re so wet, love. Are you ready for me?”

Hermione nodded vigorously. “Yes. Yes, please.”

And with that, Draco wrapped his hands around her hips, and in the same fluid motion lifted her up, pulled her panties aside, and impaled her on his cock, causing them both to yell out.

He didn’t slow down, pushing back into her roughly as her back rested against the wall. His pace was punishing, the angle allowing him to hit the spot inside of her that made her see stars over and over and over again.

She wasn’t sure when she had squeezed her eyes shut, but it meant she didn’t see Draco’s hand moving until his thumb pressed directly against her clit.

Her eyes shot open as she keened, Draco’s eyes flitting between her face and where they were joined.

“I want to hear you scream, Hermione. Scream for me. Come, baby. Come. Right. Now.”

She was powerless against his words, exploding around him as her vision went white and a long, desperate scream escaped her.

“Fuck, Hermione. Fuck, yes. Fuck, I…” He roared, following her into paradise.

**

Hermione was sound asleep, naked, and draped haphazardly over Draco’s chest as he laid on his back.

She couldn’t quite remember how they had made it back to their bedroom—just that the wall had been followed by the couch, the kitchen table, and the stairs…

But now, something had awoken her abruptly, and she was too disoriented to understand what had happened.

“Wake up—my god, this entire place reeks of sex!”

Hermione turned her head, burrowing it further into Draco’s chest as he groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Fine, you don’t want to wake up? I’m coming in.”

And with that, their bedroom door burst open, Pansy—somehow immaculate even after all that they had drunk last night—standing impatiently at the foot of their bed.

“For fuck sake, Pansy! What the hell?” Draco’s voice was gravely as he used one arm to try and pull the sheet up around them.

“Oh please. I’ve already seen your fiancé naked, Draco. Don’t be such a prude.”

“Pansy, what are you doing here? It’s..” Hermione cracked an eye open. “Seven in the morning! Merlin!”

“You’re going to thank me in a moment, Curls.”

Without warning, something slapped down on top of them.

“Fuck, Pansy!” Draco finally sat up, pulling Hermione with him.

Eyes now open, Hermione turned to the woman standing, arms crossed, at the end of the bed.

“You’re going to want to read that.” She inclined her head at the thing on the bed—a copy of the Sunday edition of The Daily Prophet.

As soon as Hermione’s eyes focused, she saw it. In the center of the front page was a picture. Of them. Last night. Right before they apparated home. Hermione was desperately grabbing Draco’s lapels as his hands slid possessively from her back to her ass, the two of them staring like they wanted to devour each other. Below was a short, but damning article.

A Tantalizing Tryst!

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy seen sneaking away from Ron Weasley’s wedding…together.

Written By: Parvati Patil

Ron Weasley, war hero and member of the Golden Trio, last night married former Hogwarts classmate Daphne Greengrass, but the nuptials were overshadowed by a fascinating development at the end of the night.

Throughout the evening, Hermione Granger—fellow member of the Golden Trio and Ron Weasley's ex-girlfriend—was seen canoodling with the trio’s former foe, Draco Malfoy. This reporter can exclusively confirm that they sat next to each other during the ceremony and reception, and danced together for at least an hour, sparks flying between them the whole time.

Although Malfoy, now an auror inside the DMLE, has been assisting with the Ministry’s response to an attack earlier this summer on Ms. Granger’s lab, no one interviewed at the wedding could confirm that the pair have any relationship outside of their limited professional interactions.

And yet, as the picture above shows, the pair seemed rather close by the end of the evening, and I can confirm that the two left together immediately after this photo was taken. One can only guess what happened after that…

But the scandal doesn’t stop there!

Ron Weasley witnessed Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Granger leaving and exploded into a rage, going so far as to pull out his wand and attempt to follow them. It took Harry Potter, plus both Bill and George Weasley to restrain him, though he could still be heard ranting that Ms. Granger had “lost her mind” and was “trying to make a scene to garner attention,” and that “if Malfoy touches her, I’ll kill him!”

It's hard to say what will happen when the two men, who work together in the DMLE, meet again after the newlywed Weasleys return from their honeymoon…

Neither Harry Potter nor any of the Weasley family would comment after Ron Weasley, with the newly minted Daphne Greengrass-Weasley, was removed from the venue.

The question remains: What happened between Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy—is this a onetime tryst or the beginning of a brand-new relationship?

The Daily Prophet is on the case, so stay tuned!

Draco and Hermione finished reading at the same time, slowly raising their heads to look at each other.

The absurdity of the situation hit Hermione out of nowhere and she let out a laugh. “Well, I guess that’s one way for people to find out about us!”

Draco stared at her blankly for a moment before falling back into the pillows with a groan.

Chapter End Notes

Welp, the cat is at least partially out of the bag!

And it sure doesn't seem like a certain red head is taking it very well...

For those of you who have been eagerly waiting, I'd like to officially announce that by the end of the next two chapters, we will finally see The Showdown That Was Promised. ;)

I also wanted to take a second to thank everyone again for being here. This fic surpassed 40,000 views this week and that is...beyond anything I could have ever imagined. This has been such a wild ride, and I am just so grateful to you for sticking around!

Also, I am finally biting the bullet and listing the total number of chapters in the fic at 31. I'd been waiting to do it in case something shifted, but at least for now, that is still where it looks like this baby is going to end. So ten more chapters to go!

Thank you thank you thank you for your incredible comments! You're the best!

xoxo,

Flames

Bad Blood

Chapter Notes

Welcome back!

When we last saw our couple, they had just learned that their private relationship had become a whole lot less private.

We're in Draco's POV this week to see the aftermath.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Easter, 4th Year

Draco was rushing, his book bag clattering against his side as he hurried up the stairs and toward the seventh floor.

He would be going home for the Easter holidays tomorrow, so this would be his last chance to see Hermione until next week, and he didn’t want to miss a single second.

But he hadn’t seen her in the dining hall at dinner. He hoped that Potter and Weasley hadn’t caught her up in another one of their schemes, especially if it meant she wouldn’t be able to make it to the Room tonight.

He rushed through the seventh-floor corridor, giving one final glance around to make sure he was alone before making three quick passes in front of the blank wall until the carved oak door appeared.

He hurried through the door, expecting to find the room empty, but pleasantly surprised when he saw Hermione already curled on the couch in the center of the room.

“Hi, love! I wasn’t sure if you would be—”

Draco paused suddenly as Hermione turned her head up to meet his eyes, fear lancing through him. Her cheeks were red and splotchy, her eyes puffy and wet with tears. His bag slipped off his shoulder roughly as he moved across the room.

“Hermione, are you ok? What happened?” He sat down next to her, placing one of his hands over hers, which were absently wringing together in her lap, and the other on her cheek, his thumb coming up to swipe away the tears still slowly seeping from her eyes.

She didn’t speak for a long minute, causing his anxiety to spike even higher.

“Hermione, love, did something happen? Can I…can I do something? I want to help you…” His tone was pleading.

It got her attention, her eyes flickering to his, pain evident in them.

“I got that today.” She inclined her head toward the coffee table in front of them.

Draco turned to look, but for a moment he didn’t see anything. The object she was focused on was easy to miss.

But there, sitting on the edge of the table, was what appeared to be a very, very small…chocolate easter egg? It was no bigger than a robin’s egg, and quite plain. Draco was immediately baffled as to why a small chocolate treat would be making his girlfriend sad…though he did recall many nights of Blaise and Theo discussing how impossible it was to understand the moods of their various girlfriends.

Their conversations had never made sense to Draco. He never found Hermione hard to understand…

Not until this moment, that is.

He decided to tread carefully.

“Is…is that an easter egg?”

Her face screwed up as she nodded, new tears tracking down her face.

Well, shit.

Draco scooted closer to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

“Um…and…it…it made you sad?”

Hermione leaned her head into his shoulder and took a stuttering breath.

“It’s from Mrs. Weasley.”

An immediate flash of annoyance went through him. He’d been able to see for years that Potter and the entire Weasley clan were using Hermione—that none of them truly appreciated her. He’d tried to bring it up to her a few times in the months since they had started dating, but that had never gone well…

“Ok…” He braced for what would come next.

Hermione straightened suddenly, as though a shot of adrenaline went through her. Draco leaned back, hoping to avoid the fray.

“She’s sent me one every year, you know! She sends them to all of us. I always look forward to them. She’s quite a good cook, you know! And my parents, well, you know that they’re teeth healers?”

She looked expectantly at him, and not wanting to speak for fear of facing her wrath, he simply nodded.

“Well, they never send me sweets. So, so I only ever get them from Mrs. Weasley. It’s always…well, it was just so nice to be included.” Her voice broke on the last word.

She took another breath.

“They all arrived today, just like every year. Everyone else received their normal eggs. She even sent a ridiculously large one to Harry because of…” she waved her hands, “all this.”

Draco was starting to catch on. “And she sent you…that?”

Hermione sniffled and nodded. “Yes. She…she believes them. Those awful articles. She thinks they’re true.”

Suddenly, Draco understood everything.

Molly Weasley, the foolish matriarch of a foolish family, would of course hang on every word Rita Skeeter published, no matter how outlandish. And since the first task, she had been publishing articles suggesting that Hermione and Harry were involved.

Until recently, that is.

Shortly after the second task, Skeeter had published an “exposé” claiming that Hermione had left Harry for Viktor Krum, choosing to ride the coattails of his quidditch fame and leaving Harry heartbroken and alone.

They’d laughed about it when the article came out. Draco even knew that Potter had found it ridiculous and amusing.

But not Molly Weasley.

Draco wasn’t surprised. Not one bit. No matter how much Hermione defended them, he could see the truth of those people. All of them. Potter included. They liked Hermione for her usefulness in assisting Harry and Ron in their little adventures, but they always kept her at arm’s length. They hadn’t taken the time to really know her. It drove Draco mad.

Hermione seemed to deflate a bit, her shoulders hunching as she leaned back into Draco.

“Is that how I come across? I mean…I don’t know how she could believe any of it in the first place. The idea that Harry and I were together was ridiculous enough. But…have I done something to…to make it seem like I’d do something like that? Turn my back on someone for fame? Just…just not care about hurting another person?” Her voice was growing smaller by the word.

“Because, I would never do that, Draco. Ever. I…I don’t understand. Why does she think that about me? Do you think that bout me?”

Hermione’s tears had begun to flow freely again, and Draco’s heart cracked open as he looked at her. Hermione, the kindest, most considerate, most loving person he had ever met. Someone who would lay her life down for her friends. Someone who felt so deeply. Someone who was willing to give an absolute prat who had not just been cruel to her but had gone so far as to advocate for her death, a second chance.

Shaking away his thoughts, Draco placed both of his hands gently on each side of Hermione’s face.

“Hermione.” He tried to keep his voice low and calm, but with as much ferocity as he could muster. “No. I do not think that about you. The fact that anyone could think that about you is absolutely insane. I…” he let loose a breath. Here goes nothing…

“I know you don’t want to hear this, and I know you love them, but Hermione, no one who actually knows you, who actually loves you, would do something like this. It’s…fuck, I can’t even begin to understand how blind you would have to be to believe Rita Skeeter over you. She doesn’t really know you, love. Because if she did, she would know that you would never do anything like this. Ever.”

Hermione closed her eyes at his words, leaning her face into his hands.

“And to just decide it was true and them do something like this.” He nodded his head toward the pitiful chocolate egg sitting on the counter. “That is cruel and petty and…well a lot of other things that I don’t particularly want to say out loud.”

Hermione huffed a small laugh, the beginnings of a smile on her lips as her eyes locked with his.

“I know who you are, Hermione Granger. And who you are is absolutely incredible, ok?”

Hermione didn’t say anything for a moment, so Draco made a show of dramatically rolling his eyes.

“If you don’t say ok, I will hold you here like this all night and force you to listen while I list every single amazing thing you have done in the last four years and all of the reasons that Potter and Weasley are undeserving of your time. It’s up to you.”

She smiled ruefully. “Ok.”

Draco arched a brow. “Ok I should begin with our first interaction on the train first year, or ok you agree that you are incredible?”

It was her turn to roll her eyes. “Ok, I agree that I am…incredible.” She said the words dismissively, and Draco took that moment to file away the fact that he would need to spend far more time making sure she understood her own beauty. Her own brilliance.

But for now, he nodded. “Well alright then.” And with that, he leaned in and met her lips with his own.

Several hours later, as he was carefully sneaking back toward the Slytherin dorms, the weight of the evening began to bear down on him.

A sinking feeling settled in his stomach. Those people—Potter and the Weasleys—they were going to let her down. More than let her down. They were going to crush her. His kind, beautiful Hermione.

At some point, someday, these people were going to do something that would destroy her. And a dark part of him, deep down, was terrified that he would be powerless to stop it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

November, 2002

“Well, I guess that’s one way for people to find out about us!”

Draco regarded Hermione with utter shock for a moment. He didn’t understand how she could be reacting so calmly to this.

His thoughts overwhelming him, all he could do was groan and fall back against the pillows.

This was not supposed to happen.

What was going to happen now?

Immediately, the fear that Draco tried so hard to keep at bay began to grip him, tentacles slithering up his body, holding him down, forcing him to see nothing but the worst outcomes.

Hermione was now publicly, very publicly, tied to him. A Death Eater. An infamous muggleborn hater. To the person who tried to kill Albus Dumbledore. To the person who stood in the room as she was tortured during the war. To the person who barely avoided a life sentence in Azkaban.

To the person whose father was convicted on multiple counts of murder, torture, and aiding and abetting Voldemort and was currently rotting away in that same prison.

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to block out the images playing in front of them.

Hermione shunned for her involvement with him.

Hermione at even more risk from blood supremacists who would hate her for sullying a pureblood line.

Hermione growing to resent him for what his past had cost her.

Draco’s heart started to pound. His breathing became shallow. He wasn’t sure how long he had been silent, and with the blood rushing so loudly in his ears, he didn’t know if Pansy and Hermione were speaking or just looking at him.

Finally, he felt Hermione’s soft, warm, perfect hand settle against the side of his head, her fingers rubbing soothingly in his hair.

“Can you give us a minute, Pans?” Her voice was soft, and Draco hated how understanding she sounded. She should not be understanding about this. She should not be kind.

Pansy huffed. “Fine. I’ll go make some coffee. But you better be down there in fifteen minutes, dressed and ready to figure this out.”

He heard Pansy’s retreating steps down the hallway and then on the stairs, as well as the soft snick of the door as Hermione magicked it shut.

“Draco.” Her voice. Gods he loved her voice.

She kept the one hand in his hair, the other coming up to wrap around one of his wrists, lightly tugging. “Draco, look at me, please.”

Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered his hands and opened his eyes, gazing up at her as she looked down at him, eyes filled with loving concern. He had to fight against the urge to screw his eyes shut against the image.

Hermione gave a rueful smile. “I can see your brain working. I know exactly what you’re thinking about so let’s just go ahead and cut to the chase, shall we?”

Sighing, Draco began to sit up, his shoulders hunching over. “Hermione…”

Releasing him, shut put up a hand in front of his face to stop him. Counting each statement out on her fingers, she began to speak.

“Nothing bad is going to happen to me because people know I am with you. If anyone tries, I happen to know several very nasty curses from my time at the DoM and I will be more than happy to employ them. No one is going to take my job away, I am far too valuable an asset.” She smirked. “And,” her voice got more serious now, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. “Even if all of that does happen, it wouldn’t matter to me. My life would be filled with nothing but happiness even if we had to live in some forest somewhere hundreds of miles from civilization. Please, Draco. Please don’t let these anxieties take hold of you. They are lying to you, I promise.”

She picked up the Prophet. “Is this ideal, no. Will we figure out how to get through it? Of course we will. And with Pansy scheming for us…wizarding London doesn’t stand a chance. Ok?”

She stared deep into his eyes, and Draco could feel her pressing her own confidence into him.

Fuck, he was the luckiest man alive.

Draco stared back at her. What were his options? Believe her and figure this out or…what? Do what he did four years ago and run away? Absolutely not. He’d burn the world down before he let go of her. There was only one thing to do.

Wrapping his arms around her waist tightly, he pulled Hermione in and kissed her hard. The silky softness of her lips, the warmth of her breath, and the divine taste of her washing everything else away.

After too little time, he pulled back. “Ok.”

Hermione, panting slightly, cracked a smile. “Really?”

Her mood contagious, Draco couldn’t stop himself from smiling back, a hand coming up to tangle in her hair. “Really, love. It’s not as if I don’t want to scream from the rooftops that you’re mine. Plus, I know how little you want to go back to camping in a forest. So let’s go figure this shit out, yeah?”

Her smile got bigger as she leaned in to press a quick kiss to his lips before scrambling off the bed and toward the closet to get dressed.

A few minutes later, he was walking down the stairs hand-in-hand with Hermione, and taking in the scene in front of him.

Pansy hadn’t just made coffee, she had created a veritable war room in their kitchen. Parchments were spread across the table, multi-colored pens floating in the air all around them. Draco barely had the chance to marvel at the fact that Pansy was using muggle pens before the woman herself looked up from whatever she was scrawling and gestured for them to both take seats, flicking her wand to send steaming coffee cups their way.

“Alright, let’s start with the facts.” Draco could almost smirk at the utter confidence Pansy was exuding in this moment. She was in her element.

Hermione slowly lowered herself into the seat next to him, her hands wrapping around her coffee cup.

“There are two things this article makes clear,” Pansy pointed a blood red painted nail to yet another copy of the Prophet. “First, that Draco is leading your protection detail. Second, that you two are fucking.”

Trust Pansy not to mince words.

“They can’t possibly know that for sure!” Hermione objected.

Pansy turned to her, looking at Hermione as if she had the intelligence of a bowtruckle. Raising an eyebrow, Pansy plucked the Prophet from the table, flashing the photo of the two of them in front of Hermione.

“Really, Granger? How many of your work colleagues do you let palm your ass while you drool over them like you’re seconds away from pulling their cocks out in front of an entire room full of people?”

“Pansy! Merlin.” Draco brought his hands up to rub over his face again.

Hermione just held Pansy’s gaze for a moment before shrugging. “I didn’t drool.”

Apparently, the absurd laughter that had overtaken Hermione earlier was contagious, because Draco couldn’t stop the bark of laughter after that.

Pansy just flicked her wrist dismissively, picking up a red pen and continuing.

“They know that you’re having sex. Well, more specifically, they know you’ve had sex at least once, right after this photo was taken. But, there is absolutely no indication in the article that they know anything about your actual relationship, now or at Hogwarts. That card is still ours to play. They just think that you are bodyguard and subject who got a little too close. And actually, there is some good news here.”

Draco looked at her incredulously. “A salacious article about us on the cover of the Prophet that includes a photo of me groping her is good news?”

Pansy caught his eye, her expression soft but guarded. “They didn’t call you a death eater, Draco.”

The starkness of her statement hit him like a blow, causing him to release a harsh breath. Hermione immediately reached for him, twining their fingers together and squeezing his hand reassuringly, her eyes still on Pansy.

She continued. “The article is completely neutral about you, Draco. No mention of your past, not even a hint of language about you being a dark wizard or tainting the golden girl or any of that bullshit. It points out that you’re an auror, that you’re protecting Hermione. No mention of anything else. That’s a good sign. It’s a really good sign. And it can help guide us as we figure out what to do next.” Pansy reached across the table, her hand coming to squeeze his arm reassuringly.

“We come forward, right? We just tell the truth.” Hermione’s voice sounded the same as it did whenever she answered a question correctly in class. Draco supposed she was right.

Pansy, on the other hand, tilted her head, her face screwing up a bit.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not immediately, at least. There’s good news in the article about Draco, but not you, Hermione.”

Hermione just tilted her head in question, but all the muscles in Draco’s body tensed. He could handle whatever they had to say about him, but if someone intended to drag Hermione through the mud, well, he’d have to come up with multiple plans to hide bodies.

“There’s only a hint of it in here, but the tone is clearly setting you up as a jilted ex who was trying to get back at Weasley by making a scene and having a one-night stand with someone the whole wizarding world knows he hates. If you walk into the Prophet offices today and tell them everything, it will give them the perfect opening to frame your entire story as ploy to overshadow his wedding.”

Hermione stared for a moment, thoughtful, as Draco eyed her. Eventually, she shook her head and groaned, her hands coming to her hair and pulling it from her scalp. “I wasn’t making a scene! I didn’t want to make any kind of scene.”

It was Draco’s turn to reach out and gently pull her hands from her hair. “I know, love. We know that.”

Pansy opened her mouth to continue, but before she could say another word the floo roared to life and Padma rushed through, Blaise right on her heels.

Looking at her, it was immediately clear to Draco that she was in a frenzy. She was barefoot, wearing a pair of what were clearly Blaise’s boxers and an oversized sweater, also Blaise’s if Draco had to guess.

Blaise, eyes wide and cautious, was watching her intently, in a pair of rumpled sweatpants and an undershirt he had clearly thrown on in a rush.

Spotting them at the table, Padma’s eyes grew ferocious. “I’m going to kill her! I’m absolutely going to kill her.” She started to pace up and down the room.

“Absolutely unacceptable! She is out of her fucking mind! I cannot believe her! We are fucking adults, and she is still acting like she’s thirteen fucking years old.”

Padma was waving her hands wildly. Blaise took a single step forward, approaching her as if she were a wild animal.

“Pad, it’s ok, darling. Let’s just…”

Padma snapped her head to him, her eyes blazing, and Draco watched as Blaise immediately panicked and backed off.

“It is NOT ok! I’m going to kill her! I’m a healer! I could do it! I know how.” She was pacing again, but paused to look at Draco, who tried to stop himself from recoiling. “You’re an auror, Draco.”

It was a statement, but Padma was looking at him expectantly. Both Hermione and Pansy slid their eyes to him in apprehension, and behind Padma, Blaise looked at him pleadingly.

“Yes? I…am.” Draco cut his eyes to Hermione who shrugged nervously in return.

“So you can help me! You can tell me what to do so I won’t get caught. How to hide her body.” She looked at him expectantly.

Draco turned his head between Blaise, Hermione, and Pansy for help.

“Um, I…”

“Padma, no one needs to kill anyone.” Hermione broke in, her voice calm. “It’s my fault, really. I should have been more careful. Should have realized there were photographers there…”

“But there weren’t, Hermione!” Padma threw her hands up, yelling, while the rest of them watched in scared silence.

“Rita and her people had left hours before that! It was just Parvati! And she wasn’t there to work! She was just supposed to be a guest! But oh no, she just can’t let any opportunity for gossip pass her by. She must have seen Ron start to yell and then run after you with her own camera. The absolute COW! We’re identical, you know. Identical! How can someone who would do that share all of my genes?!”

Padma dropped her hands in defeat, and Draco’s heart stuttered when he saw tears begin to well in her eyes.

He’d come to truly care for Padma over these past few months. She was steady and rational and didn’t take shit from anyone. And clearly, she fought fiercely for her friends. He felt awful that she would think any of this was at all her fault.

Blaise rushed forward immediately, gathering her into his arms. “Pad, it’s ok darling. I promise it’s ok.”

Draco caught Hermione’s eye and they both stood together, walking forward toward Padma.

“He’s right, Padma. Of course he is! None of this is your fault! If Parvati hadn’t been there it would have been someone else. It really is ok.” Hermione placed a soothing hand on Padma’s back, rubbing slowly.

Draco nodded. “Yes, Padma.” Her eyes opened and caught his. “It really is ok. No one here blames you. Not at all.”

He hoped the sincerity of his words was clear. Padma stared for a moment before twisting, pulling Draco with one hand and Hermione with the other into a hug.

“Thank you. You both are…well, you’re both amazing and I am just so grateful to have you as my friends. And no matter what, my offer still stands. I’ll throw her into the sea if that’s what needs to be done.” Hermione caught his eye over Padma’s head, humor sparking as she winked. Smothering a laugh, he shook his head and squeezed Padma once more before stepping back.

Calm reestablished, Blaise stepped forward. “So, what’s the plan now?”

Everyone’s heads turned to Pansy.

“Padma, do you think Parvati would tell you what she was planning to write next? About them?” She inclined her head toward Draco and Hermione.

Padma sighed. “I doubt it. She likes to pretend that her work has ‘journalistic value’ and that it would be unethical to say anything about what she’s working on. Plus, she thinks this is going to make her career. Sent it over in a note this morning with a copy of the paper. Apparently she convinced the editor of the Prophet to only let her write about you two—not even Rita herself is allowed to publish anything. I think Parvati’s trying to use this to maneuver herself into Rita’s job.” Draco was surprised that Padma didn’t fall over from the force of how hard she rolled her eyes.

He really did like this witch.

Pansy simply hummed in acknowledgement, picking up a purple pen now to dash down some more notes.

“Ok. This is what I suggest. We give it at least a week. No one says anything until we can get a better sense of how the Prophet is going to spin this and who they can get to say what. No one who knows the full truth about your relationship will say anything, we know that, and Hermione certainly won’t be in any locations where reporters can corner her. You’ll need to be careful when you’re at the Ministry, Draco, but I think our best option is to figure out what the landscape looks like before we rush into our next move. Plus, we need to see how the news about you leading the security detail for her impacts things. Ok?”

Draco looked over at Hermione, a question in his eyes. But as she looked back at him, her eyes were wide and terrified.

“Greyback.” She whispered the word and Draco instinctively reached for her, but she shook her head.

“Draco, they know you are leading my security detail now. That…that makes you a target too! You can’t be walking around the Ministry, they could find you! And Narcissa, oh gods, they could use her as well. We can’t…we have to…I…” Her eyes were frantic, and Draco could feel her starting to spiral.

This, at least, was a problem he knew how to solve.

He leaned forward, both of his hands coming to her face. “Hermione. Take a deep breath, love.”

She was still frightened, he could see it written all over her face, but she tried to do as he asked.

“Listen to me. First off, my mum has security on a retainer, and she never leaves the house without them, not since the war. So she’s safe. As for me…well, the only time I am even remotely vulnerable is in the Ministry, and we can actually use that to our advantage.” When she balked, Draco pushed forward. “The DMLE can add additional tracking charms and security measures inside the Ministry, so whenever I move around they’ll know and we can monitor anyone behaving strangely. Hell, it may be a blessing, actually. If they make a move inside the Ministry, we’ll be able to capture them immediately.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes still guarded. Draco knew she would not like this plan, but he was banking on the logical side of her winning out. After a moment, she squeezed her eyes shut, released a slow breath, and nodded. Relieved, Draco reached out, grabbing her hand and pulling her into his chest, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“Ok.”

Pansy clapped her hands together. “Lovely! Now, I don’t know about all of you, but I could use a mimosa. Maybe ten mimosas.”

A ripple of laughter went through the room, as everyone began shuffling toward the kitchen to prepare some breakfast and pull out several bottles of champagne.

Lucky for them, Theo, George, and Luna walked through the floo a few minutes later, pastries and an entire case of Theo’s best champagne in tow.

Draco spent the rest of the morning—and much of the afternoon—lounging in the greenhouse and not thinking about what was to come.

**

By the time Draco walked through the floo the next morning, landing in his office and taking a moment to gather himself before he stepped into the fray of the DMLE, he was feeling mildly more confident about the situation.

He was prepared to just avoid or refuse to answer any questions thrown his way—from reporters, from Potter, or anyone else.

He still wasn’t sure about the deal he had agreed to with Hermione late last night—a plan B if things started to go too far south—but he’d deal with that later.

With a final deep breath, he opened his door and walked into the bullpen.

Immediately, he could feel eyes on him. After months of working in the department, Draco knew that Daphne was almost universally loathed as a dimwitted, social climbing annoyance, but Weasley…well, Weasley was still riding Potter’s coattails and taking full advantage of his status as a member of the bleeding Golden Trio.

And he had to assume that if forced to choose sides, everyone in the office—save possibly for Tonks—would choose the weasel.

But Draco had been prepared for this. He’d been prepared to be loathed from the second he first walked on the floor all those months ago. He could handle this. What they thought of him didn’t matter—he knew the truth, Hermione knew the truth, and the rest of the world could fuck right off.

With a confidence he had built over years of being the prince of Slytherin, Draco held his head up and strode directly toward the far corner of bullpen, ignoring the stares and whispers.

“Finnegan, any new intel over the weekend?”

Seamus, who had been focused intently on several reams of parchment all floating around his head, snapped his eyes to Draco, and after the briefest look of shock, shook his head and got down to business.

“Right! No disturbances around the lab or the perimeter around the house. But our informants have sent word that chatter in dark circles has increased since…well, since yesterday.”

Seamus handed him a long scroll, highlighting the various tidbits that had been shared by the confidential informants the aurors had imbedded in various underground groups and criminal networks. Draco’s heartrate picked up as he read through them, seeing multiple messages about Hermione’s audacity to touch a pureblood wizard, and how she must have performed some bit of muggle trickery to con Draco into sleeping with her.

He fought against the pit in his stomach that opened up at the transcribed comments.

“Listen, mate…” Draco’s eyes tracked back to Seamus, who had lowered his voice and leaned toward Draco in his cubicle.

“You were a right arse at Hogwarts.”

Draco cocked a brow. “Noted, Finnegan.”

Seamus shook his head. “No, I mean, aye, you were an absolute prat then, but…well, we’ve all seen you over the last few months, how hard you work, how dedicated you are, all the good you’ve done. And it’s clear how serious you’ve taken protecting Hermione—how much you care about her.” He looked side to side, making sure no one else was close to them before continuing. “And let’s be honest. Ron’s my mate, but the bloke was never right for her. All ‘ye needed to do was look at the pair of ‘em for half a moment to see it. The two of you, though…you make…Merlin forgive me…but you fit? You can match her, which we all know is a feat, and if she likes ‘ya, that’s all that matters to me. Alright?”

Draco was shell-shocked. Of all the reactions he had anticipated today, support was not one of them. He had to open and close his mouth several times before he could form a coherent response.

“I…that’s…thanks, Finnegan.”

Seamus just eyed him, nodding before rolling up the parchments with the surveillance details from the weekend, whacking it half playfully against Draco’s arm, and then turning back to his work.

Draco walked away in a daze, and was barely able to catch Angelina Johnson’s wink and nod in his direction as he made his way down the hall.

Was it possible that he had miscalculated?

His mind ran over the interactions for the rest of the morning as he checked in with the rest of the team for status reports, confirmed the security detail schedule for the week, and went through the various pieces of mail that had arrived for both Draco and Hermione since Friday.

Unsurprisingly, there was an influx of mail since the article was released, a veritable feast of opinions about the two of them, if one or both was betraying their upbringings, and to Draco’s surprise, a few notes to Hermione expressing both anger and admiration that she’d somehow “bagged” Draco. He wasn’t sure how to handle that.

Shockingly, there was only one howler, and after silencing the room, he braced himself before opening it.

Immediately, Molly Weasley’s shrill voice filled the room.

“How dare you, Hermione! How dare you! To come to our home, a home where you were welcomed for so many years out of the goodness of our hearts! And to flaunt your disgusting little tryst with that DEATH EATER! You absolutely ruined the wedding! But of course you did! That was your plan all along, wasn’t it?! After I offered you the chance to come and be a part of our family—out of pity! And look at you, a shameless…a shameless whore! Thank Godric my Ron escaped your clutches! No child of mine deserves to be shackled to such an awful, disgusting slut as you!”

Draco didn’t realize until the letter finally fell back toward the table silently that his anger had caused every single piece of mail in the room to light on fire and curl into ash.

He’d have to tell Hermione about it, of course, but he was grateful at least that he’d been the one to hear it, and not her.

Blood still pumping heavily through him, he vanished the soot and smoldering embers and walked back out toward the bullpen, only to be met almost immediately by Cormac McClaggen exiting the lifts.

“Oy! Malfoy!” He sauntered over, an oily smile spreading on his face.

Draco was certain that he had not hidden the look of disgust on his face, but it didn’t seem to slow Cormac down.

He came to a stop in front of Draco—far too close for his comfort—and looked at him conspiratorially.

“Saw the article—well done, mate.” He drew up one of his meaty hands and slapped it down on Draco’s shoulder, an overly familiar move of a man clearly attempting to exude masculine confidence but who Draco was absolutely certain had not even come close to touching a woman in years.

“I admire you, Malfoy. That witch has been playing hard to get with me for months. Years, actually!” He chuckled, Draco watching as the muscles in his throat moved, his veins protruding from his neck. “Always drove me mad that she chose Weasley, of all people. A hot piece of ass like that needs a real man, am I right? I’ve had a bet on with some other Gryffindors for years so you have to tell me: Is she an absolute freak in the sack? It’s always the quiet ones that really know how to handle a cock!”

Draco didn’t even register it happening. Didn’t realize he was moving until he had balled his fist, reared back, and slammed a punch into the center of Cormac’s face. Vaguely, he heard the telltale crunch of the idiot’s nose breaking, as well as the shattering sound of the glasses he was wearing breaking to pieces.

But Draco wasn’t done. His vision had tunneled to see only McClaggen. And before the blond bastard had even recovered from the blow, Draco had wrapped his hand around his neck, pushing him backward until he hit the wall and then, with far more ease than would seem possible to the onlookers, lifted him until his feet were dangling from the floor.

Cormac’s eyes went wide, his false bravado immediately sliding off his face as abject terror took over. Draco watched, detached, as his face became redder and redder, and as dark blood flowed freely from his nostrils.

“If you so much as speak her name, ever again, I will rip every single limb from your body with my bare hands and beat you to death with your own bones.” He could hear his own voice as though outside his body. It was smooth. Calm. Deadly.

Draco heard scuffling around him, even thought someone might be trying to pull him away, but they stood no chance.

“Nod that you understand.” His eyes remained fixed on Cormac’s beady ones.

The man, who had been diminished to nothing but a scared little boy, did his best to nod with Draco’s hand still squeezed around his throat.

“Draco!”

The yell was louder, clearer than the other sounds, but he still didn’t move.

“Auror Malfoy! Drop him right the fuck now!”

Finally, Draco tore his eyes away from McClaggen to see half the DMLE crowded around him, wands out, with Tonks holding out a hand to stop them from throwing curses at him. She had been the one to speak.

Without another word, Draco released Cormac, who fell unceremoniously into a heap onto the ground.

Tonks was staring at him, fury in her eyes. “My office. NOW.”

Without a word, Draco moved to follow her, his head clearing slightly with every step he took.

By the time they reached her office and she had locked the door and silenced the room, Draco’s energy had leeched from him and he collapsed into a chair.

“I understand if you want to fire me. I’ll turn in my badge.” His eyes were downcast but his tone was almost bored.

He expected Tonks to reach across her desk, ready to accept his badge and kick him out of the office. He expected her to yell. He would not have been surprised if she arrested him.

He did not expect her to bark a laugh and lean back in her chair with a satisfied smile.

“Not a chance, cousin. That motherfucker has deserved a beating for years. I’m going to save this memory so I can rewatch it in a pensieve for years to come. Just, ya know, try not to do it so publicly next time. Now I have to pretend to be mad at you.”

She rolled her eyes and flicked her hand out toward the bullpen.

Draco was momentarily struck dumb.

“You…you’re not mad at me?”

Tonks released an annoyed sigh. “I heard what he said about her, Draco. I’d have punched him myself if you hadn’t beaten me to it.”

Draco cracked a small smile before huffing a breath and dropping his head, his hands coming to comb roughly through his hair.

“How are you doing, with…everything?” Tonks’s voice had softened.

Draco screwed his eyes shut and leaned back. “I wasn’t prepared. I knew it would come out eventually, obviously. Soon, even. But I thought we would be in control of it. This…this is a fucking mess.”

“Do you have a plan?”

He nodded solemnly. “We’re going to wait at least a week before we say anything. Get a sense of how the Prophet’s spinning it and all that. Plus…”

He straightened his head and finally caught her eyes. “I think we can use it. To try and draw out Greyback.”

Tonks cocked her head and thought for a moment, before nodding. “I like it. We monitor your movement in the ministry, track anything suspicious. We’re already checking your mail, and thus far there are no indications anyone has come anywhere close to the lab or your house. How was the mail today, by the way?”

Draco just shrugged. “Lots of angry letters, but only one howler, so I suppose on balance, not terrible.”

Tonks hummed as she nodded. “And the Prophet this morning was a whole lot of nothing. How did they manage to spend so many words saying that they still couldn’t find anyone who knew anything about your theoretical relationship?”

He shook his head. It truly was a marvel. Parvati had covered the entire front page as well as multiple columns inside the cover talking about how no one had ever seen him with Hermione in Diagon Alley. That no one had ever seen them at a quidditch match (of course not, Hermione would pluck out her eyes before volunteering to attend one). And that at most, all they could confirm was that they had hated each other at Hogwarts (he and Hermione had toasted to that little bit of subterfuge at breakfast).

But that sinking feeling hadn’t left his stomach. There was only so long that articles like that would last. It was going to get worse; he just knew it.

“Alright, here’s what I suggest.” Tonks had shifted fully into auror mode.

“You come here each morning, get updates from the team, go through the mail, and strategically make appearances in less secured areas of the building, with a full contingent as backup. Then in the afternoon, you take the shifts at Hermione’s lab. It limits your exposure, gives us more control, and…well it means we can pull some people off her security team that may have questions for her that she doesn’t want to answer.”

Potter.

Draco nodded. It was a good plan, even if it might mean it would take longer to get a shot at Greyback.

“Ok.”

Tonks smacked her hands on her desk. “Lovely. Head to the lab, I’ll let Potter know he is no longer needed.” Draco stood up to leave. “Oh, have the team healer fix that first.”

Tonks nodded her head toward his hand, the one he had used to punch McClaggen. He looked down, for the first time beginning to feel the licks of pain. His knuckles were bloody, small shards of glass from the oaf’s glasses protruding in several places.

He just flexed his hand, embracing the satisfaction of knowing the damage he had caused, before leaving the office and immediately walking through the floo to Hermione’s lab.

She had been excited to see him at first, until he told her what happened and showed her his hand. That had soured her mood substantially, and she had pulled him by his tie into her office so she could heal his injuries.

“That was reckless and unnecessary, Draco.” She had directed several lights in the room to shine over his knuckles while she carefully vanished each piece of glass, repairing the damaged vessels and torn flesh as she went.

Draco watched her intently, smiling at her look of concentration. The utter care she placed into each movement. With his uninjured hand, he reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Agree to disagree, love.”

She looked up at him briefly, scowling. “What could he have possibly said about me to piss you off that much?”

He hesitated for a moment, the boiling anger of the confrontation rising in him again. “He called you a ‘hot piece of ass.’”

Hermione didn’t even look up from her work as she chuckled. “Well, that’s not nearly as bad as I imagined. Besides, I am a hot piece of ass.” She smirked and flicked her eyes up to meet his before winking.

Fuck, even after the rollercoaster of a morning he’d had, that one look already had heat rolling through his body.

“You most certainly are, love. Hottest piece of ass I’ve ever seen. I just don’t happen to be a fan of other men talking about you as if you’re a piece of meat.”

With a final flick of her wand, she healed his last cut before leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on his knuckles. Slowly, deliberately, she moved, leaving her chair and coming to straddle his lap, her hands gently rubbing up and down his chest.

Unable to stop himself, Draco brought his hands around, roughly grabbing Hermione’s ass and pulling her closer until she rolled her hips directly over his hardening cock.

“Did he say anything else?” Her tone was light, almost teasing.

“Hmm?” Draco was too focused on the bit of cleavage he could see from beneath the neckline of her shirt to understand the question.

“Cormac. Did he say anything else about me?” She punctuated her words with a more aggressive roll of her hips.

Draco looked up at her, the heat in her eyes matching his own. “He asked me what you were like in bed.” His hands were moving of their own accord now, untucking her shirt from her jeans and diving underneath to feel the skin of her hips, her back.

Hermione let out a satisfied hum and leaned forward, her hair cascading over his face, the scent of her invading his senses, as she dropped her mouth to his ear.

“And? How am I in bed, Draco? Do I satisfy you?” She leaned in, her teeth nipping against his earlobe before her lips landed just below, tracing slow kisses down his neck.

Gooseflesh rose on his skin as desire bolted through him like lightening. He moved his hands, grasping the hem of her t-shirt and pulling it over her head. Her breasts, beautifully encased in a deep purple bra, called out to him.

He leaned forward, the tip of his nose running lightly over the swell of flesh before his fingers slipped under the cup, pulling it down to reveal her nipple. Just as his lips ghosted over her, he spoke.

“Hmm, I think I’ve forgotten, love. You’ll have to remind me.”

And with that, he closed the distance, biting lightly down on her nipple, causing her to arch into him with a moan.

Fuck, he loved it when she made that sound.

Just as Draco really started to lean into it, licking and kissing along her sensitive skin, Hermione pulled back, pushing his chest until he sat up. She looked down at him, a devious smile spreading on her lips as she wiggled out of his grasp and sunk to her knees between his spread legs.

“Well, we certainly can’t have that…” Her voice crooned as her hands slowly made their way up his thighs, his heart throbbing in time with her breaths.

Draco bit his lip as she moved her fingers to his belt, carefully unbuckling it before running the back of her hand along the seam of his trousers where his cock was now straining to break free.

With a final smirk up at him, she pulled the tab of his zipper down, tugged down the waistband of his briefs, and took his dick into her perfect hands.

She only teased him for a moment, her hands squeezing and dragging up his flesh, before her lips came down, rubbing briefly against the silky skin on the head of his cock and then lapping up the bead of moisture already gathered there.

And without hesitation, she sunk down, her mouth engulfing him.

Draco’s mind went utterly blank. The morning was forgotten. Everything was forgotten. Except the feeling of Hermione’s mouth, her tongue tracing the vein on the underside of him as she pulled her lips back up, flicking his head again before sinking back down in a torturous, blissful, shattering pace.

Pleasure coursed through him as he brought his hands to tangle in her curls, guiding her up and down gently as she moaned against him, sending vibrations straight through him.

It became clear to him after a few moments that she had no intention of stopping, but this was not how he intended for this little encounter to end.

Wrapping his hand once around her hair, he pulled—enough that he knew it would sting in the way she loved. She looked up at him, still not letting go, but paused when he saw his eyes.

“Enough, Hermione.” His tone was commanding, and he watched as her breathing kicked up, her eyes turning molten gold. With another pull, she released him.

“Get up.”

Eyes never leaving his, she stood. The second she straightened, he moved, crushing her against him and capturing her lips in a searing kiss as he lifted her from the ground, her legs wrapping securely around his waist.

He knew that she would not appreciate him setting her down on her desk—too much risk that he would displace the piles of mismatched pieces of parchment that she assured him were organized using a very specific system—so he turned, walking toward the wall and setting her on the top of a low wooden bookcase.

Wasting no time, Draco captured her lips in another kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth as Hermione’s hands grasped his chest. At the same time, Draco blindly reached down, flicking the button on her jeans open, lowering the zipper, and immediately sliding his hand under her knickers.

A shiver ran through him when he felt how warm and wet she felt on his fingers, his desire increasing as Hermione keened and rocked into his touch.

He had no intention of denying her, and quickly pressed two fingers inside, hooking them to press against the spot that always caused her eyes to roll back.

Draco moved his mouth to her neck while Hermione panted, curling and pressing his fingers to push her closer to the edge.

“Don’t come yet, love. I want to feel you come around my cock.” He punctuated his words with a bite on her shoulder.

“Yes, ok, yes. Please, Draco.” She rocked her hips as her hands came up to steady herself against his shoulders.

The slick sound of his fingers moving filled up the space in the office, a melody mixing with the sounds of their labored breathing and moans.

“Draco, I’m going to come. Please, please, I’m going to come.” Hermione met his eyes, hers wild and unfocused.

Draco smirked back at her. Being able to see her like this, to make the always-in-control Hermione Granger lose herself entirely, would never stop thrilling him.

With quick movements, he pulled his fingers out of her and gripped the waist of her jeans, encouraging her to lift up so he could yank them down her legs and off of her. Nearly overcome with his want for her, Draco whispered the contraceptive charm as he positioned himself at her entrance and sunk in to the hilt in a single thrust, gripping her hips as Hermione threw her head back in pleasure.

“Fuck, Hermione. Fuck you feel so good.”

Draco leaned forward, one hand remaining on her hip and the other coming to tangle in her hair, pulling her head down so that they were looking into each other’s eyes. He set a bruising pace with his thrusts as he started to speak.

“You own me, Hermione. You own every part of me. Nothing else matters but you. Fuck I love you. I love you so much.”

He watched as Hermione’s pupils dilated and felt as she started to pulse around him.

“I’m yours, Draco. Always. I love you—” Her words were cut off as her orgasm hit her, ecstatic moans overcoming her. Draco watched her muscles go taught and her mouth drop into a silent scream, and with a final thrust he joined her, his own orgasm whiting out his vision.

**

Draco knew he should have been more suspicious when the Prophet article on Tuesday morning about them was nothing more than a timeline of their “relationship” that consisted of three points: They attended Hogwarts together, Draco became the lead auror in charge of Hermione’s security after her lab was attacked, they were seen together at Ron’s wedding.

But he had been more focused on the plan for their first attempt to try and draw out Greyback’s people by taking a seemingly casual tour through several unsecured Ministry floors consisting of the magical transportation bureau, the office to register complaints about unauthorized uses of magic (which mostly consisted of nosey neighbors tattling on each other), and the permitting office for new magical shops in Diagon Alley.

As it was the first test, they were sticking to safer areas that would not be teaming with people, but Draco was still taking all precautions anyway.

Unfortunately, those precautions did not account for Parvati, who had clearly been lurking in the lifts all morning just in case Draco happened to step inside.

The second the grate closed to take him (and two disillusioned support aurors) to the fourth floor, she pounced.

“Draco! What a wonderful surprise! I’d like to ask you a few questions about the ongoing scandal involving you and Hermione Granger.”

Draco affected a look of disinterest, and didn’t even spare a glance toward Parvati, choosing instead to remain standing straight forward and staring at the doors to the lift.

“And what scandal would that be, Ms. Patil?”

Parvati huffed, her quik-quotes-quill scratching furious notes beside her head.

“The alleged sexual relationship initiated between you at Ron Weasley’s wedding. What do you have to say about that? Can you confirm the status of your relationship with Hermione Granger?”

He would only be in the lifts for a few more seconds.

“No comment.”

He could almost feel the waves of frustration rolling off of Parvati.

“Some have suggested that you volunteered to take the lead on Ms. Granger’s case in an effort to take advantage of her? To manipulate her into a sexual encounter? Hmm?”

If he hadn’t been so frustrated by this entire situation, Draco would have laughed. Seeing that the lift was about to arrive at his floor, he finally turned his head to look Parvati in the eyes.

“You lived in the same room as Hermione for six years, Parvati. What exactly makes you think that Hermione Granger is capable of being taken advantage of?” His voice was low and smooth as he stared at her, unblinking, until the lift doors opened.

Faster than she could think to move, Draco flicked his wand at her, casting a temporary sticking charm to her feet before stepping out of the lift and closing the doors behind her. He watched her look of outrage as the lift disappeared once again.

Wednesday was worse.

He and Hermione woke up to a picture of Molly Weasley, roughly dabbing tears from her eyes, splashed across the cover of the Prophet above an interview in which she bemoaned Hermione’s “childish attempt to ruin her beloved son’s wedding.”

Parvati portrayed Mrs. Weasley as a heartbroken mother and saint of a woman who had been betrayed by a vindictive girl who she had raised as her own.

There were quotes from Molly calling Hermione conniving, accusing her of plotting against the entire Weasley family, and tearily proclaiming that she had always known that Hermione was selfish and cruel, even as a child, and that although she had spent years showering Hermione with love, she had always expected her to stab them in the back.

Most painfully, Molly had ended the interview with one final quote: “You know, children learn how to behave from the adults in their lives. I never met Hermione’s parents, but I’m certain that they are to blame for teaching her to care only about herself, no matter who she hurts in the process.”

Draco had held Hermione for over an hour while she cried, and sent a patronus to Tonks to say that he would be spending the full day at the lab instead of coming into the DMLE.

Their friends had all come over for dinner that night, George with an enormous bottle of aged firewhiskey in tow as an apology gift for Hermione—but he had not even had a chance to hand it over before Padma grabbed it out of his hands, ripped off the cap, and took a deep drink straight from the bottle. Parvati had finally gotten to the group, cornering them for statements that day, and Padma had reached her wits end.

It was, however, a nice reprieve to read their quotes the following morning in Parvati’s next article.

Theo: “Who? Sorry dove, I think you have me mistaken. I’ve never heard of a…what did you call them? Her-mi-own or Dray-cow? Never heard those names in my life. Quite odd, really. Best of luck to you!”

George: “Sure, I’ll give you a quote! Through Friday all wet-start fireworks are 20% off at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes! Come down while supplies last!”

Luna: “I’m afraid your aura has turned a quite distasteful shade of puce, Parvati. I must go and replace my talisman to ward off your dark energy.”

Blaise: “You look nothing like your sister, you know.”

Padma: “Gods, Parvati. Mum and dad will be so ashamed of this.”

And, of course, Pansy: “Take a single step toward me and I will light your hair on fire.”

The fun ended there, though. When Draco arrived to the DMLE and opened the door into the room where their mail was analyzed, he was immediately bombarded with a cacophony of screams. It took him a second to realize that multiple howlers were all going at once, with Tonks monitoring them with a sour look on her face.

“I always knew we could never trust your kind!”

“What a deceitful little bitch you are. How dare you treat such a good family like this!”

“Death eater whore!”

“You’ll get what’s coming to you!”

It took several long minutes before all the sounds quieted. For a moment, Draco stood silently, eyes unfocused, only the sound of Tonks’s breathing audible in the room.

“I’m sorry, Draco. I’ll get a team to investigate the more serious ones, ensure they aren’t actual threats.”

Her voice was resigned.

Draco just nodded. He always expected the threats he received. He’d gotten at least one howler a week since the day he was released from Azkaban. At this point, he was used to it. But Hermione. Hermione did not deserve this. That made him want to scream.

Tonks patted him on the shoulder as she made her way toward the door, leaving Draco to ponder whether or not he should pull the rip cord on the Plan B he and Hermione had agreed to. Would it just make things worse?

By the time he’d made it to Hermione’s lab that afternoon, he had decided that he would wait, at least through Friday as they had planned, before making any decisions.

He was glad that he did, because amongst the howlers waiting for him in the DMLE the next morning was a single, ripped piece of parchment inside a plain envelope. Immediately, any thoughts of this morning’s article—a deep dive into Hermione’s relationship with Potter and Weasley and whether her fling with Draco was an attempt to overshadow their fame—was forgotten as he read through the nearly illegible scrawl.

My mudblood managed to turn little lord Malfoy into a blood traitor? How delicious. Hand her over to me, and I’ll let you live. If you don’t, your pathetic family line ends with you.

FG

Instead of being afraid, Draco felt excitement for the first time in days. Finally, they had a lead.

He spent the remainder of the morning in strategy meetings with the team and monitoring Theo as he went over the note with every tracking and detection spell he could to try and find any trace of evidence they could use in a search for Greyback himself.

There wasn’t much. Some traces of magic tied to London, but others to forests in the north, suggesting he was apparating between the locations and making it more difficult to narrow a search area.

But it was something. Something after weeks and weeks of nothing.

After discussing it with Tonks and Hermione, they agreed to wait it out for a few more days just in case Greyback made another move, which allowed Draco to go into the weekend feeling better than he had in weeks.

And it was a good thing he did, because he would need all of his energy to accomplish the task he had set for himself for the weekend. And to lie to Hermione about exactly what he was doing.

He’d had it planned out for weeks. Months, really. But whether or not he would actually be able to accomplish it was another matter entirely.

He left bright and early on Saturday morning after informing Hermione that he would be spending the day strengthening the wards at the Manor—a lie, but close enough to the truth that he was able to justify it to himself.

As soon as he walked through the floo, he found Narcissa waiting for him. Wearing an outfit that Draco could only describe as utilitarian, and deeply at odds with his mother’s typical sartorial choices, she stepped forward, eyes bright.

“Are we ready?”

Draco took a deep breath and shrugged. “As we’ll ever be, I suppose.”

With an assured nod of her head, Narcissa turned toward the front doors to the Manor. “Then let’s get started.”

Together, they made their way deep onto the grounds.

When Draco arrived home that night, hours after the sun had gone down, he was so drained that it was all he could do to trudge up to their bedroom and fall, face first, into the pillows.

He hadn’t even realized that Hermione was behind him. Or that she had been asking him a question over and over.

“Draco, are you alright?”

“Mmm” was all he could muster.

Hermione let out an amused sound before he heard her moving and felt the dip in the mattress as she sat down.

She must have had her wand, because one moment Draco was fully clothed, still in his shoes, and the next his clothes had vanished, swapped for a loose pair of sweatpants. He was briefly levitated off of the bed, allowing Hermione to pull the covers down, before she softly replaced him there and tucked him in.

The last thing he felt before sleep took him was her soft hand on his face and her lips placing a light kiss to his cheek.

If he’d had the energy to smile, he would have. Because exhausted as he may be, he’d been successful. Against all odds, he and Narcissa had actually managed to do it…

**

Draco woke up late on Sunday, feeling like he had been hit by a bus.

He’d expected to feel drained after the previous day’s work, but this felt deeper, as though his magical core was depleted. Which, he supposed it was. Concerned that Hermione, who must already have been downstairs, would ask too many questions, he downed a vial of pepper-up before heading down, feeling marginally more alive.

He needn’t have worried, because when he stepped off the landing into the living room, Hermione was scowling so intensely at the Prophet laid across the coffee table that sparks of magic were vibrating off of her.

“Hermione…?” His words were tentative. He didn’t want to surprise her and face the unintentional consequences of her wrath.

She didn’t move her eyes from the paper as she spoke, eerie calm lacing through each word. “I’m going to kill her.”

Reaching the couch, Draco lowered down and braced himself to look at the paper. His jaw clenched as soon as he saw it: The headline splashed in big block letters across the front page.

Ginny Weasley-Potter: “This is all ridiculous. Hermione would never date a Death Eater!”

Is the Golden Girl ill? Confunded? Or just out for revenge? Read on for the full interview of one of Hermione Granger’s oldest friends!

Draco didn’t have to read any further. Clearly, the Weasley clan had decided on their messaging, and they were going in for the kill. Nothing about it surprised him.

“I want to go to plan B, Draco. I want to do it now. Are you certain that we can’t come forward yet? I won’t let them do this. I want the truth out. I want to rub it in their fucking faces. And I want to take the article about it, ball it up, and shove it down her fucking throat. How DARE she! How fucking dare she do this.”

Hermione grabbed the paper roughly and pointed to a line toward the end of the article.

“Harry wouldn’t even say anything! ‘Harry Potter arrived toward the end of our conversation, but refused to provide any comments.’ And yet he didn’t talk her out of this?! I can’t believe them!”  She threw the paper to the ground, dropped her head into her hands, and let out a frustrated scream.

Draco hated this. He hated how this was making Hermione feel. That her name was being dragged through the mud. Gathering her up into his arms, he hauled her off the couch and into his lap, kissing her temple and rubbing her back.

“I’m so sorry, love. I’m so sorry about all of this. We just need to wait a few more days, ok? The team needs the week to finish searching all of the possible hideouts we’ve identified. If we make a public announcement now, I’m worried it might change his behavior—we could lose our window. I hate asking you to do this, Hermione. I want to kill every single one of them for saying all of this shit about you.”

Hermione snuggled her head into his chest. “I don’t care what they say about me, Draco. I care what they’re saying about you.”

Draco couldn’t help the small smile on his face. This woman. How had he managed to find this woman?

“Don’t worry about me, love. Honestly, I’m shocked we made it a week before headlines like this started. And honestly, it could be so much worse.”

Hermione’s hands balled up in his chest. “She called you a death eater, Draco.”

He just kept rubbing up and down her back. “I was a death eater, Hermione.”

His tone was calm, but Hermione’s reaction was anything but. She wrenched herself away from him, pulling back enough that she could look into his eyes.

“No, Draco.” Her tone was fierce, even as tears shone in her eyes. “No, you weren’t. I don’t want to hear you say that. I…I hate that you think that.” Her voice broke on the last word, her lip trembling.

Draco brought his hand up to her face, overwhelmed once again by her love for him. By how hard she would fight for him.

“I love you so much, Hermione.” He swiped his thumb under her eye to catch a few tears that had escaped. “We’re going to get through this. Just a few more days, I promise. Then I’ll hold down however many people you want so you can shove copies of the Prophet down their throats, ok?”

She gave a watery chuckle at that and snuggled back into his chest. “Ok.”

They spent the rest of the day lounging together, making plans for Christmas, and eventually—much to their mutual delight—beginning to decorate the house for the holiday.

Draco entered the DMLE on Monday feeling far more in control, which was good since the week was quickly shaping up to be a rollercoaster.

He continued his daily trips to the public areas of the ministry, but the only interactions he had were with an increasing number of people who looked at him with disdain—a few of which yelled “Death Eater scum!” at him in the atrium. Surprisingly, at this point it didn’t bother Draco as much as it once did.

The field teams did have some success on the raids at various compounds they believed to be used by Greyback. Capturing about 20 of his followers in various locations, and managing to secure a trove of documents that detailed some of his plans—namely, stop Hermione, turn as many people as possible, and build an army sizeable enough to take down the ministry.

Draco began working with a small group of aurors, including, unfortunately, Harry, on plans to fortify the ministry and create contingency plans for an attack. Potter, still missing his sidekick who remained on his honeymoon for a few more days, was quiet, almost morose. Though Draco was certain he had seen him open his mouth to say something to him as everyone else left the meeting room on multiple different occasions.

And, of course, articles continued to come out—leaning further and further into the Death Eater angle that the Weaslette had delivered for them on a platter.

There were articles detailing a supposed timeline of Draco’s involvement with Voldemort, his attempts on Dumbledore, and his similarities to Lucius. The last was the only one that truly got to him.

And there was a reprinting of segments of the transcripts from his trial, including Hermione’s testimony and a long section theorizing what the sealed testimony provided to Kingsley had been that had helped to procure his pardon.

Hermione was getting antsier by the day, but she managed to hold it together. That is, until the paper arrived Friday morning.

Ron Weasley Speaks!

“I wish I was surprised, but I always knew she would do something like this.”

Written by: Parvati Patil

After nearly two weeks of speculation, Ron Weasley is opening up about Hermione Granger. Their past relationship and her dark truth. Read on for our full interview!

PP: Welcome back, Ron! First off, tell the readers how married life is treating you? How was your honeymoon?

RW: Oh, it’s absolutely incredible. Couldn’t imagine anything better! Or any better woman to be doing it with! Daph and I are absolutely over the moon. Our relationship hasn’t changed much since the wedding, except that I get to call her my wife now! It feels so official, so grown up. It’s been great. And our honeymoon…well, let’s just say we didn’t see much of Ibiza—at least not outside our hotel room!

PP: Well, I’d expect nothing less! Now Ron, I need to turn toward a less joyful topic. What were your first thoughts when you observed Hermione Granger cozying up to Draco Malfoy at your wedding?

RW: Ah, yes. You know, I didn’t think much of it at first. I was honestly just so glad to see her there. She really took the break-up hard, you know, and I figured this was a sign that she was moving on and that we could get our friendship back on track—she’s been punishing both Harry and I for months, you know. Ignoring us. I knew she’d been interacting with Malfoy because of the nonsense with those threats on her lab, but I didn’t think it was anything more. But then, at the wedding, it just seemed like she was playing a part, you know? Hanging off of him to get attention. To shock the other guests.

PP: I was there when they left together. You seemed quite upset?

RW: Of course I was! In the moment I thought he was taking advantage, you know? Didn’t think for a second that she could be in her right mind.

PP: But you feel differently now.

RW: The more I thought about it, the more I realized that she had been the mastermind behind it all. The truth is…I wish I was surprised, but I always knew she would do something like this. I’ve known her for so long, and she seems so innocent on the outside, but nothing could be further from the truth. She’s always wanted glory, always wanted attention, and was willing to do anything to get it. I think when we broke up, she felt like she might be losing her grip on her fame, and she had to figure out how to get it back.

PP: And you think that’s what she’s doing with Draco Malfoy?

RW: Yes, absolutely. My sister was right, she would never actually date a Death Eater, not really, but she would use one as a way to get her name in the press—and to punish me and my family at the same time.

PP: Why would she be punishing your family?

RW: Haven’t the foggiest. All any of us have ever done is give her a home, friends, love. But clearly, that wasn’t enough for her.

PP: And so you think she came up with this plot with Mr. Malfoy to ruin your wedding as a way to get publicity for themselves?

RW: Yes, I do. Though, I can’t say for sure that Malfoy was actually involved. He may have just been her pawn. You see, I don’t think she just went for him because she knew that throwing herself on a Death Eater would upset us, I think…well, I think she may be trying to trap him. For his money.

PP: For his money? What makes you say that?

RW: Well his family’s got vaults full, of course! And, between you and me, I always knew that it upset her that my family wasn’t rich enough for her taste. She’s always liked the finer things in life, Hermione has. And…well…I hate to even say it, but I’ve thought back through our time together, and there were many moments where I felt as though something might have been going on with her—with her and other men. Who knows, she could have been plotting some sort of revenge against us with Malfoy for years! Cheating on me and trying to get her claws into the Malfoy family vaults.

PP: Those are some quite serious allegations, Ron.

RW: Not allegations! Honestly, what do I have to gain from this? It’s not as though I’m not already in the papers! I just think it’s important that someone tells the truth.

PP: Thank you, Ron. And last question—If you could speak directly to Hermione, what would you say?

RW: Stop this now, Hermione. It’s time for the games to end. My family has never done anything to you. I’ve never done anything to you. And this isn’t fair. Please, we all know that you’re a good person—deep down. Let us help you. We just want to get you some help.

PP: Thank you so much for your time, Ron. And your insight. This has been quite eye-opening…

Draco and Hermione had read it together, and they finished reading at the same moment. There was a single beat of silence, but to Draco it felt like an eternity.

He had never been this angry.

Ever.

He felt like if he cast the curse from here, it would still reach Weasley—no matter how far away he was.

But no. He wanted to look him in the eye as he did it. Draco wanted to make sure he knew exactly who was behind his pain.

He grabbed his wand off the kitchen table. “I’m going to kill him. Right now.”

Hermione’s head snapped up, just as much anger rolling off of her as he felt inside his own skin.

“No, you’re not. I’m calling it. We’re doing Plan B. We’re doing it right now.”

She held his gaze, unyielding.

“You’re not going to kill him. We are going to humiliate him. We’re going to end this once and for all. Ok?”

A smirk started to spread across Draco’s face. Everyone always thought he was the calculating one. That he was scary. The truth could not be more different. If there was anyone to be afraid of in their relationship, it was Hermione.

“Ok. Let’s go.”

And with that, Hermione grabbed her small beaded bag from the table, and they walked toward the front door.

They’d planned everything out. This would involve them going out in public to an unsecured location, but they had their precautions in place. Several years prior, Hermione had perfected a spell that strengthened a standard disillusionment, removing any of the telltale shimmering or distortion that could give you away if anyone was paying close enough attention. Hermione would cast it on herself, making it seem as though Draco was traveling on his own. But the spell was fleeting, it could only be held for five minutes at any one time, so they had to move quickly.

They timed it perfectly. Standing in the front garden, Hermione tapped her head with her wand at the same moment that Draco grabbed her hand and disapparated.

A second later they landed in front of the large building.

Wasting no time, Draco pushed open the doors, waited to feel Hermione brush past him, and then began to make his way through the bustling workspace and toward the lifts.

Every single worker he passed stared at him, some of their jaws dropped. But Draco didn’t stop, and he could feel Hermione just at his elbow.

Together, they entered the lifts, riding them to the top floor, before winding their way through yet another maze of desks. Finally, they reached their destination. Draco grabbed the door handle and pushed it open without hesitation, allowing Hermione to maneuver inside before he stepped in behind her.

The office was filled to the brim with trinkets, photos with the rich and famous, and stacks upon stacks of books.

It was almost cluttered, but the woman who sat behind the large mahogany desk was perfectly quaffed—too much so, one might say.

As soon as Draco stepped inside, her head tilted up, a wide, conspiratorial smile spreading across her face.

She laced her fingers together and set them primly on top of her desk.

“Mr. Malfoy. What a pleasure! How can I help you today?”

Draco gave an obviously fake smile back. He hadn’t been entirely certain about this specific part of the plan, but he trusted that Hermione would keep this vulture in line.

“Actually, we’re here to help you.” He kept his tone neutral.

She tilted her head, a perfectly arched brow rising high. “We?”

Draco turned toward the door, waving his wand to lock and silence the room, throwing up several protective wards for good measure. As he turned back around, he felt the crackle of magic next to him as Hermione lifted the disillusion.

“Hello, Rita.”

Rita Skeeter’s red-coated lips spread impossibly wider, her eyes going hungry.

“Ms. Granger! How lovely to see you.” She bounced her beady eyes between Draco and Hermione. “You two have certainly been causing quite a stir! What exactly brought you here? How are you going to help me?” Draco could pick up the slight edge to her voice.

Hermione continued. “We’re here to give you a story. Tell you the truth. About us.” Hermione waved her hand at Draco before grabbing her wand and drawing up two chairs. They both moved to sit down simultaneously, Draco turning his chair slightly, angling himself toward Hermione protectively.

Rita, to her credit as an incessant gossip, marked the movement before turning back to Hermione. “The truth, is it? To be honest, dears, the truth rarely sells. It’s quite obvious from the articles that my dear little protégé…” she spat the words like acid. “…has been printing that the two of you are in some sort of sordid relationship with one another. What can you give me beyond that to make it worth my while?”

They’d planned for this question.

Smirking, Hermione reached down, opened her bag, and pulled out a photograph, holding it up for Skeeter to see.

“This picture was taken when we were fifteen.” Draco, matching Hermione’s steely determination, did not allow any emotion to show on his face as Hermione held out a photo of the two of them laughing together in Chamonix over Christmas their fifth year.

Rita, however, was unable to control her expression. Her eyes went wide, her jaw slackened, and Draco could have sworn that her tightly curled blond locks expanded.

Almost unconsciously, Rita reached a clawed hand toward the photo, but Hermione pulled it immediately out of reach.

That startled Rita out of her reverie.

“We will give you the whole story, exclusively, including this photo—but only if you agree to our conditions.”

Rita, who had been staring into the middle distance since Hermione set down the photo, turned toward her and narrowed her eyes. “What conditions?”

Hermione turned toward him. “Draco?”

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Draco began.

“First, you will print this statement from the two of us, in full and without revisions, at the top of the article.” Hermione pulled out a piece of parchment from her bag and held it up.

“Second, you will not reach out to Harry Potter or a single member of the Weasley family for comment prior to the article being published. Third, you will tell the truth, just as we provide it to you. You will not embellish or lie.” Rita scoffed at that.

“And finally, you will inform your editor that the only way that this article will be published in the Daily Prophet is if he agrees to bar Parvati Patil from ever writing an article about the two of us, ever again.”

Now that brought a devilish smile back to Rita’s face. She made a show of considering for a moment, tapping her fingers against her lips and humming.

“Fine. I accept your terms.” She reached out toward Hermione for the parchment. Hermione leaned forward to hand it to her, only to pause just out of Rita’s reach.

“One more condition, Rita.” Draco turned toward her, a question in his eyes. This had not been part of the plan.

Rita looked annoyed. “Yes? What is it?”

Hermione pinned her with an unforgiving stare. “The words ‘death eater’ will not appear anywhere in the article. That includes any derivation as well. No ‘former’ death eater, ‘reformed’ death eater, ‘accused’ death eater. Nothing.”

Draco stared at her, shocked. She had not needed to do that, not for him, and yet here she was standing up for him just like she always did. It nearly bowled him over.

But Hermione didn’t notice the emotion in his stare. Her eyes were fixed on Rita. “Do we have a deal?”

Rita stared back, clearly realizing that Hermione had not come to play games.

Waving her hand dismissively, the older witch nodded. “Fine, yes, we have a deal.”

“Lovely.” And with that, Hermione handed Rita the parchment.

Rita looked down, taking a moment to read what was written on the page, before setting it down and sliding it slightly to the side before placing a fresh parchment in front of her, grabbing an enormous feather quill, and dipping it in ink.

“Well then, let’s get started…”

Between them, Hermione reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it. Draco hadn’t realized that he was holding his breath.

And with that, they started talking.

Just over thirty minutes later, they stood up as Draco observed the large pile of parchments covered in notes now covering Rita’s desk. They’d done it. They really had told her everything.

Draco felt oddly light. As though he had finally taken off a heavy cloak. The secrets were gone now and there was nothing left to hide. They had just stepped into the sunlight, together.

“I must say, that is quite the story, you two. I think we are about to make quite the splash.” Rita was practically buzzing with excitement.

Draco just nodded before turning toward the door to remove the wards, but Hermione placed a hand on his arm to stop him.

“One last thing, Rita.” Hermione’s tone was conspicuously light. Rita was bustling around her desk, but paused to look up at her. Draco, too, waited with anticipation.

“You should know: I charmed that parchment.” Hermione inclined her head to the parchment containing their statement. “The second you touched it, you entered into a binding magical contract. If you violate any of our conditions…” A smirk spread on Hermione’s face. “Well, let’s just say that the consequences will be far worse than being trapped in a jar.”

With that, and as a look of abject terror crossed Rita’s features, Hermione tapped her head with her wand and disappeared, prompting Draco to remove the wards. Quickly, just as he felt Hermione step through the door, Draco flicked his wand, conjuring a single, folded piece of parchment onto Rita’s desk. With a final look, he stepped out to begin winding his way back through the offices of the Daily Prophet.

As soon as they stepped outside, Hermione clutched her arm and Draco turned, disapparating them back to their front garden.

The second they landed; Hermione removed the disillusion. She couldn’t do it fast enough. As soon as he could see her, Draco surged forward, lifting her off the ground and capturing her lips in a searing, breathless kiss.

“That was the hottest thing I have ever seen, love.” He was panting, running his fingers roughly through her hair.

She just smirked—a look that sent desire spiraling through him. “I’ve been called devious enough times this week, I figured I should live up to it.”

He couldn’t help it, Draco threw his head back to laugh.

This entire situation was surreal.

After more than eight years of secrets. Of hiding. Of fear. The truth was finally coming out.

All there was left to do now was wait for Rita Skeeter to make her move…

Chapter End Notes

You know what they say: The enemy of your enemy is your friend ;)

I think we've heard just about enough from the Ron Weasley Fan Club, don't you? About time that we take the Ron Weasley Bashing to a new level.

When we meet again next week, it will be for The Showdown That Was Promised.

As always, thank you for being here and your comments and kudos--I love you all!

xoxo,

Flames

Better Than Revenge

Chapter Notes

In the immortal words of the announcer from Space Jam:

L-L-L-Lets get ready to ruuuumble!!!!!

(y'all ready for this?)

😈

See the end of the chapter for more notes

March, 5th year

Where is that damned book?

Hermione had gone up and down this aisle in the library four times now trying to find Tottingham’s “Rare Charms and Their Rarer Uses,” which Madam Pince had assured her would be here. She knew it was unlikely, but Hermione wanted to study some obscure variations on reanimation charms in case there was an opportunity to include them in the written section of her O.W.L.

Her fifth pass down the aisle was also fruitless, and now Hermione was getting frustrated.

Luckily, a flash of white blond hair caught her attention at that moment, and Hermione looked up to see Draco in the row opposite her across the central floor of the library.

Her frustration immediately bled away and was replaced with a far more pleasant wanting as Draco flashed her his signature smirk and inclined his head toward the corner of the library where there happened to be a hidden, dark alcove.

Hermione smiled and nodded, ready to make her way there—but just as Draco went to turn, a high-pitched female voice called out to him from a table nearby.

“Draco! There you are! Come and join us.” Draco’s expression dropped as he cut his eyes toward the table. Trying not to let her disappointment show, Hermione just nodded back at him, mouthing for him to go, which he did only after dramatically rolling his eyes for her to see.

Momentary hope of a distraction lost, Hermione went back to her search, trying not to focus on the fact that Draco had just been called over to a table with Theo Nott, Millicent Bulstrode, Pansy Parkinson, and Daphne Greengrass.

It took her twenty more minutes to locate the book, which some lazy student had haphazardly shoved onto the wrong shelf, upside down, and partially obscured by larger texts. Hermione rounded the corner to march toward Madam Pince’s desk and lodge a complaint when she started to hear them.

“Honestly, what a waste, studying for these O.W.Ls! It’s not as if any of it really matters. Not for us, at least.” Millicent gave a nasally giggle that set Hermione’s teeth on edge.

Still partially obscured by the stacks, Hermione took in the scene.

Draco was doing a poor job hiding his dissatisfaction with his seat-mates, his mouth in a thin line as he focused on the book in his hands.

Pansy had her legs thrown haphazardly across Theo Nott’s lap and was filing her nails, barely paying attention to what was going on. Theo, too, seemed uninterested in joining in.

It was Daphne and Millicent carrying on.

“And why doesn’t it matter, Mill?” Theo’s tone was light and distracted.

“Because none of us have to work! As soon as we get out of here, we never have to think about studying or work ever again! We’re all the heirs to our families’ houses! That will be our life.” She spoke the words as if they were as obvious as could be.

With a roll of her eyes, Hermione stepped around the bookcase and began making her way toward the table and beyond to the front desk.

“It’s true.” Daphne nodded her head as she spoke. “Tests and school are absolutely pointless. We’re going to get everything we want in life with or without an Outstanding score on an O.W.L.”

Hermione kept her head down, but it was useless, Daphne spotted her and narrowed her beady eyes like a hawk who had just scented their prey. “Well, we’re going to get exactly what we want—but I can’t say the same is true for those of…lesser breading. Isn’t that right, Granger?”

Hermione paused her steps at the same moment that Draco’s head snapped up. He had obviously not been paying attention and hadn’t realized that Hermione was walking by.

Unwilling to let Daphne Greengrass rattle her, Hermione returned her gaze with an indifferent stare. “You needn’t worry about my future, Daphne. I’ll be just fine.”

Daphne huffed daintily and rolled her eyes, a cruel smirk growing on her painted lips. “Fine is right, Granger. You better keep studying for your exams, since that’s all you have going for you.” She gave an exaggerated look up and down Hermione’s body and Hermione fought against her instincts that told her to bring her book in front of her chest to cover at least a part of herself from Daphne’s scrutiny. “Oh, I’m sure you have a wonderfully bright future ahead! Probably going to take over for Pince as the librarian, marry some muggle, and pop out a whole slew of squibs. Well, if you survive, that is…”

“That’s enough, Daphne. She’s not worth it.” Draco did his best to affect his normal sneer, but Hermione could see the muscles in his jaw working, how his hands were turning white from the strength of his grip on the edges of his book.

Normally, she would have just let Daphne’s comments go, but there was something about the whole scene that pushed her over the edge.

“Oh, but I am worth it, Malfoy.” Her voice was low and confident as she took two steps forward, set her book on the table next to Draco, and leaned forward, placing both of her hands on the table and pinning Daphne with a stare.

The blond witch recoiled slightly, clearly unprepared for Hermione to stand up for herself.

“I want you to commit this moment to memory, Daphne. And one day, when you find out that I have, in fact, gotten exactly what I want, and you understand just how wrong you are about me—about everything—I want you to remember this moment. Merlin, do I hope I get to see your face when you realize it.”

Daphne’s face had grown more and more frightened as Hermione spoke, which only fueled the crackling emotion coursing through her. With a final, deadly smile, Hermione pushed off the table and grabbed her book.

“Have a lovely evening.” She nodded to Daphne before turning and, for the briefest moment, catching Draco’s eyes—which were sparkling with barely contained desire.

As she walked out of the library, Hermione felt the truth of her own words.

One day, everyone would understand that Hermione Granger was more than the annoying bookwork they thought she was, and she and Draco would laugh about how foolish they had all been.

They just had to get through the oncoming war, first. They just had to survive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

December, 2002

In classic Rita Skeeter fashion, the article was released in the Sunday morning paper. She’d waited to have it published in the most-read edition, splashing it across the front page that would be seen, in all likelihood, by every single wizard in Britain—and a fair few abroad as well.

Hermione had to give it to her, she knew how create a moment.

Unfortunately, that moment also involved being awoken by the persistent sound of a beak tap-tap-tapping on their bedroom window at 7am on a Sunday morning.

Hermione was asleep, curled up against Draco, and when the sound began to pull her from her slumbers, she tried burrowing further into his skin to staunch it. It didn’t work.

Draco groaned against the sound as Hermione brought her hand up to cover her ear in a futile attempt to let sleep take her again.

“What the hell is that?” Draco’s voice was still thick with sleep.

Hermione shook her head against the sound, whimpering against the harsh wake up. “Make it stop. Please make it stop.”

When it didn’t, Draco let out a frustrated growl, disentangled himself from Hermione, and sat up.

“It’s a fucking owl,” he grumbled. She heard him grab his wand and head toward the window. Their mail was no longer delivered directly to the house, Draco had everything sent to the DMLE where it could be checked before any of it ever reached their door. However, the group of friends and family that knew their address were able to send owls directly through. It must be from one of them.

The tapping had ceased when Draco got up, allowing Hermione to begin to drift back into her dreams.

“Hermione.” Draco’s voice was forceful enough that her eyes snapped open, afraid something terrible had happened.

But when she looked over at him, he was gingerly holding a copy of The Daily Prophet.

His eyes met hers, wide and a bit shocked. He turned the front of the paper toward her, and right there, at the top of the front page, two pictures were flashing: The two of them when they were fifteen in Chamonix, giggling together as Hermione leaned her head into Draco’s chest, and the one that Narcissa had taken back in September as they stood in the gardens at Malfoy Manor planning their wedding.

“Pansy sent it. Rita published the article.” His words were almost tentative.

Hermione took a deep breath, anticipation filling her, sleep now forgotten. She reached out. “Come here, we can read it together.”

Draco came back to the bed, sat back down next to her, unfolded the paper, and they each began to silently read.

Affixed to the front page was a piece of parchment with a short note from Pansy.

I’m still pissed that you didn’t tell me before you did this, but the beetle did a good job. Can’t wait for the fireworks.

x,

P

With trembling fingers, Hermione removed the note and together they began to read.

The Love Story of the Century

The Truth Comes Out: Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy’s secret love, his daring support for the Order of the Phoenix during the Second Wizarding War, and the future they have planned together.

By: Rita Skeeter

Dear Readers, after weeks of speculation, and what we can now confirm were spurious rumors spread by shameless attention-seekers, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy have entrusted this reporter with the exclusive details of their years-long love story. Take a look at the couple’s statement and read on for all the details of their relationship!

“After spending several difficult years apart, we reconnected in March and found that our love for one another had only grown deeper with time. We have been together ever since. There is no scandal, we are just two people in love. Our relationship over these last months was not a secret, we simply did not feel the need to alert the media about our private life. We became engaged in September, and will marry next year. We are deliriously happy and excited to begin the next chapter of our lives, together.

Mr. Draco Malfoy and the future Mrs. Hermione Granger-Malfoy”

I am able to exclusively confirm that Ms. Granger and Mr. Malfoy dated for several years while both attending Hogwarts, keeping their relationship secret because of the fraught times in which we were all living prior to the defeat of He Who Must Not Be Named.

While the world believed that Mr. Malfoy had followed in his father’s footsteps toward the dark arts, in reality both he and his mother, well-known socialite Narcissa Malfoy, were secretly aiding the Order of the Phoenix, passing information to Ms. Granger who then shared it with Albus Dumbledore.

The bravery shown by Mr. Malfoy, and his willingness to be vilified in order to protect both Ms. Granger and the cause, stands out among the most heroic acts committed during the war, especially from a wizard so young.

I am also able to reveal that the details of Mr. Malfoy’s spying and assistance to the Order were indeed the content of the confidential, previously unreleased testimony given by Ms. Granger during Mr. Malfoy’s trial, and it was his many acts of bravery that led to his full pardon.

The pair fell in love as young teens, star-crossed and willing to go to the ends of the earth to protect the other. They maintained a secret, clandestine relationship while at Hogwarts, remaining devoted to each other until the end of the war, at which point Mr. Malfoy made the heartbreaking decision to leave England to spare Ms. Granger from what he feared would be the negative consequences of a public revelation of their relationship, given the hostile political climate which gripped our country in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts.

Their separation was one defined by sorrow, but each made an effort to move on and attempt to live without their other half. Famously, Ms. Granger dated a fellow member of the Golden Trio, Ron Weasley, for several years following the temporary end of her relationship with Mr. Malfoy.

In recent days, Mr. Weasley, who married Mrs. Daphne Greengrass-Weasley last month after a surprisingly short engagement, has suggested that Ms. Granger had been unfaithful during their relationship and was pursuing Mr. Malfoy for nefarious ends. I can confirm that this accusation is entirely false. Ms. Granger and Mr. Malfoy had no contact during the three years in which he resided in America, and only rekindled their romance when he returned earlier this year, months after her relationship with Mr. Weasley had ended. A reporter does have to consider why Mr. Weasley would make such a damaging and clearly false allegation? One wonders if his seemingly whirlwind relationship with Mrs. Greengrass-Weasley may not be all that it seems…

Neither Ms. Granger nor Mr. Malfoy would provide any further comment about Mr. Weasley’s public campaign against them, stating instead that their focus is on “the future we intend to build together, not anyone else’s spiteful attempts to curtail our happiness.”

Having now witnessed the couple together, I am happy to report, Dear Readers, that the pair are indeed head-over-heels in love and entirely focused on the future and their upcoming wedding!

Although the pair were quite tight-lipped about their upcoming nuptials, they did let slip that the wedding will be a small, private affair attended only by their close friends and family, and will take place next Spring. The public can only hope that the gorgeous couple will be willing to share photos from the day with all of us!

One of the most stunning revelations revealed by the pair was Narcissa Malfoy’s steadfast support of her son’s relationship with Ms. Granger from the very beginning—going so far to assist the two in meeting secretly outside of school (including in France over the Christmas of 1995, when the photo above was taken), building a close friendship with Ms. Granger’s muggle parents, and working against her estranged husband, Lucius Malfoy, to protect them at all costs.

When reached for comment, Mrs. Malfoy provided the following statement:

“I have watched my son love Hermione Granger for a decade, and it has been my greatest joy as a mother to know that his love is reciprocated so wholeheartedly by someone as special as she. I have considered Ms. Granger a daughter for many years, but it will be my great honor to welcome her officially to our family. My only regret is that her parents will not be here to celebrate with us. But I am certain that they are watching over her, and it is my solemn vow that I will always show her the love and support that I know Jean and David would have wanted. The Malfoy family will only be made better by the addition of such an exceptional witch.”

I am also able to reveal that Draco Malfoy, in his role as the head of the House of Malfoy, has recently, and with remarkable magic requiring unmatched exertion, changed the centuries-old Malfoy family motto from “Sanctimonia Vincit Semper,” purity will always conquer, to “Amor Vincit Omnia,” love conquers all.

While interviewing the couple days ago, I witnessed that phrase tattooed on each of their arms—a clear recognition that the sentiment holds a deep weight in their love story.

It would seem, Dear Reader, that if two such apparent opposites, raised as differently as one can imagine, have been able to find their soulmate in each other, that love truly does conquer all.

%%%%%%%

Stay up-to-date with all the updates on this story and more by following Rita Skeeter’s column in The Daily Prophet!

Coming up this week:

- Reactions to this news from the pair’s supporters—including former flame Viktor Krum, Head Auror and member of The Order of The Phoenix Nymphadora Tonks, and multiple Hogwarts classmates.

- An investigation into the Weasley family’s hateful campaign of lies.

- Predictions from Wizarding London’s top wedding planners about the details of the Wedding of the Century!

~~~~

At first, Hermione didn’t understand why drops of water seemed to be falling from the ceiling onto the ink on the newsprint, nor why her vision was beginning to swim.

Taking a shaking, tearful breath, she turned her head slowly toward Draco, who was regarding her intently.

“You…you changed the Malfoy family motto?” Her voice was nothing but a whisper, the overwhelming weight of what this meant seeming to tear the breath from her lungs.

His eyes never leaving hers, Draco brought his fingers up to swipe her tears away before tucking her hair behind her ear. He nodded.

“I did.”

Any breath remaining whooshed out of her. Hermione’s brain seemed to be overflowing. There were too many thoughts. Too much emotion. But there was one piece that floated to the surface.

“That’s what you were doing at the Manor. Last weekend.”

An indulgent smile broke on his face. “Yes, it was. I had to harness the blood magic infused into the land. Mum helped to balance the flow, helped me contain and control it.”

The curious part of Hermione’s mind started to work. “That…I didn’t even know that was possible, Draco. The magic that must have taken…you…I…I can’t believe you did that—for me. I…I don’t know what to say.”

Draco just looked at her with enough love that, had she been standing, would have knocked her off her feet. He lifted his other hand to cradle her face.

“Cygnus carved it onto the crypt as his engagement gift to Cassiopeia. This is my engagement gift to you, love. Plus,” he reached behind him, grabbing his wand and flicking it to conjure a small velvet box, “I wasn’t going to ask you to wear something that was engraved with a ridiculous, blood supremacist motto on it.”

Draco cracked the box open and plucked out a small, golden, Malfoy signet ring. The crest carved into the flat face was the same as his, but when he held it up, she could see that below it, the letters A.V.O. appeared. He twisted his hand to show his own ring, which had also been changed to replace the old S.V.S. with the letters of the new motto.

Hermione stared, suspended in time for a moment, her hands coming to gingerly wrap around Draco’s fingers that held the ring.

The reality of what he had done, what he was giving her, hit Hermione all at once, and a sob broke from her lips as she surged forward, throwing her arms around Draco and weeping into his shoulder.

Draco let out a “harumph!” as she threw herself on him, before his arms came around her, cradling her against him. He simply held her for several moments, as this new reality—every piece of this new reality—shifted the air around them, curling and flowing as it built a whole new world.

Hermione let herself feel it. She let herself feel all of it, until she had enough control over her breathing to lean back. Draco did the same, his hands skimming down her arms and holding her by the elbows. They simply looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, the utter joy and relief passing between them, before Hermione smiled and cut her eyes toward the ring box still sitting on the bed.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” She smirked through the tears still coating her face.

Draco chuckled, leaning in to place a soft kiss on the apples of each of her cheeks before reaching back, taking the ring between his fingers, and carefully grabbing her right hand.

Hermione watched as he slowly, carefully slid the signet ring onto the middle finger of her hand. As it fell into place, the edge just kissed the ring she still wore on her forefinger—her mother’s wedding band. While Draco held her hand in his, Hermione took a moment to look at the two together, the rings that represented her two families, together forever on her skin and in her soul.

With heartbreaking gentleness, Draco brought her hand to his lips, placing one kiss on her mother’s ring, and a second on her newly acquired signet.

Hermione pulled her hand from his to tangle in his hair, his own hands coming to settle around her waist.

“Draco…” She took a deep breath. “Until I met you, I never thought it was even possible to feel love like this. To love you as much as I do, and to feel your love in return. What you’ve done for me...everything you’ve done for me,” she lifted the copy of the Prophet from the bed, “I don’t know what I did to deserve you. To deserve any of this. You are so special, so kind, so good, Draco. I want you to know that I will never take this for granted. Not a single second of this. For the rest of my life, the very first thought I will have every morning and the very last thought I will have every night is how much I love you, how lucky I am to have found you. And I am going to spend every single day I have left on this earth giving you the happiest life I can. Because you earned it, Draco. You deserve it.”

Draco’s expression had turned intense, the grey of his eyes a molten mercury.

“We deserve it, Hermione. Both of us. Together.”

Hermione smiled, new tears springing to her eyes. “Together. Always.”

They leaned forward simultaneously, catching each other’s lips in an indulgent kiss.

Soon enough, their hands began to roam, their clothing was discarded, and they stared into each other’s eyes—all the way into their souls—as Draco pushed into her.

It was unhurried and intimate, the morning sun shining over them as they moved together, breaths turning to pants, hands grabbing for purchase, and when Draco slid his fingers between them to rub circles over her clit Hermione threw her head back in ecstasy—the two of them both riding their orgasms into a brand-new world.

**

As Hermione sat on the couch two hours later, lounging in leggings and one of Draco’s old Slytherin sweaters, she really started to feel the existential weight that she had carried on her shoulders in one way or another since the day she and Draco first kissed in Professor Flitwick’s classroom, lift.

She had enjoyed living in their little bubble, one where they weren’t hiding, where their friends knew the truth, but where they flew under the radar, unburdened by the publicity that would surely come from the revelation that Draco Malfoy, the wealthiest heir of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, was marrying Hermione Granger, the most famous muggleborn in the wizarding world.

But now there were no more secrets. There was no more hiding. The world knew the truth, not just about their relationship, but about Draco. About who he was. About who he had always been.

It brought tears to her eyes. More than anything else, she had wanted for so long to scream from the rooftops that Draco Malfoy was a good man. A man who possessed bravery beyond his years. Who had grown and changed more as a 14-year-old than most people do in a lifetime. And who was willing to sacrifice himself to protect the people he loved.

She was beyond thrilled that they would no longer need to look over their shoulders or keep their distance at the Ministry or in wizarding London, but that Draco’s name had finally been cleared filled her with an overwhelming sense of joy.

And she was quite happy with everything else that Rita had printed. It was the truth. Every piece of truth that mattered.

Draco and Hermione had discussed the possibility of telling Rita about Ron’s cheating. Certainly, for the first few months after the revelation, Hermione had daydreamed constantly about nailing him to the wall with the truth of his cruelty and lies.

But when it came down to it, Hermione realized something important: She just didn’t care anymore. Ron was worthless to her. His opinion was worthless, and as time had gone on and Hermione had jumped in to her life, her real life, she had found that she simply didn’t care enough anymore to want to be the one who threw his dirty laundry out the window and into the public eye.

Did she think he deserved to be punished for what he had done? To be dragged through the mud, his reputation forever tarnished? Absolutely.

But the reality was, Rita now had enough information to figure that out on her own. Hermione didn’t need to let that drama become a part of her life. She could simply watch while the vultures descended and picked apart all of the horrible lies he had told, all of his deceptions, and while the entirety of the house of cards he had built came crashing down around him.

She didn’t need to do a thing. She could simply forget about him and live the happy life that she had created for herself. That she and Draco had built with each other.

The warmth of that thought was radiating through her body when the floo suddenly activated, and Narcissa’s head appeared in the flames.

Hermione jumped up. She was meant to be at the Manor this afternoon to go over wedding details.

“Narcissa! Oh no, am I late? I may have lost track of time…”

The older witch shook her head indulgently, smiling at Hermione’s sudden rush.

“No, no my dear, you’re not due at the Manor for two more hours.”

Hermione released a deep breath. “Oh, good.” Recalling the morning, Hermione’s eyes filled with tears as she stepped forward and kneeled in front of the fireplace.

“Narcissa, I…I don’t know how to thank you for the statement you gave. I’m just…I am so honored to be a part of your family. I’m so honored to have been a part of your family for so many years. Your support of our relationship has always meant the world to me, and I’m just…well, I’m just so grateful to have you in my life.”

Her eyes had grown misty as a serene smile spread across Narcissa’s face.

“Oh my dear, I meant every word. My son could not have found a better partner, and I could never have hoped for such an amazing daughter.”

Hermione quickly sniffed and wiped her eyes, overcome once again by the reality that she had a family again. A real family.

“Would you like to come through? Draco’s at a fitting for his suit with Theo, but he should be back shortly. We could have tea?”

Narcissa shook her head lightly.

“I’m afraid not, dear. I’ve actually called you for a spot of help.”

Hermione cocked her head. “Oh?”

Narcissa kept her voice light. “Yes, well, it’s quite untoward, you see. It seems that Mr. Potter, Mrs. Weasley-Potter, and Mr. Weasley saw the announcement of your happy news this morning, and came to the conclusion that in actuality, Draco and myself have imprisoned you and placed you under a variety of dark curses, and they have arrived to the Manor demanding that you be freed. And if I do not produce you, Mr. Weasley has assured me that he will initiate a full raid of my home and have me arrested.”

Narcissa’s words plunked like a single pebble inside the calm waters of her mind, ripples slowly making their way through her body, growing larger and larger until she felt as though they were an earthquake shaking her to her very core. Any thoughts of simply letting go of their behavior and moving on forgotten.

Slowly, gracefully, she stood.

“They what?” Her voice was quiet and surprisingly contained, though she could feel the rage bubbling just beneath.

Narcissa nodded, nonchalant. “They’ve gotten themselves into quite a state. So dear, if you wouldn’t mind coming through and explaining to them that you are not, in fact, a captive being forced into a marriage for some nefarious end, I would greatly appreciate it. Ms. Parkinson and I have been spending the morning working on the details for your wedding, and I do not fancy being delayed by a jaunt to Azkaban.”

Hermione felt like the world had narrowed and slowed to a crawl.

These people. People who had betrayed her over and over again. People she had barely interacted with in the last year. People who had spread lies about her. People who she had asked repeatedly to stay out of her personal life. After learning the truth of her happiness, they’d decided to do this? To threaten her family? To treat her like a mindless idiot without agency?

Golden sparks flew from her fingers and crackled around the room.

Narcissa watched them but maintained her same unaffected smile.

Hermione nodded toward her.

“Yes, I’ll be through in just a moment.” Her voice had grown even more lethally calm.

Narcissa simply nodded. “Lovely, I’ll be waiting for you in the receiving parlor.”

With that, the green flames died as her head disappeared.

Hermione took three, slow, steadying breaths. In through her nose. Out through her mouth.

This was it. She was done.

Shoving her feet into a pair of trainers, she sent a quick patronus to Draco to inform him of what had happened, before grabbing a handful of floo powder and, with a bit more force than necessary, threw it into the hearth and called out for Malfoy Manor.

Rage was rolling off of her as she stepped onto the dark marble floor where Narcissa was waiting.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Narcissa, clad as usual in elegant, perfectly tailored robes, simple patted her arm and gestured down the hallway.

“I’ve left them under Ms. Parkinson’s watch in the formal salon. And don’t worry, dear. There are charms around each room to prevent any spell damage, so do feel free to let loose.” Her eyes sparkled with mirth.

Hermione simply nodded and began marching down the hallway. When she reached the door, her magic was flowing through her so powerfully that she simply waved her hand and the thick oak slammed open, nearly coming off of the hinges.

Taking three powerful strides into the room, she took in the scene.

Harry and Ginny were seated on an ornate couch directly across from where Hermione stood, Harry looking uncomfortable and Ginny looking concerned. Ron stood behind them, arms folded and red faced, clearly trying to assert his dominance over the situation.

Pansy stood on the wall next to the door, wand held at the ready and a look of absolute satisfaction on her face.

She smirked and gave a single laugh, keeping her eyes on the three intruders. “I told you. She’s going to eviscerate you.”

Hermione, too, only had eyes for her three former friends.

“Who the hell do you think you are? Coming here to threaten an innocent woman? My family! What could you possibly think gives you the right? Abusing your power as Aurors to force someone to do your bidding? I am going to have your heads on a pike.” It was a surprise that she wasn’t breathing fire at this point.

Harry’s face had gone white, and Ginny reached out to take his hand. “Hermione, we just wanted to make sure you were ok! This,” she lifted up a copy of The Daily Prophet she had tucked into her side, “this doesn’t make any sense.” Her voice was almost cloying.

Ron snorted behind her, and Hermione’s eyes slid to him. He was looking at her with disgust. “I dunno, Gin. Look at her. Wearing Slytherin clothes! Off cavorting with the enemy!” He waved his hands between Narcissa and Pansy.

Hermione reared back. “The enemy?” Her tone was steely as every single muscle in her body flexed.

“Yes, Hermione. The enemy. What in Merlin’s name is going on here? Are you really whoring yourself out to Death Eaters?”

Everything happened simultaneously.

Pansy took two steps forward, gripping her wand tightly and looking at Ron as though calculating exactly how she would kill him. Hermione inhaled a breath through her nose, pulling out her own wand as her features took on an animalistic intensity. But it was Narcissa who acted first. Moving with such speed Hermione thought she might be levitating, she stepped around Hermione, rounded the coffee table in front of Harry and Ginny, and stepped toe to toe with Ron.

Ron raised his wand, clearly ready to stun her, but Hermione and Pansy were faster. They both cast silent expelliarmus spells, Ron’s wand flying into Hermione’s hand at the same moment that Ginny’s and Harry’s landed in Pansy’s.

Both Ginny and Harry jumped up, eyes wide, as Ron stared down Narcissa, his commanding veneer crumbling.

In the smooth, deadly tone only Narcissa was capable of, she spoke. “I believe you are intimately acquainted with just how far I am willing to go to protect my family, are you not, Mr. Weasley? So hear me when I say: If you insult my daughter in my home again, I assure you, you will not leave this place in the condition you arrived.”

She raked her eyes up and down Ron’s form, disgust on her face, before turning around and gracefully returning to her position next to Hermione and placing a hand lightly on her arm.

Ron looked too stunned to speak.

Harry put up his hands. “Let’s all just stay calm, alright? We’re just here to talk, Hermione. That’s all. Can we just talk?”

Still pointing her wand at Ron and gripping his in her other hand, Hermione didn’t even spare Harry a glance as she responded. “And what, exactly, do you wish to talk about, Harry?”

Ginny stepped forward. “Mione, please. Can we just…can we speak to you alone? Just for a little while?” Her voice was quiet, pleading as her head bobbed between Narcissa and Pansy.

Finally taking her eyes off Ron, who had yet to move, Hermione turned fully to face the two Potters. “Fine.” Her voice was like ice.

Inclining her head toward Narcissa, she spoke in a far more comforting tone. “I sent word to Draco, I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

Narcissa nodded. “Lovely. Ms. Parkinson, come along, it seems Ms. Granger has things quite in hand.”

With that, Narcissa turned and glided out of the room, her heels clacking down the hallway.

Pansy made no move to leave.

“Pans.”

“Oh, come on, just let me stay for a minute? I want to see the show.” Her voice was teasing.

“No, Pansy.”

The dark-haired witch rolled her eyes and walked forward, handing Harry and Ginny’s wands to Hermione.

“Fine, but now I’m going to find the most garish napkins for your reception, Curls.” Pansy huffed as she walked out the door.

Hermione moved to sit in an elegant wingback chair across from Harry and Ginny, calling out the door to Pansy. “I don’t care about the napkins, Pansy.”

“You will when I’m done!” She called from the hallway.

Rolling her eyes, a modicum of her anger lifted, Hermione took a deep breath and faced her three former friends. Ron was still standing, looming over the scene, while Harry and Ginny had retaken their seats.

“Sit down, Ron.”

He scoffed.

“I said, sit down.” The threat behind her words was undeniable.

“Ron, mate, come on.” Harry encouraged. Ron finally rolled his eyes and made his way to the couch, flopping down dramatically next to Ginny.

“Let me see if I have this right. You three woke up this morning, read an article that included photos and a direct quoted statement from me, and decided that nope, Hermione must be a mindless idiot who has allowed herself to…what? Be tricked into a fake marriage to help support some blood supremacist plot? I’d sure like to know how marrying a mudblood would help a blood supremacist…” Harry and Ginny both flinched at the slur while Ron looked at her like she was speaking another language.

“But that wasn’t enough! No, you decided you would threaten an innocent woman with imprisonment—an innocent woman who saved your fucking life, Harry—to blackmail her into forcing me to talk to you? Is that it? Do I have that right?”

Harry shook his head. “I never agreed to threaten Narcissa with a raid. Things got out of hand…” His eyes flicked to Ron, making it clear why things had gotten so out of hand.

“Mione, we didn’t mean to cause a scene, it’s just, we all saw the article this morning and it just didn’t make sense. You and Malfoy at Hogwarts? We were all there with you and none of us ever saw anything, and if that was a lie, then the whole story must be a lie! So we went to your flat to talk to you, but some muggle woman answered! She said you hadn’t lived there in months…” Ginny’s voice grew weaker and weaker, clearly chastened by the penetrating look on Hermione’s face.

Hermione pinned Ginny with a withering stare. “And what, exactly, do you think it says about you, that none of you have known where I lived for an entire year?”

The ginger witch’s eyes went wide before turning quickly to Harry and then Ron, searching for assistance. Of course, Ron was more than willing to oblige.

“You’re not fucking marrying Draco Malfoy, Hermione. Godric!” She could tell that Ron had reached the point where he could no longer control his outbursts.

Hermione slid her eyes to him and upturned the corner of her mouth into a smirk. “As a matter of fact, Ron, I am both fucking and marrying Draco Malfoy.”

Ron recoiled as if she had slapped him.

Harry cut in, clearly trying to regain some control over the situation. “Hermione…we don’t want to intrude, truly. I knew you two were dating, obviously, but I didn’t think…”

Ginny grimaced as Ron’s head snapped to Harry, his eyes bulging. “You WHAT, Harry? What do you mean you knew they were dating?”

Harry ignored him and continued. “But, being secretly engaged? Being together at Hogwarts? You can’t really blame us for being worried. Who gets engaged and doesn’t tell any of their friends? Something seems wrong—”

Hermione barked a laugh and put up her hand. “I’ll stop you there, Harry. My friends did know. I’ve already asked Luna, Pansy, and Padma to be bridesmaids. Pansy is literally in the other room planning the reception. George threw us a party to celebrate months ago. My friends knew—you didn’t. Because you and I are not friends. None of us are friends.”

Ginny’s eyes widened in shock. A hint of fear began to creep under the anger still marring Ron’s face. But Harry, Harry just looked hurt.

“Hermione. What do you mean? I know things have been a bit…strained lately, and I know that I’m to blame, but you’re still my best friend. We’re best friends, we’ve always been best friends. When do you think we stopped being friends?”

Finally, after so many months, the moment came.

Hermione’s face hardened as she pinned him with an unforgiving stare. “We stopped being friends, Harry, the second you found out he was cheating on me and decided I didn’t deserve to know.”

Hermione watched as Harry, Ginny, and Ron’s faces all drained of color. She watched as the penny finally dropped.

Harry opened his mouth. “Hermione, no, I…”

Hermione simply narrowed her eyes. “Do not insult my intelligence by lying to me. Again. You knew for a year, Harry. An entire fucking year.”

Harry closed his mouth with an audible crack, staring back at Hermione wide eyed. She could see the quick rise and fall of Ginny’s breaths. And for the first time that day, Ron began to look truly scared.

It may have been petty, it may have been cruel, but Hermione basked in it. She basked in the feel of their horror, their realization. She had thought she would not need this catharsis, but as it washed over her, she came to understand just how much she did.

With a smirk, she continued, her tone venomous. “As someone who successfully kept a rather large secret for over eight years, let me give you a piece of advice. The most important thing is controlling who knows. Because the more people you tell, the more chances you have that someone fucks up. Or, in this case, that you accidentally tell someone who has a moral compass and is not willing to play your twisted little game.”

She slid her eyes between the three, watching as fear and confusion rolled over them. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“George told me everything three days after your little show at Christmas, Ron. I have known exactly who every single one of you are for months. Well, I take that back, I knew you were both backstabbing liars for months,” she inclined her head toward Ginny and Harry before slowly turning back to Ron, “I didn’t know how much of an utter psychopath you were until more recently. Telling them that I was threatening to kill myself? Making up stories about multiple suicide attempts?” Hermione shook her head incredulously. “Honestly, Ron, that’s a low even I could never have imagined that you would reach. They could write entire books investigating your psychology, I’m sure.”

Ron’s face was growing redder by the moment, and she could see the mixture of his impotent anger and desperation warring on his face. “You’re out of your mind, Hermione. It’s like I told you, she needs help!” He was spluttering and gesturing toward Harry and Ginny. Harry looked stricken; Ginny conflicted.

Hermione chuckled. It was fascinating to see this dynamic play out in real time in front of her eyes.

Keeping her voice calm, she leaned back in her chair. “You’re right about one thing, Ron. I was certainly out of my mind to ever trust any of you.” She shook her head, bringing her hand up to rub her chin.

“You know, Draco tried to warn me. For years. It was the only argument we ever had. He’d insist that I shouldn’t trust any of you. That none of you really knew me. That you were just using me. That you weren’t really my friends. And the saddest part is: I fucking defended you. Every time. But he was right.”

She threw up her hands. Now that Hermione had started speaking, she didn’t know when she would stop.

“I don’t think you were ever my friends. I was yours. Fuck, I was willing to lay my life down for you, Harry.” She turned her eyes to him, observing how small, how insignificant he looked now under her gaze.

“I spent years thinking about nothing but how best I could help you, how I could protect you. But you…you didn’t care about me at all! I was just useful. Bookish little Hermione can help! She’ll make sure we don’t die!”

Harry’s eyes squeezed shut as he shook his head. “That’s not…that’s not fair, Hermione.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide. “Not fair? Tell me Harry, how exactly were you being my friend when you allowed him to humiliate me for months while he cheated on me? When you never, not once, actually asked me if what he was saying about me was true? When you thought I was suicidal but did nothing? How were you being my friend over the last year when you kept pretending that nothing was wrong, when you kept lying to me over and over again?”

She paused, and Harry simply looked back at her, lost for words.

“I didn’t…I didn’t know…”

She shook her head and interrupted. “Honestly, you don’t need to tell me. I know the answer. It’s because you’re a coward.”

Ginny jumped in. “That’s enough, Hermione!”

Hermione simply slid her eyes to the red head and narrowed them slightly, her voice taking on the same lethal calm and utter control. “I’ll deal with you shortly, Ginny. Wait your turn.”

She turned back to Harry. “Here’s what I think happened. He fed you some bullshit lie.” She inclined her head toward Ron, who clenched his fists. “And you believed it—at first. But then, something happened. The cracks started to show. I think somewhere, deep down, you knew it was all a lie. You knew he was manipulating you. But you still didn’t tell me. Because it had been too long by then. You’d already been keeping his secret. And you were too afraid of what would happen if you actually told me the truth. Because you never had to figure those things out before! You never had to worry about being a good friend or growing up. All you had to worry about was Voldemort. So everyone gave you a pass, everywhere else. It was fine that you were a shitty friend because you were the Chosen One. But we’re adults now, Harry. Voldemort is dead. And you are still behaving like a child. That’s what happened. That’s what got you here. That’s why you just abandoned me. Isn’t it?”

She stopped speaking, and for a moment she simply looked into Harry’s green eyes. Eyes that had provided her so much comfort for so many years. Guidance. A way forward. A purpose.

But now she could see that all that remained was hopelessness, fear, and pain. He held her gaze before his head dropped, and in a voice so small and so at odds with who she used to know, Harry finally spoke. “Yes. You’re right.”

There was a single beat of stunned silence that rippled across the room before the door opened, and with the calm, utterly assured confidence only he was capable of, Draco strode inside.

He didn’t even spare Harry, Ron, and Ginny a glance. His fierce eyes were alight with a dangerous mixture of anger and concern, and they never left Hermione’s.

Hermione could feel the silent power rolling off of him, but also the power that was crackling between them. The power that came from this moment, where they could show these people exactly who they were. Together.

With sure steps, Draco walked directly to the chair where Hermione sat, kneeled down next to it to be at her eye level, and leaned in, placing one hand tenderly on the side of her face. He spoke only to her, but was obviously aware that the entire room could hear him.

“Are you alright?”

The utter concern in his eyes—and his complete disregard for the three other people in the room—sent a chill through her and she closed her eyes for a moment, leaning her cheek slightly into his hand.

With a slight smile, she opened her eyes—showing him the vindication and barely contained rage within. Reaching her hand up to cover his, she responded. “I’m fine. Did you check on your mum?”

Draco released a small huff of laughter, shaking his head as if to say how typical it was of her to check on others instead of herself, before leaning in and pressing their lips together in a sweet, soft kiss. A choked noise came from across the room. Ignoring it, Draco lingered for a second longer before pulling back and slowly moving to stand, his other hand coming to wrap lightly around Hermione’s neck.

“I’ll find her in a moment. First, I wanted to see if you needed any help hiding any bodies. There’s certainly plenty of space on the grounds.”

Hermione knew he was joking, but his tone didn’t betray it. It was icy and smooth, a near perfect mimic of Lucius, as he finally took in the three others seated across the way.

Hermione turned her gaze back to them. Harry looked resigned. Ginny’s face was a confusing mix of disgust and…was that jealousy? And Ron…well, Ron looked like he was about to spontaneously combust.

"Come to speak for her, have you? Need your death eater’s help, do you Hermione?" He spat, quite literally, across the coffee table.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, but Draco reassuringly squeezed the back of her neck.

Unruffled, he chuckled. “I realize that you don’t know her very well, Weasley, so do allow me to give you a piece of advice about my fiancé: She has never needed anyone’s help to fight her own battles, and I should warn you, she can be quite vicious when provoked. It’s sexy as hell.” A devilish smile spread on his face.

Ron stared briefly at Draco before turning his eyes, filled with nothing but hate, back at Hermione. “This? Him? Really, this is what you’re doing? You really are out of your mind, Hermione! You’re going to be shunned.”

Hermione let out an exasperated groan, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly. “My gods, you’re so predictable, Ron. You really haven’t grown at all since we were fifteen, have you? Because you told me the exact same thing then, the first time I told the two of you that I was with him.”

She paused, allowing that little bomb to explode between them. She saw Draco slightly incline his head toward her from the corner of her eye—she’d never actually shared this story with him.

Ron was spluttering, leaving Harry to speak. “What are you saying, Hermione? You never told us…”

“Oh, but I did, Harry!” She interrupted. “Three days before Christmas, fifth year. The two of you stopped me on my way out of the common room, asked me where I was going, assuming swotty little Hermione Granger was on her way to the library. I could have lied like I always did, of course, but instead I decided that I’d tell you the truth—I told you that I was on my way to snog Draco Malfoy.” She paused and turned to Draco with a salacious smile. “Well, not the full truth, I suppose.” His responding look was positively dripping in desire.

She flicked her hand dismissively. “Anyway. You, Harry, told me that Draco Malfoy was obviously plotting my murder.” She swore she could feel the anger rippling off of Draco at that. “And you, Ron, told me that my joke wasn’t funny, and then you said—now, let me get the words right—that I would be ‘shunned, no matter what’ just for kissing him.”

Draco slid the hand around her neck out, gliding one finger suggestively down her arm. “How unfortunate for them. You’d done far more than kiss me by then, love.”

That forced a response from all three of them.

Harry dropped his head in his hands, raking his fingers roughly through his hair.

Ginny reared back, shocked by Draco’s words, with a “Merlin, Hermione!”

Ron looked like he might vomit, and simply released a guttural yell.

Still maintaining that same cool indifference, Draco turned back toward her.

“Seems you have this under control, love?”

Hermione smirked and nodded, before pulling the three wands she was still guarding out from her side and extending them to Draco. “Keep these safe for me, would you?”

Draco took them with a returned smirk and nod. “Happily, love.” He turned back to face Hermione’s three former friends once more. “A pleasure, as always.” Sarcasm dripped from his every word, and with that, he turned and glided toward the door.

As he reached the threshold, Draco paused and turned, all the humor gone from his face.

“One last thing. She may not need help fighting her own battles, but hear me when I tell you that I have watched you people use her, and devalue her, and hurt her over and over again since we were children. If you ever hurt her again, and if you ever threaten my mother again, I will make you feel pain that is beyond your comprehension.” And with that, he turned and they all listened as his shoes beat against the floor as he walked away.

Ginny looked stunned as she turned her head back toward Hermione. “You really are out of your mind. Trusting that? Marrying someone who would threaten us—threaten anyone!—like that?”

Hermione threw her head back and laughed. “Why would I trust someone who would protect his family? Who would defend the people that he loved? Oh, I don’t know Ginny, why have you trusted Ronald as he fed you lie after lie after lie for years? Lies that you could have easily disproven with a single conversation?”

Ginny’s eyes hardened and her voice rose. “Because you were sick! You barely got out of bed for months!”

Hermione slammed her hand against the armrest of her chair. “BECAUSE MY PARENTS DIED!”

Ginny opened her mouth to respond, but Hermione powered through. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, Ginny, but I was there and I saw how you were after Fred died. You were broken, all of you were. So, what did I do? I was there for you. I wasn’t plotting a way to use your grief as an excuse for my own shitty behavior. I didn’t use it as an excuse to start cheating on my partner. I didn’t use it to explain away my willingness to give up on my supposed friends. Please do excuse me for needing some time to get over losing the only two members of my family that I had left!”

The heat was growing in her body as though all of the anger that had been simmering within her was bubbling to the surface at once.

And from the look on Ginny’s face, she was willing to meet her there as well.

The red head’s face turned sour and finally the façade dropped. “Typical Hermione—expects everyone to be perfect all the time. You just want everyone to fawn over you! You always wanted the two of them to be your friends only, to only like you, to not care about the rest of us!” She threw her hands wildly in the direction of Harry and Ron. “I’m oh so sorry that I got tired of trying to meet your ridiculous standards. That I decided to help my brother—my brother who you always thought was less than, who you always treated like a child. And clearly I was right! You never thought any of us was worthy of you, so you had to go out and find someone with a vault big enough to satisfy you!”

Suddenly, it all clicked for Hermione. It had confused her for months that Ginny—smart, capable, take-no-bullshit Ginny—had so thoroughly bought into all of Ron’s lies.

But the truth was: she hadn’t. She was doing everything on purpose.

Because beneath that mask of the cool, confident woman was a bitter, lonely girl who had held a grudge against Hermione for years because of her friendship with Harry and Ron. That she had been close to Harry for so many years while Ginny was invisible to him. That Hermione had friends while she didn’t. That Hermione was in the inner circle and she wasn’t.

It momentarily took the fight out of her. As she looked at Ginny now, all she felt was sadness for a girl who had been so twisted by her own insecurities that it had turned her into something ugly and spiteful.

Hermione released a deep breath. “Oh, Ginny…I pity you.”

Ginny recoiled. “I don’t need your pity! Look where I’m sitting, and look where you are! You’re sitting here saying that we betrayed you, when this,” she held up The Prophet, “confirms that you spent years betraying us. Pretending to be on our side and then running around the castle with Draco fucking Malfoy! After everything he said about you! Gods, Hermione, he was on the damned inquisitorial squad! He wanted us dead!”

All of the sympathy left Hermione in a rush. She had spent so many years not able to defend Draco in the way she wanted, but now—now she could.

She narrowed her eyes at the witch. “You know nothing, Ginny. Nothing. You’re right, he did regurgitate the beliefs of his father when he was a child. But by age 14 he had not only apologized to me more sincerely than anyone has before or since, but he also changed. He grew more as a person at 14 than the rest of you have in your entire lives.

“Who do you think found the Room of Requirement, Ginny? He did. He was the one who suggested that we start the DA. He joined the inquisitorial squad so he could keep track of Umbridge and make sure she wasn’t on our tails. Didn’t you ever wonder why we never got caught leaving meetings? It was because Draco would send me messages telling me when it was safe to leave. For fuck sake, how do you think Dumbledore even found the Gaunt ring? Because Draco overheard a conversation and passed me the information so I could give it to Dumbledore! He was on our side the whole time. He was risking his life for us, the whole time. We would have lost the war without him. So don’t you dare speak about him as though you know him. You know nothing.”

For a moment, all three of them looked utterly stunned. Ginny’s mouth dropped open. Harry, who had spent the last several minutes staring into the middle distance, finally refocused, his eyes snapping back to Hermione. And Hermione saw a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and shock melt over Ron’s sweaty and red face.

But it only lasted a moment. Soon enough, Ginny broke the silence with a snort.

Her eyes narrowed on Hermione, and she affected a look of smug indifference. “You’re lying. Of course you’re lying. You’re just desperate to keep your reputation intact. Desperate to remain the Golden Girl. How pathetic. You really are just a death eater whore—”

“THAT’S ENOUGH, GINNY!”

Every head snapped toward Harry, whose outburst was so sudden and so at odds with his prior behavior that it took Hermione a beat to fully understand that he had been the one to speak.

“Harry, I…” Ginny started, her tone suddenly much sweeter and placating as she placed her hand lightly on Harry’s arm.

He just shook her off but kept his eyes locked on Ginny. “Don’t you dare say that about her again. Either of you. This stops, now.”

Emotion trilled through Hermione, but she wasn’t able to get a handle on just what it was. She had been so desperate for Harry to actually stand up for her for so long, but she had many months ago given up the idea that he ever would. But now it seemed like he had finally reached the end of his rope? Finally woken up? And at this point, did it even matter?

He’d let all of this happen. He’d sat by. He’d stayed silent because it was easier and more convenient to do so. Hermione wasn’t sure that she could ever forgive him for that.

“I don’t think so, mate. I think that I am owed an explanation.” Ron had managed to moderate his tone, but he couldn’t contain the disgust still dripping from every word.

Hermione slowly turned her head to him, quirking an eyebrow. “An explanation?”

“Yeah, Hermione. I think you owe me an explanation. You lied to me. For years. Hell, you told me that you lost your virginity to Cormac McClaggen in Sixth Year! But this is the truth? You were shagging Draco Malfoy? Hell, how do I know that you weren’t cheating on me during our entire relationship?! And then you sneak your way into my wedding just to humiliate me? All because I got together with Daph while I was still with you? Clearly, you didn’t even care about me—you were just waiting around for him! So I haven’t a clue why you were even upset about the whole thing!”

He was spitting and spluttering as Hermione watched. Watched as any last vestige of the person she once knew fell away. That boy who levitated a troll’s club First Year to save her in that bathroom, who stood up for her Second Year and ended up vomiting slugs, who held her as she cried when they thought Harry was dead—that boy was gone. Or maybe he never existed at all.

All that was left was this. A deceitful egomaniac who cared about nothing but himself.

Honestly, it was clarifying. It allowed Hermione to let go of any remaining hesitation she had about causing him any pain.

And so, with a clear head and blood buzzing with anger, she started to speak.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Ron. I will never owe you anything ever again in this life.” Harry and Ginny faded away. The room faded away. All that remained was Ron’s face. “I owe you nothing. I do not owe you an explanation. I do not owe you the truth. You have not earned a thing from me.”

Ron’s eyes hardened, even as she watched him shift back a bit under the intensity of her gaze.

Hermione continued with preternatural control. “But hey, why not, I’ll throw you a bone.”

She leaned back, bringing her hand up to count out each statement. “First of all, I never told you that I slept with Cormac McClaggen. You told me that and never even gave me the opportunity to refute it. So, I simply didn’t correct you. I was never under any obligation to tell you a thing about my private life before you and I started dating—nor did you ever even ask.”

Ron let out a dismissive sigh, but Hermione just narrowed her eyes and continued.

“And let me make something very clear: Over the past year, I have not considered you or your feelings in a single decision I have made about my life. I came to your wedding because your mother begged me to. That’s it. I could not care less what you do with your life or who you do it with.”

Ron’s eyes went wide, and it instantly became clear to Hermione that Molly had not told Ron that she had come to see Hermione and asked her to attend the wedding.

“And as for my cheating on you.” She laughed humorlessly. “I will say, it’s quite funny to hear that coming from you. I’ll be honest, Ron, you sound a bit jealous of Draco. Which, to be fair, you absolutely should be,” Hermione gave a perfect impression of Draco’s signature smirk, “but unfortunately for you and your desire to create even more self-serving storylines, I never cheated on you. Unlike you, I was entirely devoted to our relationship. I see how stupid that was now, of course, but unfortunately, I can’t take it back. All I can do now is move forward with a man who is worthy of my time. Who is worthy of me.” Hermione could feel her skin vibrating with emotion.

Ron’s mask of anger had cracked during her speech, and she could almost see the cogs in his brain working, trying to find another angle, another insult. Unsurprisingly, he went for the tried-and-true favorite.

With a sneer, she watched as he tried to gather himself back into the façade of power he had held at the beginning of this conversation. “I suppose you’re right, Hermione. You are only worthy of the asshole who tried to kill Dumbledore. Who let his little death eater friends into Hogwarts.” Ron was looking at her like he’d won. Like he’d finally caught her in a corner.

But instead, Hermione went in for the kill.

She leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees and folding her hands beneath her chin. “You know, Ron, if a murderous psychopath had threatened to have my mother gang raped, tortured, and slowly killed while I was forced to watch, I would have done whatever he asked me to do in order to stop it, too—no matter what it was. So please, do make sure that you tell Molly that your love for her is conditional. It’s certainly all that she’s earned.”

Ron’s nostrils flared as his sneer fell into a shocked frown—his last piece of ammunition having been turned back on him with surgical precision.

“If I could ask you just one question, Ron. What was the point?”

He cocked his head. “The point of what?”

Her tone betrayed her curiosity. “Of cheating on me. If Daphne really is the love of your life, why didn’t you just break up with me? It would have been so much easier.”

Shockingly, Ron did not seem prepared to have been asked that question. Even Ginny inclined her head toward him, a look of genuine interest on her face.

So, he hadn’t ever told them either. Interesting.

Ron clenched his jaw. “I’m not telling you anything, Hermione.”

Hermione gave a small, sarcastic whine. “Oh come now, but we’re all being so honest! Do share with the class, Ron.”

Ron didn’t speak, just narrowed his eyes. Hermione watched as his muscles all began to tense.

She observed him. “What? Are you too afraid to say? Or do you not even know? That wouldn’t surprise me, honestly, but it certainly seems like you spent a whole lot of time building this little fantasy and keeping it running for years—so clearly you’ve at least thought about it. I’m honestly interested in what compelled you to do it. Was it anger? Boredom? Were you just horny? Did it make you feel special?”

“IT WAS MY TURN!” Ron shot out of his chair, screaming the words.

Hermione had known that with every word she spoke Ron was coming closer and closer to breaking, and she was determined to push him over the edge. Sure, she was interested in his answer (this is Hermione Granger we’re talking about), but she also wanted him to say it in front of Ginny and Harry. To make sure they knew exactly who they had been protecting.

“It was my turn! You two always got everything you wanted.” He gestured wildly between Harry and Hermione. “Everything came so easily for you, Hermione. Everyone always wants the opinion of the brightest witch of her age! And you didn’t even care! All those times you were asked to speak at events or be photographed for magazines—we could have made something of that, together. But no, you went and wasted it. Didn’t ever want to do it. Lost so many chances—chances for the both of us! And you,” he rounded on Harry who looked back at him dumbstruck, “everybody always wanted you. Gave you whatever you want. Everyone wants the Chosen One. But Daphne? She wanted me. Just me. And I spent too many years waiting for the two of you to look back and throw something my way. So I took it.”

Ron leaned forward and pointed his finger toward Hermione’s chest. “It’s your fault. If you had just been less of a joyless shrew.”

Ginny’s mouth had dropped open and Harry was looking at Ron as though he had turned into a chimera. But Hermione simply leaned back in her chair, speaking in a calm, light voice.

“There it is. Thank you, Ron, I do appreciate your honesty.”

Hermione could have yelled back. She could have pointed out how ridiculous and immature his words were. She could have called him a superficial, fame-obsessed egomaniac.

But she didn’t do any of that. Ron had already dug his grave, and Hermione didn’t need to get down into the dirt with him.

And it was in that moment, as Harry’s shoulders sagged, as Ginny looked between Hermione and Harry afraid of what was to come next, and as Ron’s truth was finally revealed, that she realized: It wasn’t just the conversation that was over, these friendships were finally, truly, over too.

Hermione released a deep breath as the feeling of that weight lifted off of her shoulders.

Gathering her strength one last time, she looked up at the three people across from her.

“I’ll offer you one final piece of honesty in return. I could have destroyed every single one of you in that interview with Rita. Do you want to know what I didn’t? Because you’re not worth it. You do not matter enough to me to waste my breath. But—” her eyes lit with the same excitement and assuredness she always felt when she knew the answer to a particularly challenging exam question, “I am a woman who likes to be prepared.”

From inside her pocket, Hermione grabbed what appeared to be a very small fabric pouch, tapping it with her wand to expand it back into her trust beaded bag.

“None of you will ever speak about me, my fiancé, my friends, or my family to the press ever again. If you do…” With deft fingers, she opened her bag and reached in, pulling out a sheaf of parchments, flicking her wand so they hovered all around her head, revealing the many letters that Ron, Harry, Ginny, and the other Weasleys had written to her in the days after Christmas last year.

Ron and Ginny’s eyes went wide as they saw their own handwriting, their own words confirming that Ron had been cheating with Daphne for years. Harry, on the other hand, was just staring at Hermione with a look of desperate, hopeless longing. There was a tiny tug on her heart at that, but she couldn’t allow it to stop her now.

“I will give each and every one of these letters to Rita. Honestly, I can’t even begin to express how stupid it was of you to write this down without taking any precautions whatsoever to stop me from making it public.” She shook her head in disbelief. “But I will. If you say so much as a word about me ever again, I will destroy you. Do not make the mistake of thinking that I’m bluffing.”

With another flick of her wand, the papers flew back into her bag as it shrunk back to the size of a scrap of fabric, allowing her to tuck it safely back into her pocket.

She looked out at the three of them one final time, and right or not, the look of abject terror that now had hold of Ginny and Ron’s faces sent a thrill through her.

“Draco?” She barely raised her voice; she knew he would hear her.

Within seconds, he strolled back into the room, casual as could be. Hermione didn’t take her eyes off Harry, Ginny, and Ron.

When he came to a stop at the side of her chair, she lifted her hand. “Can you give me their wands, please?”

Draco, too, kept his shrewd eyes on the three intruders as he reached into his pocket. “Of course, love.” He gently set the three wands in her open palm as Hermione’s fingers instantly wrapped around them.

Her eyes bounced coldly between the three of them. “I’ll send these through the floo after you’ve left. Now: get out of our house.”

Her final words spread out and filled the room, the power dripping from every word seeming to coil and twist until the entire space was surrounded with it.

She watched them with impatience.

It was Harry who rose first, not looking at either Ginny or Ron.

His eyes flicked up briefly and caught Hermione’s. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m so sorry.”

Hermione just shook her head. “Sorry is not nearly enough, Harry.”

He nodded, resigned. Without a word to Ginny or Ron, he made his way out of the room.

Hurt lanced across Ginny’s features as she pushed herself out of her chair and stumbled to follow Harry out the door and down the hallway.

Ron lingered for a moment, his eyes cutting between Draco and Hermione. This time, the anger was muted. He just looked cornered. As though he finally, after all this time, realized that the lies he had told, the fantasy word he had created, had crumbled before him.

Draco smiled a vicious smile. “I believe my fiancé told you to get out, Weasley. You can either leave on your own, or I will do it for you.”

His words were razor sharp.

Ron held Draco’s gaze for another moment before flicking his eyes to Hermione. She didn’t know what he was looking for in her expression, but all he found was cold indifference.

Without a word, he turned and quietly, defeatedly, left Malfoy Manor and Hermione behind.

As Ron’s footsteps disappeared down the hall, Hermione felt more than heard Narcissa and Pansy enter the room. As Draco rounded the chair to get a better look at Hermione, who was now staring at the empty couch across the coffee table, Pansy’s perfectly manicured hand came into her peripheral vision. She was holding a cut glass tumbler containing a generous amount of whiskey.

Hermione took it without a word and downed it in two gulps.

Draco came to sit on the edge of the coffee table in front of her and gently reached out to take the empty glass from her hand, which Hermione only now realized was shaking.

Draco looked at her, concern and love etched on his face as he waited for her to speak.

“I need a moment.”

With that, Hermione pushed herself out of her chair and turned toward the door, passing a satisfied looking Pansy and solemn Narcissa on her way out.

Hermione walked with purpose, following the hallway toward the back of the house, through the solarium where she had met with Molly just a month ago, until she reached the glass doors to the terrace.

She pushed them open and stepped out, the crisp winter air helping to rid her brain of the swirling, churning half-thoughts and leaving clarity in its wake.

Hermione tilted her head toward the sky, taking in the blue, cloudless day, the golden rays of sunlight, and the utter, quiet peace of her surroundings.

A moment later, soft footsteps sounded behind her. She didn’t need to turn around to see who it was.

Draco’s warm, strong arms came around her, holding her from behind as he joined her to appreciate the beautiful day.

He leaned his head into hers. “Are you ok, love?”

Hermione took a deep breath and brought up her arms to wrap around his.

A single tear rolled down her cheek as she looked out at onto the sprawling grounds of the estate.

“Yes, I think I am.”

**

Now, Hermione may have been fine. She may have been comfortable with closing that chapter of her life with Harry, Ron, and Ginny and moving forward toward her future—but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t going to ensure that there were consequences for their actions at the Manor.

Which is how she found herself sitting in Tonks’s office on Monday morning with Narcissa and a deeply perturbed Draco (who was rather upset that Hermione was once again in a less-than-perfectly secure location), having filed an official misconduct complaint against Ronald Bilius Weasley.

When Hermione had asked Narcissa if she would be willing to share her account of what had happened when Ron, Harry, and Ginny had arrived to the Manor, the knowing smile she had returned had been filled with devious pride.

Tonks, however, had nearly blown her own office apart when she heard the story.

Before Hermione could even sign the parchment detailing the complaint, Tonks had jumped from her chair—her hair a dangerous shade of red—and thrown open her office door screaming for Ron to “GET OUT OF YOUR FUCKING OFFICE AND COME HERE RIGHT NOW!”

Draco, Narcissa, and Hermione had watched quietly while Tonks screamed at Ron for several minutes in front of the entirety of the Auror office (minus Harry, who had apparently called out sick that morning) about conduct unbecoming of his position, how ashamed she was of him for threatening Narcissa, and how he was lucky she didn’t have him thrown in Azkaban “just to see how you like it,” before she suspended him without pay for the following month.

When Tonks returned to the office, raking her hands roughly through her hair as it slowly transitioned back to her standard pink, Narcissa conjured a full tea service and carefully levitated a steaming cup to Tonks as she retook her seat.

“Now that, my dear, was a performance befitting our family.” Narcissa raised her cup in salute to Tonks, who looked back for a moment before bursting into laughter.

All four remained in Tonks’s office for the next half hour, drinking tea and talking about their upcoming plans for the holidays. Narcissa was planning to spend Christmas Eve with Andromeda, who she had been rebuilding a relationship with for the last few years.

Suddenly, from the opposite end of the bullpen, where the private DMLE floo was located, a loud yell sounded.

“WHERE ARE THEY? I WANT TO SPEAK WITH THEM RIGHT NOW! THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS!”

Hermione’s head snapped to Tonks—both knew instantly who it was.

Tonks rose from her chair and calmly, but quickly, made her way out to the floor. Hermione stood to follow.

“Hermione, no—” Draco reached out a hand to stop her, but she shook her head solemnly.

“I have to, Draco.”

She made her way out of the room, Draco and Narcissa behind her, and stopped in front of the new arrival who was ranting and raving in the center of the bullpen while Aurors looked questioningly at one another, unsure of what to do. Daphne, too, had made her way into the fray, limply attempting to speak calming words into the chaos.

Tonks raised her hand, alerting the other Aurors not to shoot off any curses, and then opened her mouth to speak.

“Hello, Molly. Might I ask you to lower your voice? You’re disturbing the work of the office.” Tonks’s voice was calm but deadly serious.

Molly Weasley continued to spin around wildly, gesticulating with her hands and yelling incoherently. She was still wearing her apron, having clearly come through the floo without much preparation.

Her eyes locked briefly on Tonks before she took in Hermione behind her. Her eyes narrowed.

“Lower my voice? LOWER MY VOICE!? When my son just came through my floo to tell me he’d been suspended because that…that…trollop,” she pointed to Hermione, “is out to destroy my whole family!”

Molly took a few steps closer to Hermione. In the same instant, Tonks stepped back and threw out her arms, Draco angled himself in front of Hermione, and Narcissa calmly but securely grabbed her arm.

“First my daughter and now my son? I won’t stand for it!” In a frenzy, Molly pulled out her wand and raised it toward Hermione. She only had a moment to fear what would come before Tonks, Draco, Narcissa, and a dozen Aurors all had their wands out, simultaneously yelling at Molly to drop hers.

Tonks maintained control of the situation. “Molly, you need to lower your wand right now. If you threaten anyone in this office again, I will have you arrested. Do you understand?”

Molly didn’t even look at her, just kept her eyes locked on Hermione with disgust.

Not wanting this to escalate, Hermione raised her hands and spoke softly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Molly. I am not trying to do anything to you or your family.”

Molly threw her head back in a psychotic laugh. “Don’t know what I’m talking about! Ha! First you humiliate us with him,” she inclined her head toward Draco and Hermione felt Narcissa’s fingers tighten around her arm, “then you convince Harry to kick my daughter out of her home—her home! And now you’re out to get my son fired! You’re an evil menace, little girl! A menace!”

Hermione was reeling from Molly’s words—Harry had kicked Ginny out?—which prevented her from stopping Narcissa as she stepped forward, releasing Hermione and marching straight for Molly.

The smile that she had crafted over years of society functions—controlling and manipulating everything behind the scenes—appeared once more on Narcissa’s face.

“Lovely to see you again, Molly.” Molly startled and took in Narcissa for the first time.

“You know, I never had the chance to properly thank you for dispatching us all of my horrid sister—so please do allow me to give you my sincerest thanks; Bella was an absolute terror and the world is much better off without her.” The room had gone silent as Narcissa took charge, even Molly stilling to listen to her.

“I saw it happen; you know. I was quite inspired by how fiercely you protected your daughter in that moment. It was rather beautiful, you see. Mother to mother, I’m sure you can understand that I would do the same for my children?” Narcissa took a single step forward, any hint of a smile dropping from her face.

“You will not ever threaten my daughter again, you bitch.” Her words were slow, deliberate, and even to Hermione’s ears, positively terrifying.

Molly reared back as though Narcissa had slapped her. Shaking her head to clear it, Molly’s eyes roamed wildly around the room, jumping between Narcissa, Tonks, Draco, Daphne, and Hermione.

Disbelief grew on Molly’s face as she saw that, despite what she had surely convinced herself, the entire Auror office (minus Daphne) seemed to be on Hermione’s side.

Hermione watched as Molly spun around, looking trapped, before her gaze finally landed again on Hermione.

The only thought Hermione had when she looked back at Molly was that her eyes had gone feral, and it sent a subconscious signal through Hermione that she needed to run. Hermione took a sharp intake of breath, stepping backward as Molly once again raised her wand.

She needn’t have worried.

Molly barely lifted her hand before Narcissa disarmed her in the same moment that Tonks cast a spell to silence her and attach restraints to her arms and Draco threw himself in front of Hermione’s body. Even Daphne had yelled for Molly to stop as every single Auror closed in, wands drawn.

“I warned you, Molly.” Tonks shook her head sadly as Molly’s yells sent nothing but silence through the space. “You’re under arrest for attempting to cause bodily harm to a ministry employee. Corner!”

Tonks turned her head toward Michael, who still had his wand trained on the Weasley matriarch. “Take her to the holding cell downstairs. Oh, and make sure to walk her through the atrium—I believe I saw several photographers from The Daily Prophet down there when I came in this morning.”

Laughter and a few whoops rang through the bullpen as Michael stepped forward to grab hold of Molly’s shackled wrists and lead her away.

“Alright! Get back to work!” Tonks waved her arms to dismiss the other Aurors who were still milling around the scene. “Daphne, you wait here.”

Daphne, who had been standing in stunned silence, startled at being addressed.

Tonks turned around, her face a mixture of stern professionalism and resignation. “I’ll leave it up to you, Hermione. Do you want to press charges?”

Hermione looked at Tonks, then Draco and Narcissa, before finally landing on Daphne.

An overwhelming sense of fatigue hit her. Hermione didn’t want this. She had never wanted any of this. She had never wanted to destroy the Weasley family—or anyone else for that matter. She didn’t want revenge.

She just wanted to be able to live her life in peace.

And deep down, Hermione knew that Molly wasn’t a truly bad person. Misguided, yes, but everything she did was to protect her family. All of them—Molly, Arthur, Charlie, Bill, Ginny, Harry, and yes, even Ron, were just trying to protect themselves and their family. They hurt other people—including Hermione—along the way, but in her heart of hearts, she didn’t wish them ill. She just wanted them to leave her alone.

And she felt no need to cause them any more pain.

Looking back at Tonks, she shook her head. “No, I don’t want to press charges.”

Tonks gave a single nod. “Fine. Daphne, go down to Arthur’s office and let him know that his wife has been detained in one of the holding cells on level 10, and he will need to go collect her.”

With a final shake of her head, Tonks reached out and squeezed Hermione’s shoulder. “Let’s go back to worrying about werewolves, alright? Much simpler than all this…”

Hermione smiled as Tonks walked back toward her office.

Draco stepped forward, reaching out to twine their fingers together. “Ready to go, love?” His voice was soft.

Hermione nodded.

As Draco turned to lead Hermione and Narcissa back to his office floo, Hermione caught sight of Daphne in her peripheral vision and paused.

The blond witch was staring at Hermione, but her expression didn’t betray any anger, just sober understanding.

“This is it, right? This is why you wanted me to remember that moment from Fifth Year? So you could rub it in my face that you got everything that you wanted?”

Hermione released a breath and shook her head—and for the first time, she regarded Daphne with nothing but sympathy. Her voice was sincere as she replied.

“Yes, Daphne, it is. But I don’t want to rub it in your face. I want you to get everything you want, too. Because when you do, none of this,” Hermione gestured between them, “matters. At all. Because your life is full. Everyone deserves that.” Hermione turned to look at Draco, a smile spreading across her features. “I know how lucky I am to have found it. How precious it is. But that’s the thing—once you experience it, you want everyone else to experience it too. So I wish you well, truly. I hope you find it.”

And with that, Hermione turned away from Daphne’s stunned face and walked with her fiancé and her mum toward the floo.

Chapter End Notes

Did I just finish editing this and realize that, technically, in my time zone, its after midnight and therefore Sunday and therefore totally fair game for me to post this chapter?

Yep, yep I did.

It's surreal to be at this point in the story, because the statement from Hermione and Draco was the very first thing I ever wrote for this fic--it's what inspired me to actually write it. Having it published, finally, is, well, very surreal.

I hope it was worth the wait!

I really wanted to express that each person had a different motivation to lie to Hermione--and that not all of them were clear cut or straight forward. There was never a grand plot to deceive her, it was always just a lot of people making a lot of selfish choices, that all boiled over into a huge mess that ended up dragging them down. Is there space for redemption? Maybe! For some of them, at least.

I guess we'll have to wait and see...

I also wanted to thank EarlyontheTrail, freya_elfriede, and Bluedove who all wrote one-shots this week imagining extra scenes within this story--I am overwhelmed and honored that you take the time to do that, it's left me speechless. And I encourage all of you to go and read them, they are wonderful!

Thank you all for sticking around--we're in the homestretch now!

Stay tuned this week, as there may be an extra lil chappy coming your way. 😎

I LOVE YOU ALL!!!

xoxo,

Flames

No Body, No Crime

Chapter Notes

I want to be honest with you, I had something entirely different planned for this, but a commenter suggested retelling the chapter from Pansy’s POV and I immediately started to cackle with glee. So thank you to OhMyGosh for such a satisfying idea!

Let's go visit with Pansy for a bit, shall we?

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Pansy had always been an early riser.

It had started when she was a child and her mother had forced her to wake up before the sun in order to “properly prepare” for the day, which for Parkinson women included at least one hour of secret exercise (no one could know that maintaining their figures required work beyond their impeccable breeding), two hours of hair and makeup, and an hour to read the newspaper, the latest gossip magazines, and any new correspondence detailing society drama.

Even now, years later and without the threat of being locked in a closet or denied food for her disobedience, Pansy still found herself rising early to plan her day and relax before the rest of the world was awake.

Today was no different. She’d woken at 5:30am, spent a few moments marveling at how beautiful Luna looked sleeping next to her, before heading on her morning run.

She no longer worked out to meet any ridiculous beauty standards, she did it as a way to clear her head and work through any lingering anger from the day before.

And she certainly had some frustration to work out this morning. When she’d visited Draco and Hermione the previous day, they’d admitted that they’d thrown their carefully crafted plan into the bin and gone straight to Rita Skeeter with the entire story of their relationship.

It had pissed Pansy off something fierce that they’d gone rogue with something so important, and as her feet pounded the pavement and her breath started to burn in her lungs, she could still feel the lingering sensation of her blood boiling when they’d admitted it to her.

But, as so often happened, by the time she was climbing the front steps back into her and Luna’s condo, she’d had to admit to herself that Hermione—annoying as it may be—had come up with quite the brilliant plan B.

Draco really was right, she belonged in Slytherin all along.

Quietly, so as not to wake Luna, Pansy stepped into the kitchen and flicked her wand to prepare her morning tea. She was only on her second sip when their copy of The Daily Prophet came fluttering out of the floo, levitating to the kitchen table before landing with a thwack.

Pansy had been pulling the paper toward her when the two images flashing on the front page came into view. With absolutely none of the decorum she normally possessed, Pansy instantly spat her tea across the table in shock before scrambling to read the article as quickly as she could.

By the time she reached the last line, a broad, genuine smile was spread across her face and she couldn’t contain the girlish squeal that left her as she wiggled back and forth with excitement—before very suddenly remembering that she was Pansy fucking Parkinson and stopped, looking around just to ensure that no one had, in fact, seen her do that.

But she couldn’t stop her smile. Those two idiots really had done it. And fuck, was this about to flip wizarding London upside down.

Pansy got to her feet and rushed back to their bedroom, carefully sitting on their bed and leaning forward to place a kiss on Luna’s forehead while brushing her hair away from her face.

“Lovey…” She spoke soothingly, not wanting to wake her harshly.

Luna stirred, stretching slightly.

“Wake up, sweetheart, you have to see this.”

Luna’s eyelids fluttered open, and Pansy’s smile widened as she looked into those big blue eyes.

**

Three hours and one very enjoyable shower with Luna later, Pansy stepped out of the floo and into Malfoy Manor, making a beeline for the reading room that Narcissa had transformed into a wedding command center, complete with long tables covered in schematics for the ceremony and reception, a full section for floral arrangements and color palates, as well as a full-sized dressing room with 360-degree mirrors to accommodate dress fittings.

The first time Hermione had seen it Pansy had been sure her eyes were going to pop straight out of her head in shock—but Pansy knew that this was Narcissa in her element. Planning society functions took months of precise preparations, down to the napkin color and candle shape—and any misstep could have you exiled for months. Pansy still shuddered at the memory of her mother’s summer solstice party after Third Year, at which her mother had included Moroccan Sunrise daylilies in the centerpieces, which just so happened to be the same color as the bridesmaid dresses at a Flint family wedding two months prior in which the maid of honor had been caught snogging the groom at the reception. Her parents hadn’t been invited to a single event for the rest of the year. Her Her

And although Hermione and Draco had made it very clear that their wedding was not going to be a public spectacle, that didn’t mean that Narcissa was taking the planning of her only son’s wedding any less seriously. Or Pansy in her role as best friend to the bride.

(Theo claimed to be Hermione’s best friend, but Pansy knew the truth.)

Unlike most other planning meetings in which Pansy walked in to find Narcissa already bustling around the space, this morning she stepped inside the room to find Narcissa sitting in an overstuffed chair in the corner, drinking tea with a smile.

Pansy, immediately understanding her mood, smiled back. “Good morning, Narcissa.”

Narcissa slowly set her teacup down on the side table, next to a copy of the Prophet. “It is quite a good morning, isn’t it?”

“About damn time. I was ready to transfigure Parvati Patil into a grindylow and drop her in the bottom of a Loch.” Pansy rolled her eyes as she walked further into the room, taking note of the new fabric samples for the reception napkins and table cloths.

“That would have been quite unnecessary, dear. I’d had it entirely worked out, should measures have needed to be taken.” Narcissa said the words dismissively, but a chill still ran down Pansy’s spine. There had been rumors when Pansy was growing up that Narcissa had once trapped a drunken party crasher inside a charmed snuff box for over a month—and given how easily Narcissa still pulled the strings of London society, Pansy was quite certain that the fate she had planned for Parvati was not one she would wish on anyone.

Narcissa set down her teacup and rose gracefully from her chair, clapping her hands together. “Now, let’s get to work, with the announcement, we’re sure to be inundated with requests for meetings with designers, caterers and the like, and I do not wish to be unprepared.”

And with that, Pansy and Narcissa got to work.

**

Neither witch had come up for air in two hours, methodically working through final details on the wildflower arrangements, which Pansy had—reluctantly—come to love, sending off letters to several designer boutiques for china samples, and mapping out contingency plans for heating charms and repellant spells should the weather misbehave on the day.

The two had just moved to the far end of a long table to begin discussing the napkin samples when bells tinkled throughout the room, alerting them that someone had tripped the outermost wards around the Manor at the front gate.

Narcissa paused, calculating briefly.

“Pip!”

With a crack, the house elf—today dressed in emerald green trousers and what appeared to be a novelty Christmas jumper—appeared.

“Yes mistress! Pip is feeling the wards, mistress!” The elf looked up and down and all around the room.

“Yes, Pip, thank you. I believe that someone is at the front gate. Would you please go and determine who has arrived and then return here? Do not let them inside.” Narcissa’s voice was all business. Pansy realized that she had likely been prepared for more than howlers after this morning’s news…

Pip nodded his head quickly and snapped away.

As soon as he left, Narcissa turned toward Pansy. “Ms. Parkinson, on the left side of the back wall of the cellar there is a concealed door. Tap your wand against the stone and say the word Cassiopeia and it will appear. Behind it is a tunnel that will lead you beyond the ward lines where you will be free to apparate away. Should our guests not be inclined toward cordial conversation, make your way there immediately and alert Draco at once.”

If the moment had been less fraught, Pansy would have had time to really consider the fact that Narcissa had just offered her more concern and care than either of her parents had in her entire life—but this was not time for frivolous emotions.

Instead, she narrowed her eyes back at the older witch. “I’m not leaving you, Narcissa.”

Narcissa regarded her for a moment before pursing her lips. “No, I suppose not.”

At that moment, another loud crack sounded and Pip reappeared looking slightly worse for wear.

He immediately began wringing his hands. “Mistress, there is three people at the gate. They is…well, this is quite upset, ma’am. They is threatening Pip to let them inside. They is saying that they is friends of Mistress Hermione Granger, ma’am, but Pip has never seen them here or at Master Draco and Mistress Hermione’s home, ma’am. But they is saying that Master Draco and Mistress Narcissa is keeping Mistress Hermione prisoner! They is saying terrible things. They is saying Pip is helping to hurt Mistress Hermione! Pip tells them that Mistress Hermione is not here and that Pip is doing no such thing, ma’am! But they is demanding to come inside, ma’am. They is saying that they is aurors from the ministry. Pip believes one of these people is Mr. Harry Potter, ma’am…"

Pansy’s blood ran cold. “Pip, the other two people with Harry Potter, do they have red hair?”

Pip nodded his head so quickly that he stumbled forward. “Yes Miss Pansy, ma’am. One with the red hairs is very angry, miss. Most angry, indeed!”

The hand Pansy had been resting against the table curled into a fist.

“Thank you very much, Pip. I’ll handle it from here.” Narcissa’s voice was calm, unaffected.

“Narcissa…” Pansy could already feel her rage threatening to boil over. These people. These motherfucking people.

If she wasn’t certain that Hermione would be upset about it, Pansy already would have cursed all three of these fucking idiots into flobberworms and stomped them into goo for what they’d done.

Hell, she may be forced to do it anyway. The thought brought a satisfied smirk to her face.

“Yes, I know Pansy. Let us go and show Mr. Potter and his friends our hospitality.”

The hiss in her final word sent a thrill through Pansy. As far as Pansy would go to defend Hermione and Draco, she knew that it did not hold a candle to what Narcissa would be willing to do if push came to shove.

Merlin did she hope there was pushing and shoving.

Taking her lead from Narcissa, who slid on her mask of a perfect pureblood hostess as they made their way down the hallway and toward the front door, Pansy affected her favorite judgmental sneer. At the very least, she would delight in making Potter, Weasley, and the girl feel exactly as small as they deserved.

As soon as they stepped outside into the cold winter air, Narcissa removed her wand from the inside of her robes with a flourish, casting a warming charm that cocooned them as they made their way down the long walkway toward the gates.

It took Pansy until they were halfway down the drive for the three intruders to come into view. She couldn’t hear him yet, but she could already tell that The Cheater was ranting as he paced the length of the impressive wrought iron gates. His sister was nodding, clearly encouraging him along whatever rabbit hole he had gone down, while Potter rubbed his head with one hand, gesturing for the two to calm down.

All Pansy could think as she kept her stride equal to Narcissa’s was how much audacity these people possessed. To come here demanding to see Hermione after everything they’d done. She drew her wand out of her pocket and gripped it tightly.

They were twenty yards away now, and she was able to hear bits of what was being said.

“…fuck this, it’s bullshit, Harry! You know this is bullshit! They’ve either got her under the imperious or she’s plotted this whole thing with them for some kind of revenge against me. And you don’t want to do something about it? They have dungeons in there, Harry!”

“She’s not locked in a dungeon, Ron.” Pansy was thrilled to hear how exhausted Potter sounded at this tirade.

“I don’t know, Harry…This is Lucius Malfoy’s family we’re talking about…”

Pansy felt Narcissa stiffen next to her, and she shifted her wand so she could reach out to give her a reassuring squeeze on her forearm. How dare that bitch refer to Draco and Narcissa that way. Lucius was a monster, yes, but his first and most frequent victims were his own family. Draco had always refused to give her details, but Pansy had seen the bruises on him for as far back as she could remember, and she knew that Narcissa had also been on the receiving end of his rage and abuse as well. These people knew nothing about what they had suffered.

The Cheater let out a frustrated growl. “That’s it, we’re blowing this fucking gate and going inside whether they like it or not.”

“That will be quite unnecessary, Mr. Weasley.”

Narcissa glided to a stop a few feet in front of the trio of fools, Pansy right beside her. All of their heads snapped up, finally noticing the two witches who had been making their way toward them. Pansy had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at the look of shock on their faces.

“Mr. Potter, Mrs. Weasley-Potter, always lovely to see you. May I ask what brought you to my home this Sunday morning?” Narcissa’s voice was like honey, but her smile was like a serpent, cool, smooth, and utterly lethal.

Harry stepped toward the gates until he reached the barrier created by the wards. “Hello, Mrs. Malfoy. We apologize for intruding, but we were wondering if you could tell us where—”

“Take us to Hermione RIGHT NOW! Where the hell is your son? What the hell is she doing here?” Ron broke in, yelling as he charged forward only to be propelled back by the magic of the wards. Pansy couldn’t help but release a bark of satisfied laughter at the sight, which morphed into a sinister smile as both The Cheater and his sister shot her a glare.

Narcissa, as always, remained unruffled. “I’m afraid your information is inaccurate, Mr. Weasley. My son and daughter-in-law do not reside here, nor can I provide you with their location.” Pansy clocked the disbelief that crossed all three faces from the other side of the bars at Narcissa’s term of endearment.

Narcissa turned to address Harry. “As a member of the auror office, I believe you are aware, Mr. Potter, that Ms. Granger’s safety has been compromised of late, and her movements—as well as her living arrangements—are well guarded to protect her from any further attacks. I am unwilling to compromise her security to satisfy your request. If you speak with my son at the office tomorrow, I’m certain he will be willing to pass your message along to her.”

Potter ran his hand through his hair, a nervous grimace on his face as he started to nod and step backward.

But The Cheater wasn’t satisfied. He marched forward, put his meaty hand on Harry’s shoulder to push him out of the way, and walked up the barrier line, pointing a finger at Narcissa. Pansy took a single step forward, her eyes darting between the three and ready to attack if needed.

“Fuck that. You listen to me, Mrs. Malfoy.” Ron spat the words with disgust. “Here’s your options: Either you let us inside and produce Hermione immediately, or,” he sneered, “I’ll call in a full team, right now, to search this entire fucking place on suspicion of dark activity. And of course, you’ll be detained—hell, I doubt anyone would bat an eye if I had you shipped straight to Azkaban to have a little reunion with your beloved husband.”

Potter’s head whipped to Ron’s. “Ron! Get hold of yourself, mate. We’re not doing that.” He turned back to Narcissa, his hands up. “We’re not going to do that.”

The Cheater didn’t even look back at Potter, instead keeping his eyes trained on Narcissa. “Like hell I won’t.” His voice was cold and what Pansy was sure he thought was sinister.

Pansy began imagining what it would be like curse off his fingernails one-by-one, or how he would scream if she fed him to tribe of water wraiths in the North Sea.

But Narcissa simply smiled indulgently, as one would when humoring a tantruming child.

“Well, I suppose you’ve certainly backed me into a corner, haven’t you?”

The Cheater looked back, smug.

Narcissa lifted her wand, performing a complex set of movements until the magic around the gate shimmered, a small break appearing that allowed the gate to swing open.

Narcissa extended her hand toward the house. “Follow me, please.”

And with that, she gracefully turned, her robes billowing behind her as she began to walk back toward the Manor.

Pansy watched with interest as all three intruders hesitated. Clearly, they had not thought through this plan. But after a beat, Ron charged forward, jogging to catch up with Narcissa as Harry and Ginny followed.

Pansy took up the rear, her wand now trained directly on their backs.

Soon enough, they were all stepping into the foyer, all three Gryffindors looking around in awe at the space.

“Pansy dear, will you show our guests to the formal salon? I’ll just call over to Hermione.”

Narcissa shot her a sharp look which Pansy knew to mean both: do not let them out of your sight, and also, don’t curse them in a way that would leave permanent damage.

With a smirk and a nod, Pansy stepped forward and immediately began walking down the corridor.

When none of the three moved, she called behind her. “Quickly! I haven’t got all day!”

She didn’t turn back, but she heard reluctant footsteps begin to follow.

With a flick of her wand, she opened the impressive oak door to the formal salon—an impressive room with large windows, vaulted ceilings, and gorgeous 17th century furniture to compliment the large bookcases and crystal chandeliers.

Stepping to the side, she ushered the three in before closing the door behind them with a loud slam.

The Weasley-Potter jumped, startled by the sound and her surroundings.

Harry beelined for a couch, falling roughly into it as his elbows rested on his knees.

But The Cheater just paced, mumbling incoherently.

Pansy took her place against the wall near the door, casually leaning back but keeping her wand poised to strike.

“Merlin, I cannot wait to see what she does to you…” Pansy shook her head, imagining the possibilities. “I mean, threatening her mother? After everything you’ve done?” She released a single laugh. “Suffice to say, I think your streak of avoiding an untimely death is about to end, Golden Boy.”

Harry lifted his head, turning to her and opening his mouth as though to speak, but Ron beat him to it.

“Everything we’ve done? What exactly have WE done, Parkinson?” His voice rose with every word.

Pansy just leaned her head further back into the wall. “My gods, Weasley. What must it be like for you to walk around every day unburdened by even a single thought pinging around inside that head. Must be quite peaceful for you, yes?”

“Don’t you dare talk to him like that!”

Look, little sister come to the rescue.

Pansy turned her head slowly as her eyes locked on Ginevra Weasley. “Ah, the sister. So desperate to be special that she fame-fucked her way to the Chosen One. And so pathetically weak that she couldn’t handle the existence of a woman who didn’t have to try to be liked. I’ve got bad news for you, girl. You are the only one who lost your little game. Hermione’s just fine. Better than fine, as a matter of fact. Marrying her soulmate after finally discarding the dead weight of you people and your pointless little dramas. She does not give a single fuck about any of you anymore. And that just kills you, doesn’t it?”

Pansy was in her element.

She had been called cruel and petty many times in her youth—and maybe that was fair. But Pansy had learned to better target her ire toward people who deserved it: Those who hurt her friends.

And she had been waiting for months to make a meal out of these three.

Ginny turned toward Harry, who was silently sitting next to her and taking in the scene with a questioning look on her face.

“Harry! She can’t talk to me—to us like that!” She pleaded.

Pansy just huffed a laugh. “Aren’t you supposed to be a war hero, Weasley? Do you really need your husband to fight your battles for you?”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “And aren’t you supposed to be the bitch who tried to turn my husband over to Voldemort to save your own skin?”

A slow smile spread across Pansy’s face. “There you go, that’s better. Though I must say, given what I know now, I think we’d all be quite better off if he’d stayed dead in that forest.”

Potter’s eyes went slightly wide, but it was The Cheater and his sister who both opened their mouths to respond.

Unfortunately, they never got the chance, because at that moment the door burst open and Hermione stomped in, looking as though she could reduce the entire Manor to rubble with half a thought.

A shiver of excitement ran through Pansy.

She smirked and gave a single laugh, keeping her eyes on the three intruders. “I told you. She’s going to eviscerate you.”

Pansy focused on keeping her outward demeanor casual while, on the inside, her muscles were clenching and ready to jump to Hermione’s defense at a moment’s notice.

“Who the hell do you think you are? Coming here to threaten an innocent woman? My family! What could you possibly think gives you the right? Abusing your power as Aurors to force someone to do your bidding? I am going to have your heads on a pike.”

Pansy was legitimately surprised that Granger hadn’t yet boiled them alive with her mind.

The sister, suddenly trying to put on a look of concern, focused on Hermione. “Hermione, we just wanted to make sure you were ok! This,” she lifted up a copy of The Daily Prophet she had tucked into her side, “this doesn’t make any sense.”

The artifice in her voice was astounding, even to Pansy’s ears.

The Cheater made an ugly snorting sound and Pansy watched as Hermione’s eyes, filled with fire, slid to him. “I dunno, Gin. Look at her. Wearing Slytherin clothes! Off cavorting with the enemy!” He waved his hands between Narcissa and Pansy.

Pansy wiggled her shoulders a bit in return, her non-wand hand coming to her chest as she mouthed, “what, me?!” back in his direction.

But Hermione was not amused. “The enemy?” Pansy could sense Hermione’s emotions coiling, ready to explode.

“Yes, Hermione. The enemy. What in Merlin’s name is going on here? Are you really whoring yourself out to Death Eaters?”

Everything happened simultaneously.

Pansy’s vision went red and she couldn’t stop herself from marching forward, wand drawn, quickly rolling through every curse she knew that would kill a man, looking for the one fit for this fucking prick.

But Narcissa beat her to it.

Faster than Pansy thought possible, she went from the opposite side of the room to standing toe-to-toe with The Cheater, a look on her face as though a foul smell was wafting off of him.

(It probably was.)

Pansy could already tell what was coming, and she was prepared. Weasley raised his wand toward Narcissa, and in perfect time with Hermione, they both responded with silent disarming spells, Harry and Ginny’s wands flying easily into Pansy’s hand.

The two immediately jumped up, eyes wide, as Ron stared down Narcissa, with a ridiculous sense of false bravado.

False bravado that did not stand a chance against the one and only Narcissa Black Malfoy.

“I believe you are intimately acquainted with just how far I am willing to go to protect my family, are you not, Mr. Weasley? So here me when I say: If you insult my daughter in my home again, I assure you, you will not leave this place in the condition you arrived.”

Pansy watched as she raked her eyes up and down Ron’s form, disgust on her face, before turning around and gracefully returning to her position next to Hermione.

To Pansy’s delight, The Cheater looked as though he’d been hit over the head with a beater’s club.

Harry put up his hands. “Let’s all just stay calm, alright? We’re just here to talk, Hermione. That’s all. Can we just talk?”

Still pointing her wand at Ron, Hermione didn’t even spare Golden Boy a glance as she responded. “And what, exactly, do you wish to talk about, Harry?”

The Sister stepped forward. “Mione, please. Can we just…can we speak to you alone? Just for a little while?” Her voice was quiet, that same false concern infusing her voice as she looked dramatically between Narcissa and Pansy. Pansy smirked back.

She heard Hermione release a slow breath through her nose. “Fine.”

Pansy kept her eyes trained on the intruders as Hermione quietly told Narcissa that Draco was on his way.

“Lovely. Ms. Parkinson, come along, it seems Ms. Granger has things quite in hand.”

Narcissa turned and glided out of the room, her heels clacking down the hallway, but Pansy was in no mood to leave. No matter how sure she was that Hermione could handle them, her stomach was in knots at the idea of leaving her best friend alone here. She wanted to stay. She wanted to help.

“Pans.” Hermione’s voice was severe.

“Oh, come on, just let me stay for a minute? I want to see the show.” Her voice was teasing, but it was all a cover.

“No, Pansy.”

For a split second, Pansy considered refusing. She quickly tried to calculate another option that would force Hermione to allow her to stay, but she couldn’t find one. Hermione had to do this alone, no matter how much she hated that idea.

Keeping up her act, Pansy dramatically rolled her eyes. “Fine, but now I’m going to find the most garish napkins for your reception, Curls.” At least she could try and make her laugh before the confrontation really began.

Pansy walked toward the door, forcing herself not to look back as Hermione yelled. “I don’t care about the napkins, Pansy.”

“You will when I’m done!” She called from the hallway as she tried to send every ounce of strength she could back toward her friend.

As soon as Pansy was sure she wouldn’t be heard, she immediately started to rush, knowing that Narcissa would be holed up in a room nearby. She found her two doors down, sitting stiffly in a wooden chair, wringing her hands as she listened to the opening salvos of the confrontation—clearly having cast an eavesdropping charm before she had left the room.

Pansy joined her in a chair, and together, they listened.

Eventually, Draco joined them, standing with clenched fists as he listened to Hermione’s former friends belittle and berate her. Pansy had to physically stop him from going back to beat the shit out of them twice before the conversation was over.

By the time Pansy heard three sets of feet retreating toward the Manor’s floo, she released a deep, shuddering breath and raked her fingers through her hair.

She’d known, of course, that this moment was coming, but she still hated that Hermione had to go through it—no matter how proud she was at the barbs the curly haired witch had managed to throw at the trio of idiots.

Soon enough, she joined Draco and Narcissa back in the formal salon, handing Hermione a large whiskey while trying to assess her mental state.

As Hermione excused herself a moment later, Pansy shot her arm out to grab Draco before he could follow her.

When he turned to face her, clearly prepared to tell her off, Pansy just shook her head. “Give her a minute. She earned it.”

Ten minutes later, after Draco had left to join Hermione and Narcissa had gone to prepare tea, Pansy took a seat next to the window, sun shining down on her.

A tear slowly rolled down her cheek as she thought about how far Hermione had come in the last year. When Pansy had first found her, Hermione had been a shell, unable to get out of bed and utterly lost as to how to move forward.

But now, now she was not just magnificent—she was Pansy’s idol. Her strength and fierceness were unmatched, as was her utter devotion to her friends.

It hit Pansy how lucky she was to have stumbled into this friendship, this life, this future.

And while she smiled at the memory of Hermione so thoroughly dressing down the people who had tried (and failed) to destroy her, a thrill went through her to think about the future they would all have, together.

Chapter End Notes

:)

We love ourselves a gooey soft Pansy, do we not?

Thank you for the absolutely amazing reaction to last Sunday's chapter, I'm totally overwhelmed.

I'll see you on Sunday to return to our regularly scheduled program.

xoxo,

Flames

Evermore

Chapter Notes

Sorry this is a little late! These two were not cooperating with me this week!

Back with Draco for some mostly fluffy smut!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

March, 5th Year

Draco liked to consider himself a bit more sophisticated than the average teenager, but even he had to admit that his hormones had completely taken charge when he saw Hermione walk out of her final class of the day, her robes slung over her shoulder leaving her in just her skirt and a shirt that had one too many buttons undone.

It had been the hormones that had compelled him to race forward so he could casually stand against a pillar, pretending to ignore everyone as they passed, until he caught Hermione’s eye and gestured down the hallway to a broom closet.

It had been the hormones that had barely allowed him to say hello to her before he surged forward, capturing her lips in a searing kiss.

Luckily, it appeared that Hermione had also lost a battle against her baser instincts as well, as she was more than happy to return his fervor in kind.

Draco had no idea how long they’d been in there before they both finally felt sated enough to leave and make their way to dinner—after a joint set of cleansing and ironing charms, that is.

With a final kiss, he had sent Hermione out first, not wanting her to miss more of the feast than she already had. He’d wait several minutes before following her down.

But Hermione had barely closed the door when he heard it.

“Well, what do we have here? What were you doing in that broom closet, Miss Granger?” The shrill, saccharin voice of none other than Dolores Umbridge sounded from several yards down the hallway, and Draco listened as he heard her awful pink shoes shuffle quickly down the hall to approach Hermione.

Fuck.

Thoughts began spinning furiously through his head.

If the toad gave Hermione detention and forced her to carve “I will not tell lies” into her skin with that damn quill, Draco was going to lose his mind.

And if she opened the door to check the closet…

He began looking around in a futile attempt to find a place to hide, but there was nothing. He’d been practicing disillusionment spells and he supposed he could try that, but he wasn’t entirely confident in his skills yet, and, if Umbridge came inside the closet, there would not be enough room for him to maneuver around her without her noticing it.

His heart started to beat very fast. If she, of all people, found them together…

“What? Oh, no. Ha! I didn’t even realize that was behind me! I thought I heard my bag tear, so I stopped to make sure nothing had fallen out. I’m just on my way to dinner, Professor.”

Draco gently set his hand on the door. Thank Merlin that Hermione was as quick as she was to come up with that excuse. The question was, would Umbridge believe it?

The witch gave one of her signature little coughs. “Well, Miss Granger, what are you doing wandering an empty hallway, anyway?”

Draco could practically hear Hermione’s jaw clench, but she managed to maintain a sense of calm.

“It’s before curfew, Professor. Am I not allowed to walk down hallways in the castle? I’m quite religious in my reading of your educational decrees, and I have not seen any that limit students’ ability to walk down corridors during the day.”

Umbridge’s voice immediately lowered. “You think you’re so clever, girl. But I know you’re up to something. People like you always are…” Draco tensed at the jab at Hermione’s blood status. “Maybe a week or two of detentions will help you remember your place. What do you think—”

“Oh! There you are Ms. Granger! I was hoping to catch you!”

Professor Flitwick’s voice sounded from the opposite end of the hall, and Draco heard him rush forward toward Hermione and Umbridge.

“Hello, Dolores! Lovely to see you, as always. Ms. Granger, wonderful girl that she is, was just helping me grade exams from my first years and I noticed after she left that she had left one of her quills behind! I’m so glad I caught you; I wouldn’t want your studying to suffer due to lack of writing instruments! It’s such a pleasure to teach such a hard-working student like Ms. Granger, isn’t it Dolores?”

Umbridge spluttered over her words. “I…well…hard, hard worker…”

Flitwick cut in. “Indeed! Oh, and I’m quite glad to have run into you as well, Dolores. As I was leaving my office just now, I overheard Peeves as he was floating off toward the astronomy tower. I believe he said something about throwing tomatoes out the windows at students?”

“WHAT?”

Immediately, Draco heard Umbridge’s shoes clacking quickly against the stone floor as she retreated toward the astronomy tower, muttering about “that damn poltergeist undermining my authority. Cornelius will hear about this!”

As soon as he heard her turn the corner, Draco released a held breath. He heard Hermione do the same thing on the other side of the door.

“Thank you, Professor.” Her voice was filled with relief.

“It was nothing at all, my dear. Though, if I may offer a piece of advice: You are the smartest witch in this school, I am certain that you can find better locations for a clandestine meeting than a broom cupboard. Don’t you agree, Mr. Malfoy?”

Flitwick’s voice had grown closer, as though he was speaking directly through the door.

There was silence for a long moment, and Draco realized that the Professor was waiting on him.

“Yes, sir.” His voice was soft and chastised as he called out.

“Lovely! Well, I must be off. Do enjoy your evenings.” And with that, Draco listened as Flitwick’s steps carried him down the hall.

There was silence on the other side of the door, but he was sure that Hermione hadn’t moved.

“Hermione? Are you ok?” He whispered, hoping it was loud enough for only her to hear.

“Yeah. Are you?” Her voice was low.

“Yeah.”

She released a slow breath. “I should go before Umbridge comes back to check.”

He nodded. “Ok. Will you still come to the room tonight for a clandestine meeting?”

This time, he could hear a smile in her voice as she responded. “Absolutely.”

Draco leaned his forehead against the door. “Good. I love you.”

Her voice sounded closer as she responded. “I love you, too.”

And then he listened as she skipped down the hallway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

December 2002

Growing up as a Malfoy, Draco had grown quite used to having his name in the papers.

There were the doting articles after his birth, celebrating the arrival of an heir to the Malfoy name.

There were the fawning articles about his mother’s parties, nearly all of which included a mention of the dapper, perfectly behaved boy who impressed pureblood society with his confident demeanor.

There were the articles about his father’s “philanthropy” and influence at Hogwarts and the Ministry, and how Draco was well on his way to following in his father’s footsteps.

And then the articles about his father’s involvement with Voldemort, his arrest and imprisonment, and the Malfoy family’s fall from grace due to their ties to blood supremacy.

And, of course, the fevered coverage of Draco’s own trial, the outrage over his pardon, and his sudden disappearance from public life.

He had experienced it all.

That is, until now.

No amount of prior fame or infamy could compare to the attention he received after being publicly confirmed as the fiancé of Hermione Granger—beloved Golden Girl. Although Draco was grateful that both he and his mother’s true allegiances during the war had also been revealed, he actually didn’t think it would have mattered if he had been a true believe in the death eater cause, because the light that shone from Hermione was so bright it could have washed away even the darkest of pasts.

When he walked into the Monday briefing at the DMLE (after Weasley and his mother had been dealt with), the entire team started cheering and wolf-whistling, clapping him on the back in congratulations, thanking him for his help during the war, and telling him how lucky he was to have Hermione (that, at least, was a sentiment he could understand).

He had been prepared for stares, snide comments, even outright aggression, but this—seemingly unanimous support from his colleagues—this utterly threw him off his game.

There hadn’t even been any more threats to his life should he hurt her. Just a lot of well wishes and a fair bit of jealousy from around the bullpen.

Rita had also followed through on publishing another article that morning, this one taking a much more liberal interpretation of “the truth.”

The entire piece was made up of quotes from people showing their support for Draco and Hermione (well, mostly for Hermione), and Rita had framed it as though everyone always secretly knew that the pair were meant to be, and that the world had been rooting for them all along.

As they’d read it together over breakfast Monday morning, Hermione had huffed an unamused laugh. “Bollocks. I believe I had a very long conversation with three people yesterday who are decidedly not rooting for us, behind the scenes or elsewhere…”

Draco had pulled her into his lap after that, kissing her temple and wrapping her in his arms as they continued.

Draco did have to admit, the number of quotes from their “supporters” did number far more than he would have expected.

There were the usual subjects in their friends, of course, who had very clearly lined up to speak to Rita on Sunday afternoon.

Luna had said that she was certain Hermione and Draco were destined for a long and happy life due to a lack of nargles whenever they were together.

Rita had described Theo and Pansy as “nearly coming to blows” when they both claimed to be responsible for Draco and Hermione’s reunion.

Mr. Nott and Ms. Parkinson, both lifelong friends of Draco Malfoy who have also become close with Ms. Granger over the past year, we’re emphatic in their support.

“Always knew it would work out between them, they’re a perfect couple. And it didn’t hurt that I helped push them along a bit!” Mr. Nott told me, which prompted Ms. Parkinson to break in.

“Oh, come off it, Theo! I was the one behind their first meeting when Draco got back, I was the one telling Hermione to get over herself and just fu—um, ask him out…You weren’t doing anything!”

At this point in our interview, Ms. Parkinson and Mr. Nott entered into a heated argument about who was, in fact, responsible for the rekindling of Ms. Granger and Mr. Malfoy’s romance, and this reporter was forced to flee when the pair both drew their wands.

Blaise, as was so often the case, offered his quiet and sincere congratulations, only to be cut off by Padma who began yelling at Rita, “you listen to me! Write this down. Nothing my sister published was true. None of it! Absolute tripe. I’m disgusted by it, disgusted!” Blaise had to drag her away while Padma continued to yell for Rita to “make sure and print that! Make it a headline!"

Surprisingly, it was George whose quote brought tears to Hermione’s eyes as they read it. “Hermione is my sister—and my favorite sister at that. I love her dearly and am thrilled for her to have found happiness. And I can personally assure any member of the wizarding public who may have concerns, that Draco Malfoy is a good man and absolutely worthy of her affections. Now, if I may, I’d like to remind you that Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes is having its annual Holiday Extravaganza! 25% off storewide starting this Saturday!”

But the testimonials didn’t stop there.

How Rita had convinced Tonks to give a quote he would never know, but nonetheless, she was unequivocal: “I’ve known Hermione Granger since she was a teenager, and you’d be hard-pressed to find a more caring, thoughtful, or considerate person anywhere in the world. Anyone who tells you otherwise has lost their bleeding mind. I’ve seen the two of them together, and it reminds me of my own relationship with my husband, so I am quite certain they are destined for a long and happy life. Now get out of my way, if I don’t get my son to Fortescue’s before it closes, I’ll be deaf before tomorrow from the screaming.”

She had also managed to track down Viktor Krum. “Hermo-ni-ny is very wonderful and most deserving of all the happiness. She would not have chosen such a man lightly, no matter how strange his hairs…” Draco had bristled when he’d first seen Krum’s name, but couldn’t help his own laugh as Hermione hummed her agreement, ruffling Draco’s hair lightly with her fingers.

There had also been an “unnamed Hogwarts professor” who, according to Rita, had sent in a written congratulations. “They were always meant to be! I could see it immediately, and I just knew if they had some time to really get to know each other away from the silly school dramas that they would work it out. A little detention never hurt anyone; I say! And look at that, I was right! I wish them the most charmed and joyous union.”

Hermione and Draco had both paused and looked at each other with incredulous expressions. At the same time, they spoke.

“Flitwick?!”

And then they promptly burst into uncontrollable laughter.

But Draco’s favorite quote by far had been from Cormac McClaggen, who Rita had caught attempting to scurry out of The Three Broomsticks unnoticed on Sunday evening. “Yes, quite good, quite good. Very happy for them. She’s absolutely wonder—well, Draco is a great guy. Great guy. Only one that could ever deserve her. Make sure you print that part, will you?”

The lighthearted fun had ended there, though, as Rita began a long series of in-depth reports on the Weasleys—starting with a huge spread of photos taken by none other than Dennis Creevey, covering the entire front page showing Molly Weasley being led to the Ministry holding cells in handcuffs.

The articles had begun as wild speculations about why the family had attacked Hermione—citing everything from simple jealousy over her fame all the way to an insinuation that the family were secretly blood supremacists all along.

Rita had spent days trying to track down family members to ambush for quotes, but clearly the entire brood had gone into a self-imposed lockdown. The best she was able to do was squeeze a “no comment” from Arthur Weasley on his way to the office, a “Hermione is absolutely brilliant and I am deeply sorry for what my family has done,” from Percy, and simply a glimpse of what Rita described as a “distraught, almost crazed” looking Ginny Weasley as she ran through the gates to attend practice for the Holyhead Harpies.

But by Saturday of that week, she hit pay dirt.

A busboy at a restaurant in Diagon had come forward to say that he had seen Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Daphne having dinner together months before Ron’s relationship with Hermione had ended, and he had the receipts to prove it: A photo he had snapped of Potter as a keepsake that also showed Ron with his arm around Daphne as the four laughed together.

Draco could practically hear Rita’s breathless glee coming through the words on the page, in which she (rightly) suggested that Ron was a cheater, spinning theories about what Harry knew when and “The Chosen One’s fall from grace.”

Hermione had stopped reading the articles after that. As much as Draco enjoyed the public downfall of the people who had caused her so much pain, Hermione had never been vindictive, and Draco could see just how much it hurt her to watch people she used to love so thoroughly destroyed in the eyes of the public.

It reminded Draco of one of the many reasons that he loved her. No matter how angry she was, no matter how bad the transgression, Hermione always managed to see the humanity underneath, and took extraordinary care in how she moved through the world. It was an astounding feat to watch.

For Hermione’s sake, Draco hoped that with Christmas now only a week away, the salacious stories would slow, and they could enter the new year no longer as front-page gossip for the whole of wizarding London to gawk at.

But as for now, the whispers inside the Ministry, even in the DMLE bullpen, were getting a bit much for him to handle.

Yes, the team was on his side (to his continual shock) but it still wasn’t particularly enjoyable to hear the office whispering about how long his fiancé’s ex-boyfriend had been cheating on her.

Which was why Draco spent as much time in his office as possible, going over reports of possible sightings of Greyback, movements of his followers, and potential next targets. It was the last day in the office before the Christmas holiday break, and his head was deep into a long set of parchments with schematics for well-traveled wizarding locations throughout London, what their vulnerabilities were, and where he might add additional warding to provide extra security should Greyback decide on a public attack, when a light knock sounded at his door.

Focused, he didn’t even look up as he waved his hand, disengaging the locking charm.

“Come in!”

Draco moved to the next parchment, this one showing the plans for St. Mungo’s.

“Malfoy.”

That voice caused his head to lift away from his work. Before him, looking even worse than the day the snatchers had brought him into the Manor, was Harry Potter.

He’d called out of work for the last ten days, and if Draco had to guess from looking at him, he’d probably had a total of ten hours of sleep during that time. His skin was sallow, he hadn’t shaved, and his hair, which usually stuck up in all directions, hung limply around his head.

But it was his eyes that caught Draco’s attention. The second he saw them Draco was catapulted back to Sixth Year, staring at himself in the mirror of the boy’s bathroom. His eyes had betrayed his sense of utter hopelessness, a nauseating mix of abject terror and cold resignation that there was nothing to be done to fix any of it. That he was doomed. Voldemort would kill his mother, then him, and, in all likelihood, kill Hermione as well.

Those same eyes were staring back at him now, the only difference being that instead of grey, these were the vibrant shade of green so unique to Harry himself.

It was so utterly clear to Draco that Harry had done a thorough job of tearing himself down, that there was no need for him to add to it. So he kept his voice tentative as he responded.

“Potter. I didn’t know you’d come in today?”

Harry didn’t move from his spot near the door, but he gave a slight nod and lifted a hand to rake roughly through his hair.

“Right, yes. Thought I’d check in before the office closes. Couldn’t really sit at home any longer…” His voice trailed off as his eyes dropped to the floor.

Draco had no idea where this conversation was going. “Okay…?”

Still looking down, Draco saw Harry clench his fists and take a deep breath as if preparing himself. After another moment, he looked up, his eyes desperate.

“Could I speak to you? Just for a moment.”

Draco paused, assessing. He’d have to speak to him eventually, they did work together after all. Best to get it out of the way, especially since Potter didn’t exactly look fit enough to challenge him to any sort of duel at the moment.

He leaned back in his chair and extended his arm, gesturing for Harry to take a seat.

He took unsteady steps across the room and fell roughly into the leather chair across from Draco’s desk. Draco simply waited.

Harry released a breath through his nose. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about…everything…over the past few days.”

Draco looked at him with a shrewd eye. “It doesn’t look like you’ve done much else, Potter. Sleep, included.”

Harry looked down at himself. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

He finally seemed to gather enough courage, or maybe the exhaustion just his boundaries, and his head tipped up, his eyes locking with Draco’s.

“I wanted to see if I could ask you some questions?”

Draco cocked a brow, crossing his arms. “Sure. I might not answer, but you can ask.”

Harry nodded his head.

“You were really with her at Hogwarts? The whole time?”

Draco chuckled at the mild incredulity that infused his tone. “Yes, Potter. I really was with her at Hogwarts. Not the whole time, though. Starting after Christmas, Fourth Year.”

Harry nodded. “After that week of detentions Flitwick gave both of you.” It wasn’t a question. He’d clearly thought this through and put the pieces together before stepping inside the office.

Draco smiled. “Correct. The sneaky bastard knew what he was doing with that one. As we’ve recently learned, apparently the teachers had a bet going that we’d end up together.”

Harry’s eyes went briefly wide, his mouth opening slightly, before simply nodding again.

“And you loved her?”

Draco’s expression grew fierce. “Yes, Harry. I’ve loved her since I was twelve. Maybe longer, I’m not sure.”

Harry’s brows furrowed. “But…you, you made fun of her? You told Ron and I in the Slytherin common room that you hoped the basilisk killed her. Third year, you, you called her a…”

Draco put up a hand. “Yes, I did. I had been raised by my father to hate everyone like her, Harry. That’s not easy to just put down. Over Christmas our first year, I told him that she didn’t seem to be the way he’d always described muggleborns, that she didn’t seem to be trying to steal anything from us, and he beat me until I passed out for it. I spent the rest of the holidays locked in the dungeons.”

Harry blinked heavily in shock.

Draco shook his head. “That’s not an excuse. I have no excuse for how I treated her or what I said. I wanted to be like my father. So, imagine my surprise when I realized that I had feelings for her? I pulled back as hard as I could, for as long as I could. But that was never going to last…she is quite impossible to deny.” A wistful smile appeared as he recalled those days in Flitwick’s classroom.

Harry was staring back at him intently. “You loved her, but you still treated the rest of us like…”

Draco barked a laugh. “I loved her, Harry. That didn’t mean I liked you. I believe she explained that to you at the Manor.” He tilted his head in a challenge.

Harry recoiled slightly. “Yes, she did.”

The two men were silent for a long moment.

“Did she know? Sixth Year, did she know what you were…”

Draco closed his eyes against the memory.

“No. She suspected that I’d been forced to take The Mark. She knew that I’d been tasked to do something at Hogwarts, and she knew what Voldemort had threatened me with if I failed. But I never told her what it was. I tried to push her away that whole year, Harry. I didn’t want her anywhere near any of it. I really tried. But I was weak. And I was certain that I was going to die. So I was desperate to just spend a little bit more time with her before they killed me.”

Draco watched as Harry took him in. And slowly, he watched his expression change. As if something had finally fallen away. As though he understood what Draco had been up against.

“I want to apologize, Mal—Draco. I want to apologize to you, Draco.”

Well, he hadn’t been expecting that.

“For?”

Harry ran his hands through his hair again. “For everything. I’m sorry for everything you went through that year. I’m sorry that you felt like you couldn’t stay after the war. I’m sorry that she couldn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth then. I’m sorry for how I treated you when you first got to the department, I should have been able to let go of those old school prejudices, but I didn’t. I should have stood up to Ron when he said…well, everything he said about you, but I didn’t. I should have stopped him. I should have stopped all of them. As soon as they all started spreading lies about her, as soon as they started talking to the press, I should have said something. I should have told the truth. I should have defended her. Fuck, I should have forced him to tell her as soon as I found out he was cheating on her, and I never should have believed any of his bullshit lies.”

The world really had gone topsy turvy over the last few weeks. Because as Draco sat there at his desk and took stock, he concluded that no, he was not dreaming, Harry Potter was really sitting here and apologizing to him.

Gods, when did Draco become the bigger person than Harry bleeding Potter?

“Look, Harry. Thank you, I appreciate that. I don’t really deserve it, but I appreciate it all the same. And you’re right. You should have stopped him. You should have stopped all of them from hurting her. There is a not small part of me that still wants to kill you for the pain you caused her. But I’m not the one you should be apologizing to, and I think you know that.”

Harry turned to the side and looked out the charmed windows across Draco’s office.

“She was right, you know. What she said about me. I am a coward. I didn’t do anything because I didn’t want to upset the balance, and I let that justify what I did to her. I was an awful friend to her. I did rely on her too much for her knowledge, and didn’t try hard enough—no, I didn’t try at all—to really know her for who she really was. But she was wrong about something.”

He turned his head back to face Draco, and there were tears in his eyes as he spoke.

“She was my friend. She was my best friend. She is the best person I have ever known. Everyone always thought I was so brave, but that was bullshit. It was her. She was brave. She always stood up and made us do the right thing, even if we hated her for it. She never wavered. She never had an ego. Fuck, she’s smarter than every single person in this building combined, but she doesn’t let it change who she is. How kind and good she is. I love her. And I fucking failed her.”

Tears were flowing freely down his cheeks as he finished. And Draco could see it. As much as he had believed—had wished—that Harry had just been using Hermione, that he hadn’t cared about her at all, it hadn’t been the truth.

Draco could see it on his face. He could feel it. Harry really did care about Hermione. He really did love her. He had just managed to take wrong turn after wrong turn and he ended up hurting someone who truly mattered to him.

Draco wished it had been simpler. He wished he could just continue to paint Harry as a villain in the story. But life was never simple. Life rarely has easy answers. And as Draco regarded Harry, as he saw how broken he had become, he knew that there were certainly no easy answers here.

Harry shook his head to clear it, roughly wiping the tears from his face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all of that on you. And obviously, you know how amazing she is already…”

Draco smiled sadly. “That I do, Potter. That I do. And I know what it feels like to fail her. I never should have left her after my trial. I was the coward then. If I hadn’t left, none of this would have ever happened. So don’t go taking all the blame for yourself, ok? Leave some brooding for the rest of us.”

That got a small huff that could approximate a laugh out of Harry.

Draco’s eyes softened as he looked at him. He could see himself, the way he had been in the first weeks after he arrived in New York, as he looked at Harry. He’d been utterly alone then, and he supposed that if someone had been able to make him feel less alone…

“Potter. Harry. Are you ok? I…well, I know you and your wife are…” He trailed off, unsure of how to proceed.

Harry’s face crumpled as he nodded once. “I…I’m not sure, honestly. I couldn’t have her in the house. Not now, at least. After what she did. But…fuck…I still love her. She’s my wife. But I had to do something. It was time I stood up for Hermione, even if it’s too late. I owe her that, at least.”

Draco released a breath through his nose. “For what it’s worth, Hermione would never ask you to do that. She would never expect you to give up your family, not even to earn her forgiveness.”

Harry leaned back. “Do you think she ever would? Forgive me?”

Draco didn’t hesitate. “Yes. It’s like you said, she’s the best of us. Of course she would forgive you. The question is: Do you think you deserve it?”

He released a slow breath. “I don’t know.”

The two sat in silence for a long moment.

Finally, Harry seemed to break out of his trance and started to rise from his chair. “I should get going, I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time, I know you’re busy. Happy Christmas, Mal—Draco. Happy Christmas, Draco.”

Draco nodded as Harry turned toward the door. “Happy Christmas, Harry.”

Harry paused, his fingers on the handle, and turned back toward Draco. “Look, I may not deserve her forgiveness, but if you hurt her, I swear I’ll—”

“Potter, if you threaten to kill me if I hurt her, I will come over there and punch that fucking scar straight off your forehead. Ok?”

The two stared at each other for a beat before small but genuine smiles spread on both of their faces.

“Got it, Malfoy. See you in the New Year.”

And with that, Harry Potter closed the door, leaving Draco to ponder what exactly had just happened.

**

Draco tried to put the interaction with Harry out of his mind after that, turning his focus toward celebrating the holidays with Hermione. She loved Christmas, and Draco loved how excited she was to have their house decked out in decorations and, this year, to celebrate happily with her friends and family—putting the memory of last Christmas behind her.

Draco was doing his best to make that a reality. For the week leading up to Christmas, he waited every night for Hermione to fall asleep, before charming the house into a brand-new Christmas theme, from a classical wizarding Christmas all the way to a mimic of one of her favorite muggle Christmas films, Christmas Vacation—complete with plastic reindeer and colorful string lights.

His plan was definitely working, since Hermione’s excitement over the new surprise each morning invariably led her to drag Draco to the couch, the kitchen table, the living room rug, the stairs, and even once on top of the large fake present boxes he’d set up on the corner as decoration.

And now they’d made it to Christmas Eve, Draco dressed in a dark forest green suit and Hermione in a positively sinful red velvet dress as they walked through the floo to Theo’s manor for dinner.

Theo, too, had been bitten by the Christmas bug, as every single available surface they walked past on their way to the dining room was absolutely covered in fairy lights, candles, bunting, and gingerbread houses.

“He’s giving you a run for your money, Draco.” Hermione squeezed his hand as they made their way down the hall.

“Careful, love. I’ll charm our entire house to turn into the inside of a snow globe if you’re not careful. Snow and all.” She giggled at that, and Draco filed it away for next year.

“He’s just excited. Theo’s spent most Christmases since the war alone, and that was a massive improvement to his holidays when his father was in the house, trust me…” Draco trailed off, remembering the many times in their younger years that Theo would sneak through the floo and sleep on the floor of Draco’s bedroom at Christmas, covered in fresh bruises.

Hermione leaned slightly into his arm, humming in acknowledgement.

“I’m so glad we can all spend the day together.”

He was, too.

Draco broke into a wide smile the second they stepped into the dining room, and didn’t stop all night.

The first person he saw was George, dressed in a garish velvet suit that changed from bright red to bright green every few sections, who was holding court with Lee Jordan (who had managed to infuse tinsel and tiny baubles into his hair and beard) as Percy, the only one dressed normally, looked on quietly.

Padma and Blaise were wearing matching Christmas sweaters, while Luna and Pansy were in complementary silver and gold dresses. Luna’s somehow resembled a Christmas ornament.

And then there was Theo, decked from head to toe in what appeared to be a custom tartan suit that he had clearly charmed to light up at rhythmic intervals.

Complete with free-flowing mulled wine and Christmas music playing throughout the room, Draco had the quick realization that this may already be the best Christmas he’d ever had.

Several hours later, Draco—along with everyone else, even Percy—was long past buzzed, sprawled across the couches and chairs in Theo’s favorite salon. Hermione had long ago abandoned her shoes and was currently leaning back against the arm of the couch, her legs draped over Draco’s lap as she and Percy debated back and forth about who was the bigger swot at school.

“Percy. I spent half my time at Hogwarts breaking every school rule I could find. I’m fairly certain that removes me from the running.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

Percy leaned forward with a smirk. “Ah yes, and yet, you were still top of your class, because even though you were breaking rules, you still built time into every single day to study! Because you, Hermione Granger, are the swottiest of them all.”

With a satisfied look, Percy leaned back into Lee.

Draco brought his hands up to squeeze Hermione’s legs. “He’s got you there, love. You did force us to study for at least an hour every time we were together.”

Hermione sat up quickly, wobbling only a tiny bit, with a look of mock betrayal on her face.

“First of all, Malfoy, you’re exaggerating, it wasn’t ever time. Secondly, stop pretending that you didn’t care about getting good grades just as much as I did. May I remind you that you were the one who created a months-long revision schedule for our O.W.Ls Fifth Year.”

Draco smirked back at her. “Love, I did that because I was afraid that you might murder me from the stress if I didn’t—and to make sure that we’d still have time to have sex.”

Draco laughed as Hermione’s jaw fell open in shock while a series of wolf whistles sprung up around the room. He knew that she was only pretending to be offended, and sure enough, after a moment she smiled and rolled her eyes.

“I think you and I both know that you never had to be worried that I’d stop having sex with you.” She leaned back against the couch, waggling her eyebrows suggestively, as several of their friends threw pieces of the popcorn they were munching on at them.

“Enough about your Hogwarts sex lives, please. For the love of Merlin.” It was Pansy who spoke, never moving from her position laying her head in Luna’s lap.

Sometime later, after a final round of Christmas wishes and plans to celebrate the New Year together at Draco and Hermione’s, the pair walked back through the floo, Hermione still holding her shoes in her hand.

Draco waved his hand to turn on the Christmas lights, creating a warm, festive glow throughout the house. Hermione turned back to him and smiled at the same moment that the clock on the mantle chimed, indicating that it was now officially Christmas day.

Hermione’s smile widened and she rested her warm hands on Draco’s chest, going up on her tiptoes to bring her mouth to his.

Draco responded by running his hands up her back before tangling in her hair.

“Happy Christmas, Draco.” Her words were a whisper against his lips.

“Happy Christmas, Hermione.” He smiled into her as their lips met.

The kiss started off sweet, but Draco couldn’t stop from deepening it as Hermione molded her body to his, her hands coming up to grab his hair. He was growing harder by the second, and if he didn’t get her naked soon, he was afraid he might explode.

Releasing her lips, he brought his mouth to the hinge of her jaw, intent on kissing down her neck—until he tasted salty tears running down her face.

With a quick gasp he reared back, his hands, which had begun exploring her breasts and reaching around for the zipper on her dress, coming immediately to her face.

She opened her red-rimmed eyes to look at him, and Draco’s mind began spinning at a million miles an hour. Had he hurt her? Was she remembering last Christmas?

“Hermione, love, what’s wrong?” His thumbs stroked her cheeks as his heart beat out of his chest, no longer from desire but now concern.

She just looked at him silently for a moment, causing fear to grip Draco.

“It’s Christmas, Draco.” Her voice was scratchy with emotion.

“Did something happen, love? I don’t…”

Hermione shook her head and brought her hands back to his chest.

“It’s Christmas, Draco. And we’re here, together. This is the first time we’ve ever spent Christmas together. I’m not upset, I’m happy. I’m so unbelievably happy to be here with you.”

Draco could feel his heart stutter in his chest, and the reality of her words hit him full force. It was yet another moment to remember that they’d well and truly made it, and that they were building a real life together.

Draco released a breath and leaned in, his forehead pressing against Hermione’s.

“This is the first Christmas of the rest of our lives, Hermione. It’s always going to be like this. I love you so much.”

Hermione sniffled softly as she nodded against him, bringing her lips back to his. “I love you, Draco.”

She pressed forward, kissing him again with a new intensity. It wasn’t fevered like before. Somehow it was deeper, more passionate, more meaningful.

Draco returned it in kind, his arms wrapping around her to press her body against his. Soon enough, she was moaning against him and Draco brought his hands down, wrapping them securely around her thighs to pull her up so he could carry her up the stairs and into their bedroom.

Setting her down, Draco immediately went to work removing her dress, needing to get her naked. To feel her.

Hermione was equally focused, removing his tie before pushing his suit jacket off his shoulders and going to work on his shirt buttons. Draco reluctantly stopped his work to remove her deep red lace bra, the sight of which had torn a deep groan from his chest, to remove his cufflinks and help Hermione pull his shirt off.

As soon as his shirt and her bra were on the ground, Draco immediately brought his hands up to run over the soft skin of her breasts, playing with her nipples as she moaned from his ministrations. Each noise from Hermione sent a bolt of electricity straight through him, and when she unbuttoned his trousers and snaked her hand down the front, his whole body jerked from the sensation of it all.

Hermione laughed against his lips at that, before lightly pushing him back with one hand on his chest, giving him a salacious smile before dropping to her knees.

She worked quickly to pull his trousers and briefs down, before placing her hands against his hips and leaning forward, kissing and licking along his lower abdomen. Each touch made Draco’s breath quicken, until she finally reached his cock, tracing her tongue down the length before grasping the base just tightly enough to make his knees go weak. And as she swirled her tongue around the head before taking him fully into her mouth, the feelings overwhelmed him, forcing his hands to thread through her hair as he tossed his head back in pleasure.

Hermione took him in until he could feel himself hit the back of her throat, sucking and licking all the way back up in the exact way that drove him wild.

He looked down at her as she worked, and soon enough her eyes met his.

It was in that moment that Draco realized that even if they lived another two hundred years together, he would never, ever get tired of this. He would never stop wanting her the way he did now, overwhelmingly and with utter desperation.

He saw a mischievous spark in her eye an instant before he felt the slightest scrape of her teeth against him.

“Oh fuck, Hermione! Fuck!”

Thank Merlin they were close enough to the wall that he could throw his arm out to steady himself, otherwise he was certain he would have crumbled to the floor.

But this was not how tonight was going to end, so as soon as he had regained enough of himself to do so, Draco reached out, gripping Hermione’s face hard enough to stop her movements.

“That’s enough, love. Get up.”

Slowly, she pulled back, releasing him and reaching for his hands as she stood on shaking legs.

Draco didn’t give her a moment to recover. He surged forward, slamming their mouths together as he lifted her bodily and laid her down on the bed, his body immediately following to cover hers.

He moved down her body, pressing kisses to her neck and chest, before swirling his tongue around her nipple. She immediately moaned and arched into him, and it took everything in him to stop himself from immediately sinking into her. Instead, he worked his way back up while trailing a hand delicately down her body.

“Are you ready for me, love?” His fingers reached her hips and curved toward her core as Hermione panted against him.

"Yes. Please Draco, please.”

His fingers slid slowly over her mound, dipping to skim over her clit before sliding between her folds.

He held back a groan at the feeling of how wet she was for him, instead leaning forward to bite down on her neck as he pressed two fingers inside of her as she squeezed around him.

He curled his fingers in the way he knew she loved before growling into her ear. “You are, aren’t you? You’re desperate for it.”

Draco felt as Hermione’s hands came around his back, scrabbling for purchase as she writhed beneath him.

“Yes, please Draco. Please. I need you, please.”

Her voice was breathy and pleading, but Draco wasn’t ready to give in.

Instead, he chucked against her skin, focusing as much as possible against his urge to just give in and do whatever she asked of him.

“Hmm, I don’t know, love. I think you may need to wait a little bit longer…”

She whimpered in response.

“Shh, it's ok, I’m going to take care of you.”

And with that, he began to move down her body. Keeping the fingers inside of her moving steadily, he dragged his lips down her sternum, over her belly, until he finally reached his destination and ran his tongue lightly over her clit.

She bucked off the bed, her back arching in an effort to bring his mouth closer.

“Something you want, love?”

He punctuated the question with another light caress of his tongue and watched as her hands fisted into the comforter.

“Harder, Draco. Please.” Her head was turning back and forth, gooseflesh rising across her skin.

“All you had to do was ask, love.”

And with that, he lowered his mouth and sucked, hard, on her clit at the same moment he pressed his fingers against her inner wall.

Hermione screamed, a sound that went straight to Draco’s cock, as her legs moved to close around his head—but Draco grabbed her thigh with his free hand, forcing it to stay open. Forcing her to feel everything.

He continued his assault, sucking and licking while his fingers moved in tandem, and within moments he could feel her start to pulse against him.

He briefly lifted his mouth. “That’s it, Hermione. Let go. Come for me. Let me feel you.”

He leaned back down, sucking even harder than before. It only took seconds for her to shatter around him, the feeling of it reverberating through him.

She was still coming down as he removed his hand and moved quickly up her body, positioning himself at her entrance and pushing in, groaning immediately at the sensation of her continuing to come against his cock as she moaned at the welcome intrusion.

Her hands came up to his shoulder and into his hair. “Oh gods, Draco. Fuck. I…”

He leaned his head down, licking up the column of her throat. “I know love, I know. Just feel it. I’ve got you.”

Draco began to move, undulating on top of Hermione in smooth, deep strokes, each one pushing him closer and closer to the edge. He could tell that Hermione too was also climbing toward another orgasm, and after a moment, she opened her eyes, grabbed the side of Draco’s face with one hand, and they locked eyes.

Draco stared directly into the warm, honey depths, into his favorite place in the world. The place that made him feel safe and loved and free. The place that had saved him over and over again, that had made him who he was today.

And somehow, he could see in Hermione’s eyes that she saw the same in him. The emotion of it, mingled with the absolute pleasure of being inside of her, tipped Draco over the edge. And just as his hips stuttered, he felt Hermione pulse against him as she called his name, joining him in bliss.

**

Draco woke up the next morning, or, well, several hours later, with Hermione tucked into his chest, his arms hugged around her and his leg slung over her hip. He couldn’t imagine a more perfect Christmas morning. Until he opened his eyes and found that she was already awake, smiling serenely back at him.

He hummed, pulling her closer and kissing her temple. “Happy Christmas, love.”

She burrowed into him. “Happy Christmas.”

“What time is it? Do we need to get up to head to the Manor?”

Hermione’s hands ran soothingly up and down his back. “In a few minutes. I…I wanted to give you one of your presents first.”

Her voice had the same hesitance as the morning of his birthday when she had asked him to move in.

He leaned back, taking in her anxious expression as she bit down hard on her lower lip.

“Hermione. I think we’ve already established that you never have to be nervous about giving me a gift. So, release that,” he tugged lightly on her lip, “and tell me. I’m going to love it, even if the gift is you telling me that you’ve decided we should live in a cave in Cornwall for the rest of our days. Together, we could absolutely make that work.”

He smirked and she smiled back, finally loosening her jaw and rolling her eyes. “I have no desire to live in a cave, Draco. The idea of being constantly damp is deeply unattractive to me.”

Draco waggled his eyebrows. “Oh, I don’t know, love. I like you damp.”

She snorted a laugh at the same moment she smacked him playfully in the chest.

“Ow! It’s Christmas, Hermione! No violence on Christmas!”

She stilled. “Fine.”

He nodded, observing her. “Good. Now, I’d like my present, please.”

She was silent for a moment, searching his eyes. For what, he wasn’t sure, but he never wavered in his stare back at her, and eventually she took a deep breath.

“Iwanttosoulbondwithyou.”

Draco furrowed his brows. “What was that?”

She took another breath before looking back at him. “At our wedding. I want to soul bond with you. I don’t want a regular marriage bond. That’s not enough. And look, I know the evidence is murky about whether it even works, but, well, I’ve done quite a bit of research, and there is plenty of documentation from couples who have done it who confirm that they do experience a transformation from it and they are certain that it really did intertwine their souls. And Draco, I want that with you. I’m…well, I’m not sure if there is an afterlife, or if we do come back to live another life after we die, but if we do, I don’t ever want to lose you. I want to know that I’ll be able to find you. Always. So, I want to do it. And, well, I wanted to know if you might want to do it as well…”

Draco had stopped breathing and he was sure that his mouth was hanging open.

He’d heard of soul bonding, of course. But it was exceedingly rare. The ritual was complex and volatile, and if either party didn’t completely open themselves to it the consequences could be deadly, which meant that most couples never even considered it.

But he had. For years. Ever since he first started to think about marrying Hermione.

But he had never been brave enough to ask her. The fear that she might say no was too great. And yet, here she was, doing it for him. As much as Draco liked to joke that she belonged in Slytherin, Hermione was the perfect example of Gryffindor bravery. It was absolutely beautiful.

He realized that he had been silent for too long when Hermione started to pull back, her expression closing. Snapping himself out of his revery, he grabbed her face in his hands.

“Yes, Hermione. Yes. Of course, yes.”

She paused, looking at him with a look of innocent surprise on her face. “Really?”

He smiled, the pads of his fingers massaging her head. “Hermione. If there is another life after this one, I have no interest in living it without you. You are my soulmate. Of course I want to do this with you. I’m honored that you’d want to do it with me.”

She gave him a half smile. “Of course I want to, Draco. I’ve been researching it since we were 14.”

Overwhelming warmth spread over him. This moment, somehow, was real. This had become his actual life. He took a moment to thank Merlin, Morgana, Circe, and any other deity that could have been involved with spinning fate into placing Hermione in his path.

A broad smile grew on his face. “You know, I really didn’t think you’d ever be able to top asking me to move in with you, or when you agreed to marry me, but somehow, you’ve done it. Now we just have to find someone who can perform the ritual at the wedding. I don’t even know if anyone is licensed to do it in England.”

Hermione bit her lip again. “Well, actually, that’s sort of the other part of the gift.”

Draco tilted his head. “Oh?”

She nodded. “There is actually one wizard in England who is licensed to perform the spell. Professor Flitwick.”

Draco couldn’t believe his ears. “What?”

Hermione nodded ruefully. “I know. I couldn’t believe it when I found his name in the records. But, well, I guess I can believe it, actually. And, don’t be upset, but, well, I sent him a letter last week. I asked if he’d be willing to meet with us—but I didn’t tell him why. I figured we could ask him together. If you want! Only if you want.”

Draco’s mind was reeling. It was perfect. It was so perfect he could hardly believe it. The person responsible for starting their relationship performing their marriage rites? Completing a soul bonding ceremony? Fate. It was fate.

“It’s perfect, Hermione. This is…it’s perfect.”

She released a breath. “Oh good, I’m so glad you think so, because he agreed to meet with us in two days. At Hogwarts.”

Draco laughed. “You really are a woman who likes to be prepared.”

She shrugged. “Just covering my bases.”

Draco brought his arms around her and squeezed. “I love you, Hermione.”

Her smile grew. “I love you too, Draco.”

Draco lifted his head, looking at the clock behind her. “Now, it appears we have approximately 43 minutes until we need to be at the Manor. I’m quite confident I can make you come and give the two of us enough time to get ready before we need to leave. What do you say? Up for the challenge?”

Her smile turned devious. “Oh yes, Mr. Malfoy. I believe I am.”

A thrill ran through Draco at her words, and he pulled her on top of him…

**

They ended up arriving eight minutes late to the Manor, coming through the floo to find a very anxious Pip pacing up and down the room, decked out in what appeared to be a hand-knitted Christmas sweater (complete with what Draco thought was likely a Christmas tree…or maybe a turkey?) and matching knit trousers. He’d also affixed so much tinsel to his ears that it appeared as if it was growing from him.

As soon as Draco stepped through with Hermione in tow, both still a bit giddy from the morning’s activities, Pip whipped his head around and began hopping up and down.

“Oh! Master Draco! Mistress Hermione! Pip was so much worried! He was thinking to come to Master Draco and Mistress Hermione’s home to make sure they is alright! But you is! Thank goodness. Mistress Narcissa has been oh so excited to celebrate with you! And Pip has been planning the most very special foods! All of Mistress Hermione and Master Draco’s favorites! Pumpkin soup and beef pie and mashed potatoes and a most special chocolate cake and so much more! Pip is determined for Mistress Hermione and Master Draco to be so full that they must stay here this night in Master Draco’s old room. Pip has prepared it just for you!”

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but Hermione beat him to it.

“Thank you, Pip. I’m certain that you’re correct, I just hope you won’t have to roll us up to bed after all this food.”

“Oh, Pip would be most delighted to roll Mistress Hermione up the stairs, ma’am! Most delighted indeed! Come along, Mistress Narcissa is awaiting in the solarium.”

Pip turned to scamper down the hall. Draco grabbed Hermione’s hand as they went to follow, leaning in to whisper in her ear.

“Am I going to have to fight Pip for your affections, love?”

She turned back to him with a sinister smirk. “Oh, that would be quite futile, Draco. Pip has already won.”

They spent the rest of the day exchanging gifts—Narcissa had apparently felt as though it was her duty to make up for every Christmas she had not been able to spend with Hermione by giving her the gifts she would have then, much to Hermione’s dismay—planning for future holidays (Narcissa had nearly burst into tears when Hermione casually mentioned that it would be lovely to spend several days at the Manor for Christmas when they had children), and, of course, eating.

Pip had not been lying when he said that he had been prepared to stuff them with as much food as they could handle and more—and they had indeed been forced to sleep in Draco’s old bedroom after consuming Pip’s chocolate cake, which just so happened to be absolutely soaked in rum.

**

The holiday had been blissful, and Draco had succeeded in putting any thoughts of Greyback or Harry, or the even the fucking Weasleys out of his mind as he and Hermione had relaxed, but that had all ended this morning when he woke up knowing that he was about to return to Hogwarts for the first time since the final battle.

He’d spent an hour in the closet, considering outfit after outfit, trying to figure out what would send the right message to Flitwick that would convince him to say yes, all until Hermione had come in, grabbed him by the arms, and reminded him that Flitwick had been on their side from the beginning, and he didn’t need to worry about it.

That had calmed Draco’s fears enough to allow him to get dressed, but not so much that he was able to sit still.

Flitwick had worked out for them to travel by floo to the Headmistress’s office so Hermione would avoid any time outside of well-warded locations. But that meant that in a matter of minutes, he would be faced with Minerva McGonagall, a woman he had been absolutely awful to during his entire tenure at the school, and who he was quite sure did not bear many fond feelings for him.

He could only hope that having Hermione there too would soften the blow.

When Hermione came to join him, dressed casually in jeans and a thick wool jumper, Draco knew she could immediately spot his apprehension. She came forward, wrapping her arms around his middle.

“Draco. It’s going to be fine. More than fine. Everyone there read the article, I’m sure. They all know the truth. You don’t have to worry. Plus, if anyone says anything, I am more than prepared to send them to the Hospital Wing. Ok?”

The contradiction of Hermione, tiny, barely over five-foot-tall Hermione, against her reputation of being more terrifying than any beast in the Forbidden Forest, still knocked Draco off balance.

But he didn’t have any other choice. The desire to soul bond with Hermione far outweighed any fear he had about confronting his old professors.

And so, with a nod, he grabbed Hermione’s hand and threw some powder in the hearth.

Together, they stepped through into a very familiar location. The circular, well-appointed room that housed the office of Hogwarts’ Headmistress.

It was empty when they arrived, giving the pair a moment to look around before McGonagall arrived. Unfortunately, it only took seconds for the relative peace to be disturbed.

“So, it is true. The heir to my bloodline has indeed tied himself to the woman who disrespected me so. How tragic.” The nasally sneer came from a portrait hung high over the Headmistress’s desk, depicting one of the many former Headmasters, this one a particularly sour faced man with black hair and a pinched expression. Draco didn’t know him, but had a vague recollection that he was familiar.

“Lovely to see you as always, Phineas.” Hermione’s voice was smooth and dismissive as she turned toward the portrait.

“Indeed, Ms. Granger. Have you come to abscond with me once again? I do not fancy spending more time assisting you and your little friends with your schemes.”

Now Draco was desperately confused, and turned to Hermione for help.

She smirked. “Draco, allow me to introduce you to one of your ancestors, Phineas Nigellus Black. Phineas and I have a long history, don’t we Phineas? You were oh so helpful during the war, always so forthcoming with information. I never had the chance to thank you properly for your assistance!”

Draco was still at an utter loss. But he watched as the birdlike man smirked back at Hermione before turning his eyes on Draco.

“I’ll say this, boy. She is at least clever. An important quality in a Black family wife. Though I do not envy you having to deal with her impertinent attitude!” He spat the final words.

“Aww, but Phineas, Draco enjoys my impertinent attitude, don’t you Draco?” She crooned, turning to him with fire in her eyes.

Just as he opened his mouth to respond, another voice called out from the other side of the room.

“That’s quite enough, Phineas. Neither Ms. Granger nor Mr. Malfoy are in need of your opinion.” From his portrait, Albus Dumbledore peered over his half-moon glasses, a small smile playing on his face as he dismissed Phineas.

Hermione turned and tipped her head. “Thank you, Professor.”

The Dumbledore in the painting smiled kindly. “Of course, my dear. It’s quite lovely to see you both. I’d like to offer you my heartfelt congratulations on your upcoming marriage. I have certainly been rooting for you. And,” his eyes flicked to Draco, “I’m certain you will treat her as she deserves, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco’s jaw dropped. “Portraits are threatening me now? Honestly, Hermione…”

She laughed, as did Dumbledore. “Oh now, I’m certainly not threatening you, my boy. I’ve been quite certain the two of you were meant to be for many years. I’m simply glad to see that you have finally found happiness. Don’t you agree, Severus?”

The painting of Dumbledore turned his head to the right, observing the portrait next to him. At first Draco didn’t even see a person inside, it appeared to just be a detailed painting of a gloomy potions lab, but as he watched, a figure in flowing black robes appeared from the shadows, walking toward the front of the painting before assessing both he and Hermione.

“Yes.” It was jarring to hear that drawl for the first time in so many years. A shiver ran through Draco to see Snape again, even in this particular form.

“Hello, Professor.” Draco’s voice was low. He wasn’t sure what else to say to the man that he knew had given his life to protect him. What was there to say?

“Draco. You look well.” He turned his eyes toward Hermione, whose body had tensed in apprehension. “And Ms. Granger. I hear you’ve become a potions master? And that you are using your skills to investigate a cure for lycanthropy? How fascinating. I, too, spent time looking into the possibility of a cure…” Snape’s tone was intentionally teasing, clearly meant to draw Hermione in. And, of course, it worked.

“Did you? And did you make any progress?” Her tone had gone from mocking to sincere curiosity in a snap. She even took several steps forward to position herself closer to Snape’s portrait.

Snape sneered and nodded. “Possibly. And you? Have you made any progress?”

Draco could practically see Hermione’s defenses rising, and he stepped forward to place a soothing hand on her back. “I have. I’d estimate that I am four to six months away from completed samples for testing. If you have any insight, I’d be more than willing to accept it.”

Snape narrowed his eyes. “I’m sure you would. The question is, why would I help you?”

“Severus.” Dumbledore’s tone was chastising.

But it was Hermione who ended things. With a laugh and a shake of her head, she spoke. “Of course, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t help me. You hate me. Because I represent everything that you wanted. You hate me because I chose him. Unlike Lilly. Draco and I are going to have a life together, the same life you so desperately wanted but could never have. You’re angry that this little muggleborn had the audacity to think herself worthy of a pureblood wizard from Slytherin, when you spent years destroying your chances with the muggleborn you wanted. Isn’t that right? Don’t forget, Severus, I was there when you died. I heard your last words. ‘You have your mother’s eyes.’ I understand your motivations for everything. And I am entirely uninterested in your approval. Do you understand?”

Severus opened his mouth to respond and Draco tensed, ready to shut him down, but thankfully in that moment, a confident Scottish voice sounded behind them.

“That’s quite enough, Severus.”

Minvera McGonagall walked in through the back door, dressed as always in her tartan robes, her hair pulled back in a tight bun. Draco tensed again when he saw her, but he watched as Hermione had the opposite reaction. Her muscles relaxed as she smiled at her old Head of House.

“Hello, Headmistress. It’s wonderful to see you.”

McGonagall walked forward, gathering Hermione into a hug. “It’s Minerva, Hermione. I believe fighting together in a war puts an end to any formalities, don’t you think?”

She pulled back, regarding Hermione with a warm look. Draco simply waited quietly, hoping he would not be noticed.

“Of course. It’s wonderful to see you, Minerva.” Hermione smiled.

McGonagall nodded before releasing her and rounding the desk to her chair. “Much better. Now,” she sat gracefully, bringing her hands to clasp on the desk, “I believe you both are here to see Professor Flitwick?”

McGonagall turned her stare toward Draco, regarding him with interest.

Hermione, sensing his discomfort, stepped toward him and grabbed his hand. “Yes, ma’am. We, well, we have a request to ask of him.”

McGonagall’s brow arched. “Is that so? Well, I won’t keep you from it. But if I may…”

She turned her eyes back to Draco.

“I’m sure you both are aware by now that many of us on staff were quite hoping that the two of you ended up together. Some of us may have even been manipulating circumstances to attempt to push you together.”

“I did no such thing, Minerva!” Dumbledore remarked with indignation.

McGonagall simply waved her hand. “Nonetheless, if I may say so, I am quite thrilled that the two of you have ended up here. It’s…well, it’s quite heartening to see love conquer the obstacles that you were up against. I’m very happy for you, Ms. Granger. And you, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco startled at being addressed. “Th-thank you, Headmistress.”

McGonagall nodded before clapping her hands together. “Of course. Now, you should be going, I’m sure Filius is anxious to meet with you both. I must return to my rounds, unfortunately our first years have truly given you and your friends a run for your money, Ms. Granger, but you are welcome to return here and use my floo to travel home once your meeting has concluded.”

Draco and Hermione both nodded.

“Thank you Minerva. And…if I may, I, well, I’d be quite honored if you would be willing to attend our wedding?” Hermione’s voice was soft, and it was Draco’s turn to squeeze her hand reassuringly.

Unsurprisingly, McGonagall smiled warmly. “The honor would be all mine, Hermione.”

Draco’s heart expanded as he saw the smile that crossed Hermione’s face as she nodded before turning and leading Draco out of the office.

They descended the moving staircase and exited the office with a quick look at the griffin statues, before walking hand-in-hand down the hallway and toward the grand staircase that would take them to the third floor.

They were both quiet for a moment, regarding their surroundings.

“Have you been back? Since the battle?”

Hermione shook her head.

“No. Have you?”

He shook his head in turn. “No.”

She squeezed his hand. “It seems smaller than it was, doesn’t it?” Her voice held a hint of wonder.

He hummed in agreement. It really did. When Draco was young, Hogwarts had always loomed so large in his mind, the bounds of the school making up the entirety of his life. But as he looked around now, having been through so much since he left here, the petty squabbles and dramas that had dominated his existence here just seemed silly. The only memories that really mattered were those with Hermione.

And as he looked over at her and she met his eyes, Draco could feel that she felt the same way, too.

Faster than he thought possible, they found themselves in front of the door to the Charms classroom on the third floor, and with a final nod to each other, Hermione raised her fist and knocked twice.

The door immediately flung open, and the two were faced with the bright, smiling face of their former Charms professor, who seemed as though he had been waiting just on the other side of the door for them to arrive.

“Ms. Granger! Mr. Malfoy! So lovely to see you both! Please, come in come in! I promise not to place any locking wards on the room this time!”

He released a high-pitched giggle, as Hermione and Draco captured each other’s eyes while they walked inside.

Flitwick bounced toward his desk, taking a seat atop a pile of pillows that ensured he was tall enough to see over the edge. Hermione and Draco mirrored him, sitting down in two chairs opposite him.

Flitwick gave them both a broad smile. “Well, my dears, what is it that has brought you here today?”

Draco turned toward Hermione, looking at each other to decide who would speak. Sensing her hesitation, Draco plowed forward.

“Yes. Thank you so much for meeting with us, Professor. We, well, I believe that you’ve seen the news that we’re engaged to be married?”

Flitwick bounced up and down atop his pillows. “Yes indeed, Mr. Malfoy. I was absolutely overjoyed to learn your happy news!”

Draco nodded. “Yes, thank you. And…and thank you for the statement you gave. That was incredibly kind.”

Flitwick’s face morphed into a devious smirk. “I’m certain I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Malfoy.” His lie was further undercut by the exaggerated wink he sent their way, causing Hermione to giggle softly.

Draco continued on. “Yes, of course. But, well…” He looked over at Hermione and took a deep breath.

“Sir, you may not know this, but it was because of those detentions you gave us in our Fourth Year that we were able to realize how we felt about each other. Those detentions made me realize how wrong my upbringing had been, and how much I wanted to fight to change those prejudices. Because I realized how much I loved her. And that has never changed. And by some miracle, she loved me back. And now we’re here, getting married, and, well, we…we wanted to ask you…if…” Draco trailed off, fear over the ask gripping him.

“We intend to soul bond at our wedding, and we wanted to ask you if you would do us the honor of performing the ritual?” the words left Hermione in a rush, and she turned to Draco with wide eyes as she finished.

Flitwick, too, stared back at them for a moment, before a single tear slid down his face.

“I…Ms. Granger, Mr. Malfoy…I am humbled that you would consider me for such an honor. It is a very rare pairing who make the decision to soul bond. I have studied the magic behind it for many years, and it is because of how much I believe in it that caused me to become certified to perform the ritual itself. And, if I may, I observed the two of you for years, and it was always clear to me that you were not just any regular couple. I could see the shared magic sparking off of you even before I gave you those detentions. You are soulmates in their purest form. And I would be honored beyond measure to perform a bonding for you at your wedding.”

In the same moment, both Hermione and Draco released a held breath, simultaneously reaching toward each other to clasp their hands together.

As he so often was these days, Draco was overwhelmed.

“Thank you, Professor.” His words came out rushed. “We…I owe you a debt I can never repay. I am infinitely grateful for what you did for us then, and for your willingness to be a part of our marriage ceremony now.”

Hermione nodded in agreement.

But Flitwick just waved his hands. “You needn’t thank me, Mr. Malfoy. It is quite the joy to see two former students find happiness in each other. Plus, I do believe that Minerva now owes me another fifty galleons…” He smirked and looked off to the side, wistfully.

Shaking his head quickly, the professor turned back toward them. “If you can owl me with the details of your ceremony, we can work out all of the specifics for the day. Alright?”

They both nodded. “Of course. I’ll send you over details tomorrow, Professor. But I should warn you, you will likely be receiving…a lot of correspondence from Narcissa Malfoy as well…”

Hermione cringed a bit at the end of the sentence. Draco knew how grateful Hermione was, as was he, that Narcissa had been willing to take on so much of the planning for their wedding, but he also knew his mother, and Hermione was right. Flitwick was signing up to be bombarded with questions and demands for precise details of the ritual. Draco only hoped that the professor was ready to withstand the onslaught.

Luckily, Flitwick just waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, dears. I performed a soul bonding for the prince and princess of Sweden several years ago, and the queen was an absolute nightmare for the entire process. If I could survive that, I assure you I am prepared to deal with anything to come.

Both Draco and Hermione laughed, but in the back of his head Draco did wonder if the Queen of Sweden had anything on his mother…

Nevertheless, the pair stood up from their seats, thanked Flitwick again for his time, and just as quickly as they arrived, made their way back out of his classroom and into the hallway.

Hands clasped, they paused several yards from the door, both releasing a heavy breath.

“Well. That’s that, then!” Hermione intoned.

Draco chucked and pulled her into a hug. “I suppose so. Now let’s go home and celebrate, shall we?”

“Actually…” Hermione pulled back and looked up at him with a Cheshire cat smile. “I had another idea…”

Without waiting, she turned, grabbing Draco’s hand and dragging him toward the grand staircase.

It took him until they had reached the seventh floor to realize where she was taking him, but when they paused in front of the tapestry of those nuns, he smiled wistfully.

“We don’t know if it’s still here…” His tone was hesitant.

“I know. But it’s worth a try.” She shrugged against him.

Draco couldn’t disagree. And so, he released Hermione’s hand and took a few steps forward. With a final look in her direction and her nod of encouragement, Draco closed his eyes and began to pace up and down.

I need a place where Hermione and I can meet safely.

I need a private place where Hermione and I won’t be found.

I need a place to snog Hermione Granger.

Like clockwork, as Draco finished his third pass, he heard it. The shifting of stone to create a large, wooden door.

His eyes snapped open, flitting from the door to Hermione, who looked equally shocked as she stared at the entrance to what could only be their room.

Draco reached out his hand and Hermione tentatively stepped forward to take it.

And together, they opened the door, and stepped back into the past.

Draco’s breath caught as they stepped inside, and he heard Hermione’s do the same.

It was exactly the same as it was.

The couches and overstuffed chairs.

The rugs.

The bookcases.

The bed.

Everything was the same.

“I…I didn’t think it would work. I figured, after all the damage in the battle…” His words were awed as a he spun in a slow circle, taking in the room.

“Same. I didn’t think it would be here.” The shock in her voice was evident as she stepped toward the far wall.

It was then that Draco noticed that something was different. The bookshelves, which had always been full to bursting with books, were now empty.

“Why do you think it could recreate the room, but not the books?” His voice was curious.

“Hmm?” Hermione turned around, broken from her reverie, and Draco inclined his head toward the empty shelves.

Her reaction threw him off-balance. She laughed.

“Oh, that’s not the room’s fault. All of the books that were in here are in our library now. I took them when I came to take all of our notes and pictures.”

Draco shook his head in surprise. Of course she had. Could he really expect anything less from her?

With a mischievous smile, he opening his arms and beckoned her to come forward. “You really are a thief, you know.”

Hermione made a dismissive sound as she came forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Oh please. No one would have ever been able to read them if I left them here! Plus, I was practicing my undetectable extension charm, and this was the perfect way to test it.”

It was Draco’s turn to laugh. His arms still wrapped securely around her, he leaned his head back to guffaw. “It’s still stealing even if you have an excuse, love. But don’t worry, I find your tendency toward crime to be quite the attractive quality.”

She smiled innocently up at him. “That’s good, because I may have also stolen a variety of rare potions ingredients from your greenhouse when I visited the Manor before Fifth Year. I figured they would be useful to have to study for our O.W.L.s.”

Draco’s eyes went momentarily wide. “What? You could have just asked me, I would have given them to you!”

Hermione shrugged. “I know, but where’s the thrill in that?”

There was heat in her eyes as she responded, and Draco began running the tips of his fingers up and down her back.

“Well love, would you consider it thrilling if I fucked you in this room right now?”

He watched her breaths become shallow. “Yes. But only if you fuck me really, really hard.”

Draco felt all the blood in his body rush to his cock as he left out a low groan.

He began walking Hermione backward toward the bed until her knees hit it and she fell backward onto the mattress. Slowly, he leaned down over her and brought his lips to hover over hers.

“That can be arranged.”

They were both smiling when their lips met.

Chapter End Notes

We needed a little break from the drama, don't you think?

I can't believe we are so close to the end now! I wanted to sketch out how the chapters are going to shake out for the rest of the story so y'all know what's coming:

There are three more regular chapters, followed by a three-part epilogue. I'd originally planned for the epilogue chapters to be shorter than my normal chapter length, but lets be honest, they'll probably be just as long :)

The response to the last two chapters was completely overwhelming. Thank you all so much for your comments and kudos!

I'll see you next Sunday!

xoxo,

Flames

Wildest Dreams

Chapter Notes

Happy Sunday, everyone!

Quick note: the flashback scene takes place immediately following the scene in OotP where Draco/Crabbe/Goyle get into the fight with Harry/Fred/George following the quidditch match.

We're back in Hermione's POV this week!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

November, 5 th Year

Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she was this angry.

She was certain that she had never been this angry with Draco. Ever.

She had watched, as if the whole thing had been in slow motion, as Draco had said something to Harry, Fred, and George as the quidditch match ended. She watched as the rest of the Gryffindor team held the twins back. She watched the moment that Harry let go of George. She watched him surge forward, Fred and George at his back. Toward Draco, immediately landing a punch across his jaw.

The blood had been rushing through her head for hours now. She had barely been able to control herself when Harry, Fred, and George had told her that Umbridge had banned them from quidditch because of the fight.

The fight that Malfoy, her boyfriend, had instigated.

And so, she had found herself here, sitting on the couch in the Room of Requirement for the last hour, her thoughts swirling as she waited to see if Draco would be brave enough to show his face.

She sat there while the sun went down. While the fire died into embers.

Just before she gave it up, the door creaked open and Draco walked in, his faced bruised, looking appropriately chastened.

But that wasn’t enough.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Hermione looked up, her eyes, filled with anger, locking with his. Draco dropped his head, nodding as he stepped inside the room and put his hands up.

“I know. I know I went too far. I know.”

Hermione simply narrowed her eyes.

“Do you? Do you, Draco?”

Draco grimaced, slowly approaching until he was standing behind the chair directly across from Hermione.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I…I got caught up and I…”

Hermione jumped up.

“You got caught up?! YOU INSULTED HARRY’S DEAD MOTHER, DRACO! You pushed him and pushed him and pushed him, knowing what would happen. You knew what he would do! You knew he wouldn’t let that go! And you did it anyway! In front of Umbridge! SHE KICKED HIM OFF THE TEAM, DRACO!” She pointed her finger at him as he recoiled at her accusation.

The anger was sparking and fizzling beneath her skin, propelling her forward. She could not get hold of her emotions.

Draco took a few careful steps forward, his hands up in surrender.

“I know. I know, love. I…I never should have said what I did. I…I was pissed off and…no, no, it’s not an excuse. I shouldn’t have said it. I never should have said it. I’m so sorry.”

Hermione pinned him with a stare. “Are you? Or are you just saying that to calm me down? Because I have never, EVER, been this angry with you, Draco. I didn’t think it was possible for me to be this angry with you. You know what that woman is capable of! You know that she’s already tortured him! And you still did this? I…I can’t believe you. I really can’t.”

She could see the fear lance through him.

“Hermione, please, please let me fix this. Please. Please don’t…please don’t…please don’t leave me.”

He choked out the last words, and Hermione froze.

She was angry.

So angry.

But the thought that she would leave him had never even entered her mind.

Her eyes widened immediately as she looked back at him. “I’m not leaving you, Draco.” The words tumbled out of her in a rush.

She watched as his eyes stuttered, closing as his hand came out to clutch the back of the chair in front of him.

“Thank Merlin. Hermione…I mean it, truly, I am sorry. I…you know how I feel about Potter, but, I shouldn’t have said what I did. No matter what. It was wrong. I’m sorry.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You better be. Draco…you can’t keep doing this. I know that you don’t like him. I know that you don’t like any of them. But…Draco…If you love me, you can’t attack them. They’re my friends! And everything is so dangerous right now! I’m already so worried about what’s going to happen to Harry—and…and…” tears began to stream down her cheeks. “I’m so scared for you , Draco. I am so scared for you. I can’t sleep. I can’t think about anything else. And every time something like this happens, every time you put yourself in the spotlight like this, all I can think about is if this is the time that you get taken away. That you get taken away from me.”

Her voice broke and Draco rushed forward, his hands coming around her to crush her to his chest.

“I’m not going anywhere, Hermione. I promise. I’m so sorry. I promise that I’ll stay under the radar from now on. I swear. I’m not going to go away. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m so sorry I scared you.”

He squeezed his arms tightly around her, his lips coming to rest against the side of her head.

She melted into him. She realized in that moment just how much tension she had been carrying with her every single day for the past few months. It was overwhelming her. She was trying to manage it, she really was. But it felt like the weight of the world was on her shoulders. It was too much. She couldn’t get rid of it, but maybe for a few minutes, here in this room, she could set it down. She could be safe. She could just be herself.

The tears started to overwhelm her. She clutched onto Draco for dear life. Desperately trying to ground herself here, in this moment, and not thinking through all of the scenarios that could be to come.

“We have to make it through this, Draco. We have to.” Her voice was desperate.

But he just tightened his arms, nodding his head against hers. “We will, love. We will. I promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

January 2003

Hermione was just starting to relax after all of the press attention—which, thankfully, had slowed after the New Year thanks to a new scandal involving wealthy and well-known wizarding parents who had been found out to be bribing mastery programs to accept their children without merit, a revelation that had led to Hermione ranting for an entire hour while Draco simply sat, watching with wide eyes.

She should have known not to let her guard down.

When had Hermione Granger’s life ever been relaxing for longer than a few weeks before some new calamity befell her?

Certainly not since she had stepped on the Hogwarts Express her first year.

And although she certainly knew that the threat from Greyback was real, she had found some cold comfort in believing that it was contained to her, not the larger population of wizarding Britain, and no one else would get hurt.

She could not have been more wrong.

It was a seemingly normal Tuesday night for Hermione and Draco, and they’d gone to sleep several hours before smiling and sated. Hermione was snuggled into his chest, warm and safe and enjoying pleasant dreams—when a sudden brightness and frantic voice woke her.

“Draco!” Tonks’s voice was so fierce that both Hermione and Draco immediately shot up, Draco flinging himself over Hermione’s body in protection before realizing that the voice had come from Tonks’s wolf patronus.

“There’s been an attack on St. Mungo’s. Greyback’s people breeched the lycanthropy unit and attacked the werewolves who were there for their wolfsbane treatments during the full moon. Several of the wolves were injured, including Remus.” Tonks’s voice had caught slightly on his name.

“Oh gods…” Hermione’s heart was beating out of her chest as she was frozen on the bed listening to the message. Draco had already run into the closet to get clothes.

“They tranquilized four wolves and took them hostage, and they attacked the Mungo’s staff as they left. We’ve got a least one healer killed, dozens injured. You need to get here now.”

Hermione began scrambling to get out of bed. She could go too, she could help treat the injured.

“Hermione, do not even think about coming. They’re trying to draw you out. Stay home.” Tonks’s voice was sterner than Hermione had ever heard it before, but it only caused her to pause for a moment. “Draco, the team will be waiting when you arrive.”

With that, the silvery wolf faded away, leaving the room in darkness. The only sounds were Hermione’s labored breathing and Draco’s rushing to pull on his shoes and holster.

Hermione ran to the dresser and yanked out a pair of leggings, a t-shirt, and socks. By the time Draco emerged she was sitting on the bed, shoving the socks onto her feet.

“What are you doing?” His voice was breathless.

Hermione didn’t pause. “I’m coming with you. I can help. If there are dozens of healers injured, they’ll need me.” Reaching to the bedside table, she grabbed her wand and summoned a pair of trainers.

“Absolutely not, Hermione.” There was no more frantic energy in Draco’s voice, just cold, confident demand.

Hermione jerked her head up to look at him, fire in her eyes. “What do you mean, absolutely not?”

He remained entirely still. “I mean, absolutely not. We have no idea if any of Greyback’s people are still there. Fuck, there could be werewolves loose inside the building! I can’t protect you if you go there, Hermione. You have to stay here.”

Hermione’s blood ran ice cold. “I can protect myself. And you do not tell me what I can and cannot do.”

The venom in her voice seemed to hit Draco like a blow, and he shook his head before quickly closing the gap between them and coming to his knees in front of her as she sat on the bed. Leaning up, he placed his hands gingerly on either side of her face.

“I know that. I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean to…” He huffed. “I know that you want to help. But Hermione, you are their target. This entire attack could have been meant to put you in this exact position. To force you into an unsecured location. And I know you can protect yourself, love. Of course you can. But…Hermione…I have to lead the team, and in order to do that I have to be able to focus on the task at hand. If you’re there, I won’t be able to do that. I won’t care if anyone else gets hurt, because my only focus will be you. Please, love. Please stay here. I will send you updates every half hour, I promise. And if we secure the building and they need your help to treat the injured, I swear I will come get you and bring you in. Ok?”

Hermione knew he was right, of course. Her desire to help was impulsive and dangerous, but that didn’t make her want to do it any less. But the look of desperation, of fear, on Draco’s face broke her down. The jolt of adrenalin started to fade and she closed her eyes, nodding as tears started to stream down her face.

“Padma is one of the healers who monitors the lycanthropy ward during the full moon…what if she? What if Remus? …”

Draco reared up, pulling her into a tight hug. “I know, love. I know. It’s going to be ok, I promise. I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything, ok?”

He leaned back, grasping her shoulders. Hermione looked into his eyes, seeing how simultaneously focused he was on the task at hand and anxious to get going. She leaned forward, her hands coming to his face as she pressed her forehead to his.

“Be safe, Draco. I love you.”

He pulled her forward, kissing her softly, before pulling back and standing in one fluid motion.

“I love you, too. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

And with that, he turned and ran through the hallway, down the stairs, and out the front door to apparate to the hospital.

The nervous energy hit Hermione right away, and she shot to her feet, making her way downstairs where she started to pace frantically around the living room.

An emergency bag. She could put together an emergency bag with healing potions, salves, and antivenoms. If anyone had been bitten by one of the wolves, it would likely be ineffective, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t try. She organized and reorganized everything inside her beaded bag, carefully placing it next to the front door so she could grab it quickly if she needed to apparate out.

Although each second felt like an eternity, when Hermione checked the clock, she was devastated to discover that it had only been fifteen minutes since Draco had left.

Groaning, she made her way into the kitchen to make a pot of tea, maybe that would soothe her nerves.

It didn’t. Instead, she had chugged an entire cup straight from the kettle, scalding her tongue and throat, and forcing her to immediately take an anti-burn potion.

Giving up the tea as a bad job, she moved on to her next option: Wine.

She poured herself a large glass and forced herself to sit on the couch, knee bouncing, while she waited for Draco’s first message.

Thankfully, she only had to sit for a moment before the panther jumped out of the air, sitting in front of her and swishing its tail.

She nearly dropped her glass as she lurched forward.

“We’re still securing the scene. It looks like Greyback’s people left with their hostages but we’re not sure. Padma was injured, but she is being treated and they say she is going to be fine.”

Hermione let out a strangled cry. Grateful that Padma would be ok and simultaneously devastated that she had been injured in the first place.

“From the reports, they tried to take Remus but he fought them off and then tried to prevent them from taking any of the hostages. He was injured in the subsequent fighting. They’re not able to check him fully yet, but they’re monitoring his vitals and they seem steady. They’ll go in immediately after sunrise and heal any injuries he has. It…” She could hear the sigh of hesitation in his voice, but he continued on, “it looks like one of the hostages they took was a ten-year-old boy.”

That hit Hermione like a curse, and she doubled over, releasing a broken yell.

“The healer that was killed was a visiting scholar from Germany, not anyone on the Mungo’s staff. His family has been contacted already. It’s a mess here, love, but we’re getting things under control, I promise. I’ll let you know more soon. I love you.”

The sparkling panther faded, taking the momentary focus with it. Hermione was once again at sea, completely lost for what to do next. Just as she realized she was starting to hyperventilate, she was able to grasp one of the thoughts that flitted across her brain, and focused enough to send out three patronuses of her own.

Within minutes, Pansy, Luna, Theo, and George had all come through the floo, each in various degrees of undress.

They all spoke at once.

“Greyback attacked Mungo’s?” Theo’s voice was incredulous.

“Remus, do we know how injured he is?” Came George’s frantic reply.

“How many aurors are there? Is Draco safe?” Pansy was clutching her robe closed with one hand, the other clutching Luna’s.

“Is Padma alright?” It was Luna’s voice, far clearer and concise than her normal cadence, that broke Hermione.

For a moment, her eyes looked between each person, wide with fear, before she crumpled, letting out a heavy sob.

Instantly everyone ran forward, all throwing their arms around her—and each other—and hugging tightly.

It took Hermione several long moments of desperate crying before she was able to speak clearly enough to give them an update.

“They attacked the lycanthropy ward and took four werewolves hostage. Padma was injured but Draco says she is going to be fine. Remus was hurt as well, but they aren’t sure yet how badly, they can’t check him until he transforms. They’re sweeping the building to see if any of Greyback’s people are still there. That’s all I know.” She was wringing her hands in her lap, unable to look up at them.

“Blaise…” Theo trailed off.

Hermione nodded. “I sent him a message. I don’t know if he’ll be able to get in, if they’ve locked down the building…”

Pansy returned with a cup of tea, this one not hot enough to turn her mouth into an inferno, and wrapped an arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “Trust me, if Blaise wants to get inside, he’ll get inside.”

Theo hummed and nodded in response.

They all settled into the couches and chairs of the living room, never turning on more lights than a few dim lamps, and waited. They were mostly silent, save for and occasional question of theory posed by George or Luna. Finally, Draco’s next report came.

“We’ve secured the building. We captured one of Greyback’s people who hadn’t been able to get out of the building to apparate before the DMLE arrived and locked it down. They’re being taken in for interrogation now. Tonks is going to throttle you for sending a message to Blaise, love. He managed to get past four levels of security and into the emergency department to find Padma, but he’s here with her now and she’s doing well—awake and responsive. She was thrown back by the concussive charm they used to break into the ward and got trapped under debris. A few broken bones and a bad cut to the head, but she’s been healed. Remus is still stable. None of the other healers who were injured have died, they’re all being treated. I’m going to be here for several more hours, I need to re-ward the building. But everything is secure, so there is nothing to be concerned about. Get some sleep, ok? I’ll wake you when I get home. I love you.”

There were audible sighs of relief around the room as Draco’s panther patronus faded into the darkness once again.

“Thank merlin.” George sagged into Theo as the other man wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

“I told you Blaise would get in. He’s far sneaker than any of us care to admit.” Pansy was trying to keep her tone light, but Hermione could hear the edge underneath.

“Hermione, would you like us to stay here with you until Draco returns?” Luna’s question broke through Hermione’s racing thoughts.

Her mind was moving quickly. Too quickly. Running down all of the events of the last few hours, everything that had led up to them, traversing pathway after pathway of different decisions and how they could have changed the outcome. It was quickly becoming overwhelming, and she was suddenly desperate to be alone.

Trying to keep her tone neutral, she shook her head. “No, no that’s not necessary. You should all go home and get some sleep. I’ll do the same. Thank you all for coming over. If Draco sends any other updates, I’ll let you know, ok?”

They all nodded, mumbling their assent as they rose from their chairs, each giving Hermione a tight hug before making their way to the floo.

Pansy was the last to step through, but before she did, she turned and regarded Hermione with a shrewd look.

“Are you sure you’re ok?”

Hermione nodded. Pansy was the most observant of all of them, and if she was too over the top with her response, Pansy would never leave without an explanation.

“I’m just a bit shaken up, that’s all. I promise, Pans.”

Pansy narrowed her eyes and gave her a long look before finally nodding and following Luna through the floo.

As soon as she was alone, Hermione started to pace. She needed to organize her thoughts.

Greyback had now escalated from just attacking her to going after other completely innocent werewolves and the healers helping them. In all likelihood as a message to discourage other wolves to get treatment and as a warning to her about what was to come if she continued her work.

He’d hurt her friends.

A little boy had been kidnapped.

A healer was dead.

And Draco had been forced to put himself in harm’s way.

All because of her. It was all her fault. There was no way around it.

Hermione started to pace faster and faster, her hands raking roughly through her hair.

What could she do now? How could she make up for this?

She could stop. She could just stop working on the cure. She could let Greyback win. And maybe if it was announced to the public, Greyback would stand down.

But would he? Draco had been hunting him for years in America, and it didn’t seem like he was planning to just fade into the background. And even if she stopped her research, would she stop being a target?

And what about the wolves? What about Remus and the others who had no desire to harm anyone? Who were just trying to live normal lives? And whose only option was to ingest so much wolfsbane that they’d be lucky to live past age 50.

What would happen when that little boy went to Hogwarts next year? If he even made it out of this alive…

No. She couldn’t stop.

But she wasn’t just going to keep working. No. Hermione Granger had a better idea.

But for now, she needed to get to work. There was no way she would get any sleep tonight anyway.

For a moment, she pondered just going through the floo to her lab, but even imagining the fear that would grip Draco if he came home and she was gone was enough to stop her. She had copies of all of her research here, and although the remaining two dozen plants that were left to be tested as the actual curative agents were still at the lab, she had everything she needed here to test tweaks to the delivery system for the cure itself.

Hermione had the basic elements of the cure sorted. She had developed a potion that was able to enter the bloodstream and would search out the specific gene mutation within each patient’s DNA that caused their lycanthropy. While she still had to work out exactly which plant ingredients needed to be combined with that potion to actually attack and reform those genes, she was facing another problem: In her tests so far, she learned that if the potion was administered too quickly, it would overwhelm the nervous system and could be lethal. But if it was administered too slowly, it became ineffective.

The task at hand was figuring out the exact speed at which the cure needed to be administered, and what the best system would be to do so.

Rummaging around in her lab, Hermione got out her research and began testing. There was a small part of her brain telling her that she needed to slow down. That she would not figure this out if she was manic while she worked. But her desperate need to fight back, to do something, effectively shoved that thought into a broom closet before locking the door and silencing the space.

Hermione wasn’t sure how long it had been. Only that the room appeared to be lighter now and there were dozens of pieces of parchment with scrawled notes, equations, and scratched out theories floating all around her as she remained hunched over her work table.

“Hermione?”

Hermione, having been so caught up in her work, hadn’t heard him enter, and she jumped up, yelled, and pointed her wand at him simultaneously from shock.

Draco immediately raised his hands in surrender. Realizing that it was him, and that he was now home safe, Hermione dropped her wand to the floor and bounded forward, throwing her arms around him.

“Oh gods, Draco.”

Draco hesitated for a moment before wrapping his arms around her.

“I was so worried. I know you said it was safe but you never know with these things and, oh! How is Padma? Is she doing alright? What about the other healers? Are there any leads on the wolves they captured? Have they been able to treat Remus? Tonks, oh gods, Tonks, is she alright?”

Hermione didn’t realize how fast she had been speaking until Draco leaned back, grabbing her upper arms and looking at her with concern.

“Hermione, love, slow down. It’s ok, everyone is ok. I’ll tell you all about it, but…love, why are you awake? Have you been up the whole night?” His voice sounded scratchy from exhaustion.

Hermione nodded her head furiously and stepped out of Draco’s arms, moving further into the lab and throwing her arms out in explanation. “Yes. I have a plan, Draco. I have to find this cure, and I can’t waste any more time. It has to be now. I have to find it. I have to end this. So I’ve been working. Look!” She rushed over to one of the levitating parchments and pulled it down before quickly shuffling back to him. “I’ve almost got the timing for the delivery system worked out. A couple more days at most. See? I figured out that I can use a muggle I.V. machine! I just have to figure out how to dose out the potion now and then that’s it…” Her voice was trailing off as another idea popped into her mind and she ran back to her work table to jot it down.

“Hermione.”

She didn’t look up.

“Hermione.”

She shook her head. “One second, I just had a thought about the drip delivery…if I can just—”

Suddenly, a large hand came over hers, holding her in place and stopping her from writing.

She whipped around. “Draco! I need to finish this!”

“No, Hermione. You need to stop.”

For the first time, she looked at him fully. His shoulders were tense and…was that fear in his eyes?

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

“Hermione, sweetheart, I need you to set down your quill, ok? You…you’re scaring me. Let’s go sit down and talk, ok? Help me understand what happened.” He kept his voice calm and placating.

Hermione’s mind cleared of some of the adrenalin-induced fog and she realized what it must have looked like when Draco walked in. Probably as though she’d had a psychotic break.

Taking a slow breath, she set down the quill and straightened, nodding.

The tension in Draco’s face eased a bit, and he wrapped his arm around her, holding her to him, as they walked out into the living room. It was only then that Hermione realized that the sun was up. It was morning.

“What time is it?” Her eyes were readjusting to the brightness after spending so many hours in her lab.

“Almost 8.”

“Oh…I guess I lost track of time.” Her voice sounded dazed even to her as Draco led her to the couch and pulled her down so they could face each other.

“Love, what happened after I left?” Draco reached out to take her hands in his, rubbing soothing circles on her palms.

“After you sent your first message, I…I didn’t want to be alone so I called everyone. Pansy, Luna, Theo, and George came over. They stayed until you sent the update that Padma was ok and that the building was clear. But after they left…” Hermione felt the emotion starting to rise in her chest.

“I couldn’t stop thinking it, Draco. I couldn’t stop thinking it.” Her voice became a whisper.

“Thinking what?”

Her eyes finally locked on his as tears started to stream down her face. “That it’s my fault. All of this! The…the healer who died. Padma getting hurt. Remus. You being in danger. That little boy…” Her voice broke. “This is all happening because of me. Because of what I chose to do. And I can’t let more people get hurt, Draco. I can’t.”

Draco surged forward, gathering her up in his arms. “Listen to me, Hermione. None of this is your fault. This is Greyback’s fault. No one else’s. We don’t hold ourselves accountable for the actions of psychopaths, remember? You are not responsible for what happened last night. You’re another victim, love. This is what he does. He taunts. He hurts people. He tries to find leverage. And he thinks he can use your heart, your compassion, as leverage against you. It wouldn’t even matter now if you stopped your research. You’re a means to an end for him, but he'll just find another one. Trust me…”

His voice became resigned, but his words energized Hermione.

She pulled back. “That’s exactly it, Draco. I can’t stop now, because then he’ll just go underground before he strikes again. No. I have to keep going. I have to find this cure as fast as I can. And then we have to use it . We have to use it to end this. To draw him out into the open once and for all. So that no one else gets hurt. No one else can get hurt, Draco. Please. I’m so scared that he’s going to hurt our friends, or Narcissa, or…or you. I’m terrified he is going to hurt you. I can’t lose you, Draco. I can’t.”

Her crying had turned hysterical, and Draco immediately grabbed her to pull her back into a hug.

“Oh, love. It’s ok. You’re not going to lose me, I swear.” He whispered soothing words in her ear as he rubbed her back with one hand and massaged her head with the other until her tears finally slowed.

After some time, she wasn’t sure how much, Draco pulled back, his eyes clear and focused.

“You’re right, love. You can’t stop your work. Not just because we can use it to draw him out, but because you’re helping people, and I’m not going to let this fucking monster stop you from doing that. But, Hermione, you’re going to be the one that gets hurt if you keep going on like this. You’re going to run yourself into the ground. And I can’t lose you , ok?”

A few more tears escaped as she took a shuddering breath and nodded.

“Ok. Here’s what we’ll do. You keep working as you have been. You’re already working on this every single day. And I have no idea what was written on that paper you just showed me, but clearly, you’re getting close.” There was a spark of humor in his eyes at that, and she snorted a laugh.

“And I’ll work with Tonks to develop of plan of how we can use the cure to drag Greyback out of hiding. Trust me, after last night, she is more motivated than all of us…”

“Remus…” Hermione had almost forgotten in the tumult of the conversation.

Draco shook his head. “He’s fine. He had some deep lacerations, but they were able to heal him. He left with Tonks this morning to go home. Padma’s home too, she was discharged a few hours ago.”

Hermione released a deep breath. “Thank Merlin. What…what about the people that were taken?”

Draco rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “Nothing yet. But the boy had his blood on file at St. Mungo’s from when he was originally bitten, so we may be able to use it for a locator spell. The team is on it.”

She nodded. That was not what she wanted to hear, but it was better than nothing, at least.

“Ok. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking knackered. Will you come upstairs with me so I can hold you for a few hours while we get some sleep?”

A small smile broke on her face. “Yes, I suppose that could be arranged.”

As they laid down a few minutes later, after both taking a shower to remove the residual grime and (in Hermione’s case) dried salamander blood, Hermione took her first deep breath since the night before, the scent of Draco—peppermint, spice, and cloves—filling her senses and calming her nerves.

They could do this. She knew they could do this. She just had to stay sane long enough to do it.

**

Hermione tried to follow Draco’s advice. She really did. She left the lab at a reasonable time each night and came home to have dinner (followed almost always by a fabulous round of sex), before going to sleep at a regular hour.

But she just couldn’t turn her brain off.

Hermione was waking up so often with a new idea for the formulation of the cure that she took to leaving a large notebook and an entire cup filled with pens on her bedside table, and more often than not, Draco would wake up in the middle of the night to her mumbling about compounds and obscure potion theory while scribbling frantically.

He’d tried to stop her the first few times, but after one particularly bad night in which Hermione had gotten so frustrated about his interruption that she got up and stomped downstairs and through the floo to her lab in nothing but her knickers and one of Draco’s button downs, he’d given it up as a bad job.

Instead, he conspired with Blaise and every day he came in to take over the afternoon security shift at the lab, he brought some delicious-smelling meal from restaurants in Italy, France, Greece, or Spain and pointedly started eating in front of her (quickly joined by Embry and Callum) that she was forced to stop and eat as well. She knew she should be grateful. She was grateful. It did not escape her notice that Draco remained, even as her mood continued to sour, the most loving and supportive partner she could ever ask for.

She knew she would feel guilty about how she was behaving later, but for now, her sole focus was on crossing the finish line.

Well, nearly her sole focus. With their wedding just over two months away, she did still spend at least an hour with Narcissa and Pansy each weekend discussing the details, and she had almost forgotten about her work entirely when her wedding dress designer had brought the dress over for her first fitting.

Both Narcissa and Pansy had taken one look at her when she stepped up onto the pedestal in the room and burst into tears, which in turn caused Hermione to burst into tears. The designer, a very severe but extremely talented woman who had spent half her life studying in Italy before returning to the UK, had performed a shield spell below Hermione’s chin to prevent any tears from falling on the fabric and had practically screamed at Narcissa and Pansy to “not come one foot closer!” lest they, too, dared cry on the intricate silk design.

Just when Hermione had thought that her tears were under control, it hit her that her mother would never see her in this dress and she began to weep so hard that Narcissa nearly flung the designer bodily from the room in order to pull Hermione into a hug that lasted more than 30 minutes.

She’d come home, red faced and drained, to find Draco waiting for her with a bottle of red wine, her favorite comfy pajamas, and Legally Blonde already playing on the television—clearly having been tipped off by Pansy to what had happened.

And then there was the other distraction pinging around inside her head.

About a week after the attack at St. Mungo’s, Draco had come home looking nervous.

Hermione had been stress-baking a blackberry pie and didn’t even look up, her focus on the complex latticework for her crust.

“Hi! How was your day? My latest formulation failed, again, so if you want to eat any of this pie, you may have to fight me for it…”

Hermione heard his footsteps as he walked into the kitchen and leaned his hands onto the island.

“I actually need to talk to you about my day, love.” His tone was laced with so much hesitance that it got her to stop her work and look up.

“What happened? Is everything ok?” Her eyes had gone wide.

Draco shook his head. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s just…” He took a deep breath. “Harry came to talk to me today.”

She cocked her head. “Ok?”

“He asked me—no, he begged me, Harry fucking Potter begged me, to ask you if you’d be willing to speak to him.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. Even though Draco had told her all about his conversation with Harry before Christmas, she had not expected this.

Her face must have betrayed her, because Draco pushed off of the island and came around to her side, placing his hands comfortingly on her hips.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, love. I made him no promises and, if I’m honest, he seems to understand quite well that he doesn’t deserve your forgiveness. I just wanted you to know that he’d asked.”

Hermione was silent for a long moment.

Of all the people who had hurt her, Harry was the only one who she had even the tiniest inkling to hear out.

She would never forgive Ron, or Molly, or any of the Weasleys really, but Harry…as much as she tried, she just couldn’t shake her fond memories of him. But at the same time, she could still feel the raw burn of his betrayal on her skin, and the residual pain of it was unquestionably more powerful than anything else.

She looked up at Draco. “Do you think I should?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know, love. There is a part of me that still wants to feed all of them, Potter included, to a herd of rabid manticores. But…loathe as I am to admit it, if any of them might deserve a chance at forgiveness, it’s him. But Hermione, it is not your job to give that to him. Not at all. He dug himself into that hole, and you’ve spent far too long saving him already. The only reason you should talk to him is if you think it would help you . What he wants doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t think I can. I don’t think I want to. At least, not now. Maybe someday, but…I just can’t right now.” She leaned her head into Draco’s chest as he brought his arms around her.

“Then that’s the end of it. We don’t have to talk about it again. We do, however, need to talk about this pie. I believe you said I’d have to fight you for it?”

She leaned back to look at him, her eyes stern. “That is correct, Mr. Malfoy. I am quite willing to duel for it.”

He raised an eyebrow as a smirk spread on his face. “I’d like to propose an alternative solution: For every orgasm I give you, I earn a piece of pie.” He gave her a challenging look, awaiting her reply.

She regarded him for a moment, trying to keep a straight face, and then stepped back, extending her hand for him to shake. “I accept your terms. Well negotiated.”

He clasped her hand in a firm shake before yanking it, pulling her into his chest and pressing his lips to hers in a fierce kiss.

And for a few hours at least, she did not think about the failed test at the lab, the looming threat of Greyback, or her frayed and uncomfortable feelings about her old friend.

**

Unfortunately, things did not get better over the next two weeks.

Hermione and Neville had narrowed down the possible ingredients to only two, but it seemed like every different formulation she tested failed.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t have bothered her as much. Science was about failing and trying again, but this was not a normal circumstance.

She was anxious to get Greyback off the streets. And, if she was honest with herself, she really wanted all of this to be over before her wedding. She knew that Draco would be anxious the whole time if there was still a security threat, and that is not how she wanted him to feel on their wedding day.

But those hopes were becoming dimmer by the day.

Hermione was feeling resigned to that fact as she initiated a test of the 112 th cure formulation on the morning of February 27 th . They had collected large samples of werewolf blood from volunteers, and each formulation was tested by initiating the delivery of the potion into a replica of human blood vessels that had been filled with actual werewolf blood.

She tapped her wand against the IV machine to start the drip of what this time was dark plum-colored liquid, and then leaned back against the opposite lab table, her hands coming up to rub roughly over her eyes.

Callum and Embry had stopped even watching the tests, and instead were in the other lab prepping the next round of formulations. Seamus, who was on security duty, was in the hallway, sitting with his feet propped up and looking through the latest edition of Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Hermione, anticipating the flash of red that would indicate another failure, turned around and walked to the edge of the lab to gather the beakers and supplies she would need for the next test.

She was closing the cabinet door that housed her equipment when she saw it. Reflecting in the glass of the beaker she was holding.

Blue light.

She whipped around, not making a sound, certain that she was imagining it.

But no. There it was. Shining over the spot where the test was running. Blue light.

Blue light.

That meant.

It meant…

Hermione practically threw the beaker on the counter and rushed forward, pulling out her wand to run diagnostic tests. She had to rerun them three times before she actually believed the words that appeared over her.

Normal human specimen.

No trace of lycanthropic virus.

No harm to patient.

She stumbled back a few paces until she hit the lab table. Her eyes were wide, and for the first time in weeks, her mind had gone completely clear.

“Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holy shit. Callum! Embry! Come here!”

The two boys casually walked into the lab.

“We’re almost ready with the next sample. Need us to clean this one up?” Embry inclined his head toward the test site.

Hermione put her arm out to stop their advance.

“Look.” She turned, once again facing the blue success lights and positive diagnostic results.

There was a beat of silence before both Embry and Callum both scrambled forward, talking over each other.

“Merlin, it, oh my gods, you did it. Is this cross-tested?”

“Should we re-run the diagnostic?”

“Does that really say NO trace? This is…it’s 100% effective? ONE HUNDRED PERCENT? Holy FUCK!”

A tingling was starting to spread across Hermione’s body. Disbelief warring with utter joy.

And also, urgency.

Callum and Embry were both still speaking at a mile a minute, broad smiles on their faces.

Hermione’s brain slammed into focus, even as her body felt dazed.

“Stop.”

Her voice was flat but utterly undeniable. Both boys immediately stopped speaking and stood still, waiting for her.

“We need to move very quickly. Embry, make copies of the parchment with this formula. Each of you take two, keep one in your pocket and put the other in your bag. Put additional copies in the safe, in my office, and in the clean room. And get a digital copy on a floppy disk. Leave the original here”

Embry nodded, tapping his wand to duplicate the parchment before silently running from the room.

“Callum, I need you to help me brew a large batch of this immediately. Enough for at least ten patients. Go get the ingredients from the stores.” He nodded and headed to the other room, leaving Hermione alone to set up a large cauldron and begin adding the ingredients for the delivery agent.

It was only when she began stirring that she realized how much she was shaking.

An hour later, Callum finished stoppering the last vial of the potion, placing it carefully in Hermione’s magically extended bag, tucked between many more copies of the parchment containing the formula.

As soon as it was loaded, Callum handed it to her without a word, both he and Embry standing, shellshocked.

“Stay here, I’ll be back.”

They nodded as she turned, making her way toward her office and the floo.

A moment later, she walked through the grate inside the DMLE, her eyes frantically searching the floor for Draco, her hand still clutching the bag containing the cure.

Her heart was beating faster than it ever had before, and she was certain that she must have looked insane, but none of that mattered now. None of it.

She rushed through the bullpen, barely registering that it was empty save for Ron, who had been placed on desk duty since his return from suspension.

She saw him rise from his chair out of the corner of her eye as she made a beeline for Draco’s door.

“Hermione? What are you doing here?” There was an edge to Ron’s voice. Hermione ignored him.

Finally reaching it, she burst through Draco’s office door, expecting to find him on the other side, only to see that the office was completely empty.

Whipping around she rushed back into the bullpen, her head turning rapidly from side to side looking for him.

“Hermione! I said, what are you doing here?” Ron repeated. Again, she ignored him.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally spotted a large group of aurors, including Draco, in one of the conference rooms on the opposite side of the floor.

She maneuvered through the cubicles until she could see him through the glass. She was vibrating with anticipation as she waved her arm to get his attention.

Almost instantly, Draco’s head snapped up from the plans he had been looking at on the table, his expression shifting quickly between shock and concern as he rose from his chair without a word to anyone else and ran out the door.

“Hermione? What are you doing here? What happened?”

He stopped several paces in front of her, clearly caught by the expression on her face.

“I did it.” Her words were barely above a whisper.

Draco looked confused. “Did what?”

Carefully, Hermione reached into the bag and pulled out one of the vials containing the dark purple liquid.

“I did it, Draco. It works. I did it.” It was only as she said it that the truth really started to sink in.

Draco’s eyes went wide as he took in the vial in her hand before his head slowly came up, a huge, beautiful smile growing across his face.

“YOU DID IT!”

In an instant, he rushed forward, grabbed Hermione in his arms, and pulled her off the ground, twirling her around as she laughed and he whooped for the entire office to hear.

Which they did. All of the aurors in the conference room quickly filed out to take in the scene. But neither Hermione nor, apparently, Draco, cared.

From behind her, she heard a breathless Seamus start to yell.

“Oy! What the bleeding hell, Hermione! You can’t just run off! Nearly lost my head, I did! What the hell are you doing?!”

She just smiled more broadly at Draco.

Continuing to hold her off the ground with one hand, Draco brought the other to her face.

“I knew you could do it, love. Always. I’m so proud of you.” He whispered it just for her to hear, before leaning in and kissing her soundly.

Vaguely, she heard the wolf whistles coming from the room, but nothing stopped her until a much closer, much louder voice broke through the fog.

“Want to tell me why you’re coming very close to violating several public indecency laws in the middle of my department?” Hermione pulled back from Draco, giving him a knowing smile before he finally set her down and she turned to face Tonks.

“I would very much like to tell you why, actually.” Hermione.

She continued, “if you’d like, you, Remus, and Teddy could come to our house tonight. I think it’s only fair that he be the first person to receive it.” With that, she extended her arm, her hand still clutching a vial of the cure.

Tonks inhaled sharply, her eyes going wide as she stared for a moment at the dark purple liquid. Draco squeezed her shoulder and leaned down from behind her to press a kiss to the side of her head as they waited.

After a beat, Tonks’s head snapped up, her eyes meeting Hermione’s.

“Is that? Are…are you sure? It…?”

Hermione nodded. “I’m sure. It works, Tonks. Perfectly.”

The final word had barely left her lips when Tonks let out a loud sob, her body pitching forward before she ran toward Hermione and pulled her into a hug as she cried.

“Oh gods, Hermione. Thank you. Thank you. I’ll never be able to…You saved him. You saved my husband. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

Hermione wrapped her arms around her old friend, holding her while she cried. Hermione teared up too, feeling the pain and the relief rolling off of Tonks’s body.

They stood there like that for several long minutes, Hermione vaguely aware that the entire DMLE was watching, shuffling back and forth uncomfortably as their boss, who rarely showed any other emotion besides anger or confident control, wept openly in front of them.

Eventually, Hermione felt Draco’s warm hand land on her shoulder.

“Boss. Tonks. We need to move. We need to execute the plan to secure the cure and the lab.” His voice was soothing and kind, but still definitive.

Tonks didn’t move for a moment. But Draco’s words seemed to sink in, and slowly, she pulled back, not even trying to staunch the tears falling from her eyes.

“Yes, ok. Lead the team, Auror Malfoy.” She stepped back, reluctantly releasing Hermione but keeping the bright smile on her tear-stained face.

Draco squeezed Hermione’s shoulder once before stepping back.

“Ok. We’re executing plan delta, everyone. Hermione, did you bring all of the brewed cure with you here?”

His voice had shifted to be all business, and she responded in kind. Nodding, she said, “yes. We brewed enough doses for ten patients to ensure there would be enough to catalogue in the DoM. I also have multiple copies of the written formulation. Additional copies as well as our other testing materials remain at the lab, spread across multiple locations.”

Draco nodded. “Good. Alright, Alpha team, we’re up. Let’s deliver the package to the DoM. Beta team, you know what to do.”

A group of aurors including Angelina Johnson, Michael Corner, and Harry—who Hermione realized at the last moment had been staring intently at her the whole time—all moved into position, surrounding her as they prepared to move through the Ministry and into the DoM, where the samples of the cure could be kept secure. The second group immediately ran for the stairs, spreading out onto other floors.

“So we’re clear, I still do not appreciate being referred to as ‘the package,’ Draco.” She grumbled as she situated herself in the center of the circle of aurors.

Draco stepped directly in front of her, taking up the lead of the team. “Dully noted, love.” She could hear the smirk in his voice.

With a final roll of her eyes, they began to move forward.

They’d set this plan in place months ago, after the DMLE took over her security. As soon as the cure was discovered, she was to make copies of the formula and spread them throughout the lab as backups in case she was attacked. Then, she was to brew a large sample of the potion which could be safely locked in the Department of Mysteries where no one would be able to steal or tamper with it.

It was the getting from here to there that got tricky. While the primary group would guard Hermione, the others would be manning the grates to the rightmost lift of the bank they were approaching on each floor. The auror on the top floor of the Ministry would ensure that the lift was empty and then send it down to the DMLE, with other aurors blocking anyone from getting on before it arrived.

Moments later, the arrival ding sounded and Draco stepped forward, opening the golden grates and doing a final check before nodding as Hermione and the rest of the team got in. Hermione could feel Harry’s eyes on her as they stood close together inside the lift, but she refused to turn.

Her heart was beginning to race as they descended toward the 9 th floor. This was it. This was actually happening. And all she had to do now was get through the doors to the DoM so the cure could be secured. After that, no matter what happened to her, it would be safe and any werewolf who wanted it could take it.

Finally, the doors opened onto the black marble floor, and she felt all of the aurors tense as they prepared to move forward. This was the most unsecured area they would pass through.

But thankfully, this time, the only sounds in the hallway were the clack of their shoes as they made their way forward. As they turned the final corner and the doors to the DoM came into view, she finally let go of the breath she had been holding.

Quickly, carefully, Hermione performed the unlocking charms that would allow her to slip through, grabbing the handle of the DoM door for the first time in nearly eight months. There was a sense of relief, of coming home, in it.

A calm that was broken immediately as she stepped through the door and heard Theo’s whoop as he ran forward, gathered her in his arms, and began spinning her around before the door had even closed behind her.

“MY BEST FRIEND CURED LYCANTHROPY!”

From outside the perimeter wards, Draco called. “Oy! I thought I was your best friend, Theo!”

As the door began to shut, Theo leaned his head around. “Sorry mate, she’s outstripped you. Bet you wish you’d let me see you naked now, don’t you!”

The door shut just as Theo finished, leaving the two of them to giggle for a moment in the safety of the department before they got to work.

Theo grabbed Hermione’s hand, bringing it up to his lips to place a kiss on her palm, before threading his fingers through hers as they began the walk through the dark hallways toward the records room.

“When the message came through—I nearly blew a hole through the ridiculous cursed trunk I’ve been trying to decommission. I am so, so proud of you, Gorgeous. I mean, I’m not surprised, it’s always been your destiny to save our entire bleeding world, but fuck is it exciting to see it up close.”

Theo squeezed her hand as he skipped a bit with joy. Hermione, too, felt warm contentment take over. She’d been so focused on just getting to the finish line, on actually finding the cure itself, that she really hadn’t thought about what it would feel like when she did. She’d never considered what it might be like to realize that she, Hermione Granger, the nobody muggleborn who had stepped on the Hogwarts Express with bushy hair, an insufferable attitude, and not much else, would be here, just over a decade later. That she would have done something great. Something important.

Sure, she had fought in the war. Hell, she’d been instrumental in winning it. But none of that had ever felt like an accomplishment to Hermione. It hadn’t been something she chose. The circumstances didn’t allow for any other course of action, and she was simply doing her best with what the world had thrown at her.

But this time, this was hers. This had been something she wanted. Something she chose. And she’d done it.

Hermione was still floating on that cloud as she and Theo entered the records room and found Freya just inside. Thankfully, she was just the same as always, looking bored and uninterested in the world changing scientific breakthrough she was being asked to safely catalogue in the catacombs of the DoM.

By the time she and Theo had once again reached the black lacquered door that would take Hermione back out to the waiting aurors, they were both wiping tears from their eyes as they laughed about how ridiculous the whole thing had been.

The next few hours of Hermione’s life felt surreal.

After they had arrived back in the DMLE, the entire department—even Ron, who Tonks had reluctantly allowed to join to provide additional security—went with Hermione back to her lab, to begin transporting all of research, equipment, and testing materials from the lab back to a secure vault at the Ministry.

When they first arrived back to the lab, Hermione and a dozen aurors had walked in on Embry and Callum practically mauling each other against one of the lab tables, to which Hermione had just laughed.

“I KNEW it!” With a smug look, she looked at Draco. “You owe me ten galleons.”

He just rolled his eyes before walking into the lab as Embry and Callum quickly moved away from each other, readjusting their clothes. “Just wait a few weeks, love. Then all of my galleons will be yours.”

As Hermione walked past a sour-looking Ron who was positioned just inside the doorway to the lab, she remarked: “Ah, yes well, we all know I’m marrying you for your money.” She winked at Draco as he smiled back at her.

After most of the aurors had left, Draco, Seamus, Harry, and—unfortunately—Ron, remained as security while Hermione brewed another batch of potion to use with Remus later that night.

Hermione turned the stereo system to its loudest volume, playing the Tragic Kingdom album and unabashedly singing along while she worked. Seamus, too, who Hermione had effectively converted into a muggle music lover, sang along as well, much to Draco’s amusement and Ron’s distaste. Harry just stood quietly, watching it all.

**

The smile had not left Hermione’s face. She and Draco had walked, hand-in-hand, through the floo an hour ago. Hermione had immediately jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. He had stumbled, a laugh on his lips, as he pressed her into the wall of the living room, ripping at her jeans until one of her legs was free and he was able to press his cock inside her.

She had thrown her head back into the wall as he thrust roughly into her, whispering how proud he was of her, how awed he was, how fucking sexy she was, how badly he had wanted to fuck her in the middle of the DMLE, and how lucky he was that she had chosen him. They had come together, yelling desperately into the quiet of the house before sinking down into the rug. It was perfect.

But now they were presentable, cleaned up and prepared for their guests to walk through the floo.

At 6pm on the dot, green flames burst to life and a tiny ball of energy came running into the living room.

“AUNT MINNIE!”

Thankfully, this was not the first time Hermione had experienced Teddy’s excitement, and she was prepared, scooping him up just as he reached her, at the same moment that a smiling Tonks and an almost dazed-looking Remus walked through behind him.

“Hello, Teddy! What is that you have?”

Clutched in his hand was a small bunch of flowers. “Mummy said that you’re going to make daddy feel better! She said, she said that this is a very important day and that you are very special, so we should bring you flowers to thank you.” He thrust the bouquet toward Hermione’s chest. “Thank you, Aunt Minnie!”

Laughing, Hermione accepted the partially flattened bundle. “Thank you so much, Teddy! Did you pick these yourself?”

Teddy nodded rapidly. “Mmmhmm! And guess what? I got chased by a garden gnome! Mummy was upset but I thought it was very funny!”

Hermione’s eyes widened in false shock as she looked between Teddy and his parents, who were still hand-in-hand a few feet away, smiling sweetly at their son. “A garden gnome! Well, Mr. Lupin, I do believe you have a right to file a report with the auror office about that! Isn’t that right, Draco?”

Draco, who had been standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a bottle of wine and four glasses levitating next to him, stepped forward. “Oh yes indeed. My job is to track down naughty garden gnomes, Teddy.”

Giggling, Teddy shook his head. “No it’s not. Mummy and Daddy told me your job is to protect Aunt Minnie. They told me you love Aunt Minnie. Do you love Aunt Minnie?”

Draco nodded indulgently. “Yes, I do. Is that alright?”

Teddy scrutinized him for a moment, his little nose scrunching up in thought. “Yep! I love Aunt Minnie too!” Hermione squeezed the little boy tighter. “Your hair is very weird.”

Tonks and Remus both exclaimed, talking over each other to tell Teddy that he was not to say things like that, but Draco just laughed and shook his head.

“He’s right. My hair is very weird.” Teddy nodded in agreement before wiggling out of Hermione’s arms and turning, immediately losing interest in all of the adults as he began exploring the first floor of the house.

With Teddy occupied, Hermione stepped forward toward Remus and Tonks.

Remus spoke first, keeping his tone low so Teddy wouldn’t overhear.

“Hermione…I…well, I don’t really know what to say. I’m…if I’m honest, I didn’t think this day would ever come for me. I don’t know how to thank you.”

Tonks sniffled next to him and wrapped her arms around his middle. “Oh, darling.”

Hermione could feel the tears pricking the back of her eyes, but she tried to keep them at bay. “Remus, you’ve saved my life multiple times, I’m just returning the favor.”

Her old professor gave her a smile, his eyes sparkling. Draco put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.

“Well. Are you ready to get started?”

Remus looked at Tonks, who smiled back at him and nodded.

With that, Hermione led Remus to a comfortable chair in the living room where she had set up the I.V. stand and hung the bag containing the dark purple potion of the cure. After preparing the skin on his arm, she carefully placed the needle, securing it to the inside of his forearm before standing up to start the drip.

“You may feel some mild burning around the injection site, but the testing didn’t show any other side effects. Are you ready?”

She could feel Draco and Tonks silently standing by, tension thick in the room even as Teddy babbled in the corner while playing with the toys Tonks had brought for him.

Remus took a deep breath. “I can’t even remember, you know, the time before I became a werewolf. I’m quite looking forward to it.”

“You better be. I have a lot of plans for us, Remus John Lupin.” Tonks’s tone was joking, but they could all hear the anxiety swirling just beneath it.

With a huff of laughter, Remus looked back at Hermione and nodded.

With shaking fingers, Hermione started the infusion and they all watched as the purple liquid slowly traveled down the tube until it reached the needle and began to make its way into Remus’s blood stream.

Three sets of eyes turned to Remus, waiting for any reaction. He was silent for a moment, his gaze drawn to the injection site.

“Well, this is easier to manage than choking down wolfsbane, I must say.”

The quip finally broke the tension in the room, relieved laughter breaking the silence as Draco finally summoned the wine and they all toasted first to Hermione, and then to Remus.

Soon enough, Draco made his way back to the kitchen to start on dinner, while Tonks alternated between chasing after Teddy and discussing plans with Draco about how the strategy for luring Greyback out into the open. Hermione remained in the living room with Remus, running frequent diagnostics and monitoring for any adverse reactions.

“How are you doing, Hermione?”

Remus’s tone was soft, filled with kindness and understanding.

Hermione, who had been focused on scratching down some notes, looked up, confused. “About? Greyback? Alright, actually. I want this all to be over, that’s for sure, but I’m feeling a bit better about things now.”

Remus nodded. “That’s good, Hermione. But I actually meant about everything that’s happened with your friends.” His face was open as he looked at her. Hermione felt her stomach clench momentarily.

“Honestly? I’m fine. Better than fine. After spending a year knowing how they’d been lying to me, being able to watch them try to manipulate me in real time, it’s a relief to just be done with it. To be done with them.”

Remus nodded thoughtfully. “Mhmm. Can I offer you my opinion?”

Hermione leaned back in her chair, taking a sip of her wine before she nodded. Bracing for whatever was to come.

“Ron is a piece of utterly worthless shit. He was always hot tempered and impulsive, but this…for fuck sake, what he said in those damn articles. I’m deeply impressed that you haven’t used some artifact from the Department of Mysteries to lock him inside an amulet for all eternity. It’s certainly what I would have done.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. If she’d had to guess what he was going to say, she never would have come up with that. A bubble of shocked laughter escaped her, and Remus gave her a quick wink before continuing.

“Of course you should never speak to him again. I could understand never wanting to speak to any of the Weasleys again for everything that happened after the wedding—and before.”

Hermione released a breath. “Thank you, Remus. I appreciate that.”

He caught her eyes. “But Harry…”

Hermione froze as Remus brought his free hand to his forehead, rubbing over his temples.

“He came to see me a few weeks ago. Please know, Hermione, that he did not ask me to say anything to you, in fact I think he would be quite upset to learn that I am sharing this with you, but, I’d never seen him look like that before. So broken. Haunted. He reminded me of myself.”

Hermione turned her head, looking into Remus’s sad eyes with confusion.

“James and I barely saw each other in that last year before he died. I could tell you that it was because we were both busy with the Order, but that’s only part of the truth. I was jealous of him, so deeply jealous that he had Lily, that he got to have the family I so desperately craved. It made me pull away from him. And then it was too late. I never got to mend that fence. I lost my last chance to spend time with the person who had always been one of my closest friends. And Sirius…”

Remus shut his eyes, dropping his chin and shaking his head.

“I knew from the beginning that something wasn’t right. That his arrest made no sense. But I never went to visit him in Azkaban. I never asked any questions. I wasted so much time. And although I remain infinitely grateful that I got the opportunity to reconnect with him before his death, to rebuild our friendship and to have someone I loved so deeply back in my life…I could have had so much more time with him. And maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything…but maybe it would have changed everything . I live with that regret every day, Hermione, and I would do anything to make sure you avoided a similar fate.”

Remus’s words sunk in, weaving together pieces of a story Hermione had never had, and forcing her to pause and think.

Intellectually, Hermione knew that, as much as he had hurt her, that Harry was not some calculating villain working behind the scenes intent on destroying her life. He was a confused boy who had made a lot of mistakes—bad ones—and had left Hermione, a person he claimed to love, bruised and beaten in his wake.

And maybe Hermione should let it go. But…she just couldn’t.

“Remus…I don’t know. So much has happened. The pain he caused me is…indescribable. I don’t think I could take any more of it.” Her voice sounded small and desperate, even to her own ears.

Remus reached forward, covering her hands with his. “I understand, Hermione. I do. But if there is any part of you thinks there is something left there to salvage, don’t let fear stop you from exploring it. I have a beautiful life now, and you are, at this very moment, giving me a ticket to an even better one, but the sadness from those mistakes that I made will never leave me. And if I can help you avoid that future, I want to do it. Just think about it, alright?”

Hermione stared back at him, her heart beating too fast as thoughts spun out in every direction inside her mind.

Eventually, she nodded weakly. “Ok.”

Remus squeezed her hands before leaning back into his chair. “Good. Now let’s go back to focusing on the fact that you just made a breakthrough in wizarding medicine that has baffled the brightest minds for at least five centuries. I hope you’ve thought about what photograph you’d like them to put in the history books.”

A smile broke on her face as she laughed, the tension broken once again.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, until Tonks and Draco came out to join them, everyone watching carefully as the liquid in the I.V. bag shrank smaller and smaller.

As the end neared, Teddy clearly sensed the anxiety in the room and came bounding in to sit on Remus’s lap, patting his cheeks with his small hands as he snuggled into his chest.

Soon enough, the I.V. bag emptied, and Hermione stood on shaky legs, taking a steadying breath as she pointed her wand at Remus’s chest.

Tonks’s hand came shooting out, grasping Remus’s desperately as they all waited, breaths held.

Hermione swished her wand, casting a diagnostic charm. The words flashed above them for everyone to read.

Normal human specimen.

No trace of lycanthropic virus.

No harm to patient.

There was a beat before Tonks let out a broken yell, throwing herself into Remus’s arms, capturing Teddy between them.

Tears streaming down her face, Hermione quickly stepped forward to remove the needle from Remus’s arm as he stood, bringing his newly freed arm around his wife as he placed a kiss on Teddy’s head.

Hermione stood back to give them a moment, Draco coming up, grabbing her arms and spinning her toward him.

Without a word, he brought her into his arms, hugging her tightly to him.

The reality began to really hit her. She’d done it. It was real.

As if he heard her innermost thoughts, Draco leaned into her ear. “Your parents are so proud of you, Hermione.”

Unable to stop herself, she let out a sob, her hands coming to clutch against Draco’s arms as she cried.

When Professor McGonagall had knocked on the door to this house that summer, finally explaining why so many strange things tended to happen around Hermione, both she and her parents had been relieved to know the truth. But. The wizarding world was difficult to explain to muggles who didn’t live in it every day, and as time went on, Hermione’s mom and dad—for all their efforts to understand—struggled to comprehend what Hermione’s future would look like.

But when she told them she was interested in trying to find cures for magical illnesses, they had understood. They had been so excited, so supportive, so sure that Hermione would change the wizarding world.

It broke her heart that they were not here to see it. But as Draco held her, placing kisses against her temple as he whispered soothing words, she could feel, with more certainty than she ever had before, that they were still here with her, watching over her, their hands on her back as she moved through the world.

**

Three days later, after Hermione’s third sleepless night as she recounted Remus’s advice, she turned to Draco as he slowly woke up.

He opened his eyes, taking a moment to realize that Hermione was sitting up, her back pressed against the headboard, as she looked forward into the middle distance.

She was only broken out of her reverie when Draco’s hand slid up her thigh, squeezing, a look of concern on his face.

“Hermione, love, what is it?”

She turned toward him, taking in the emotion and care in his eyes.

She was lucky. So lucky.

She had a mother who had taken her in, who had abandoned everything she had been taught in order to love her.

She had friends who would go to war for her. Not because she asked them. They would do it for her. To fight for her. To defend her. Because they knew her and loved her for exactly who she was.

And she had a partner who loved her unconditionally. Who was willing to walk down any path with her, no matter the potential consequences, clasping hands and jumping off whatever cliff she wanted. Together.

A wave of emotions hit her as she looked into Draco’s eyes.

“I need you to do something for me.” She whispered.

Draco nodded without hesitation. “Anything, love.”

Hermione brought her hand up to caress his cheek.

“Can you tell Harry that I’d like to talk to him?”

Draco’s eyes went momentarily wide before they softened. He pulled himself up. His hands coming around to cup her face. “Of course, love.”

She nodded back at him as he leaned in, placing a kiss on her forehead.

It had taken her a while to realize it, but she knew now. This was the right thing to do.

Chapter End Notes

The cure is here!

She is the brightest witch of her age, after all!

We're getting close to the end now...and it's making me feel all of my feelings!

Thank you all again for such a kind response to the last chapter, I'm so grateful.

I did want to say that I am currently waffling between posting a short chapter on Wednesday or rolling it all into the next chapter on Sunday, so keep an eye out this week!

Love you all.

xoxo,

Flames

The Great War

Chapter Notes

Still in Hermione’s POV this week!

NOTE: Please make sure to read the AN at the bottom for a schedule update!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

December, 1997

Hermione looked up at the roof of the tent as the heavy canvass whipped like ship sails in the howling wind. Even with the protective enchantments and warming charms, there was only so much to be done to stop the elements from getting inside. She just had to hope they would be enough to keep the tent itself intact.

She could take the cold. It had seeped into her bones over the last several weeks—at this point Hermione was fairly certain that her core body temperature would never be normal again.

But it wasn’t just the physical cold licking at her skin. There was a deep, dark dread creeping into her mind, into her heart, and it was starting to break her.

She glanced to the opposite end of the space, her eyes catching on Harry.

They hadn’t spoken in two days. Neither was angry, exactly, they just weren’t sure how to move forward. Ron had been gone for three weeks and at this point Hermione had given up hope that he would ever return. How could he find them even if he wanted to?

There was a large part of her that was furious at him for walking away—for letting his temper get away from him again. But she was also afraid, so afraid that he would be caught and killed—or worse. And she was desperately sad. Sad that they had lost someone else. That it seemed like the only thing that happened now was losing people.

Hermione looked back at Harry, who was huddled in a chair, staring at what Hermione now knew to be the Marauders Map. He was watching Ginny. He was always watching Ginny. To make sure she was still moving. That she was still alive.

It sent a bolt of irrational anger through her.

She couldn’t check on Draco. She had no idea if he was ok.

She didn’t even know if he was still alive.

Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought. Visions of him being tortured and killed woke her every night now.

She was starting to think that, even if he was alive, she’d never see him again. She would never make it out of this alive. She’d come to terms with it, she’d always known that there would be a chance that she’d have to die for the cause. And she was willing to, if that’s what it took.

But knowing that she would never get to say goodbye to him sent her into a spiral. Never be able to touch him again. Never see his eyes. Never tell him how much she loved him…

She didn’t realize that she had started to sob until Harry appeared in front of her, kneeling on the ground, his hands covering hers as they shook in her lap.

“Hermione? What’s wrong? Are you…are you ok?”

There was so much concern in his voice. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t break. She was all that Harry had left, and she had to be strong for him. Harry had to make it through this, he was their only hope.

Desperately trying to get her tears under control, she nodded her head quickly.

“Yes. I–I–I’m fine. I’m s-sorry. It’s, it’s fine. I’m ok.”

She couldn’t get the tears to stop. The more she tried, the more out of control they became. She squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to stop Harry from seeing the pain in them. The fear. Hermione was reaching for any shard of strength she had to try and shove her emotions back down.

Eyes still closed, Hermione didn’t realize that Harry had leaned up on his knees until his arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly to him.

“I know how bad it is, Mione. I know. But we’re going to make it. We’re going to figure it out. I promise you. Ok? I promise we’re going to make it out of this. We’re going to make it out of this and live long, happy lives. With your brain and my utter lack of self preservation, how can we lose?” He cajoled, shaking her a bit.

A bubble of laughter broke through Hermione’s tears. She wrapped her arms around Harry’s waste and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Harry.”

With a final squeeze, he released her and stood. “Don’t thank me yet. I may or may not have eaten the last of the tinned pears…”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. She picked up the nearest book and chucked it at him.

“Hey! Books aren’t weapons, Hermione! How dare you use…” he grabbed the book from the floor and checked the title, “T he Goblin Wars, 1652-1684 —honestly Hermione, do you really think knowing who won a battle in Norway between wizards and goblins in 1671 is going to help us?” His tone was joking as he raised an eyebrow, dancing just out of reach as Hermione shot up to grab the book back from him.

“Give me back my book, Harry Potter! You never know when goblin lore might come in handy!” She lunged forward, but Harry turned and ran, positioning himself on the other side of the table, taunting her to chase him.

“I guess you’ll just have to catch me then!” And he took off, weaving between the chairs and the cots, while Hermione gave chase, laughing all the way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

March, 2003

She was not distracting herself.

She had been criminally negligent in replanting her magical herb garden in the greenhouse. That was the only reason she had decided to spend every single second since she got home from the lab today rushing around, using a ruler to ensure that the seeds were planted exactly ten centimeters from each other, and then pruning back the rarer (not entirely legal) plants tucked away in the back corner.

Her sudden interest in completing the task had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with the fact that, any moment now, Draco would walk through the floo with Harry in tow.

She had certainly not been so caught in her own thoughts about the meeting that it caused her to mis-measure ingredients three times in a row this afternoon. And she had absolutely not laid awake last night as her mind spun out considering all of today’s possible outcomes, causing Draco to eventually sit up and tell her to just tell him what she was thinking because he could swear that the tension in the room was so thick that it was invading his dreams.

She was fine.

And when she heard the floo activate, she only needed 113 seconds before she was prepared to walk back inside, make her way through the kitchen, and stop in the doorway leading to the living room as she observed Draco leaning casually against the breakfast bar as Harry slowly turned around the room, walking hesitantly toward the mantle and focusing on one of the framed photos there.

It was a picture of Hermione and Draco lying on a blanket in the middle of the Malfoy family gardens. Hermione’s head was in the center of Draco’s chest, and they were both looking up into the bright summer sky and laughing, bursts of color from the blooming flowers surrounding them. It was Hermione’s favorite picture they’d ever taken.

“That was taken the summer before Fifth year.” Hermione’s voice was steadier than she thought it would be, and Harry startled, turning toward her as though she had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Hello, Harry.”

Hermione took two steps into the room and toward Draco, leaning up on her toes to kiss him hello as he brought one hand to lightly twirl a single curl in his fingers.

“Hi, love.” Draco kept his voice light, but she saw him scanning her face, taking in every line of tension.

She gave him a smile of reassurance and set her hand on his arm before turning back to Harry.

“Welcome to our home.”

Harry’s eyes were still bewildered as he gave one final look around, but his voice was sure when he spoke. “Thank you for inviting me, Hermione. The house is…well, it reminds me of you.” A wistful smile took over his face. “This is your parents’ house, right?”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up, she had not been expecting him to say that. She turned to Draco with a questioning glance, but he shook his head—he hadn’t told him.

“It…is. How did you know that?”

Harry’s look turned sad. “First year, you told Ro—” he stopped himself. “You told us how much you loved your home, and that your dream was to raise your family there.”

Hermione was taken aback. She had told them that, Harry and Ron. It had been one of the first conversations they’d had after the troll incident. When they became friends. But she didn’t think Harry would remember it…

“Yes, I suppose I did.”

Harry’s eyes looked clearer than they had since before she’d seen him in the Manor back in December. Some of the lost look about him was gone. And when he spoke next, he did it with clarity of purpose.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Hermione. Can we talk?”

Hermione’s stomach clenched. This is what she’d agreed to, of course, but it still sent her nerves into overdrive. Clearly sensing her unease, Draco squeezed her hip reassuringly, pulling her a bit tighter to him. His warmth, the solid, constant, unshakable reality of him calmed her, just as it always did.

With a final deep breath, she nodded to Harry, gesturing for him to take a seat in the living room.

Draco leaned in and kissed her temple. “I’ll get started on dinner. I’m craving Thai.”

With a final squeeze, he walked out of the living room and into the kitchen.

“He can cook?” Harry questioned, warily.

Hermione let out a chuckle and shook her head. “I was surprised, too.”

From the kitchen, Draco called. “I do not appreciate that tone, Granger!”

She smiled, shaking her head as she made her way into the living room and took a seat in one of the overstuffed leather chairs that had come from Draco’s old flat, across the coffee table from Harry, who was leaned forward, tension in his shoulders.

His eyes weren’t on her, though. They were focused on the view of the kitchen through the breakfast bar, where Draco was quietly beginning to gather ingredients to cook.

“He’s going to stay in there listening the whole time, isn’t he? To make sure he’s in cursing distance in case I do something wrong?” He finally turned his eyes back toward Hermione, a brow raised.

Her expression was serious as she answered. “Yes, he is. He’s quite protective of me. Even when I am perfectly capable of managing myself.” She raised her voice for the last sentence to make sure Draco heard her.

Harry smiled, a bit sadly. “He loves you.” It was a simple statement of fact, but there was a heavy weight behind the words. Hermione could hear the meaning under it. Draco loved her in a way Ron never did. Draco cared for her and protected her from pain in a way that neither Harry nor any of the Weasleys ever had. He truly loved her.

She just held Harry’s gaze, letting that understanding settle between them, while Draco called again from the kitchen. “Yes, I do. Now start apologizing, Potter.”

Harry let out a single huff of laughter, bringing his hands up to rake through his hair before dropping them, taking a deep breath, looking back at Hermione, and beginning to speak.

“I am sorry, Hermione. I am so, so sorry. And I know that’s not enough. Not nearly enough. I’ve done so much, too much, to ever deserve your forgiveness or your friendship, but I do want you to know that I’m sorry.”

Hermione’s jaw clenched. “For what, Harry?”

Harry nodded, clearly anticipating her need for detail. She was Hermione Granger, after all.

“For everything. I have a lot of apologies to make to you, Hermione. But for a start, I am so sorry about the last two years. About what I did to help Ron lie to you.”

Harry dropped his head briefly, his fists clenching in his hands.

“You were right. What you said at the Manor. You were right. I was a coward. When I caught him with Daphne…”

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. She’d nearly forgotten that Harry had caught the two of them together in the DMLE.

Harry clocked her reaction and recoiled a bit, but continued to push through.

“When I caught them together, my first thought was about you, Hermione. I told him that he had to tell you, and that if he didn’t, I would. But then…” His hand came back up to rake through his hair. “But then he told me his story. He told me that you didn’t love him, that you were sick, that you’d threatened to kill yourself if he ever told anyone about it. He…fuck, Hermione…he was weeping, sitting there in my office.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed even as she rolled them. “Well of course he was. He certainly knows how to turn it on when he needs to.”

Harry nodded resignedly. “Yes, but that is no excuse. At that moment, I could feel my whole life starting to crumble around me. He had taken a fucking sledgehammer to the foundation of our lives and I was terrified that everything was going to come crashing down. I didn’t want to lose it. I just…I couldn’t lose it.”

Hermione leaned back. How typical. “So, you decided to lie to me to protect yourself? Can you see how selfish, how fucking childish and unacceptable, that is?”

To Hermione’s surprise, Harry did not cower at her words. He didn’t turn away. He just nodded.

“Yes. That’s exactly what it was. You were right, Hermione. I didn’t ever grow up, not really. After the war, I just did whatever I could to try to find some stability, some normalcy, to have a family. I didn’t think about anything else. And I…” he released a deep breath, “I thought I deserved it. I thought I’d earned it. And so, when Ron did what he did, my only thought was to try and fix what he had broken for me . I made the decision I did for my own benefit. I let you be hurt to protect my own life. It is the single worst thing I have ever done, Hermione. I will take that regret to my grave. The shame of it will never leave me.”

Hermione could see the truth in Harry’s eyes. He wasn’t holding anything back now. He wasn’t trying to spare himself anymore. There was a part of her that started to thaw at that, but the anger and hurt and confusion bubbled up regardless.

“But Harry, how could you let it go on for so long? When he didn’t stop. When he didn’t tell me. Did you really believe those lies? What if I hadn’t broken up with him? Were you just going to let it go on forever?”

He looked cornered and, to his credit, deeply ashamed.

“I don’t know, Hermione.” It was a broken, desperate whisper. “I wish I did. I wish I could tell you that I had a plan or a line that I wouldn’t let him cross or, just, anything. But I didn’t. I was just letting things happen day-by-day. And yes, I did doubt that he was telling the truth. I’d see you, and you seemed fine, happy even, and it just didn’t make sense. But I was terrified, too, Hermione. Because even when I had doubts, there was still a part of me that had to consider the consequences if what he said was true. He said you’d kill yourself. I couldn’t…I couldn’t lose you, Hermione. I couldn’t risk losing you. You’re my best friend!”

Tears were starting to stream down Harry’s cheeks now, and it was Hermione’s turn to rear back. She could feel her own tears threatening to fall at his words, but she could also feel the look of disbelief plastered across her face. She still couldn’t completely square Harry’s actions with his declaration.

Harry could obviously see her struggling, and he put his hands up in surrender, not even attempting to staunch the tears.

“I know, I know Hermione. I was a shitty friend. More than that. I was the worst friend imaginable. I understand why you don’t think that I was ever your friend, you have every right to think so. But I swear to you, Hermione, you were—you are—my best friend. I love you. You’ve been my family since we were eleven. I know how terribly I messed up, how badly I failed. I’m sure I’ll be working with my mind healer for years to fully understand why I did what I did, but none of that matters right now. What matters is that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Hermione was starting to feel like she was riding on an unruly broomstick, being whipped in every direction, up and down, all at once.

She had never heard Harry speak like this. Ever. He’d never been this open, had never been so willing to admit his mistakes and take responsibility for them. It was a strange sensation—and so different from the way Ron and the Weasleys had behaved over the last few months that she was struggling to fit it into her understanding of the structure of her life at this moment.

But one thing he had said really caught her off guard.

“You’re seeing a mind healer?”

Harry made an amused noise in his throat and nodded. “Yes. Started last month. When I started to come to terms with just how badly I’d ruined my life, how deep I’d dug myself into a hole, I realized there was no way I’d be able to get out by myself. I need help.”

Hermione nodded, a bit bewildered. “That’s…that’s good, Harry. I think that’s good.”

Harry smiled ruefully. “She reminds me of you, actually. She’s incredibly kind, don’t get me wrong, but she doesn’t take any bullshit. Won’t let me get away with doing anything half-way. We’ve spent a lot of time talking about you, about what you said back at the Manor. She said you were right, too. And that I owed you far more than an apology for what’s happened over the last few years.”

He took another deep breath. “Which is why I would like to apologize for how I treated Draco at school.”

The quiet chopping noises that had been coming from the kitchen stopped.

“Wh-what?” Hermione was taken aback.

“Don’t get me wrong, he was an absolute prat,” a chuckle sounded in the kitchen, causing Harry to roll his eyes before the sincerity came back into his face, “but I took that and twisted it into something more. Something bigger. And I should have been able to let go of those rivalries, or at least not translate that into claiming that he was evil, but I didn’t. I just let it eat away at me, and I refused to hear any reason about it.”

Hermione just sat there in stunned silence while Harry continued.

“You tried to tell me. Over and over. Long before the two of you were together. You told me he wasn’t a dark wizard, that he was just a kid, that it wasn’t fair of me to assume he was the same as his father, and I didn’t believe you. I told you that you were crazy. I made you think that you’d be…that you’d be shunned for being with him. I made you think you couldn’t tell me the truth. And I can’t stop thinking…”

Tears shone again in his eyes, a broken look on his face as he whispered the next words.

“I can’t stop thinking how different things could have been. If you’d been able to be together—in public. It might have changed something, hell, it might have changed everything. But I was so blinded by my own hatred that I made you believe that you couldn’t even tell me. I hate myself for that, Hermione.”

She let that penny drop, clinging against the inside of her brain.

She’d thought about it before, of course. What would have happened if Draco Malfoy, the most famous pureblood son of a death eater, had publicly dated Hermione Granger, Harry Potter’s muggleborn best friend, before the war started? Could it have changed anything? The best answer she had was: Maybe.

She shook her head. “Harry, that’s not the only reason we kept it a secret. You…” she sighed defeatedly, “you can’t blame yourself for that. The situation was complicated…”

“My father would have killed us, Harry.” Draco’s words were definitive as he walked back into the living room, coming behind Hermione’s chair and placing his hand on her shoulder.

“He would have killed both of us and then invented some story about how Hermione had killed me trying to steal my magic, and he would have used it to gain even more support for the cause. Trust me, I’ve thought about it, and I don’t think there would have been any way for us to actually have been together in public. It would have put targets on both of our backs.”

Draco shook his head sadly as Hermione brought her hand up to cover his, squeezing it comfortingly. He was right, of course, but it was never fun to think back on how terrifying it was then.

Harry didn’t look at all relieved. Staring between the two of them, he said, “maybe so, but if I hadn’t been so awful, you could have at least told me. I could have…I don’t know, I could have helped. I could have been there for you, Hermione.”

His tone was pleading as he looked at her.

Hermione couldn’t help it, she smiled kindly back at him. “Thank you, Harry. I appreciate that.”

Draco squeezed her shoulder again. “You did actually help us, though.”

Harry cocked his head in confusion. Hermione, too, turned toward Draco in question.

“How?” Harry’s voice was disbelieving.

Draco smirked, turning around to walk back into the kitchen. “Because Granger here is a very effective thief, Potter.”

An amused smile spread across Hermione’s face as she shook her head and turned back toward Harry.

“What is he talking about?”

A small jolt of regret whizzed through her. She spoke with the tone of a child who was caught breaking the rules.

“I would…borrow the cloak and the map. When I went to meet him. To make sure we didn’t get caught.”

Harry was silent for a moment, and Hermione waited. She supposed Harry had every right to be angry about this, at least.

But to her surprise, he laughed. A real, big belly laugh.

“You know, I think my dad would have been quite happy for them to be used to sneak around the castle for a snog. Certainly seems like something he’d do.” He turned back to Hermione, a mischievous smile on his face.

Hermione’s smile grew in return. “I’m glad you think so.”

Harry held her gaze for a moment as their smiles faded. “Can I ask you about it?”

“About?” Hermione questioned.

“Your time together at Hogwarts.”

Well, she supposed there was no need for any secrets anymore, really. “Sure.”

Harry nodded. “Did anyone know?”

Hermione hummed thoughtfully. “Well, apparently Pansy, Blaise, Theo, and Luna did—though not because we told them, they just figured it out on their own. There may have been others who suspected as well, I’m not sure. Dumbledore knew. Not the full extent of it, but by fifth year he at least knew that Draco was helping the Order, and that was how I was getting the information that I gave him. I’m fairly certain Snape knew as well, certainly by 6th year. And if I could, I would bring him back from the dead and then kill him myself for letting Draco be used that way and doing absolutely nothing about it.” Hermione’s tone turned fierce, and Harry’s eyes widened in response.

She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Oh. And Fred and George. They knew, too.”

Harry looked taken aback. “What? Fred and George?”

Hermione nodded, a small smile on her face. “George told me last year. Fred saw us leaving the Room of Requirement once, sometime in fifth year. He made George take a vow of secrecy before he’d tell him. He…well, he said I deserved some happiness, so they were not going to tell anyone about it.”

It was Hermione’s turn to tear up this time, thinking about that huge bit of kindness that Fred had bestowed upon her without her even knowing about it.

Harry nodded kindly in return. “That sounds like something he’d do.”

After a pause, Harry returned to his questions. “How did you meet without anyone knowing?”

“At first, we sent letters through the post to decide on times to meet. But at the end of Fourth Year I charmed a set of journals so we could write back and forth to each other, and only the two of us would be able to read the messages. I used a modification on the protean charm—it’s how I figured out how to make the coins for the DA.”

Harry nodded. “And he was the one who had the idea for it? The DA.”

There was a bit of disbelief in Harry’s voice that rankled Hermione. “Yes, Harry. I told him what Umbridge was doing to you in those detentions, and he was outraged too. He gave me the idea to start it.”

“And then he joined the inquisitorial squad so he could pass information back to you.”

Hermione nodded.

“He was helping us the whole time.” Harry said it with a bit of awe in his voice.

“Yes, Harry. He was. Narcissa as well.”

He thought for a moment. “Chamonix…?”

Hermione chucked, remembering Draco telling her that Harry had asked about it all those months ago.

“Yes, we were together in Chamonix that Christmas. We met outside of school multiple times. Draco came here to meet my parents at the beginning of the summer after Fourth Year, and then I went to spend a few weeks at the Manor while his father was away. That’s where that photo was taken.” She inclined her head toward the mantle.

“Narcissa became close with my parents, and they all worked together to help us meet. My parents didn’t really understand why everything needed to be so clandestine, but Narcissa was wonderful with them, helping to explain everything that was happening in the wizarding world. She…she was an incredible friend to them.”

Hermione’s eyes got misty as she remembered how kind Narcissa had been, how willing she was to help her parents understand.

“And Sixth Year…you were trying to protect him? You knew I was right, but you were trying to protect him.”

“YOU WERE NOT RIGHT, HARRY!” Harry reared back as she yelled, pointing at him. “You were not right about him. He was not a death eater. He didn’t want to help them. He was in an awful situation, and he was just trying to protect his mum! So yes! I was protecting him. I was trying to stop you from doing something rash, like, oh I don’t know, nearly killing him in the toilets!”

She was breathing heavily now, watching as Harry kept his eyes on her, as the look on his face morphed into one of contrition.

He nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry for saying that. And I’m sorry for what happened that day. Truly. What I did was horrifying. And I…I put you in the position of having to clean up my mess—again.”

“Yes, Harry. You did.” Her voice was cold, the memories of that day, of kneeling in a pool of Draco’s blood while he told her to let him die, flooded through her.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I was wrong. I was wrong about him, and I was wrong to do what I did. I was being stubborn and arrogant, and I nearly did something that I could never take back. I’m so sorry.”

She could see that he was telling the truth, but she didn’t feel ready to say anything yet. So she just bobbed her head in recognition.

He was quiet for a moment before continuing.

“His trial? What…what happened? How was there even a trial? After everything he did to help us?”

Hermione’s blood began to boil for a wholly different reason, her hands balling into fists. “Fucking Kingsley. That’s how.”

Harry looked both shocked and confused.

“I told him. I told him everything. Gave him my memories. I begged him to help me, to get Draco out. He refused. Said that too much had happened, that there was too much at stake to set him free.” Hermione gritted her teeth, forcing out the words before sitting back and clasping her hands together. “So I made a deal with him. I agreed not to go to the press with my story if he would support Draco’s pardon—and I agreed to attend however many fundraising events as he wanted, and to throw my support behind his candidacy for minister.”

Something seemed to click in Harry’s mind. “That’s why you always go to the events. Because he forced you to.”

Hermione nodded curtly. “Yes.”

“I remember. I remember you rushing around in the weeks after the battle. I didn’t know what you were doing, I thought maybe it was how you were coping. That that was why you kept turning Ron down when he asked you out. But you were fighting to get the person you loved out of Azkaban. All by yourself.”

Hermione released a breath. “Yes.”

Harry hesitated. “And then…after his trial…” Hermione’s heart squeezed. She did not like reliving those moments. “That’s why you disappeared? Because he left?”

Hermione nodded again. “I was devastated, Harry. Heartbroken. It took me a lot of time to figure out how I could move forward. How I could even be around wizards, how I could live without him.”

Harry looked back at her, compassion on his face. “You never stopped loving him, even when you were with…?”

There was no question. And Hermione had no desire to lie.

“I have loved him with my entire soul since I was fourteen, Harry. That never changed. But listen to me: I was never unfaithful to Ron. I never thought Draco would come back. And so I dedicated myself to making that relationship work. I tried everything. I did everything that I could. It was Ron who gave up, not me.” She tried to keep the accusation out of her voice, but she found that the anger she still felt toward Ron was quite easy to tap.

“I know, Hermione. I know. And I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that you had to hide for so long. I’m sorry it wasn’t safe. And I’m so fucking sorry that when it was, Kingsley of all people tried to take it away from you again. And…” he took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry for what Ron did. From the very beginning. How awful he was to you. How undeserving. Even before Daphne. He was never, ever good enough for you. I knew that then, and I should have said something. I’m so sorry.”

Hermione shrugged. “He was your best friend, Harry. I understand why–”

Harry shook his head violently, cutting her off. “No, no Hermione. Yes, he was my best friend, but I wasn’t blind. I knew what he was like, I always knew what he was like. He was always stubborn, always selfish, and so, so angry. And when he got mad, he got mean . But you? You are the kindest person I have ever met, Hermione. You care so deeply and you try so hard, and you are always, always selfless. And he used it against you.” Harry shook his head, frustrated.

“He never even tried to care about what you cared about, never tried to support what you wanted. He just complained. And I know, I know I have no right to even say that because I did it, too.” The devastation took over his face again.

“I wasted so many years with you, Hermione. I did use you. I didn’t mean to, really, I didn’t. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that it happened. I put so much weight on your shoulders, so much expectation that you would be there to figure things out, to have a plan, to keep us alive. But I didn’t stop to ask you what you wanted. I didn’t consider your feelings. And I could make a thousand excuses. I could tell you how intimidated I was—and still am—by you, by your bravery and intelligence and your heart, and how I was afraid that I wasn’t good enough to be your friend. I could tell you that I was too focused on Voldemort or the war. But in the end, it all just comes down to selfishness. I was selfish. And because of that, I did a lot of really awful things. And I lost the greatest friend I’ve ever had.”

He looked at her, resigned. It was clear now that Harry truly didn’t expect her to forgive him. He didn’t expect that they’d ever be friends again. And it broke off a piece of Hermione’s heart to realize it.

“I…I don’t know what to say, Harry.” Her voice sounded small, far away.

He shook his head and put up his hands. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t owe me anything, Hermione. I’m just grateful that you let me say all of this. And…I want you to know that I will never speak to Ron again. I already told Tonks that I won’t work with him, and that I recommended that he be fired or transferred out of the country. And the same goes for the rest of the family. I will never speak to them again, ever. I am disgusted with all of them.” She could hear the uncut venom in his voice, but it caused her muscles to tense.

“Harry, you can’t…I, I would never ask you to do that. I’d never expect you to do that. They’re your family.”

“ You were my family, Hermione. What they did…that is not something you do to your family. To someone you claim to love. I was silent for too long. I didn’t do anything when I should have, but I can do something now. And that is what I’m going to do.” The fierceness in his voice reminded her of how he talked during the war. The clarity he had about what he needed to do.

“But, Harry, what about Ginny?” She asked the question hesitantly, both unsure how Harry would react and whether or not she even wanted to hear the answer.

Harry’s shoulders sagged, he seemed to shrink into himself, and it took him several shallow breaths before he was able to speak.

“I’m filing for divorce. My solicitor says the papers will be ready next week.” She could see the pain in his eyes as he said it, as the finality of it seeped into the space between them.

“Harry, no, I, you can’t! You love her!” She wasn’t sure what she was saying. Ginny had proven herself to be just as bad as Ron, and Hermione knew that she would never speak to her again, never forgive her for her part in it all, but the idea that Harry was ripping his entire life apart, abandoning his whole family, sent her into a near panic. She didn’t want that for him.

But he just shook his head. “I did. Or, at least I thought I did. But Hermione, how can I love someone who did what she did? You heard her at the Manor. She knew what she was doing. She was trying to hurt you, on purpose, because she’s always been jealous of you, of our friendship. I can’t love someone who would do that. How could I build a family with someone who thinks that’s ok? What would she teach our children?” His voice broke. “I was raised by people who were vindictive, who held grudges, who were cruel . I told myself over and over again that as soon as I got out of there, I would never allow people like that into my life again. And I failed. I ended up marrying one! I can’t. I can’t…” His breaths were turning into gasps as his face broke and heavy tears began to fall.

Hermione couldn’t take it anymore. Without another thought, she got up and rushed around the table, kneeling in front of Harry’s chair and throwing her arms around him in a hug.

For a long minute, Harry stayed frozen, as though not sure if he was worthy of hugging her back. But Hermione just squeezed him harder, and finally his resolve broke with a sob, and his arms came around her, gripping onto her tightly, like he was making sure she was really there.

They stayed like that for a long time, Hermione’s own tears starting to fall and join Harry’s.

Finally, she had the strength to speak, whispering into his shoulder. “I never wanted this to happen, Harry. I’m so–”

He pulled back, holding her by the shoulders, a fierce look in his eyes. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry, Hermione. I’m glad it happened. I’m so sorry you had to go through so much pain to get here, but this?” He looked around the room, pausing directly behind Hermione before turning back to her. “This is the life you were always meant to have. And I am so happy that you found it. You, more than anyone else, deserve to be loved like this, so completely.” His eyes flicked back over her shoulder, and a small smile ghosted over his lips. “Even if it’s with a poncy Slytherin.”

She huffed a teary laugh.

“I’ll take that as a complement, Potter.” Hermione turned to find Draco standing inside the living room, having clearly come in to check on her when he heard crying. His eyes roved over her, and the open concern, the love, shining through caused even more tears to spill down her cheeks.

She turned back to Harry.

His smile was gone, and he was looking at her intently. “You owe me nothing, Hermione. And I would understand completely if you never want to see me again. But if you could ever consider giving me the chance, I promise that I will prove to you that you can trust me again, that I can be your friend. Your real friend. I’d be honored.”

She regarded him quietly for a moment. Remus’s words came back to her: if there is any part of you that thinks there is something left there to salvage, don’t let fear stop you from exploring it.

She was afraid. She was afraid that Harry would hurt her again. She was afraid to open herself up, to let herself have him back in her life, to remember what it felt like to have him there.

But Remus was right. And Hermione Granger had been through too much to let fear stop her now.

So Hermione leaned back and got to her feet. She looked back at Draco who nodded, understanding.

“Would you like to join us for dinner, Harry?”

She turned back to him and watched his eyes go wide, watched a tiny ember of hope bloom on his face. He nodded and stood. “I’d love that.”

“Wonderful. Who wants wine? I think you both could use some wine…” Draco turned and made his way back into the kitchen. Harry and Hermione gave each other a smile as they followed.

Two hours later, the trio were still sitting at the dining table, surrounded by empty plates after devouring the pad see ew and green curry that Draco had made, having just opened yet another bottle of wine.

Hermione wasn’t sure how it had happened. She had never anticipated this being a reality, but somehow, the three of them were all laughing together, telling stories about the time that Draco had used a sticking charm to lock Umbridge in a lavatory on the sixth floor so the DA could successfully sneak back to the dorms, all while the toad woman was screaming bloody murder, claiming that Peeves was trying to suffocate her to death.

Eventually, Harry had turned to Draco—both now several glasses of wine into the evening.

“I suppose I should apologize to you, as well…” Harry gave Draco a skeptical look. Draco returned it with his own look of distaste.

“Please don’t, Potter. You don’t owe me one. Although…”

Draco turned toward Hermione, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face. “If you are feeling like you owe me, my offer still stands. All I ask for is your memory of her as the cat.”

Harry laughed while Hermione threw her head back with a groan.

“WHEN will you let that go?!” She threw her hands out.

Draco chuckled. “Never, love. I plan to ask for it every Christmas, birthday, and anniversary for the rest of our lives.”

Hermione put her head into her hands. “Why are you so intent on humiliating me?”

Draco reached across the table and gently combed his fingers through her hair. “I’m sure you made an absolutely adorable cat, sweetheart.”

“It was more…disconcerting, actually.” Both sets of eyes whipped to Harry, who was swilling his wine with a contemplative look on his face.

“HARRY!”

He shrugged. “I’m sorry, Hermione. But your tail was very long. And those ears…” He shook his head, shivering.

Hermione and Draco both started yelling at the same time. Hermione threatening Harry never to speak of it again and Draco attempting to bribe him with half the family jewels to tell him more.

By the time things finally quieted down and Harry went to leave, Hermione walked with him into the living room to the floo.

“What are you going to do now, Harry?” Her words were tentative.

Harry shrugged, looking back at her with a sad smile. “I’m not sure, if I’m honest. You were always the one who figured out what we were supposed to do next. I guess it’s my turn to figure it out on my own.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say. Harry just smiled, nodded his goodbye, and disappeared into the flames.

Chapter End Notes

Hi friends,

First, I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Second, I’m sure you noticed that this is shorter than most of the other chapters. The truth is that I had originally planned to post this midweek and post a full, longer chapter this weekend. But I need to be honest: I’m really tired.

My day job is in U.S. politics, and with the midterm elections only a few days away, things have been really bananas, I’ve been super busy, and by the end of my work day I am so exhausted that I have not had the energy to write.

I really don’t want to rush through a chapter and post something I’m not proud of, especially so close to the end of the story, so I need to take a tiny break in order to give myself the space to get through election day and finish this story in the way it deserves.

In order to do that, I am going to take next week off. There will not be a new chapter next weekend, instead, the posting schedule for the remainder of the story is going to look like this:

Chapter 28 (the penultimate chapter): November 13

Chapter 29 (final main story chapter): November 20

Epilogue 1: November 27

Epilogue 2: December 4

Epilogue 3: December 11

I’m sorry to drop a week, but honestly, I’ve been pushing myself too hard and I am going to break if I keep going at this pace. I hope you can understand!

Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I really wanted to give these two the space to have a long, open conversation about where they are, and what can come in the future. Will they become real friends again? I guess we’ll find out! But I do think if anyone who burned her deserves a redemption arc, it’s Harry.

(and anyone that is worried that Ginny or the other Weasleys are getting one: rest assured, they are NOT.)

Thank you as always for sticking around. We passed 70,000 hits this week! I am absolutely, completely, entirely blown away. So infinitely grateful to all of you!

xoxo,

Flames

P.S.: Make sure you read the AN for the next chapter, I have been plotting out two new stories, and will need your help deciding which one to dive into first!

P.P.S.: Please, if you live in the U.S., please vote by November 8—our democracy depends on it. If you are not sure if you’re registered, if you can still register, or who is on your ballot, go to vote.org, they have all of the information that you will need! Too much is on the line, please don’t sit this out. xxx

Vigilante Shit

Chapter Notes

Aaaaaand we're back! Draco's POV this week!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

May 2, 1998

I’m going to die today.

It was the only thing he’d been able to think since they’d apparated to Hogwarts.

He was certain of it. There was so much carnage, so much death, that he knew this was it. One side was going to win today, and although he hoped it was Potter’s, he had no illusions that he’d live to see it.

That realization sent his emotions spinning. Panic. Terror. Relief. Acceptance. He wasn’t able to grab onto any one of them for too long. Draco Malfoy was going to die today. At least his death would ensure that the Malfoy line died too, taking the twisted, brittle darkness down with it.

He was going to die today. But first, he had a job to do.

As soon as the shields around the castle had come down, he’d been sent inside to assist Crabbe and Goyle, who were roaming the castle looking for Harry and anyone else they could find to kill, maim, or torture.

Draco had been succeeding in surreptitiously blocking all of their attempts at using the unforgiveables—no matter how much they’d been lauded as good soldiers by the death eaters, they were still absolute fucking idiots.

They had been making their way up the stairs and through the castle for at least 15 minutes before Draco realized that the route he was being led up was not random.

“Where are we going?” He hissed.

Crabbe looked back at him with a dull smile. “They didn’t tell you? They knows where Potter is! Told us! Told us to go get ‘em and bring him to the Dark Lord. Said that blood traitor Weasley and the mudblood are with him! Told us we can do whatever we want with them, didn’t they Goyle?”

Goyle let out a sinister laugh as he continued to climb the stairs toward the seventh floor. “Yeah. I’ve got plans for the mudblood. You can join if you’d like, Draco. I think we’ve earned it after having to look at her for all those years, right!”

Draco’s blood ran cold and he froze in place, his hand gripping the banister as though it was the only thing holding him to the earth. Thoughts were moving too quickly in his head.

Hermione’s here.

She can’t be here. She’ll die here.

They’re going to hurt her.

She’s alive.

She survived after they left the Manor.

She’s alive.

She needs help.

“Oy! Draco!” He snapped out of his reverie and looked up, realizing that Crabbe and Goyle were now at the top of the staircase.

Shaking his head, he began to move as fast as he could to follow them.

If Hermione was here, he could protect her. At least for a little while. He could stop Crabbe and Goyle if they tried to hurt her.

So he followed, his wand clutched in his hand, as they made their way toward a very familiar patch of wall, keeping his eyes trained on the center of their backs.

The two lumbering oafs paused in front of the wall, seemingly confused about what to do next.

Crabbe stepped forward, pressing both of his hands to the wall, trying to make it give, before turning back to Draco.

“Make it work, Draco! They’re in there, the place with the cabinet!” Draco could see the violent glee in his eyes. It made him sick.

He considered refusing. Stunning them and levitating them out a window. Anything.

But if he did, they’d send someone else. If he was here, at least, he could try to stop whatever they had planned.

With that in mind, he stepped forward and repeated the same forced march that had been his life every day of Sixth Year.

I need to get inside the room of hidden things.

I need to get inside the room of hidden things.

I need to get inside the room of hidden things.

He heard the stones move, revealing the wooden door, before he’d even opened his eyes. As soon as it had grown large enough for them to force their bodies into, Crabbe and Goyle both cackled before shoving inside and starting to run through the overcrowded space, making their way down aisles, around broken furniture, and around piles of lost items that had built up nearly to the ceiling.

Draco scrambled to follow them, listening intently for any sound that would alert him to an altercation, or to Hermione, Harry, or hell, even Ron’s presence.

As he silently made his way through the cavernous space, he started to consider what would happen if he came upon Potter or Weasley before finding Hermione. They’d probably kill him.

Good.

He certainly deserved it. He had no idea what state Hermione was in after the torture she’d endured on the Drawing Room floor, but he certainly knew that he deserved to die for allowing it to happen. And if Potter or Weasley were the ones to do it, so be it.

Time seemed to pass differently inside this room, and Draco soon lost track of how long he’d been here, snaking through the aisles, when the sound of shifting objects to his left caught his attention.

He paused, hidden behind a pile of old desks, grasping his wand and considering his next move. He had to see who it was, there was no way around it.

With a silent breath, he moved forward, toward the aisle where he had heard the noise. Not seeing anyone else around, He lifted his wand, prepared to stun if he found Crabbe or Goyle alone, and with a final moment of consideration, jumped out into the center of the space.

Hearing his movement, the person on the other end did the same, spinning his direction and holding her wand directly at his chest.

Her wand.

Her wand.

It was Hermione.

It took Draco a beat to fully comprehend that he was looking at her, that she was really here, standing twenty feet away from him.

And still pointing her wand at him, ready to strike.

He lowered his instantly and stood, silently taking her in. She didn’t appear injured. She was standing firm, and she clearly recognized him. A wave of relief hit him that at least Bellatrix’s work had not caused permanent damage to her mind. But as he looked more closely, he saw that her face was fierce, her eyes wide and severe, and though her wand arm was steady, he saw the slightest tremor in the hand at her side.

She didn’t say anything, she didn’t move, she just stared at him, unblinking.

The truth started to sink in. She hated him. Obviously she would. After everything that had happened, how could she see him as anything but evil. An enemy to be stopped.

His shoulders slumped and his chin dropped.

He’d never considered that Hermione would be the one to kill him, but as he stood here in this moment, it felt right. Just. It was what he deserved.

With a small nod of his head, he looked back up, meeting her eyes as he turned both of his palms toward her, opening them in defeat, and waited. Waited for death to finally take him. Waited for the only woman he had or would ever love to end him, once and for all.

She’d certainly earned the right to do it.

He kept his gaze on hers. He wouldn’t dishonor her by looking away as she cast the curse. And if these were his final seconds, he wanted to spend them looking into her beautiful golden eyes. Eyes that had been his salvation. The only eyes he had ever wanted to see again.

The seconds seemed to stretch out between them. Her wand was still raised, but Draco saw the pain, the uncertainty, begin to cloud her eyes.

He didn’t want her to feel uncertain. He didn’t want her to be scared.

So low that he knew only she would hear, he spoke. “It’s ok, Hermione. Do it, please. I love you.”

He saw the tears fill her eyes as he spoke, before her entire demeanor suddenly changed, her focus taking over. Before he could blink, she waved her wand at him, sending a curse directly toward him.

He closed his eyes before it hit him, releasing a deep, relieved breath. Finally, It was over.

But instead of feeling the impact, Draco felt two curses wiz by him on either side, followed by two loud thumps directly behind him.

His eyes shot open as he spun around and saw the unconscious bodies of Crabbe and Goyle now lying in a heap just inches away.

Jaw slack, he whipped back around, but only had an instant to see a flash of golden brown curls sweeping toward him before Hermione’s warm, perfect body slammed into him, her arms coming around his shoulders, her cheek pressed to his neck, and her soft hair, hair that still smelled somehow of honey and lavender, brushed against his mouth.

He was frozen for just a moment before his brain caught up and, selfish as he was, he brought his arms around her and crushed her to him, unwilling to allow this gift of a moment to pass him by.

Time ceased to hold meaning. They’d found a moment of quiet, of bliss, in a roiling sea of fear and pain, and just as hard as Draco was holding on to it, he felt Hermione doing the same.

He didn’t have words. There were no words that could do this justice. No words that could explain how sorry he was, how much he loved her, what she meant to him. So he just held her, knowing that it would be the last time.

Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, or maybe they were his, he couldn’t be sure.

The moment was broken when the sound of debris crashing to the ground from across the room forced both of their heads to snap in that direction.

“Harry! Are you alright?” Weasley’s muffled yell floated over to them.

“I got it! I got it! Let’s get out of here!” There was excitement in Potter’s voice. Over what, Draco had no idea.

“Hermione! Where are you?” Came Weasley’s reply.

Draco and Hermione’s heads both turned together, their eyes capturing one another. Draco didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. But he could feel this moment starting to slip away like sand through his fingers.

Before he could form any words, Hermione brought her hand up to the side of his face, pulling softly so their foreheads touched.

“Stay alive, Draco. Please, please stay alive.” It was a whispered plea, her fingers pressing against his skin.

She came up on her tiptoes, her lips ghosting against his. “I love you.” Her words were desperate, and followed by the press of her mouth against his—a pleasure, a blessing he never thought he’d experience again.

She pulled back as they heard footsteps begin to make their way toward where they stood, the shouts from Harry and Ron for her getting louder.

With a final breath shared between them, she whispered a final word: “Run.”

And just like that, she stepped out of his arms and disappeared into the darkness.

Reality snapped back into place, and Draco followed her orders, running toward the far wall of the room, hiding in the shadows as he heard the trio reconnect and move quickly toward the door. He waited five breaths after the door closed behind them before he made his own move toward it, not worrying about leaving Crabbe or Goyle behind.

The hallway was empty as he made his way back out, and the loss of Hermione’s presence hit him like a boulder.

He wouldn’t be able to satisfy her request, of that he was sure. But she was still alive, and for as long as he could, he would try to help keep her that way.

And with that, he began to run toward the noise of the battle, ready to take down as many death eaters as he could before he met his inevitable end.

Maybe, if she really did still love him, maybe one day they would meet again, their souls finding each other in the next life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

March 2003

“No.”

Draco watched as Hermione narrowed her eyes, her fists clenched atop the table, as she stared daggers at the Auror sitting across the conference room.

This argument had been going on for the last half hour, as the rest of the team just watched as Hermione and Auror Dawlish volleyed increasingly heated comments back and forth.

Draco, unwilling to step in front of this bullet for his colleague and, frankly, a little too scared of Hermione’s reaction should he try to diffuse the tension, had remained silent.

But Dawlish held her gaze. “It’s not up to you, Ms. Granger. We’ve been doing recon on the location for weeks now. We know that’s where they’re keeping the hostages, we know that at least thirty members of Greyback’s inner circle are living there—”

“But not Greyback. Greyback isn’t there.” Hermione pointed an accusing finger at the older man.

“It’s our best shot! We cripple his network, it thwarts his plan, and we get our lives back while we regroup and create a plan to capture him.”

“ We ? We get our lives back?” Well, he’d done it now. Draco knew that tone of voice, that barely contained rage, and he had to stop himself from yelling for the rest of the room to take cover before Hermione exploded.

“Do enlighten me, Auror Dawlish. Which parts of your life have you lost over this? I wasn’t aware that you were being confined to your home, never allowed a single moment to yourself without the presence of a security guard! We should have started a support group! When were you tortured by one of Greyback’s goons? I didn’t see you at St. Mungos! Did anyone else see him there?”

Hermione turned around the room, gesturing wildly.

The eyes of the others in the room went wide, all surreptitiously glancing to Draco for direction. Not enjoying seeing Hermione angry, Draco reached out to place a hand on her thigh comfortingly, but she just shook him off, her eyes never breaking away from Dawlish.

The man took a deep, calming breath. “Ms. Granger…”

Hermione threw up her hands. “Oh fuck off with the ‘Ms. Granger” shit, John. I fought side-by-side with you to duel Rosier and Lestrange in the final battle. I think we’re beyond that patronizing bullshit, don’t you think?”

The air in the room seemed to still.

Tonks had pulled together this team to determine how best to lure Greyback out of hiding, and this was the first meeting to work out the details. Clearly, it was off to a rocky start.

Draco was the team lead, with Tonks serving as the final decision maker. Dawlish had been brought in as an extraction specialist, Harry was there to provide tactical advice, and Angelina Johnson rounded out the team, building the logistics to execute the plan.

To Draco’s simultaneous delight and chagrin, Ron was seated in the corner, relegated to note taking.

After a beat of pregnant silence, Tonks cleared her throat. “She’s right, John. She’s certainly earned the right to be here, and we owe it to her to hear her out.”

Neither Hermione nor Dawlish looked away from each other as Tonks spoke, their staredown remaining active throughout.

“Fine,” Dawlish growled through his teeth, “what’s your alternative, Hermione?”

Hermione looked back with a satisfied smile before straightening up and turning toward the rest of the occupants of the room. “Thanks so much for asking, John. I think we should use me as bait.”

That pebble plunked into the center of Draco’s mind, the ripples cascading outward and making him dizzy.

“Wh-what do you mean, bait?”

Hermione turned to him with clear eyes, while Draco looked back, his own filled with fear. Hermione blinked and nodded reassuringly before continuing.

“None of this will stop—not completely—until Greyback is off the board. If we take out some of his followers, he will just find, or make , more. That is not an acceptable path forward.”

Draco watched as Dawlish crossed his arms defensively.

“What I’m proposing is a plan to put an end to this, once and for all. We know that Greyback has a personal vendetta against me, so it follows that I am the best way to lure him out. My suggestion is that we publicly announce the discovery of the cure, and advertise a speech and demonstration to be given by me at Cambridge to introduce it. The chance to kill me in public, with the media there to document it, will be too attractive for Greyback to ignore.”

Draco’s jaw clenched as he felt his stomach drop through the floor. He hated it when Hermione spoke so cavalierly about her own safety. Images of her being killed by a werewolf had been keeping him awake for months now.

“We turn the auditorium into a trap. All of the attendees who appear to be with the media will be polyjuiced aurors. We’ll set up detection wards around the building so we’ll know when he and his people arrive, and I can modify the tracking potion I created last year to alert the aurors which people in the crowd are werewolves. Once they’re all inside, we can activate a shield around the whole place to stop them from getting away, and then neutralize them all. At the same time. And don’t worry, I’ve already thought through training. The building I’m using as a lab has a large open space on the bottom floor. We can turn it into an As You Wish room where the teams can train in an exact replica of the Cambridge auditorium. We can drill the plan over and over until we’ve accounted for as many eventualities as possible. We’ll be prepared. Greyback and his team won’t be. It gives us the best chance to succeed.”

Hermione finished her speech, inhaled, and sat back in her chair, her eyes once again landing on Dawlish.

“ That , John, is my ‘alternative.’”

A surge of pride went through him, followed by a very large dose of lust. This woman, with this brain, and that fucking attitude, was his—forever.

Looking around the room, Draco saw looks of awe and appreciation on the other aurors faces—all except John.

He shook his head. “It’s too risky. There are too many variables we won’t be able to account for, no matter how long we drill it. Taking down the cell in the forest and rescuing the hostages is the better option.”

Hermione scoffed. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

John narrowed his eyes and threaded his fingers together on the tabletop, a small smirk crossing his face. “If we set up perimeter wards around a location to keep them in, we’d be locked in, too. What’s to stop them from killing us all?”

Hermione smirked back. “Your training, I would hope.”

John groaned and leaned back, throwing his arms out wide. “If we take down the cell, it gives us more time. We can train a team of specialists to take down Greyback afterward!”

Hermione crossed her arms. “It also ensures that you, every single other person who participates in the raid, and all of your families will immediately become targets for his retribution. Trust me, it’s not fun to live with the reality that the people you love are at risk of being brutally murdered because of something you did. How old is Oliver now, John? Two? Is that a possibility you’d like to consider for your son?”

The room went utterly silent. John’s eyes had gone wide, fear and rage warring on his face.

“She’s right, John.” The soft spoken words came from Harry.

John looked shocked that Harry had sided with her and he began to twist back and forth, trying to find allies in the room.

Draco was sure that Ron would have joined him in opposition, but even John had no interest in the ginger’s opinion.

Taking a deep breath and laying his hands on the table, Draco leaned forward. “I agree, Hermione’s plan is stronger.”

John let out an unamused snort. “Well of course you agree with her, she sleeps in your bed!”

Draco’s eyes narrowed, anger now rippling through him. “ She is my soulmate, John. So if you think I’d agree to put her life at risk just to flatter her, you are sorely mistaken. Do not dare question my motives again.”

His words were sharp and definitive, leaving no room for doubt. Angelina nodded her assent as Draco kept his gaze locked on Dawlish. He could feel Hermione’s gaze mimicking his own next to him.

Tonks released a deep sigh. “Hermione’s right. Yes, there may be additional risks to a full frontal assault, but the danger in allowing Greyback to remain free is far greater. We need to neutralize him, once and for all. Ok?” She turned toward John and quirked a brow.

He huffed for a moment. “Fine.”

“Wonderful!” Tonks leaned back in her chair. “The four of you work together to build the team and lay out the scenarios. We’ll drill it at the lab for three weeks, and then we execute by mid-April. We’re finishing this before your wedding,” she nodded toward Draco and Hermione, “because I plan on getting very drunk that day and really don’t want to be worried about this instead. Got it?”

Draco laughed quietly. “Got it, boss.”

Tonks pushed back from the table and stood. “Great. Meeting dismissed.”

John followed Tonks out in a huff while Hermione watched with a satisfied smirk.

“You really are terrifying, Hermione.” Angelia shook her head, an amused smile on her face as she rose from her chair.

“Quite.” Harry quipped from across the table, smirking.

From the corner, Ron slapped his quill against the sheaf of parchments he was holding, groaned, and stalked out of the room without a word.

Draco wasn’t sure when that would stop bringing him so much satisfaction, but for now he basked in it.

Reaching over, he pulled out Hermione’s chair and extended his hand to help her up. “Come on, little terror, lets get you back to the lab so you can save another species of magical creature.”

**

“Ooomph!”

Draco had tried to brace himself, but as Hermione’s curse propelled him backward into a pile of smoking debris, there was only so much he could do to stop the shock of pain that slammed into him as he hit the ground.

He was still recovering from the stun of it when the light in the room flashed green, followed by some whoops of celebration and general chatter as the other aurors involved in the drill helped their fellows up from across the room.

“Oh gods, Draco. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Hermione was rushing toward him from where she had been stationed at the front of the room, vanishing debris as she moved.

Wincing, Draco sat up, bringing his hand to rub against his ribs. “Don’t be sorry, love. You executed it perfectly. I just might need you to regrow several of my bones…”

Genuine fear flashed across her face. Draco reached out his hand to brush across her cheek.

“I’m just kidding, love. I’m fine. Sore, but fine.”

From across the room, Michael Corner quipped, “Damn, Malfoy! I’d be careful never to piss that one off, she had you on your ass before you could even raise your wand!”

Chuckling, Draco made his way to his feet and called up the after-action assessment to review how the team had performed.

Tonks made her way over to take a look as well. “Hermione, are you absolutely sure you don’t want to be an auror?” She cajoled.

Hermione just smirked. “Afraid not, Tonks. I’d like to have far fewer dealings with any auror who is not my husband for the foreseeable future.” Warmth spread through Draco’s chest at her words. They were just three weeks out from the wedding now, and he was more than ready to officially be her husband, and for Hermione to finally, officially be his wife.

They just had to make it through the next three days first.

Tonks came to a stop in front of the map and replay of the drill swirling in front of Draco, shaking her head. “How’s it look?”

Draco nodded his head. “Good. As good as it can get in a simulated environment. This was the most aggressive assault scenario, assumed all members of the pack residing in the forest safehouse plus twenty more, all with wands and dueling skills, and that half of auditorium space is blocked, limiting our movement. No fatalities on our end, and the team worked effectively to neutralize all the targets.”

“We’re ready.” Tonks’s response wasn’t a question, and it sent a jolt of fear through Draco. It was true, they were as ready as they could be, but that didn’t make him feel any better about Hermione being put in danger in 72 hours time. He’d barely been sleeping, his dreams becoming a hell of increasingly gruesome visions of Hermione’s death in a damn Cambridge auditorium.

He must have been silent for longer than he realized, because he felt Hermione’s arms snake around him. “Hey. This is going to work, and we’re going to be fine. I promise. Ok?”

Draco twisted, pulling her into him, letting the warmth of her body melt into him. “You sure about that?”

She nodded into his chest. “Yes. And I’m the brightest witch of our age, so I can’t be wrong.”

That caused a smile to crack across his face, and he looked up to nod to Tonks. “Ok, we’re ready. Let’s make the announcement.”

Tonks nodded and headed off, calling out orders to other aurors in the room.

The sequencing of the next phase was absolutely critical, and it had to happen fast.

A team of specialized reconnaissance aurors would be dispatched immediately to Cambridge to place the rune stones that would be used to activate the barrier wards, begin casting the protective enchantments that would block the exits and limit movement inside the auditorium building, and set up 24-hour surveillance on the location to monitor for any efforts by Greyback’s team to run their own recon or place any boobytraps. It had to be done immediately because at 6:30pm this evening, a story would be published on the front page of the Evening Prophet announcing the creation of Hermione’s cure and the upcoming speech, and they all knew that as soon as it was announced, there would be no way to be sure that the aurors were not being watched as they attempted to prepare the building.

For the next two days, Hermione would not be permitted to leave the house, and every auror participating in the raid were similarly on lockdown, their movements limited to safe houses and the DMLE.

Draco could feel the uncomfortable buzz under his skin of anxiety as the aurors around him began moving in synchronicity, returning the practice room to its normal look before leaving in groups of three to head to their assigned safe houses for the night.

It was real now. This was happening. They were about to face Fenrir Greyback head on.

The emotions swirling through him were muddled. Draco’s hatred for Greyback ran deep. Next to Bellatrix, he had been the most vicious and brutal death eater Draco had encountered during the war, tormenting captors for fun before tearing them limb from limb.

And he had been the one who captured Hermione and brought her to the Manor that day. Without him, she never would have been tortured. She would not have to walk around with that awful word carved into her arm.

After he had learned that Greyback had survived the final battle and escaped, Draco had fixated on capturing him. As soon as he was authorized to begin hunting down rogue death eaters in America, he’d placed Greyback on the top of his list of targets—and every time he failed to capture him had thrown him into a an absolute spiral.

And now he was threatening Hermione again. He’d caused her to be tortured—again. He’d forced her into hiding. It made his blood boil. The chance to end his reign of terror once and for all was absolutely thrilling.

But.

Hermione had to be in the direct line of fire in order to do it. And no matter how many times they drilled it, no matter how many times Hermione succeeded in evading curses and helping to bring him down, Draco couldn’t let go of the sinking feeling that something awful was going to happen. They were so close to their happily ever after that he couldn’t help but fear that the other shoe was about to drop.

He’d been so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t see Hermione move in front of him until her lips suddenly pressed against his, her hands grabbing his hair roughly and pulling his face down to meet hers.

Out of pure instinct, Draco reached out and grabbed her hips, pulling her closer to him and deepening the kiss. It only took a few seconds of her soft lips against his, the press of her tongue, the sound of her quick breathing, to make his mind go blank.

Far too quickly, Hermione pulled back, her hands moving from his hair to his cheeks.

“You’re thinking too hard, Draco.” Her voice was gentle, soothing.

Draco released a slow breath and brought his forehead to rest against hers, breathing her in.

“I can’t help it. I can’t stop seeing…”

Hermione placed a finger over his lips to stop him. “I know, Draco. But it’s just anxiety—and it’s lying to you. We’re prepared, we’ve got this, nothing bad is going to happen. We’ve been through far worse than this and survived. Do you really think a group of half-cocked werewolves who’ve been living in huts in the forest for months are going to take us down?”

He tried to smile, really he did. But he could see on Hermione’s face that she knew it was fake. “Let’s go home and stop thinking about this for a few hours, ok?”

He nodded, resigned, and followed her as she made her way out of the room and back up to the floo. “I don’t think I can stop thinking about it,” he whispered.

Hermione just turned, a smirk on her lips. “Oh, I think you’re wrong about that…”

**

Sure enough, as soon as they made it home, Hermione led Draco upstairs and into their bathroom, carefully stripping off his clothes—avoiding the new bruises on his ribs—while steaming, fragrant water filled the tub.

He tried to reach out and grab Hermione’s shirt to pull it off, but she stepped out of reach, shaking her head with a small, knowing smile. “Not yet.”

Instead, she made Draco sink down into the hot, soothing water, while she moved behind the tub, sitting on a stool behind him before slowly running her hands up his arms, over his shoulders, and onto his scalp, where she began to slowly massage his head.

Draco couldn’t help the almost immediate moan that left his lips as his head lolled back as Hermione’s fingers pressed and rubbed. He closed his eyes, leaned back, and allowed the sensations to calm him as she slowly moved from his head, to his neck, and finally his shoulders, working the tension that had been building out of his muscles.

He could feel her breath ghosting over his skin as she worked. She’d brought her head next to his, and began placing soft kisses against his temple as she continued to work the knots out of his shoulders.

He basked in the moment. In feeling so cared for, so loved, so complete.

Warmth spread through his chest, but it quickly turned into a very different kind of heat when Hermione slid her hands over his chest, skimming lightly over his abs before sinking below the water and landing on top of his hardening cock.

His eyes shot open as her hands went to work, one squeezing the base while the other glided up, over the head, and back down again. The groan that came out this time was far more desperate.

“Is this ok? Your ribs don’t hurt?” Her voice was soft against his ear before her lips moved lower and she licked down the side of his throat before nipping his shoulder.

The water sloshed in the tub as he brought his arm out, his hand moving to grip the side tightly.

“Fuck yes, love. Fuck…”

She continued her assault on his neck, licking and nipping while her hands moved up and down his shaft, driving him higher and higher. “Good. Just feel it, Draco,” came her breathy reply.

The heat from the water, the feeling of her tongue and teeth against his neck, and the torturous bliss of her hands squeezing and pulling exactly how he liked it was nearly overwhelming, and after a few minutes his breaths were coming out as pants and he brought his hands down to her wrists to stop her movements.

“Please, love. I want to be inside you. Please.”

She smiled against him. “I suppose that can be arranged. Though…”

With that, she stood, very intentionally sliding her hands back up his chest and over his shoulders, leaving gooseflesh in her wake, before stepping back and rounding the tub until she stood in front of him.

Her hands skimmed up her stomach and over her breasts to land on the buttons holding her silk blouse together. “I’ll need to remove these first.”

Draco may have been punchdrunk, but he was not so far gone as to not appreciate the spectacle of his fiance, the sexiest fucking woman he had ever seen, slowly unbuttoning her blouse and pulling it apart, letting the light fabric fall to the floor to reveal a navy blue lace bra underneath.

He groaned as she ran her hands over her breasts, rubbing her nipples before they moved lower, down her stomach and to the button of her trousers.

Draco brought one of his hands to his dick, lazily stroking while he took her in.

He would never get over it. Her tanned, golden skin, the swell of her breasts and the soft curves of her hips and stomach. She was otherworldly; divine. She would never stop driving him wild.

She peeled off her trousers, revealing her long legs—legs he was desperate to touch, before straightening up. She met his eyes, saw the movement of his hand below the water, and bit her lip, her chest heaving, as she finally reached around to unclasp her bra, letting it fall to the floor as her soft, perfect breasts were revealed.

Never breaking eye contact, she took a step forward, hooking her fingers around the sides of her underwear and pulling them down, kicking them off as she came to a stop just at the edge of the tub—and just out of his reach.

“Get in here, love. You’re driving me out of my mind.”

She just smirked and raised her leg, stepping carefully in the tub before sinking down on her knees, straddling him. “That was sort of the point, you know.”

Her last word was cut off as Draco reached forward, pulling her roughly against him and attaching his mouth to hers in a fierce, passionate kiss.

He curled one hand around her hip, letting it glide around to her lower back and then up her spine before grasping her around the back of her neck. The feel of her silky smooth skin sending him into overdrive.

He pulled his mouth away, coaxing her to lean back slightly, giving him full access to her breasts. He quickly set about attaching his lips to her nipple, sucking and licking as a desperate keen slipped between her lips.

Without letting go, he snaked his other hand between them, rubbing a few circles on her clit before lowering his fingers, feeling the wetness between her folds, and plunging a finger inside of her, crooking it forward to hit the hot spot against her front wall.

Hermione gasped. “Draco!”

Releasing her nipple, Draco licked his way up her throat as she writhed against him, before recapturing her mouth at the same moment he added a second finger inside her.

Her moans were growing louder as her own hand came down, grasping his cock and pumping, forcing him to pull back to gasp for air.

“I want you inside me, Draco. Now.” The hand not stroking him came up to grasp his shoulder, her hooded eyes meeting his.

He could barely speak, so he simply nodded, easing his fingers out of her and placing his hands on her hips, lifting her slightly as she lined him up before sinking down, down, down, until he was buried to the hilt inside of her.

Their twin moans echoed throughout the bathroom.

Hermione began rolling her hips, moving up and down at a torturously slow pace. It was bliss.

And then she started to speak, and any coherent thought that Draco had left in his brain melted to nothing.

“You feel so perfect inside me. You’re so fucking perfect. All I ever want is for you to touch me. I never want you to stop. Every time you look at me it makes me wet—I walk around throbbing for you half the day. I want you every second. Please don’t stop. Please never stop. This is all I want. All I want. I love you so much Draco. Fuck, I love you. Oh gods…”

Draco was mesmerized as Hermione threw her head back, riding him harder, her hair wild around her, her fingernails digging into the skin of his shoulders.

She brought her head back up to stare into his eyes, and the sparkling honey of them forced his brain to finally boot back up. He surged forward, grabbing the side of her face and bringing her forward in a fierce kiss, his other hand reaching to squeeze her breast, flicking her nipple as she moaned into his mouth.

He pulled their mouths apart. “I love you so much, Hermione. You’re perfect, you’re so perfect. I’m yours, forever.” His last word faded into a moan, the pleasure building to new heights inside of him, all of his nerve endings on fire.

“I’m so close, Draco. I want you to come inside me. Come with me, please, please come with me. You’re going to make me come. Oh!”

Draco was so close to the edge, dangling on the precipice. He couldn’t fathom doing anything other than what she said. He began thrusting up into her as he brought his thumb down, rubbing circles on her clit as she keened, her walls beginning to flutter around him.

“Yes Hermione, yes. Come with me baby. Right…now!” With a final thrust upward he exploded, white spots popping in his vision as his release took him and the feeling of Hermione falling apart over him, screaming his name, drawing out his pleasure until he was so spent he could do nothing but hold her against his chest, trying not to sink under the water as they both fought to regain their breath.

After a few long moments, Hermione carefully leaned back, letting him slide out of her before crawling back into his lap and snuggling against his chest. Draco rubbed her back, up and down, as her fingers drew light patterns on his chest.

They didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to. This was enough.

Draco was still riding high in their blissful bubble two hours later as they sprawled on the couch, Draco in nothing but a loose pair of sweatpants and Hermione in one of his shirts, eating leftover Chinese takeaway and talking about nothing.

Until the floo flashed green, and a copy of the Evening Prophet, courtesy of Pansy, gently flew in, landing on the coffee table.

Medical Miracle! Hermione Granger Discovers a Cure for Lycanthropy!

The Golden Girl Just Changed the Magical World—Again.

Written By: Barnabus Cuff, Editor of The Daily Prophet

Dual emotions warred in his chest—pride over Hermione’s accomplishment and fear about what was to come—as he read through the article announcing the existence of the cure and the press conference and demonstration set to take place in two days time.

Hermione, though, simply hummed and leaned back, grabbing her chopsticks and taking another bite. “See, now this is the type of newspaper article I am quite happy to have written about me.”

**

Draco was sure that someone had used a time-turner to speed up the following two days, because it seemed as though he had blinked and suddenly he and Hermione were no longer lounging on the couch but instead inside the tense and bustling DMLE bullpen as final checks were made before they headed to Cambridge.

Thankfully, the anxiety that Draco had been feeling had faded to the background as he focused on the task at hand, taking charge of the team gathering around the room.

“Finnegan! Report on the recon.” He yelled across the room, silencing the low chatter that had been making its way through the crowd.

Seamus stepped forward, parchments in hand. “Since the announcement, the team has tracked six known members of Greyback’s pack scouting the building, plus a seventh suspicious person who they theorize was Greyback himself disguised under polyjuice. They’ve done thorough checks of the building, including creating a full portable schematic, but the team is confident that our countermeasures have not been discovered, as the suspects have planted a series of bombs inside and around the building that our teams have confirmed will be neutralized by our protective enchantments.”

“Has the DoM confirmed that no similar dark objects like the one used in the attack on Hermione’s lab are included in any of these bombs?” Draco broke in, a flash of the massive crater blown out of Hermione’s building coming to his mind.

Seamus nodded. “Confirmed. The DoM techs have run full diagnostics and have not found anything like what was used back in June. However, the team has cautioned that the pack are likely to have explosives or other dark objects on them when they arrive, though they believe it to be highly unlikely that anything of the scale used in the lab attack will be included, as the pack is aware that the space is small and they would likely take heavy casualties if they used it while they were inside.”

A ripple went through the room, and Draco knew what everyone was thinking. Greyback would be more than willing to kill some of his army if it meant taking down Hermione at the same time. Draco glanced over to Hermione, who was quietly observing the whole scene, and he could see on her face that she had calculated that risk as well, though there was no fear in her eyes—just determination.

Having finished his report, Seamus stepped back and all eyes turned to Draco.

“Alright. Everyone has their orders. We assume that Greyback’s team will all be polyjuiced, but that they will have timed it for the effects to wear off before they attack. The doses you will take will last for at least two hours, so if you are not feeling confident that you’ve memorized the faces of the team’s disguises, go through the photos on the wall in the next five minutes before we leave. The doses contain the modified tracking potion, which will allow you to see a green aura around anyone in the room who is either a werewolf or uninvited guest. Assume all unknowns are attackers, no civilians will be inside.”

Nods went through the group as the aurors shifted on their feet, clearly anxious to get going.

Draco clenched his fists and scanned the crowd, meeting each person’s eyes. “This motherfucker has been wreaking havoc on our world for decades. That all ends today. Got it?”

Determined nods and sounds of assent came from each person in the room, including Hermione, who never took her eyes off of him.

“Ok.” Draco swished his wand and a countdown clock appeared in the air above them. “In five minutes, everyone takes their polyjuice dose, and the teams will begin transferring to Cambridge. Let’s get this done.” With another swish, the clock began to tick down and the crowd dispersed as aurors went to check their gear, review plans, or just center themselves before the oncoming fight.

Only three people remained, Hermione, Tonks, and Remus.

Draco turned toward his old professor. “Are you feeling alright?”

Remus, whose appearance had changed drastically for the better in the weeks since he’d taken the cure, clenched his jaw and nodded. “Greyback turned me when I was five years old, Draco. Believe me when I say that I am ready to do whatever it takes to bring him down.” And with that, the older man tapped his own head with his wand, a glamor charm melting over his now bright skin, sharp eyes, and rounded cheeks and turning his skin a pallid gray, dulling the life that Remus had begun to exude.

Draco gave him a final nod before turning to Hermione and pulling her into his chest, needing to feel the vital warmth of her once more before everything began.

The plan they needed to execute was simple enough.

All of the aurors except for Draco, Harry, and a small contingent posted at the entrance would be taking polyjuice to make them appear to be reporters and fellow academics, who would file into the auditorium and sit at specific intervals to ensure they were spaced throughout the building.

Draco and Harry would stand on either side of the stage as the visible protection detail, to ensure that Greyback didn’t sense a trap because Hermione was entirely without security.

After all of Greyback’s people entered, a second wave of aurors would apparate around the exterior of the building, activating the boundary wards and serving as a second line of defense—because no matter how sure the recon teams were, Draco was unwilling to take the chance that Greyback didn’t have some dark artifact that could be used to disable the wards and allow him to flee.

Once everything was set, Hermione would walk onto the stage and give her speech, eventually inviting Remus to the stage to be “given the cure” in front of the audience.

The team assumed that by this point Greyback would begin to execute his attack, but they were prepared to go through a full press conference, complete with polyjuiced aurors asking prepared questions about the cure, until the attack began.

Then it was just a matter of stopping the assault and taking down Greyback and his pack—hopefully without any fatalities to the aurors.

Draco was brought back to the present when Hermione nuzzled into his chest.

“We’re almost there, Draco.” She whispered, her arms squeezing around him.

He mimicked her action while leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on her head. “Yes, we are. How are you feeling?”

Hermione leaned back, meeting his eyes with her own, clear and determined. “I’m ready. It’s time to end this.”

Draco nodded and leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a slow kiss.

The timer buzzing over his head caused him to pull back, giving Hermione a final squeeze before he shifted back into auror-mode.

“Alright! Let’s go, everyone!”

The room burst to life at once, a symphony of perfectly choreographed sounds and movements as every member of the team lifted their vials of polyjuice to their mouths and drank, wincing against the bitter taste.

Draco watched as Tonks gave Remus a last look before her features melted into those of Embry, Hermione’s lab assistant.

In orderly fashion, groups of three aurors at a time, some laden with cameras, walked toward the floo and left, set to appear on the other side at Cambridge’s public floo to not arouse suspicion.

The entire process took twelve minutes, the numbers inside the DMLE dwindling until only Hermione, Draco, Remus, and Harry remained.

Harry stepped forward, eying Hermione. “You alright?”

She just nodded while continuing to face forward. “Yep. It’s not like it can be worse than snake-Bathilda in Godric’s Hollow, right?”

Harry chuckled while shaking his head. “Absolutely.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Do I want to know what that means?”

Harry and Hermione shook their heads and spoke together. “No.”

Remus checked his watch. “It’s time.”

Draco nodded and the four moved forward, each grabbing a pinch of floo powder to take them to Cambridge.

To Draco’s relief, the four of them would be floo’ing directly to the auditorium, which allowed Hermione to avoid any unnecessary time outside of protected areas. When they arrived, the four walked together to the wings of the stage and watched as the seats began to fill.

Draco stiffened when he saw the first person he didn’t recognize.

“Potter.”

“I see him. A woman just walked in from the back entrance as well.”

Hidden behind the stage, all four began to monitor the arrivals. They had all taken the modified tracking potion, and soon enough, half of the room glowed with green.

“46.”

Harry hummed his agreement. “46.”

There were 46 unsubs in the room, 45 aurors, plus Remus and Hermione. If they each just took out one, they’d be fine.

Draco’s heart began to pound as his focus narrowed to the task at hand. Hermione, Remus, and Harry were quiet as well.

A white feather suddenly appeared in front of them, floating gracefully to the ground. The signal from the teams outside that all of Greyback’s pack had arrived.

A jolt of electricity seemed to zing between the four of them.

“Ok. It’s time.” Draco’s words were low and commanding. He went to move with Harry to take up his place at the side of the stage, but before he could take a step, Hermione’s hand reached out and tightly grasped his wrist.

Draco turned and saw that her eyes had gone wide. He stepped into her, the hand she was not grasping coming to her waist. “Hermione. Love, is everything ok?”

She just nodded while Remus and Harry watched before surging forward and throwing her arms around him.

“Don’t die, Draco. You have to promise me that you won’t die.” Her words came out in a rush of air. His heart clenched and he brought his arms around her, squeezing her tightly to his chest.

She’d been so strong for him, so sure, and now it was his turn.

“No one is going to die today, love. I promise.”

Her arms scrabbled to squeeze him more tightly while she nodded jerkily into his shoulder.

“Ok. Ok. I know. I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

Draco ran his hands up and down her back. “Don’t be sorry, love. Everything is going to be fine.”

In that moment, he was surprised at how much he believed it.

Hermione nodded once more and stepped back out of his embrace, giving him a final look before turning back to the stage.

He observed her for a breath before turning to Harry. “Let’s go.”

They nodded, and Draco turned to Remus a final time as he began to move. The man gave him a reassuring nod and mouthed “I’ve got her” just before Draco took the final turn and lost sight of Hermione.

The room quieted as the audience saw Draco and Harry step down from the stage and take their places at each corner, their eyes stern as they both looked out at the crowd.

Draco began to calculate which person he’d attack first as he stood, back to the stage, waiting for Hermione to step out.

A wave of concern hit him that her nerves might get the best of her, but the second he heard her steady footsteps begin to cross the stage, he knew that Hermione Granger, his Hermione Granger, would never be stopped by a set of nerves.

The room went silent as Hermione stepped to the podium.

“Hello everyone, thank you for being here today. It’s my honor to announce the discovery of the first effective cure for lycanthropy, a project that has been my scientific focus for over a year. If you’ll indulge me, I’d like to walk through some of my research methodologies before diving in to the particulars of the cure formulation, at which time I am happy to announce that a dear friend and werewolf, Remus Lupin, will join me on stage to receive the cure.”

Draco tensed as a ripple went through the pack members in the crowd. It didn’t seem as though they’d been prepared for a live demonstration. Good. Anything to throw them off.

Hermione launched into her prepared remarks, delving into detail about her testing—and although every word of her speech was true, the real purpose was simply to draw down the clock until Greyback made his move.

Draco continued to closely monitor the crowd for the next thirty minutes, while Hermione made her way through the entirety of her speech, keeping a particularly close eye on four unsubs sitting together in the front row, all of whom were sweating and looking exceedingly nervous.

Soon enough, Hermione invited Remus to join her. The man, doing his best impression of his formerly frail self, walked to the center of the stage to a smattering of applause, before taking his seat as Hermione explained the delivery system before turning to insert the needle.

It was at that moment that Draco saw it, movement from the center of the crowd. As he watched, what had been an average-looking middle aged man transformed into the broad, imposing figure of Fenrir Greyback. Draco and Harry both raised their wands as the man stood.

“Excuse me for interrupting, Miss Granger.” He was doing his best impersonation of a gentleman, but the growl was unmistakable in his voice.

Without looking, Draco felt Hermione freeze for a moment before slowly turning to face him.

As soon as she turned, a predatory smile spread across Greyback’s face, showing his sharp, yellow teeth.

“There you are, pretty. It’s so nice to see you again.” Greyback took an exaggerated sniff, clearly inhaling Hermione’s scent.

“You’re afraid. That’s good.”

Draco and Harry both kept their wands trained on Greyback as the other aurors, still disguised as press, turned toward him with their cameras and notebooks.

“What do you want?” Came Hermione’s strained reply from the stage.

Greyback put out his hands. “Ah! What do I want? So many things, pretty. So many things. But to start, I think that you will be destroying that little ‘cure’ of yours and leaving this place with me as my prize.” He smiled.

Draco tightened his grip on his wand.

“And why would I do that?”

Greyback drummed his fingers against his lips. “Oh it’s quite simple, really. Either you tell the chosen one and your pathetic blood traitor boyfriend to lower their wands, announce to these fine members of our media that all of your silly little potion along with any directions to ever make more are to be immediately destroyed, or…”

He waved his hand forward and Draco followed with his eyes to the four people sitting in the front row, all of whom were shifting back into their regular appearance. The hostages. They were the hostages. And sitting in the center, a terrified looking ten year old boy. Draco realized with a jolt of fear that each of them had magical binds wrapped around their torsos, a stone covered in runic text glowing in the center of each of their chests.

“Or, I will be forced to sacrifice these four of my brothers, along with at least…hmmm…half? of the other people in this room.” He jerked his head toward Draco. “Your fiance included.”

The air in the room felt heavy as a silence stretched across them.

“I won’t allow your threats to control me.” Hermione’s voice was steady and strong.

Greyback simply smiled and raised his hands, all of his followers rising simultaneously around the room, their polyjuice all beginning to wear off.

“I think you will, pretty. I doubt you and your two little friends are prepared to take all of us on.” He smirked, confident in his position.

Suddenly, Draco heard Hermione take two steps forward on the stage.

Her voice changed to a mocking tone. “Oh but Fenrir, there’s something you should know about me: I’m always prepared.”

And with that, all hell broke loose.

Simultaneously, every auror in the room stood, pointing their wands at their closest opponents, and striking.

Bodies and chairs went flying as at least fifteen of Greyback’s people immediately went down, incapacitated by aurors. Draco saw Greyback’s mouth go momentarily slack before he grabbed his closest packmate and threw her in front of himself, using her as a shield.

Draco surged forward toward the first row of seats, throwing curse after curse at the werewolves who had focused their initial attack on him. He was still blocking and parrying as he saw Hermione out of the corner of his eye, having jumped down from the stage and run straight forward toward the four hostages, dropping immediately to her knees and performing a complex series of movements with her wand to try and disengage the bombs that had been strapped to their chests.

Draco moved without thinking, rushing toward her to cover her.

Hermione spared him a quick glance. “No! Draco, I’ve got them, you go get him!”

He hesitated, unwilling to leave her alone in the middle of the fray.

“Draco!” He turned to see Remus crouched next to the stage, shooting curses into the crowd. “I’ll cover her. Go!”

He warred with his choice for a moment before sending up a silent prayer and vaulting himself over the seats and toward Greyback, who was retreating to the back entrance, surrounded by five of his soldiers.

All around him, yells and explosions and the sounds of bodies hitting the floor filled his ears. He couldn’t afford to take his eyes off of Greyback, but out of the corners of his eyes he saw that most of those who were falling were werewolves, though a spark of panic hit him as he saw Michael Corner fall into a heap twenty feet away.

He’d nearly made it close enough to land a curse on Greyback before two huge, hulking wolves stepped into his path, forcing him to stop.

Immediately, Draco went to duel the pair, scanning for weaknesses and attempting to take them off guard.

He was surprised at how skilled they were, and he was forced to abandon any focus he had left for Greyback in order to face their attacks.

It took him at least five minutes of blocking and attempting to penetrate their shields before he found a way in, managing to land a concussive curse directly to the chest of one opponent, causing the other to momentarily lose focus and giving Draco an opening to slam a stunner into the other’s forehead.

After they both fell and Draco cast an incarcerous on them both, he took a moment to assess the scene. The other aurors had managed to thin the lines of the wolves substantially, groups of at least three now all taking on single opponents.

He shot his head back toward the front of the room and saw that the hostages were no longer seated in the front row. After a moment of frantic searching he saw them, now divested of their bombs, huddled in a corner with Hermione standing in front of them, shielding them from the curses flying their way.

Fighting against his instincts to run toward her immediately, Draco turned, quickly finding the aurors who had surrounded Greyback. He ran up the aisle to join them, attempting to overwhelm the pack leader and end this, once and for all.

But Greyback was even more talented than Draco remembered.

He was easily holding off five aurors, blocking curse after curse and forcing them back into a corner, denying them easy shots to take him down.

“There you are, boy! I’m so looking forward to killing you!” Greyback sent a curse directly at Draco, but he managed to duck and avoid it before returning fire.

“You’re the only one who will die today, Fenrir.”

Draco let go of the standard curses, just as he had outside of Hermione’s lab so many months ago. While the other aurors sent stunner after stunner, Draco began casting the curses he had been taught as a death eater. Attempting to break Greyback’s bones, boil his blood, blind him, scramble his thoughts, anything to take him down.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but could not have been more than 90 seconds, the group of aurors surrounding Greyback managed to break through his defenses, and after a quick look between each other, shot simultaneous stunners at him from all sides.

Draco watched, as if in slow motion, as his body flew back, bent at an unnatural angle, before crashing, unconscious, to the floor.

Draco released a breath, momentarily stunned that they had actually done it, before the continuing noise in the room snapped him back to reality. Turning, he saw that two of Greyback’s followers were still fighting, though by the time that Draco had made it half-way down the aisle toward the stage, they had both been felled by the two dozen or so aurors still standing.

Satisfied that the threat was eliminated, Draco began to jog back toward Hermione, who was still shielding the four hostages, her arms outstretched as her eyes scanned the room for threats.

Still twenty feet away, Draco called out. “Are you ok?”

Her eyes cut to him, widening as she took in that he was unharmed. She nodded. “Yes, we’re all ok!”

Draco turned back to observe the fallout before closing the gap between the two of them, ensuring that there was no one left to fight.

He saw as his fellow aurors, panting and exhausted, began to move throughout the room, checking the bodies on the ground. None of Greyback’s fighter’s seemed to be moving.

Draco began to release a breath.

But that was when he saw it.

From the back of the room, he saw a figure jump to his feet and rise, wand outstretched and ready to strike.

Too fast for him to react, Fenrir Greyback raised his wand and opened his mouth to cast what Draco knew would be a killing curse—directly at Hermione.

Without thinking, Draco began to sprint toward her. He would get her out of the way, no matter what.

The curse would hit him, of that he was certain, but it didn’t matter.

He would save her.

He had to.

As he crossed the space, his eyes met hers, terror shining in them as she realized what was happening.

Draco looked back, taking her in one last time as he tried to convey one final thought to her before the end: I love you.

And then his body slammed into hers, forcing her down and out of the way.

The last thought that went through his mind was how lucky he had been to have even this time with her. How blessed he was to know her love.

But as their bodies hit the floor, his covering hers, he quickly realized that he was feeling pain where his knees had slammed against the wooden floor. That his lungs were burning from exertion. That he could feel Hermione’s sobs against his chest.

This can’t be death.

His eyes shot open and took in Hermione, very much alive and stunned below him. Her eyes met his and, realizing he was still alive, her sobs became even more intense as she fisted her fingers into his shirt.

Leaning his weight back on his knees, Draco scooped Hermione with him as he sat up, shielding her as he looked toward where Greyback had been standing.

But he was gone.

Instead, all Draco could see was Greyback’s limp form on the ground, his wand arm severed and slowly oozing blood a few feet away, and Harry Potter, wand still out, staring at his body.

Draco was speechless, his mouth agape as he stared at Potter for a moment until the man turned toward him and shrugged. “I liked that spell you used on the attacker in her lab. Thought I’d give it a go.”

Draco couldn’t help it, he threw his head back and laughed. Hermione looked up, her head twisting between Harry and Draco before she turned back to him, grabbed his face and placed a hard kiss to his lips before pulling back, getting to her feet, and running toward Harry, throwing her arms around him and speaking what Draco could only assume were thank yous into his shoulder.

It was only then that Draco looked around and fully took in that it was over. They’d done it. Aurors were levitating the unconscious forms of Greyback’s pack toward the door so they could be apparated to the holding cells in the ministry, while Tonks and Dawlish hovered over Greyback, performing a complex set of charms to block his magic and fully incapacitate him before transporting him immediately to the high security cells in Azkaban. Neither bothered to reattach his arm.

Draco managed to push himself to his feet. The hostages behind him were safe, and the aurors who had been injured were all being healed by medi-witches—no one had died.

They’d done it.

They’d really done it.

The reality washed over him as he watched Hermione make her way back toward him, her eyes sparkling. The weight that had been pressing down on him seemed to lift with every step forward she took, and when she finally reached him, Draco’s smile was wide and free. He reached for her, pulling her off the ground and spinning her as she laughed.

He basked in the feeling for a moment before lowering her to the ground and bringing his hands to her red cheeks.

She looked back up at him. “What now?”

He smiled. “Now we get married. We live .”

Her smile was so bright Draco was sure it lit the entire world.

**

Three hours later, Draco and the team were finally wrapping up the after-action work at the DMLE. Each auror on site was interviewed, their recounting of events captured in event logs, while the pack members were processed in the holding cells below.

A team of legillimens from the DoM had gone in to interrogate those uninjured enough to have coherent thoughts and had learned the locations of all of Greyback’s safehouses as well as the identities of the dozen pack members who had had not participated in the attack. A reserve team of aurors had already been dispatched to secure the safehouses and capture the remaining wolves.

They had also received word that Greyback had been safely transported to Azkaban where he was now in a cell completely isolated from all other prisoners—where he would remain until his trial.

And the hostages had all been reunited with their families, each of whom had tearfully thanked Hermione as she offered to provide them with the cure the following afternoon.

Looking across the bullpen, Draco spotted Hermione laughing with Seamus and Angelina, looking far more carefree than she had in weeks. He smiled as an idea captured him.

Making his way across the room, he made his way to Hermione and placed his hands on her hips, pressing a kiss into her hair.

He leaned down and whispered, “Come with me?” Hermione turned and looked at him, her eyes sparkling, before nodding and bidding Seamus and Angelina goodbye.

Grasping her hand, Draco led her to the elevator bay. He noticed the slight hesitation in her step as she realized that she was no longer relegated to private floo travel, but then he watched as her smile broadened and she bounced on her toes as the two stepped into the arriving lift and Draco pressed the button to take them to the atrium.

As soon as the lift doors closed, Hermione snaked her arms around his waist, snuggling into Draco at the same moment that he pulled her further into his chest.

“It feels so strange, being in public again.” She murmured into him.

“Good strange or bad strange?”

Hermione pulled back and smiled up at him. “Definitely good strange.”

Draco smiled and brought up one of his hands to cup her cheek, leaning in to capture her lips in a slow, sensual kiss.

They had both gotten so caught up in each other that neither noticed that the lift had stopped and a new occupant had joined them until the man cleared his throat to announce his presence.

“Hello Miss Granger. Mr. Malfoy.”

Hermione and Draco both pulled back and straightened, taking in the pompous smile on the Minister of Magic’s face.

“Kingsley.” Hermione gave a short nod as she reached out to clasp Draco’s hand tightly, a movement that the Minister did not miss.

Kingsley stepped back and clasped his hands together, affecting a look of triumph. “Well! I’ve just been briefed on the success of today’s operation! Exceedingly good work, all around! It’s certainly a relief to have Greyback off of our streets. And I’m so happy to hear that you will be able to reenter society, Hermione! I’m sure I speak for many when I say that we’ve all missed you greatly.”

Kingsley’s saccharin smile was starting to turn Draco’s stomach.

“That’s very kind of you,” came Hermione’s icy reply.

The Minister’s smile turned sharp. “And of course, it will be so lovely to have you back at our Ministry galas! I know our donors are eager to see you again.”

Draco turned and took in Hermione’s expression. Her eyes narrowed as her smile turned into a sly smirk. She let out a small chuckle. “There it is.”

Kingsley leaned back, feigning ignorance. “I’m not sure what you mean, Miss Granger?”

Hermione straightened her shoulders. “Well then, let me make it clear for you, Kings. Our deal is done. What leverage do you think you can use against me now? You really want to try to rescind his pardon and send him back to Akaban?” She inclined her head toward Draco. “The man who just led the team that took down the most notorious death eater still on the streets? Who the entire wizarding world now knows was fighting for our side throughout the entire war?”

Hermione took two steps forward, now just inches away from Kingsley. “Go ahead. I’d like to see you try.”

The Minister’s face turned hard. “I think you’ll find, Miss Granger, that it’s good to have me on your side.”

Hermione threw her head back and laughed before recapturing Kingsley’s eyes with a look of fierce determination. “No, Kings. I think you’ll find that it’s good to have me on your side. But unfortunately for you, I’m quite finished being used.”

A serpentine smile spread across Draco’s face at Hermione’s words, just as Kingsley’s jaw clenched.

Before another word could be spoken, the lift came to a stop, the grates opening to the atrium. With a final look at Kingsley, Hermione stepped out.

In his best aristocratic drawl, Draco gave Kingsley a nod and said “You have a lovely day, Minister” as the lift doors closed on the man’s infuriated expression.

Retaking Hermione’s hand, he began to lead her across the floor. “Well that was fun.”

She smirked. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Draco squeezed her hand. “But I thought it might be nice if we spent a bit of time on a different type of fun.”

Hermione turned toward him with heat in her eyes. Draco winked and, having reached the exit, pushed open the door that led directly into the still bustling Diagon Alley.

Stepping out, Draco reached up and twirled one of Hermione’s curls around his finger before tucking it behind her ear. “I’m not sure how Flourish & Blotts has managed to stay afloat these past few months without you, so I figured we might as well go purchase a book or two. Or fifty…”

Hermione’s eyes sparkled as her smile widened into one of carefree joy. With a giggle, she bounced up and placed a quick kiss to his lips before rushing forward and pulling Draco along, laughing the whole way.

Chapter End Notes

Hello everyone!

First off, thank you so much for everyone's kind comments after the last chapter, I really appreciated it. Secondly, I cannot believe next week will be the last main story chapter for this fic! It feels like I just started writing it...

But remember, the story doesn't end next week! Because I am incapable of being concise, we've got a 3-part epilogue to follow :)

And now, a shift in topics!

I have been plotting out a couple new stories, but one has really started to come together more than the other, so my plan is to dive into this one first after AVO finishes. I'm not sure yet when I'll start posting--it depends on how much writing I get done in the next few weeks. Plus, I am planning on posting a oneshot or two from the AVO world sometime in December.

Below is a little peak at the story description. If you're interested, please read on!

**

Hermione Granger is dead. She died five years ago in the Forbidden Forest after following Harry when he turned himself over to Voldemort during the final battle.

At least, that’s what the wizarding world believes…

Draco Malfoy has spent the five years since the war proving himself as a highly-specialized auror, going undercover to take down cells of dark wizards and escaped Death Eaters. Whispers have circulated for years that a group of high-ranking Death Eaters, led by Ignatius Mulciber, have been consolidating power and planning a coup. Rumor has it that Voldemort sent Mulciber and a small contingent of loyal followers away before his death in the final battle—with instructions on how to resurrect him. They have spent years attempting to gather the ingredients needed for the spell.

Draco, too, has spent years attempting to infiltrate the group—and finally, he’s gotten a break. He’s learned that one of the items required for the spell is Voldemort’s wand, and he is able to get a message to the group that he has it, and is interesting in joining the cause.

When Draco arrives at the Mulciber compound, he is welcomed as a returning hero, and offered a very special gift to play with during his visit: Hermione Granger. When the Mulciber group escaped during the final battle, they took Hermione with them, and have kept her as their prisoner for the last five years. She believes that Voldemort won the war, that Harry and Ron are dead, and that her life will be spent being tormented by Death Eaters.

Draco is now faced with a question: Does he violate his orders by rescuing Hermione? And what will happen when she is brought back home to find the world so different than she remembers?

Tl:dr, this is a slow burn, angsty-ish, hurt/comfort fic, mostly following Hermione’s efforts to rejoin society after five years away, and how Draco helps her find purpose, direction, and (of course) love. There will be a b story that follows the mystery/action of the Mulciber group and their attempts to resurrect Voldemort.

Although there will be dark themes, this is NOT a dark AU, there is no SA, and it will end in a HEA.

I hope you'll join me on that journey! <3 <3

Until next week!

xoxo,

Flames

Lover

Chapter Notes

Well! Here we are! The last main story chapter has arrived!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

July 1995

Hermione closed her eyes against the sun, breathing in a deep, slow breath as the summer breeze danced over her skin, bringing with it the scent of honeysuckle, rose, peony, lilac, and freesia—all of the flowers that surrounded them in this tucked away portion of the Malfoy Manor gardens.

She let out a hum of satisfaction as the beautiful truth of it rolled over her: this was the happiest day of her life.

Arms came up around her, one banding around her waist as the other made its way into her hair, combing softly through her curls as she snuggled her head even deeper into the soft, warm chest currently serving as her pillow.

“What are you thinking about?” Draco’s tone was light, wistful.

Hermione smiled as the sun warmed her face.

“I’m thinking that I’ve never felt happiness like this. I’m thinking that I never want this feeling to end.”

The arm around her waist tightened as Draco lifted his head to place a kiss against her temple. “I’ve never felt like this either. You make me so happy, Hermione. Happier than I thought was possible.” The awe in his tone sent chills through Hermione’s body.

If you had told Hermione Granger one year ago that she would be here, lounging in the sun with the boy she loved, feeling a certainty in her bones that she had never known—a certainty that this was right, that this was her destiny, that this was her future—she would have laughed in your face before telling you off for inventing such ridiculous lies.

But here she was.

Fate had somehow smiled down upon her. It had given her the most precious gift that the world had to offer.

She loved Draco with her whole heart. Her whole soul.

And somehow, miraculously, he loved her back.

She opened her eyes, looking up into the clear blue sky as big, fluffy clouds made their way toward the horizon. Butterflies and hummingbirds fluttered and zoomed just out of reach, and the distant sound of songbirds floated into her ears.

“Can we just stay here? Let’s just skip Fifth Year and stay here. We can live in the greenhouse and tend to the flowers and lie in the grass and…just… be .” Her words were coaxing, inviting him to come along with her fantasy.

She could hear the smirk in his voice as he answered. “Hermione Granger suggesting we skip school? Are you feeling alright, love? Are you really Hermione Granger or have I been snogging an imposter disguised with polyjuice potion?”

Hermione huffed a laugh and rolled over, propping herself up on her elbow while lying her chin against Draco’s chest.

“I know. I know we can’t. It’s just…the last few weeks, Draco. To be free here, to not have to hide…I want this. I want this for us so badly I can hardly breathe.” Tears began to fill her eyes as she spoke.

Never taking his eyes off her, Draco sat up, gently pulling her with him until she was sitting cross-legged in front of him, his hands coming up to frame her face.

“Listen to me, Hermione. We’re going to have this. This is what our future will be, I promise you. We’ll be together, we won’t have to hide, and it will feel like this, exactly like this, every single day. We’ll get married and live our lives without any of this idiotic nonsense following us around. We just have to make it through Hogwarts first. Potter just has to…I don’t know…annoy He Who Must Not Be Named to death and then we can—why are you looking at me like that? Did you hear what I said?”

Hermione bit her lip, trying to contain her smile. “You lost me somewhere around ‘we’ll get married.’” Her fingers roamed lightly over his chest as she looked up at him bashfully through her lashes.

Hermione may not have much experience beyond her relationship with Draco, but she did spend every night in a room with Parvati and Lavender, and if they were to be believed, most boys their age had no interest in long term commitments, and certainly not marriage.

But Hermione would certainly be lying if she said that she never thought about marrying Draco. If she hadn’t thought about it every single day for the last several months. If hearing him say it felt like a key perfectly fitting inside a lock to her heart.

In typical Draco fashion, he didn’t shy away. Instead, a sly smirk grew on his lips. “How exactly did you imagine this story ending, Granger? You really think that a good pureblood heir like myself wouldn’t make an honest woman out of you?”

Hermione’s cheeks went red at his teasing.

“No, I just…well…we’ve never talked about it before.” She cast her eyes down as her fingers fiddled with the grass between them.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice had grown quiet, more hesitant than before.

Hermione nodded at the ground, still gathering the strength to lift her eyes to his.

Draco chuckled, once again grabbing her face and gently tilting it up until their eyes met.

“Well alright. Let me make something clear, Hermione Granger: I am going to ask you to marry me. I’m going to do something ostentatious and romantic and you are going to cry and say yes, and then we’re going to get married—maybe right here, with all the flowers blooming around us. We’re going to have swotty little children who I am going to have to spend all of my time attempting to keep out of Gryffindor, you are going to cure the magical world of all of our maladies, and we are going to…what’s the muggle phrase? Walk off into the sunrise?”

Tears streaming down her cheeks, a bubble of laughter escaped her. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “Ride off into the sunset.”

Draco nodded, his thumbs wiping away her tears. “Yes, that. Is that alright with you?”

Hermione just held his gaze for a moment, the overwhelming power of his words reverberating through her. How had she found this? How had she deserved it? She didn’t know, she just knew that she had to do whatever it took to keep it. Forever.

Nodding, she leaned toward him, responding just before her lips met his. “Yes, that’s alright with me.”

Their lips met and Draco slowly leaned her back against the grass as the magic of the moment took them away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April 2003

The two weeks following Greyback’s arrest had been a hectic swirl of emotions for Hermione.

The day after his capture, the DMLE and the DoM had held a joint press conference to officially announce his arrest and so Hermione could actually give a real update about the creation of the cure.

Hermione had been insistent about speaking to the press to, first, make sure that Bartholomew Edgecombe, the scientist and werewolf whose journal had put her on the path to the cure, was properly recognized for his contribution to wizarding society. Additionally, Hermione felt that it was absolutely essential that the public knew that although she had created a cure for lycanthropy, she would still always support anti-discrimination laws for werewolves and other magical creatures, that the decision to take the cure would be entirely voluntary, and that the Ministry had signed a binding magical contract affirming that the cure would never be used as a weapon or a form of punishment.

She’d taken questions from the gathered journalists, but it took no time at all for the questions to turn from specifics about the cure to her relationship with Draco—including one bold Witch Weekly reporter who shouted “how does your fiancé feel about your obsession with your work? Is it a strain on your relationship?”

Hermione had not even opener her mouth to respond before Draco, who was standing to the side of the gathered reporters, yelled, “Her fiancé is in awe of her every single day and finds your insinuation to be fucking ridiculous. He’d also strongly suggest that you all stop asking idiotic questions about our relationship and instead use this time to ask the woman who just revolutionized the magical world about how she did it—before I hex all of you into the fucking Thames!”

Smirking, Hermione had simply raised an eyebrow at the crowd before calmly saying, “next question.”

Draco barely had time to perform a locking charm on the broom closet Hermione pulled him into after the press conference before she waved her wand to vanish all of his clothes.

After that, Hermione had to hire ten more lab assistants to help with the administration of the cure, as the requests from werewolves to receive it quickly ended up with enough owls perched around her building at Cambridge that the Chancellor of the magical college became concerned that the muggles would start asking questions.

And of course, with just days left until their wedding, Hermione and Draco had both been called into “emergency” meeting after “emergency” meeting by Narcissa and Pansy to discuss the drought in Morocco that meant that the greenery for the ceremony was not available and—horror of horrors—they would have to get a varietal from Spain that was half a shade darker green, fears that Hermione’s veil was half an inch too short, and were they absolutely sure that they didn’t want to add a ten-foot-tall chocolate fountain for the reception?

Luckily, both Hermione and Draco were so overjoyed that all of the obstacles had finally been removed between them and their future together that no crisis over table linens or seating charts could even put a dent in their happy moods.

And it was in such a mood, with smiles permanently playing on their faces, that Hermione walked hand-in-hand with Draco through the floo to Nott Manor eight days before their wedding to attend the housewarming party celebrating George officially moving in with Theo. After the pair had realized that George had not set foot in his flat in over two months, they had finally faced facts and decided it was useless to pretend that they were not in love and ready to take the next step in their relationship.

Which, for Theo and George, meant throwing a massive party filled with at least half of the people who had graduated from Hogwarts in both George and Theo’s years.

The party was well underway when Hermione and Draco arrived, indoor fireworks popping overhead throughout the manor and music and laughter filtering down the halls in every direction.

“It’s so strange…” Draco remarked as they made their way down the hall toward the noise.

Hermione turned. “What is?”

Draco shook his head. “For there to be so much…laughter here. Whenever I came here as a kid, the entire house was silent as a tomb. It was cold and dark and…awful. This is just…I’m just so happy for Theo.”

Hermione squeezed his hand, leaning her head against his shoulder as they approached the door leading to the main salon, “He deserves it. They both do.”

Draco hummed in agreement before leaning in to place a kiss against her hair, just as they passed over the threshold and into the fray.

As soon as Hermione and Draco were visible, there was a chorus of yelled greetings from every corner of the room.

Neville was in the corner, his arm wrapped around Hannah Abbott as they laughed with Susan Bones.

Percy and Lee were talking animatedly—alright, Lee was talking animatedly—with Penelope Clearwater.

Padma was chatting with Cho Chang while Blaise followed along quietly.

Seamus, hand-in-hand with Dean, was leading what appeared to be a magical drinking game with Michael Corner and Angelina Johnson.

And off to the side, smiling but more subdued than the other revelers, was Harry, nodding along as Oliver Wood recounted what Hermione was sure was a story about Quidditch. George hadn’t spoken to Harry since that day in St. Mungos after her attack, but after he found out that it had been Harry who stopped Greyback from killing Hermione and Draco, he had reached out and invited him to come.

Hermione was still trying to navigate what their new relationship looked like and was in the process of debating if she should go say hello when the decision was made for her by Theo, who bounded forward, grabbed her by the waist, and spun her around in the center of the room, sing-songing: “It’s the brightest witch of our age, it’s the brightest witch of our age!”

Hermione wanted to be horrified by the outburst and unnecessary attention, but Theo’s enthusiasm was infectious and by the time he set her down, her grin was just as wide as his.

“George! Our guests of honor are here!” The red head jogged forward, an equally bright smile on his own face.

Draco spoke while Hermione leaned back into his chest. “Aren’t you two the guests of honor? It’s your party, Theo.”

Theo and George both shook their heads. “Perhaps, but the real honor lies with you two—the woman who cured lycanthropy and the man who stopped the most dangerous death eater still on the streets. Maybe it’s slipped your awareness, but the two of you are quite the power couple, boys and girls. What do you think, George? Most popular couple in all of wizarding Britain?”

George brought his fingers to his chin, rubbing it dramatically. “I’d say all of Europe, Theodore.”

Theo hummed in agreement. “Quite right, sir. Quite right.”

Hermione chuckled as Draco ran his hands up and down her arms. “Come off it, you two. Nobody cares. Well, maybe they care about the cure and Greyback, but not about us.”

Theo raised his eyebrows. “Hermione, you are currently standing in the middle of a roomful of your former classmates, all of whom having recently learned that the not only was my friend Draco here not actually an evil little shit at Hogwarts, but also that the two of you were spending all of your free time fucking like nifflers all over the castle! Trust me, they care.”

“Merlin, Theo…” Draco groaned, shaking his head.

Theo threw up his hands. “What? It’s not like I’m wrong!”

Hermione pinned him with a stare. “It wasn’t ‘all over the castle,’ Theo.”

And with that, George, Theo, and Draco all threw their heads back and laughed before they all rejoined the party.

**

Two hours later, the party was still in full swing but George, Theo, Blaise, Padma, Pansy, Luna, Hermione, and Draco had claimed a small sitting room just off the main salon and were lounging on couches and plush chairs, talking, laughing, and observing the revelry.

“Honestly, Mione, this is the problem with only children, you don’t know how to share!”

“Oh what now, George?” She replied with mock frustration. In reality, Hermione was feeling an almost overwhelming amount of happiness. She was currently snuggled into Draco’s side on the couch, in a room full of her friends, and surrounded by dozens of people that she had spent years hiding from, who had not known the truth about Draco, and now—suddenly—there was no more need to hide.

Everyone had accepted them, everyone had been nothing but supportive and kind, and Hermione found that with each conversation she had, the last vestiges of fear and uncertainty that still lurked in the recesses of her mind had been swept away. It was glorious.

“You could have shared the wealth with the Room! The rest of us sure would have enjoyed the opportunity to have a private place to snog, you know! But noooo, you two had to hoard it for yourselves!”

Hermione just smirked. “Sorry, George. Finders keepers.”

Draco hummed in agreement and extended his hand for Hermione to high five before he gripped her wrist and brought her arm to his lips, kissing on top of her amor vincit omnia tattoo.

“So that’s how you did it.”

All the heads in the room turned toward the sneering voice coming from the doorway.

Ron and Ginny stood side-by-side, surveying the group of friends with distaste.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” George’s tone was filled with venom.

Ron and Ginny both scoffed.

“We’re your family, George!” Exclaimed Ginny. “And you didn’t think to tell us that you were moving in with him?” She inclined her head toward Theo who simply tipped his head in her direction. “Into the house of the most notorious death eater to ever live?”

Hermione saw Theo’s body tense and both she and Draco moved to get up, ready to defend him.

“Well Gin, I had to learn that my family was full of despicable liars and cheaters at our Christmas dinner table. So I suppose we’re even now!” George was standing now, his body angled in front of Theo who was carefully watching the exchange.

The rest of the room was quiet, eyes darting back and forth. Draco reached over and squeezed Hermione’s hand.

“You can’t just cut us out of your life, George. Mum’s a total wreck. Thinks you’re going to get married and not invite us.” Ron waved his hands in George and Theo’s direction.

George reached back so Theo could grab his hand before he responded. “Well, she’s right about that. When we get married, you won’t be invited. I’m really not sure how I can make it much clearer that I do not want to have anything to do with you, any of you, ever again.”

Ron and Ginny both looked as though George had slapped them.

In the moment of silence that followed, two sets of footsteps could be heard entering from the other side of the room.

“What are you doing here, Ginny?” Harry’s voice was strained and Hermione turned to see his jaw set and shoulders tense. Next to him, Percy surveyed his brother and sister with open disgust.

Ginny’s voice immediately softened.

“Harry! I didn’t know you’d be here! Can we…let’s talk, ok? You haven’t responded to any of my owls! You…Harry, you sent me divorce papers and now you won’t even talk to me?”

Pansy huffed a laugh from her seat across the way. “That’s typically how a divorce tends to go, Weasley.”

Ginny’s face whipped to Pansy. “Be quiet, I’m not talking to you.”

Quicker than seemed possible, Luna stood and crossed the room, stopping just inches in front of Ginny’s face. “Don’t you dare speak to her like that. Ever again.” Hearing such a harsh tone from Luna of all people only underlined the lethal seriousness of her words.

Ginny’s eyes went wide before she turned back to Harry with a pleading look.

Harry shook his head. “I’m sick of this, Ginny. I haven’t responded to your owls because I have nothing else to say. Because there is nothing left to say. And I–”

Ginny broke in. “I have things to say, Harry! I have things to say!” Tears were welling in her eyes now.

Ron jumped in. “Look what you’re doing to her! You’re really not going to have the decency to have a conversation? You’ve all lost your minds!” Ron looked around the room, his gaze skipping over Hermione entirely.

“Decency?” Harry breathed, astonished. “I don’t have any decency? Well, I suppose you’re right, Ron. I didn’t have any decency when I agreed not to tell Hermione that you were cheating on her.” A zing of emotion went through Hermione and her fingers tightened around Draco’s as Harry continued. “I didn’t have any decency when I believed all the lies you told me about her. I didn’t have any decency when I let you convince me not to do anything about it, Ginny. I didn’t have any fucking decency when I kept lying to her for months after you broke up. And I certainly didn’t have any decency when I agreed to stand up for you at your wedding as though the whole thing wasn’t a fucking farce, Ron.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw satisfied smirks spread across the faces of everyone else in the room.

Ron reared back. “What the fuck, Harry!” Finally, Ron’s gaze landed on Hermione. She just stared back while the tension in the room grew thicker and thicker. “She’s doing this! She’s twisting everything up and manipulating you! She’s manipulating all of you! She lied to us for years, Harry! And I’m the problem? There’s no consequences for her because this fucking git’s made everyone forget he’s a goddamn death eater?!” His eyes narrowed on Draco before turning back to Hermione. “She was his fucking whore!”

The word had barely left his lips when the entire room erupted. Everyone, Harry and Percy included, jumped up and immediately drew their wands, all pointing them at Ron’s chest.

Everyone but Draco.

He charged forward, sidestepping Theo and George and extending his arm forward, his hand wrapping tightly around Ron’s throat as he pushed him against the wall.

“Say a single word about her again, and none of them will even have the time to say an incantation before I snap your neck.” Ron’s eyes bulged as Ginny shrunk back.

“He’s wrong about that.” Hermione’s voice was calm, detached.

Hermione stood, slowly walking forward until she was shoulder-to-shoulder with Draco.

“This is the second time you’ve called me a whore, Ron. If you dare say that to me again…well. I won’t let any of them kill you.” She waved her hand around the room. “No, that would be too easy. Instead, I think that I will devote the entirety of my rather impressive brainpower to developing more and more creative ways to destroy every single aspect of your life. You will not see it coming. You will not be able to stop me. And when I’m done, you will wish that you had never been born. Do you understand?”

His face was turning red as he gulped like a fish out of water.

“Let him go, Draco. I’d like to make sure he heard me.”

Draco instantly dropped his hand, but simultaneously raised his wand, keeping it pointed directly at Ron’s heart.

Her former friend, the boy she had met at eleven years old, who she had fought in a war side-by-side, looked back at her with brittle hatred.

He didn’t say anything, just breathed hard for a moment before darting his eyes away and landing on George.

“She’s tearing our family apart! You are letting her destroy our family. I can’t believe—”

“ You destroyed our family, Ron.” Percy’s voice broke in, firm, steady, and absolutely unyielding. “You are responsible for all of this. Only you. And if you keep behaving like this, soon enough you will have no one left. And none of us, not your family, not your friends, no one will be there to help you pick up the pieces.”

Ron looked momentarily chastened by Percy’s speech, but as he so often did, he tried to fit his mask of bravado back in place to cover it. He scoffed. “A bit dramatic there, Perc, don’t you think?”

“He ain’t being dramatic, mate. He’s right.”

Everyone’s heads turned. Amidst the mele, no one had noticed that the room had filled behind them.

Seamus, who had spoken, stood in the center, surrounded by Dean, Neville, Lee, Oliver, Angelina, Cho, Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, and Michael Corner—all of whom were scowling at Ron.

“None of us are on your side, mate. Get a fucking grip.” Seamus said, matter of fact, while the rest of the group nodded along.

Hermione’s heart swelled. She never would have believed that something like this could happen. And yet, here she was, standing in the middle of it.

She looked over at Draco and saw the shock on his face as well. She knew that he still didn’t believe that he had been (or should be) forgiven for his actions during the war, and no matter how many times she told him that people understood now, that they knew he was a good man, she could always see that bit of doubt that wouldn’t leave him.

She reached out, twining their fingers together, before turning back toward Ron and Ginny.

They both looked shell-shocked. And for the first time, she could see reality beginning to hit them. She could see the realization that they would not be treated as victims. That no one was coming to their aid. That they had become villains in their own lives.

“Well,” George stepped forward, clapping his hands together as Theo wrapped his arm around his waist, “I think that about sums it up, then. Only one thing left to say now.” His eyes locked onto Ginny and Ron, any ounce of humor leaving them. “Get out of my fucking house.”

The room went deathly silent for a moment, the words hanging in the air, before Ron grabbed Ginny’s elbow, spun them around, and began quickly making his way back to the floo.

The room stayed quiet for another beat, until Theo looked around and exclaimed, “Well! I think we need more alcohol!”

He waved his wand, and suddenly bottles began to appear on every surface in the room.

The tension broken, laughter and conversation started up again.

Hermione looked over to see Theo running his fingers over the sides of George’s face, whispering quiet words as he nodded along.

Pansy had crawled into Luna’s lap and was kissing her so fiercely that Hermione felt it was necessary to look away.

Lee had passed Percy a very large drink, and Blaise had made his way to Seamus and was shaking his hand in gratitude.

Hermione turned into Draco, wrapping her arms around his middle and burying her face in his chest as his own arms came to squeeze around her shoulders as he rested his face atop her head, breathing her in.

They simply stood like that for a few moments as the crowd moved around them, until Hermione turned her head and spotted Harry, alone in the corner and leaning against a wall, a faraway stare on his face.

She leaned back and gestured for Draco to look before capturing his eye, a question in hers. With a soft smile on his face, he brought his hand up to stroke her cheek before leaning in and pressing a kiss to her lips. He pulled back, holding her gaze as he simply said, “go.”

Hermione leaned into him once more before stepping back and making her way across the room, picking up a rather large bottle of American bourbon along the way.

When she reached Harry, his expression barely seemed to register her, so she reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder, leading him back toward one of the couches.

“Come on, let’s get drunk.”

She quirked a brow at him and, after a moment, a small smile and huff of laughter escaped him before he flopped down onto the sofa.

Hermione followed, uncorking the bottle and taking a swig before passing it to him. Harry took a long pull before lowering the bottle and once again staring off into space, deep sadness marring his features.

Hermione scooted next to him until they were pressed together. She reached out and grabbed Harry’s hand, squeezing it in her own before leaning in, placing a kiss on his cheek, and then leaning her head against his shoulder.

“We’re going to be ok, Harry.”

Harry closed his eyes and nodded, his own head resting against hers as he passed her back the bottle.

**

On Monday morning, Hermione and Draco were both lounging at the kitchen table, eating a leisurely breakfast and reading the Prophet—both having taken the week off of work in advance of the wedding—when the floo flashed green and a scroll of parchment flew through, landing gently next to a plate of croissants.

They both eyed it, then each other, then it again, before Hermione reached forward and unrolled it.

Ron quit this morning. Said he and Daphne are moving to Ireland.

-Harry

Hermione read the words twice, not because she didn’t understand them, but because she wanted to make sure that the feeling she was having was real.

Nothing. She felt nothing.

**

The next two days passed in a blur of excitement, anticipation, love, and a fair bit more of last minute preparations held inside the wedding war room at the Manor.

Narcissa had actually kicked the two of them out on Wednesday afternoon after claiming that their happiness was intoxicating and had reduced them both “twittering fools incapable of making informed decisions” and that she needed silence to finalize the seating plan.

Hermione and Draco were still laughing as they walked back through the floo, only to find Pansy lounging in the living room, a steaming teacup floating near her head.

“Finally! I’ve been waiting for over an hour, you know. You’re cutting into precious prep time, Granger.” She said exasperatedly.

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Prep time for what, Pansy? What’s going on?”

Hermione turned to Draco, who looked back with a mischievous smirk as he shrugged.

Pansy, too, smirked at Hermione’s confusion. “I’m here to take you to your hen do, Granger. Obviously.”

That only served to confuse her more. “What are you talking about? That’s not a wizarding tradition…”

Draco wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed lightly. Pansy just flipped her hand dismissively.

“Yes, yes, I know. We’re honoring your muggle heritage tonight by dressing up and getting drunk, alright?” She raised a brow.

A slow smile spread across Hermione’s face. “Well alright then.”

“Fabulous.” Pansy stepped forward and yanked Hermione out of Draco’s arms, dragging her toward the stairs to get ready.

“Bring my fiancé back in one piece, Parkinson!” Draco called from the living room.

“Piss off, Draco! You’re meant to be at Theo’s to drink whiskey and…measure each other’s dicks? Whatever it is men do at these things…”

Hermione giggled as she heard Draco grumble before stepping back into the floo.

Many hours later, Hermione found herself throwing her head back and laughing while drinking ridiculously expensive champagne in a cordoned-off area of a hip muggle club.

After Pansy had finished dressing Hermione in the smallest and tightest strapless dress she had ever seen, a pair of sky high stilettos, and enough sparkling blue eyeshadow that Hermione feared she would be mistaken for some tropical bird, The two women had left the house to join Padma and Luna for a delicious dinner in a private room at Blaise’s restaurant.

Hermione thought that the three witches had done a rather remarkable job recreating a muggle hen do, complete with streamers, balloons, a sash with the word “Bride” written across it in gold lettering for her to wear, and, the piece de resistance, a set of plastic straws shaped like penises that they had all begun to use immediately, even for their wine.

Thankfully, when Padma pointed out that she had read that these parties typically involved male strippers, Pansy had put her foot down.

“I’ll drink from the pretend penises all you want, Padma, but I draw the line at being forced to watch one flop around in real life.”

The memory of that moment made Hermione smile as she looked around at her three friends, all laughing and enjoying themselves while music thumped in the background. Luna, to her great credit, had demanded that all of them drink small vials of sober-up potion every hour to prevent them from becoming too drunk to enjoy themselves, which now allowed Hermione to survey this scene with the warmth of a healthy buzz, but without concern that she was going to need to be levitated home.

The night had been perfect, filled with dancing, laughter, and three friends who had shown her over the last year what real friendship looked like.

The DJ announced into the microphone that it was last call, leading Luna to demand that they all head back to the dancefloor for one last dance to close out the night.

The four friends swayed their hips to the beat, enjoying each other and completely blocking out the crowds around them. As the music faded out and they all began to gather their things to make their way toward the exit, Hermione reached out and grabbed Pansy’s arm, pulling her back.

“Pansy…”

The dark haired witch rolled her eyes. “Oh no, don’t get all teary with me now, Granger.”

Hermione ignored her. “Pansy, I never would have made it through all of this without you. When I woke up that day in Theo’s house and you were there…you were the reason I was able to get up, to start to put my life back together. You inspired me to do it. I don’t know what would have happened without you. I just need you to know how grateful I am for you. How happy I am to know you.”

Pansy stared back at her for a moment, an unreadable expression on her face, before stepping forward and gathering Hermione into a tight hug.

“I’m happy to know you as well, Hermione.” Pansy whispered in her ear. “And I’ll deny it if you ever tell anyone, but you inspire me, too.”

Hermione smiled into her shoulder as Pansy gave her a final squeeze before pulling back.

“Now, let’s get you back to that fiancé of yours before he starts to panic that I kidnapped you. And I’ll see you bright and early on Saturday so we can get you idiots married, ok?”

Happy tears escaping her eyes, Hermione nodded as Pansy took her hand, threading their fingers together as they walked out of the club, together.

When Hermione stepped through the floo a few moments later, she had not expected to find Draco sitting on the couch, reading by lamplight, a glass of Ogden’s sitting on the side table next to him.

A wide smile spread across her face. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be off doing debauchery with Theo and Blaise?”

Draco sat silently for a moment, taking her in, before a smirk came across his face. “You overestimate us, love. I got back an hour ago and,” he snapped the book in his lap closed sharply, looking her up and down, “the only debauchery I want to participate in is with you and this fucking dress. Merlin, love. Come here.”

A smile on her face, Hermione stepped forward until she stood in front of where he sat on the couch. As Draco reached out to place his hands on her hips, she leaned forward, her hands coming to his shoulders as she sunk down, straddling him.

Draco’s hands began exploring the supple silk fabric. “Hmmm, I think this dress is quite dangerous, love.” He ran his fingertips beneath the hem before removing them and ghosting his hands over her hips, stomach, and across her breasts. “I mean, look how easy it would be for this to just…” he curled his fingers under the strapless neckline gently pulling it down to reveal one of Hermione’s breasts. Without warning, he leaned forward, running his tongue over her nipple before biting down lightly and sucking it into his mouth.

Hermione’s hands fisted into his shirt as she leaned back with a moan, Draco’s other hand coming up to squeeze her other breast, his fingers pinching her nipple.

Hermione began to move her hips over him, desperate for the friction, and felt him grow hard beneath her.

After a moment, he pulled back and grabbed the back of Hermione’s head, pulling her down to capture her lips in a desperate kiss.

When they were both panting, he pulled back, his hands running down her hips until they came to a stop over her ass, helping her to keep her slow, undulating movements steady against him.

“You know, we only have two more days to have sex out of wedlock …” Draco teased, his words breathy.

Hermione bit her lip and ground her hips down harder against him, causing his fingers to dig in to her bum as he groaned.

“Well, then I suppose we shouldn’t waste any time.” Hermione reached her hand out, summoning her wand from where it sat in her handbag, before giving it a single flick and vanishing every single stitch of their clothing.

Draco gave a quick, surprised laugh before Hermione ground herself against him again, her wetness now sliding over his cock. His laugh quickly morphed into a desperate moan of pleasure.

Unable to wait a second longer, Hermione reached down, positioning herself above him before sinking down as he filled her to the hilt.

Their twin moans echoed around the quiet house.

“Fuck, love. You feel so good, you always feel so good.”

Hermione began to move, rolling her hips as she moved up and down, the intoxicating pleasure of it overwhelming her.

“Imagine, Draco. Imagine what it will feel like when we’re bonded.” She gripped her fingers against him as he watched her, his eyes closing against the sensations as he nodded.

One hand remaining on her hip, Draco brought the other to the side of her face, pulling her toward him as their eyes met. “This is just the beginning, Hermione. We have the rest of our lives together. We have forever.”

The truth of his words washed over her, creating a heady mixture with the tingling pleasure building at the base of her spine.

Never breaking their gaze, she continued to move her hips as she whispered, “I love you, Draco.”

He began thrusting up into her, hitting the spot deep inside that made her vision blur. “I love you, Hermione.”

It took no time at all, as she stared deep into his eyes, for her orgasm to explode around her, the euphoria of it taking over as she heard Draco let out a broken groan and follow her into the abyss.

**

Two days later, Hermione squeezed Draco’s fingers as they walked quietly across the grass of the large, open space of rolling hills, a light breeze filtering over them amidst the cloudless sky.

It was calm here, far outside the city center, with tall trees swaying and neatly planted flowers along the edges of all the walking paths.

It felt bright and peaceful, which is why Hermione had chosen it those years ago. She’d felt that if her parents needed an eternal resting place, that they would want it to feel like this: sunsoaked and serene.

She’d come to Draco earlier in the week and asked if he would join her to visit her parents today, just twenty-four hours before their wedding, to take a moment with them before she started this next phase of her life.

They arrived at the graves, positioned at the top of one of the rolling hills, with a view looking over the trees and meadows that surrounded the cemetery.

Hermione leaned forward, discretely removing her wand to perform a quick cleaning of their gravestones and to conjure large bouquets of flowers to lay for each of them.

“Hi mum, hi dad.” Her words were whispered as she tried to hold her emotions at bay.

Draco came up behind her, wrapping his arms securely around her middle and pressing a kiss into her hair.

“We’re getting married tomorrow. I wish you could be there, but I want you to know how happy I am. How…how glad I am that you got to meet the man that I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.” She smiled as a tear tracked down her cheek. “I think you’d be quite pleased with how everything turned out.”

Draco squeezed her from behind. “Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I promise you that I will spend every single day of my life making your daughter as happy as I can. I’ll give her the life that she deserves.”

Hermione brought her hands up and grasped Draco’s forearms, leaning her head back against his chest as she closed her eyes and let the breeze play across her skin for a while as she let herself slide into her memories, all of the best memories she had of her parents, of her life with them, of what it felt like to be loved by them.

She stood in silence with Draco for a while, just taking in the moment, before she felt ready to step out of his arms and come forward to place her hand lightly over their names carved into the stones, tracing each letter.

She was about to say her goodbyes when Draco spoke from behind her.

“Hermione, I need to tell you something.” His voice was soft and calm.

She straightened and turned around just as Draco reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. He held it gingerly.

“Right before I left to get back on the train in Chamonix that Christmas, your dad gave me this.” He held up the envelope and Hermione’s heart began to pound. “He told me not to read it, that it was for you, and that I was only to give it to you on our wedding day.”

Hermione took a single, tentative step forward, her eyes now catching a single word written across the front of the sealed envelope: Minnie .

Her breath caught. That had been the nickname her parents called her when she was young, and as she stared at the letters she could tell immediately that it was in her father’s handwriting.

Draco held it out for her. “I know this is cheating a bit, but I figured he would approve of me giving it to you now.”

Hermione’s eyes left the envelope to track up to Draco’s. He must have seen the fear and apprehension in hers, because he stepped forward, placing his hand on her cheek and rubbing his thumb gently against her skin.

“You don’t have to read it, love. Only if you want to.”

Hermione’s eyes darted back down. “Have…have you read it?” She whispered.

Draco shook his head. “No. He was very clear that I was not to open it. It was…it was the only thing I didn’t destroy during the war. I couldn’t. I hid it in the family crypt so it wouldn’t be found.”

Hermione took in his words. The realization of what he had risked for her, to keep this for her.

With a final look into his eyes, she reached out and closed her fingers gently around the envelope.

She turned back to face their graves, and with shaking hands, slid open the seal and unfolded the piece of paper inside. Her father’s elegant script staring back at her from the page.

Minnie,

I’m writing this while watching you smile and laugh with Mr. Malfoy as you sit together in this cafe while snow is falling outside. I felt that I had to put this to paper because in all the years of your life, I have never seen you as happy, as content, as you look right now.

The love in your eyes when you look at him reminds me so much of how I feel when I look at your mother, and it fills my heart to see that he looks at you with the same love and care in return.

As your father, I want so many things for you, Hermione. I want you to be happy, I want you to find a career that fulfills you, I want you to be surrounded by good friends, I want the world to treat you with kindness, but most of all, I want you to love and be loved. I want you to wake up each day with a partner who brings you comfort and strength, who cares for you always, who makes you laugh, who stimulates your mind, and who loves you unconditionally.

I know you’re young as I write this, my love, but I cannot help but believe that you’ve found it in Draco. That this is the enduring, all powerful love that so few of us get to experience, and it is my deepest wish that it will only grow as you grow together, binding you together and filling you for the rest of your days.

I’m so certain of it—and so certain that this boy is quite worthy of you—that I plan to give him this letter to hold for you until the day of your wedding.

And, of course, I won’t tell him what’s inside of it, to keep a bit of the fear of god in the kid. A father’s allowed a bit of fun in this, I do believe!

But I hope, if you’re reading this, that you’ll know just how much faith your mother and I have had in you, and in your love for each other, from the very beginning. We could always see it, and it is the thrill of a lifetime to know that you’ve found it and will hold it with you for the rest of your days.

As hard as it will be to send you off, I will be honored to give you away to such a kind, honorable man.

I cannot wait to see how beautiful you’ll look in your dress, sweetheart. Promise me that you won’t tell your mother if I shed a few tears.

I love you infinitely, sweetheart.

-Dad

The second the first teardrop hit the paper, Hermione thrust it away from her face, not wanting to blur a single pen stroke of the message. Draco was next to her immediately, waving his wand over the document to make it impermeable while Hermione’s shoulders shook with sobs.

He went to pull her into a hug, but Hermione turned, shaking her head as she fit herself into his side, handing the letter to him so he could read it as well.

Draco looked hesitant at first, but took it from her when she didn’t yield.

His free arm wrapped around her shoulders as she continued to cry into his chest as he read.

It was only a moment before Draco took a shuddering breath himself, gently set the letter to hover in front of him, and pulled Hermione into a real hug, cradling her head and whispering how much he loved her into her ears as they both cried.

As they stood together, Hermione realized something miraculous. Although she was certainly feeling grief and pain that her parents would not be with them at their wedding, there was something else shining through: Gratitude.

They’d known. Her parents had known that she and Draco were meant to be. They’d seen how much she loved him, and how much he loved her in return. And they knew that Hermione was destined for a happy life.

They’d known.

As Hermione finally pulled back and looked into Draco’s eyes, she smiled, and she could see in his eyes that he understood why. That he understood exactly what she was feeling.

Peace.

**

Thankfully for Hermione, wizards also did not abide by the muggle tradition of sleeping separately the night before the wedding, which meant that she not only woke up in Draco’s arms on Saturday, but also woke up to his fingers slowly making their way under her knickers.

After a blissful wakeup followed by a deeply satisfying shower, the pair walked hand-in-hand down the stairs, the smiles on their faces so wide that Hermione felt certain that they would be permanently stuck in that position.

As they made their way in front of the floo, Draco pulled her into his arms, tucking a curl behind her ear.

“What do you say, Granger? Fancy a wedding?”

Hermione’s smile grew impossibly larger. “I suppose so. I’ve got nothing else on today.”

With a soft kiss, Draco threw floo powder into the hearth and they stepped through the green flames.

As soon as they arrived to Malfoy Manor, they were met with rushing feet and yells from up and down the hallways.

Pip, however, was nearly vibrating off the floor with excitement as he stood waiting for them.

“Mistress Hermione and Master Draco! What a glorious day! Pip is at your service. We is ready for this most perfect day!” He clapped his hands together excitedly.

“Master Draco, you is to go to the second bedroom in the east wing to get ready. Mistress Hermione, I shall take you to the west wing to be preparing. Pip is nearly fainting when he sees your dress, Mistress!”

Pip came forward and grabbed Hermione’s hand, but before he could pull her away, she leaned in once more to give Draco a final kiss. Their last kiss before their marriage.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, love.” Draco ghosted his fingers down her cheeks and neck.

Hermione leaned into his touch. “I’ll be the one in white.”

With a final laugh and kiss, Draco turned and Hermione allowed Pip to pull her in the opposite direction.

As Hermione stood looking at herself in the mirror a few hours later, she had to shake her head to remind herself that all of this was real.

Her curls were cascading down her back, a few strands pulled back and fastened behind her head with the comb that connected to a delicate, floor-length veil that swished lightly behind her as she moved.

And then there was her dress. It was a simple v-neck bodice that had been adorned with hand-stitched wildflower appliques which flowed to her waist and faded into the skirt, a featherlight tulle that swayed as she walked, trailing just behind her on the floor.

It was perfectly her, and with it on she felt confident and more ready than ever to walk down the aisle.

Pansy, Luna, Padma, and Narcissa all surrounded her, each in their own floor-length gown, all in different colors to compliment the bursts of wildflowers that lined the aisle.

Luna and Padma were placing the final touches on her hair while Pansy checked the buttons that made their way down the back of her dress.

Narcissa simply stood, lightly dabbing her eyes, as she watched the scene.

Thank Merlin for magical makeup that was impervious to tears.

A light chime sounded in the room, alerting them that it was time. A rush of excitement went through Hermione as Pansy handed over her wildflower bouquet as they all made their way toward the doors.

The five women all made their way toward the solarium, where they would begin their walk toward the aisle that began in the gardens just outside. With each step she took, any nerve Hermione had been feeling fell away.

Pip scurried around, adjusting Hermione’s train and ensuring nothing was out of place.

As soon as they were all in position, the women all turned toward Hermione, who just stood, smiling serenely.

“Nervous?” Padma asked.

Hermione shook her head. “I’ve been waiting to do this for nine years. This is the best day of my life.”

Narcissa stepped forward, grasping Hermione’s elbows. “It’s the best day of mine as well, sweetheart.”

The two women shared a significant look between them before they heard the music begin to play, signaling the start of the ceremony.

Narcissa moved to the front of the line. She would walk out first, and await Hermione halfway up the aisle. Hermione had decided to take the first half of the walk alone, in memory of her parents, before joining Narcissa who would take her the rest of the way to Draco.

Suddenly, the large french doors opened, and with a final wink to Hermione, Narcissa began her walk.

After a few seconds, Padma gave her a smile before she too joined the procession, followed by Luna, whose expression was even dreamier than usual.

When it was just the two of them left, Pansy turned toward Hermione. “Look at us. Who would have thought, huh?”

Hermione chuckled. “I’m glad we figured it out.”

Pansy reached out and squeezed her hand. “Me too.” And with that, she turned and stepped out the doors.

Hermione watched as she stepped across the stone terrace and down the stairs, following the pathway that had been magicked into the grounds.

As soon as Pansy took the first turn, Hermione took a deep breath and crossed the threshold herself.

As she began to walk forward, Hermione took in the beauty all around her. Overflowing hedgerows filled with wildflower blooms bordered both sides of the aisle, twinkling fairy lights making them seem alive and even more magical.

The smell of freesia and lavender filled her nose, the scent immediately bringing to mind the many times that she and Draco had lounged in these gardens, imagining their future.

And then she followed the first turn of the path, and suddenly the guests, all standing as they awaited her, came into view.

She took in the scene.

Tonks and Remus.

Professor McGonagall.

Hagrid.

Calum and Embry.

So many people who she had come to hold so dearly.

And halfway up the aisle, smiling widely at her, Harry. It had taken her a while to decide if she would extend him an invitation, but in the end, she realized that she wanted him to be here. She wanted to celebrate with him.

As she took the last few steps toward the first row of seats, the top of the aisle finally came into view, and suddenly, everything else faded away.

Hermione no longer noticed the people smiling down at her.

She no longer saw the gorgeous flowers or the intricate golden gazebo that had been constructed for the day.

She only saw him.

Draco. Standing at the end of the aisle in his perfectly tailored suit, the most beautiful smile she had ever seen on his lips.

She mirrored him, their eyes locking. With each step she took, she saw the awe on his face grow, she saw the tears gather in his eyes. The same wave of emotions hit her, and by the time she had made it to where Narcissa was waiting, she needed to grasp the woman’s arm to make sure she stayed upright.

She felt the steady warmth of Narcissa’s arm around hers, but she still couldn’t take her eyes off Draco as they came closer and closer together.

As they reached the base of the gazebo, Draco stepped forward, descending the two steps and turning to hug a teary Narcissa, who whispered something in his ear that caused a tear to break free and cascade down the side of his face.

Narcissa stepped back before turning to Hermione and pulling her into a hug as well.

Turning her face toward Hermione’s ear, she whispered. “You were always meant to be a part of our family, Hermione. I love you.”

Hermione squeezed her tighter and leaned in. “Thank you. I love you too, mum.”

As Narcissa pulled back, Hermione saw that her tears were now flowing freely.

But then Draco took a step forward and extended his hand, and once again the rest of the world faded away.

She placed her hand in his as he helped her up the gazebo steps. Before they reached the top he leaned in. “You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

She couldn’t respond. She could only grasp his hand as they took the final steps into the gazebo, as she caught sight of Professor Flitwick, adorned in deep blue robes covered in stars, smiling widely at her, and as she took her place, handing Pansy her bouquet and facing Draco, as tears began streaming down her cheeks.

With a tender smile, he reached up to wipe her tears away before grasping her other hand, squeezing them in his own.

They stared into each other’s eyes as Flitwick began.

“Thank you everyone, you may be seated. It is my great honor to stand here today to perform the wedding rites for this very special couple, Hermione Jean Granger and Draco Lucius Malfoy. I was lucky enough to witness these two as they fell in love, and to see the creation of such unbreakable, everlasting, undying love up close is to see the creation of the purest form of magic. It is as close as we can come to witnessing the divine.

“I, as I am sure many of you, have been hoping for quite some time for this day to come, and what a joy it is that we may all celebrate and honor this love and the commitment that Hermione and Draco have chosen to make to each other.  And, if you will grant me the privilege, I would like to quickly say that you are both quite welcome for that week of detentions.”

Draco and Hermione both laughed joyfully, turning to Flitwick and nodding in thanks as laughter and applause made its way through the crowd.

“Hermione and Draco have chosen not to begin their marriage with the standard marriage rite. Instead, they have chosen to make an eternal commitment to one another, binding their souls together from this day forth, through this lifetime and all those that may come after. As such, I must ask each of you the following question. Hermione, do you freely choose to bind your soul and the essence of your magic with Draco?”

Hermione looked into the beautiful silver depths of Draco’s eyes, seeing the love she felt for him reflected back at her. She responded without hesitation. “I do.”

Draco’s smile widened as he squeezed her hands in his.

“And Draco, do you freely choose to bind your soul and the essence of your magic with Hermione?”

Tears slipped down his cheeks, his eyes never leaving hers. “I do.”

Hermione released a shaky breath.

“Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Granger have elected to recite the traditional vows of the soulbonding ceremony to initiate the rite. Hermione, we’ll begin with you, dear.”

Hermione took a breath. As they’d corresponded back and forth with Professor Flitwick, he’d informed them of these vows, and when they read them they’d simply looked up at each other and without a word decided that they would speak them to each other at the ceremony.

She’d memorized the words, now all she had to do was try to get through them.

Draco rubbed his thumbs reassuringly over her palms as she took a deep breath and began.

“I give thee my soul, Draco, as it has always been yours. Neither time nor space shall blot out my love for you, and it is my solemn vow that I will remain devoted, mind and body, to you in this life and the next. Let my magic be yours, as my heart is yours, for as long as my soul may find its place on this earth. Death may never part us, from this day forth you and I are one.”

Hermione’s voice cracked twice in the final sentence, her tears flowing freely. But it was Draco’s eyes, the way he looked at her with such utter devotion, the feel of his warm hands against hers, that kept her grounded in the moment and able to continue.

This was where she was meant to be.

“And you, Draco.” Flitwick’s voice was gentle.

Hermione kept her eyes on Draco, using her own thumbs now to rub soothing circles on his hands as he began.

“I give thee my soul, Hermione, as it has always been yours.” His voice was filled with emotion, but never wavered. “Neither time nor space shall blot out my love for you, and it is my solemn vow that I will remain devoted, mind and body, to you in this life and the next. Let my magic be yours, as my heart is yours, for as long as my soul may find its place on this earth. Death may never part us, from this day forth you and I are one.”

As he spoke, his own tears matched Hermione’s in intensity, the intimacy of this moment passing between them.

Flitwick took a step forward.

“Bring your hands together, please.”

Moving together, they brought their clasped hands closer together as Flitwick gently placed his wand atop them.

The wizard began murmuring the complex incantation.

Immediately, bright gold ropes of light curled from his wand, securely wrapping around their entwined hands. Hermione thought they looked similar to those created when one took a vow of secrecy, but somehow these looked brighter, more unbreakable.

Suddenly, Hermione felt a tug, unlike anything she’d ever experienced, and her eyes widened as she took in Draco’s expression—clearly he was experiencing it as well. It was as though one end of a thread had been tied to her breast bone, the other to Draco’s. Their heartbeats seemed to reverberate against it. Hermione could feel Draco’s heart beating in her chest, just alongside her own.

It was heady. As she kept her eyes on Draco it felt as though they were floating high above the ceremony, set free from the tether of earth, but together and safe.

And then, the gazebo faded away. Hermione was no longer standing in her wedding dress in the Malfoy gardens, she was eleven years old and opening the door to a train compartment only for her eyes to land directly on Draco’s. She felt the strange sensation she had felt all those years ago, the one that had intrigued her so much after she had walked away from him. It was a feeling of utter rightness, the feeling of home.

She blinked, and suddenly she was seeing herself from his eyes, and feeling an echo of the same sensation inside his own body.

Another blink and they were in the library Second Year, staring at each other from across the room. She could feel both of them, their shared sense of intrigue, of a curious sort of longing for the other.

Fourth year in Flitwick’s classroom, the moment their lips touched for their first kiss. She felt Draco’s euphoria, how right she felt in his arms.

More flashes, quicker now, as they laughed in the Room of Requirement, as they watched shooting stars while lying in her parent’s backyard, as they walked hand-in-hand through Chamonix.

Hermione could feel Draco. Feel his devotion to her. How absolute it was. How it matched hers for him.

Finally, she felt as though she was coming back to earth. She blinked once more and found herself back in the gazebo, but this time she was looking at herself from Draco’s eyes. It engulfed her, his overwhelming love for her, the way his heart expanded as he looked at her, the unstoppable tug.

She took a breath and suddenly she was back in her body, but the feelings remained. As she looked back at Draco, the awe that she knew was on her own face was reflected perfectly back in his.

The world remained quiet around them. The only feeling that of their hands twined together and the overwhelming sense of oneness, of connection, flowing between the two of them.

Smiles, wide and bright, spread across both of their faces at once.

Hermione felt Flitwick lift his wand from their skin, the golden ropes sinking into their skin.

They’d done it. It was real.

The professor cleared his throat. “It is my great pleasure to proclaim that you are now soulbonded, and I also pronounce you husband and wife. Mr. Malfoy, you may kiss your bride.”

Both Draco and Hermione seemed to release a shared breath before stepping into each other at the same moment, Hermione throwing her arms around Draco’s shoulders as he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss unlike any they had ever shared. The first kiss of the rest of their lives.

After a moment, Draco pulled back.

“Hello, wife.”

“Hello, husband.”

They both looked at each other for a beat before joyful, teary laughter exploded from them both and Draco wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her from the ground and spinning her around as clapping, loud whoops, and whistles came from the crowd below.

Still with a tight hold on each other’s hand, they turned to face their guests, before stepping together down from the gazebo and back up the aisle. As they went, wildflower petals rained down on them, the bursts of color a perfect reminder of the bright future that awaited them. Together.

**

A few hours later, Hermione stood off to the side of the dance floor, taking a moment to appreciate the smiles and laughter of her friends and family. It warmed her heart to see their joy, to feel their love, and to experience this day with them.

After only a moment, Hermione’s smile widened as she felt the arms of her husband snake around her from behind as she leaned back into his chest.

Draco leaned down, bringing his lips to her ear. “Come with me?”

She turned her head, saw the glint in his eyes, and nodded, taking his hand as he led her away from the tent and began walking her further into the grounds.

The sun was just beginning to set, the sky illuminated in wide swaths of orange, pink, and red as they walked quietly through the rows of rose bushes, past tall willow trees, until they finally rounded a small stone building that Hermione had never seen before.

When they got to the front, she saw the stained glass windows and wrought iron door leading into a crypt, illuminated with a rainbow of colors as the sun shone through the glass.

“There are wards around the whole building. Only the family can see it. Now you can.”

He removed his wand from his pocket and pointed it to the stone arch over the doorway, causing the ivy covering it to curl back revealing the words that Cygnus Malfoy had carved into the stone all those years ago: Amor Vincit Omnia .

Emotions rolled over her. “Draco…” she whispered. “This is…it’s…I feel…”

Draco grasped her arms, gently twisting her to face him before placing his hand over her heart. “I know. I can…I can feel you, Hermione.”

As he spoke, Hermione could feel his own emotions, wonder, joy, contentment, echoing back into her. She placed her hand over his heart.

“I can feel you, too.”

He brought the hand not covering her heart up to tangle in her hair.

“We made it, Hermione.”

She looked up into his eyes and let the love they were both feeling flow openly between them.

“I knew we would. Somehow, someway, I always knew that we would find each other again.”

Draco smiled and leaned in. “Amor vincit omnia, my love.”

With her lips just a breath from his, she replied. “Amor vincit omnia.”

And then she closed the distance, their lips coming together in a kiss that was unhurried and easy, a good omen for their lives to come.

As the sun went down around them, Hermione felt a calm certainty fall over both of them like a warm blanket.

There was no longer any need to worry. They would never lose each other again. They would be together, their souls entwined.

Forever.

Chapter End Notes

It's after midnight for me, sooooo I just figured, why wait!

Since we still have three epilogue chapters left, I will hold off on my teary thank you's until we are at the ACTUAL end, but I am certainly feeling some kind of way to have closed off the main storyline of this fic.

How strange and surreal it is that my decision to just bite the bullet and post this story, assuming no one would read it, could turn into this. Almost 90,000 hits. So many incredible comments.

The only word is: wow.

But let's not dwell on that yet. As I said, we've still got more story to tell here, because even though we've gotten our HEA, I think we all want to know how these crazy kids get on in the future, don't we?

So I will see you next week, and the week after that, and the week after that. ;)

Thanks for being on this ride with me.

xoxo,

Flames

p.s. : If you want to see what I imagine Hermione's wedding dress to look like, I modeled it off of the "Watters Whitney Gown" from BHLDN.

Epilogue Pt. 1: Karma

Chapter Notes

how are we already at the epilogues???

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Draco took a deep breath, smelling the salty sea air from the waves and floral-scented breeze wafting from the lush landscape behind him. Stepping down from the porch of their secluded beachfront cabin, he relished the feeling of the warm sand under his feet as he made his way forward, sitting down on the sand a few dozen yards down the beach and staring out toward the calm ocean as the first light of morning began to creep over the horizon.

He couldn’t believe that they’d already been here for a month. He couldn’t believe that he and Hermione had already been married for a month. And a pang of emotion hit him as it sunk in that in just a few days they would be leaving this island and returning to their lives back in London.

It wasn’t sadness. Yes, he would miss the ability to lay for hours with  Hermione in a hammock, talking about nothing and just being with each other. He would miss the relaxation and calm. And he would certainly miss the fact that—thanks to the privacy charms around their beach and cabin—he frequently found Hermione lying topless on a lounge chair or swimming naked in the crystal blue ocean.

But he was also excited. Excited to start this next chapter of their lives together. Excited to settle into the reality that, after so many trials, so much work, and a fair amount of pain, they had well and truly made it to the other side. Their entire future was spread out in front of them, every pathway an option for them to walk down—together.

But as Draco looked out over the waves as the sky faded from the gray light of dawn to a palette of colors thrown in all directions by the rising sun, he still couldn’t erase that small feeling in the back of his head. That little voice that told him there was still something unfinished, a piece of the past he had not yet been able to let go.

As the sun peeked over the horizon, Draco heard soft footfalls approaching and turned to find Hermione, in nothing but one of his white button-down shirts, her curls wild down her back and her body framed in rays of golden morning light, approaching him.

They smiled widely at each other as Draco leaned back on the sand, raising one arm so Hermione could settle into his side.

“Good morning, love.” He murmured into her ear, placing a soft kiss on her cheek as her arms came to wrap around his chest.

She hummed contentedly. “Good morning.”

They were quiet for a few moments, both watching the sunrise, as Draco trailed his hand lightly up and down the skin of her arm.

“Did I wake you?” He asked softly.

Hermione brought one of her small hands to rest over his heart, tapping her finger agaInst his chest. “This woke me. It felt like you were upset. Is everything alright?”

Warmth spread inside his chest.

Since their soulbonding, each of them was able to feel when the other experienced strong emotions, and it had been a near overwhelming blessing to share in each other’s happiness, love, and joy.

But of course, it also meant that they could feel it when the other was hurting as well. There was no hiding it.

Draco brought his hand up to cover hers, pulling it to his lips and placing a kiss in the center of her palm.

“In this moment? Everything is far better than alright.” He turned his head toward her and matched her contented smile.

Hermione brought her hand to the side of his cheek, tapping her finger against his temple lightly. “What’s going on in here?”

Draco released a deep breath and turned back toward the waves, pulling Hermione more securely to his chest.

“I was thinking about our future. How grateful I am that we made it here, that we get to choose exactly how we want our lives to look together from here on out.”

Hermione leaned her head against his shoulder. “It still hits me sometimes, that this is real. That we’re here. Merlin, it still shocks me sometimes to remember that everyone knows about us now!” She let out an incredulous laugh.

“Not everyone.” His voice was a tight whisper.

Hermione shifted. “What?”

Draco turned to meet her eyes. “Not everyone knows about us.”

He didn’t need to say any more. Understanding bloomed on Hermione’s face as she sat up, crossing her legs in front of her to face him and reaching her hands forward to grasp both of his.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Draco thought for a moment, trying to collect what he wanted to say.

“Most of the time, I don’t even think about it. But when I do…it’s like an itch I can’t ever fully scratch. And it drives me mad, because I just want to forget. I never want to think about it. And when I do, it feels like he’s winning somehow. Like he still has power over me. And…” Draco dropped his head. “And it feels like I’m dishonoring you because he doesn’t know.”

“Oh, Draco.” Hermione moved forward, crawling into his lap and throwing her arms around him, squeezing tightly. The feel of her warm weight against him served immediately to ground him.

“Don’t ever think that, Draco. I love you so much, and I know how much you love me. You are not dishonoring me. You have nothing to prove, and you absolutely do not need to do that for me. But…”

She paused and leaned back to meet his eyes, hers filled with so much love and compassion.

“But maybe you should do it for you .”

He stared back at her for a few moments, the love he had for Hermione somehow growing even larger inside his chest.

No matter how long he lived, Draco would never get over how blessed he was to be loved like this. So completely.

He brought his hand up to her face, his thumb running over her cheek. Finally, he nodded.

“I think I should.”

**

Draco had not talked much about his decision in the two weeks since their early morning talk on the beach, instead embracing their time settling back into their lives at home.

But there was no avoiding it now as they sat on a hard bench as the ferry made its rocking way across the stretch of sea. As they inched closer and closer, Draco could feel not just the damp cold, but also the foreboding sense of misery and desperation.

Hermione leaned into him, squeezing his hand reassuringly as the jagged black rocks came into view.

Azkaban.

Draco had not known how he would feel returning here for the first time in so many years, especially with his history. Even as they were led off the dock and into the bland, sparse visitors lobby, a part of him still felt the choking anxiety of being back here, anywhere near the cold stone walls that seemed to leech happiness straight from your bones.

As they sat waiting to be called, Draco tried to remember why he was here.

To close this chapter of his life, once and for all.

To prove—mostly to himself—what kind of man he really was.

And, he couldn’t lie, also to shove his own happiness in the face of the person who had tried so hard to take it away.

“Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy?” A stern woman in drab gray robes called them forward, shuffling both he and Hermione into a holding room where she performed a complex series of detection charms before confiscating their wands and locking them securely inside a special vault that sunk into the floor.

After confirming that neither of them were attempting to smuggle in contraband, the matron waved her own wand, causing the iron and stone door to open, revealing a long, dark hallway covered in cell doors.

The second they stepped into the hall, Draco could hear the familiar metallic clicking sound of the barred doors being opened and closed, and the unmistakable clanking of shackled feet shuffling to and fro.

As they made their way down the hall, the matron spoke in a severe tone.

“You are allowed one hour of visiting time only. The rooms are spelled to stop any direct contact between visitors and inmates, and will also prevent any attempts by either party to harm the other. There are privacy wards around each room, preventing anyone outside of your party from hearing the conversations that take place therein. Mrs. Malfoy, if you do not intend to go inside the room with your husband, you will be provided a chair outside, situated inside the wards so you will be able to hear the discussion.”

She stopped suddenly at a door approximately two-thirds of the way down the hall and turned toward Draco.

“The doors are charmed to allow you to enter and exit. When you complete your visit, please follow the illuminated path back to the visitors’ area to retrieve your wands. Enjoy your visit.”

And with that, she turned and marched quickly back down the hallway and out of sight.

Hermione turned toward him, her hands coming to hold both of his arms. “Are you ready?”

As soon as Draco looked down at her, he realized that he was. He nodded.

Hermione stepped closer and went up on her toes to kiss him softly. “I’ll be right here. I love you.”

Draco leaned his forehead into hers. “I love you too.”

With that, he stepped back, watched as Hermione took her seat just to the side of the door and out of sight of those inside, before taking a deep breath and stepping forward. He grasped the iron of the bars and pushed as the door gave way to allow him to enter.

The room was sparse. Only a plain table and two chairs in the center, and an archway on the other end that served as the inmate’s entrance.

In the far corner, leaning against the wall and peering out the small barred window, stood the man that Draco had not seen since the Battle of Hogwarts.

He could immediately see the changes that Azkaban had wrought on his appearance. Although the prison was no longer guarded by dementors, it was certainly not a place where one could thrive—especially in solitary confinement.

His hair was longer, loose and flat, and his prisoner’s robes hung limply from his body, he was much thinner than Draco remembered.

But it was his eyes that were the most different. Sunken and empty.

And yet, when he turned toward Draco, he was somehow still able to affect the ghost of his aristocratic manner along with the signature Malfoy sneer.

“Hello, Draco.”

“Hello, father.”

Lucius did his best to glide from his spot against the wall to the table, clearly attempting to exude power and grace as he sat down and clasped his long-fingered hands together atop it.

But as Draco watched the man who had tormented him for his entire childhood, who had harmed his mother, who Draco had feared for so many years, now attempt to exude the same confidence he had in the past, it appeared nothing more than farcical.

“I must say, son, I’m quite unimpressed. Over five years in this place and only now am I receiving the first visit from a member of my family? Not a letter or scrap of news until today? I assume that must mean that you have only recently been released after serving your sentence and are here now to discuss our next steps as a family—but your mother ,” he nearly spat the word, “your mother was surely pardoned for her betrayal of the Dark Lord in that forest, and yet I have never received so much as a letter in all of my time here. Does she communicate with you? If she was willing to abandon our cause so easily, I fear for what she has done to dishonor the House of Malfoy while the two of us have been away. So it is quite good that you’re here now. We can discuss your future and our plans, together.”

Draco looked back at him blankly for a moment, before the absurdity of his father’s statement caused him to laugh. Stepping forward, he pulled out his own chair and sat down, keeping his hands in his lap.

“You’re right, father. Mother was pardoned, and she spent the last five years doing what I am sure you would consider to be dishonoring the family by making it quite clear that the rest of us were not followers of your twisted, pathetic beliefs.”

Lucius’s face darkened briefly before he shook his head and knocked his fists against the table. “Well, now that you’ve been released, we can begin the work of undoing what she has done. Tell me, wha–”

Draco cut him off.

“You misunderstand, Father. I was not released. I also received a pardon. I have not been here since the day of my trial five years ago.”

Lucius looked back at him, confusion on his face.

Draco simply waited.

It only took a moment for the cold sneer to return to Lucius’s face as he pinned Draco with an unforgiving stare. “I’ve never known you to be one for jokes, Draco and I must say that I have grown even less fond of them these last few years. The fools they call guards have taken quite a liking to tormenting me with ridiculous little lies they find amusing, lies that have grown more and more ridiculous with time. Just a few weeks ago they decided to pretend that you had married Hermione Granger , of all people. As though any son of mine would marry a mud–”

Lucius was cut off as Draco brought his left hand from his lap and slammed it against the metal table so hard the sound reverberated off the walls.

“If you dare call my wife that word, I assure you that I will find a way to break the enchantments on this room so that I can rip out your tongue.”

Draco’s mind had gone very still as his eyes bored into his father’s. Lucius seemed temporarily at a loss for words, compounded when his eyes tracked down to Draco’s hand.

Draco flexed his fingers, making sure that the platinum wedding band that now had a home on his ring finger was visible.

Draco watched as emotions flitted across Lucius’s face. He’d seen his father try to calculate his next move enough times to recognize it happening again here.

Not giving him the chance to make the first move, Draco leaned back in his chair and continued.

“It seems the guards here have ruined my surprise. I did intend to use this visit to inform you of my happy news. I was indeed married just over six weeks ago to the love of my life, Hermione Granger.” He paused, smirking. “Hermione Granger Malfoy, now, that is. We had a soulbonding ceremony in the gardens at the Manor, as a matter of fact.”

Lucius’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you.”

Draco huffed a laugh. “Which part don’t you believe, father?”

“Any of it.” Lucius slid his clasped hands further across the table as he leaned forward, a near triumphant look on his face. “Clearly, you have decided to make me a villain in your life, and I suppose I won’t be surprised to hear you tell me that you have abandoned your values, your blood , to sing kumbaya with your lessers, you were always a disappointment.” Lucius waved his hand dismissively through the air.

“But what would your morally righteous little friends think about you coming here and spinning lies just to torment me? I can’t imagine that they would condone it, even for me.”

As he finished his sentence, Draco reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a copy of The Daily Prophet—the only object that he was allowed to bring with him to the visiting room. Unfolding it to show the headline and image on the front page, Draco smacked it down on the table and pushed it toward his father without a word.

He watched as Lucius’s eyes refocused, straining to take in the words and the large picture that covered the entirety of the page.

Wedding on the Century! Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger Wed in Front of Family and Friends!

The happiest of endings to their years-long love story.

Written By: Rita Skeeter

Beneath the headline was the singular photo that Hermione and Draco had given to Rita to publish. They were standing inside the gazebo as Professor Flitwick officially pronounced them married, a loop of their wide smiles as Hermione threw her arms around him so that they could kiss playing again and again across the page.

Draco saw his father take it in, he saw the crack form in his demeanor, and he saw how ineffectually he tried to cover it.

Touching the paper with only his fingertips, as though unwilling to sully himself more by handling it, Lucius pushed the paper toward Draco and shook his head.

“A fabrication. Honestly Draco, you didn’t think I would believe a piece of charmed newsprint, did you? You really are a disappointment.”

“Call my husband a disappointment again, and I will assist him in breaking the wards on this room and ensure that it is not only your tongue that you lose.”

A satisfied smile spread across Draco’s face as he watched Lucius’s face fall, his jaw slack as he took in Hermione as she walked through the door.

She took slow, sure steps into the room as she spoke. “I’m sure even you are aware, Lucius, that after Barty Crouch’s disappearing act, the enchantments around the prison were altered to prevent any person who had ingested polyjuice potion or who was utilizing any form of disguising charm from entering the grounds. Nothing to fabricate about this.”

Draco never took his eyes off Lucius, but he felt as Hermione threw out her arms and spun, before closing the distance and setting her left hand, with her ring visible and sparkling, on Draco’s shoulder.

While Lucius watched in shock, Draco raised his hand to grasp hers, pulling it gently toward his mouth so he could place a soft kiss on the back of her hand. It brought Draco a not insignificant amount of pleasure to see the look of disgust on his father’s face as he did so.

“Lovely to see you as always, Mr. Malfoy. You look…well, quite terrible, really.” Draco didn’t need to see her face to know she was smirking.

Lucius was silent for a long moment, his eyes locked on Hermione. Draco tensed, ready to stop him if he decided to turn his verbal barbs toward her.

After what seemed like an eternity, his father’s eyes slowly slid back to his own.

“You’ve destroyed our family.” His words were a brittle whisper.

One corner of Draco’s mouth quirked up. “Oh no, father. You and your inbred ancestors did that. I’m putting it back together.”

Anger flashed on Lucius’s face, but his words remained soft, vicious. “Not even your mother, no matter how far she has fallen, would allow this. She was raised with values. You’ll be cut off. She will never accept you marrying such…such magic stealing filth.”

Before Draco could even open his mouth to respond, Hermione let out a bubble of laughter and shook her head back and forth. “Oh Lucius, you really do have so much to learn. First off, if I was going to steal his magic, I would have done it when we were fifteen. I’d be quite interested to see how it would have impacted my O.W.Ls.” Draco snickered. “And, I’ll need to double check with her, but I’m fairly certain that Narcissa didn’t find me filthy when she walked me down the aisle to marry Draco. What about you, do you find me filthy, Draco?” She teased.

Draco turned his head to catch her eye, smirking while he once again grabbed her hand and brought her fingers to his mouth to kiss. “Only when the occasion calls for it, love.”

Hermione hummed in agreement. “Quite right.”

She trailed her hand back down his shoulder. “Well, I’ll let you keep catching up.”

Hermione bent down, her other hand coming to caress the side of Draco’s face with heartbreaking tenderness. Bringing her mouth just a breath away from his, she whispered, “I’ll be right outside. I love you.” Before closing the distance and kissing him softly.

Her words were loud enough for Lucius to hear, but Draco knew that the true meaning was just for him.

With a final breath, she straightened up and walked out of the room, not sparing the elder Malfoy another glance.

Draco turned back to Lucius, whose eyes were locked on the door that Hermione had just exited, his breath coming out in short pants.

“What did she mean, she would have done it when you were fifteen?” The anger still infused his tone, but something else was there now, too: fear.

Draco sat back, crossing his arms in front of him.

“Well, I suppose it’s time I came clean, isn’t it, father? I began dating Hermione shortly after Christmas during our Fourth Year at Hogwarts—though, to be fair, I had loved her far longer than that.”

Lucius went very still, seemingly holding his breath.

“We were together for the rest of our time in school. And as soon as your pathetic master returned, I began passing any information I gleaned from you about his plans to Hermione, who shared it with Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. Mum as well, she was also helping the Order. You see, she knew the whole time that I was with Hermione. She loves her like a daughter, and she hates you, so she helped us sneak around right under your nose. Neither of us were on your side. We were actively trying to destroy you for years.”

Draco took a breath and paused, monitoring his father. Lucius had turned his head and was staring off into the distance, either trying to process what he had just learned or attempting to find a way to prove it was a lie.

After more than a minute of silence, Draco prodded him. “Nothing to say, father?”

Lucius turned up his nose and slid his eyes back to Draco. “Just a question. When did you first decide to abandon everything the House of Malfoy holds dear? When did you decide to turn against me? Against your blood?”

Draco leaned forward and spoke in a voice of lethal calm. “Probably the first day you ever laid your hands on my mother.”

Lucius scoffed. “Wives require training, Draco. You’ll learn that soon enough.”

His words dripped over Draco like oil. The casual justification for unjustifiable violence felt horrifying against his skin.

“The only men who raise their hands to women are cowards. Weak, pathetic, impotent cowards.” Draco spat the words and saw the flinch of rage on his father’s face.

“You think me a coward?” Lucius raised one hand to point a finger at Draco’s chest. “You listen to me, boy. I spent every hour of every day protecting our family. Ensuring that we got what we deserved . That we had power and influence. To protect the integrity of our world. And you call me a coward? Everything I did was for our family and you dare call me a coward?!” Lucius was losing the battle with his control.

Draco smacked his hand against the table, pushing his chair back roughly to stand. “Everything you did was for YOU! For your greed. For your desperate need to feel powerful. You didn’t give a shit about our family! Do you know how I know? Because someone who cared about their family would never have allowed anyone to threaten to rape and murder their wife. They never would have allowed their 16-year-old son to be used as a pawn—to be asked to murder someone. That was what we needed to be protected from. But instead, you abandoned your family, allowed us to be tortured, in exchange for scraps of praise from a noseless half blood with daddy issues who couldn’t even defeat a 17-year-old boy. It’s pathetic.”

Lucius was shaking with rage. “Sometimes you have to sacrifice for the greater good, Draco. Some things are more important than your own life.”

Draco recoiled. “Then why didn’t you volunteer to kill Dumbledore? I didn’t see you risking your life for a gods-damned thing. You’re right, there are things more important than your own life. I would step in front of a killing curse for my wife without a second thought. I would sacrifice myself for my family in an instant. But you, father, you sacrificed your family for yourself.”

Draco walked back to the table and retook his seat before continuing.

“Unfortunately for you, my mother and I are stronger than you could ever be, and in the end, we won and you lost. Because we had something real to fight for. Because I learned at 14-years-old what it feels like to be loved by someone unconditionally and for your love for them to consume you, body and soul. There is no greater blessing and no more powerful motivator than love. That is why you lost, father. Because you do not know what it means to love anyone but yourself. I pity you for that.”

Draco could feel the power surging through him now. He could feel any last vestige of fear he had for his father falling away, leaving behind nothing but this feeble waste of a man in its place.

Lucius too seemed to realize he had lost. In a shaking voice devoid of any power, he whispered, “how dare you speak to me like this.”

Draco barked a laugh and continued.

“Rest assured, father, this will be the last time I ever speak to you. I will leave this room and return to the loving home I share with my wife, and I will never think about you again. Our children will never know you. They will only know that you were a miserable excuse for a man who deserves not a second of our time. They will know how much they are loved by their parents every single day of their lives, and they will know that the love we give to them is the love that they deserve. Your memory will be forgotten. And when you die, none of us will care. You will be buried here in a pauper’s grave, and no one will attend your funeral. You will fade into nothingness, just as you deserve.”

As the last words left his lips, Draco felt like the last page of a book had been turned, the cover thudding closed one last time. He was finished.

He spared Lucius a final glance, taking in the broken, shell-shocked set of his features, his hunched shoulders, and the quick rise and fall of his shallow breaths.

This man would never hold power over him, or anyone else, ever again.

With a satisfied smile, Draco pushed his chair back, stood, and walked toward the door.

As he reached the threshold, he heard a confused whisper from behind him.

“I do not know how I could have raised such a son.”

Draco turned. “Easy, father. You didn’t.”

And with that, Draco crossed the threshold and shut the heavy iron door behind him, without another look at the man he had once known as his father.

Hermione stood just outside, love and compassion shining from her eyes.

She stepped forward and threw her arms around him in a crushing hug.

Leaning her lips to his ear, she whispered, “I’m so proud of you.”

Draco squeezed her back, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I love you, Hermione.”

“I love you too, Draco.” She leaned back in his hold, a smile curving one side of her lips. “Now let’s get out of here.”

Draco’s smile mirrored hers as he stepped back, grabbed her hand, and made their way back down the hall and away from the prisoners of Azkaban.

As they stepped back on the ferry to the mainland a few moments later, Draco turned his face up toward the sky and took a deep breath. The air no longer felt oppressive. The wind was no longer cold. It felt wild. It felt free. It felt like a new beginning.

Draco and Hermione stood at the bow, leaning against the railing and taking in the gently rolling ocean as they moved further and further away from the harsh rocky island of the prison, never to return again.

**

Years later, when the letter arrived informing them that Lucius had died, Draco read the words with calm detachment. He gave the writing on the page a final glance before tossing the parchment in the fireplace and, with a smile on his face, stepping into the garden as the sounds of children laughing filled his ears.

True to his word, Lucius was buried under the jagged rocks on the cliffs of the prison, the salt air quickly eroding his headstone into nothing.

Chapter End Notes

Part 1: Done!

It felt like a loose thread that Lucius was sitting in Azkaban still not knowing that Draco and Narcissa had abandoned his beliefs years prior, so it only felt right for a confrontation to take place...

Only two more chapters to go! I'll see you all next week.

Thank you as always for your incredibly kind comments and kudos <3

xoxo,

Flames

Epilogue Pt. 2: I Forgot That You Existed

Chapter Notes

It's the penultimate chapter, y'all!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Hermione stepped through the brick archway into Diagon Alley, the spring sun and light breeze coming together to create a particularly beautiful day.

As she began to make her way toward Fortescue’s, her hands tight on the leather handles in front of her, her mind wandered, as it so often did on peaceful days like this, to the last few years, and how lucky she was to be right here, right now.

Because it had not always seemed possible.

**

Three years before

Hermione charged through the floo and immediately rushed up the stairs, needing to get out of these clothes that suddenly felt suffocating, needing to try and wash the memories of their appointment off of her body.

She felt frantic as she tried and failed to keep her emotions at bay.

Draco followed behind her. “Hermione, love, slow down.”

She didn’t stop. Reaching their bedroom, she pushed the door open roughly and immediately began kicking off her shoes, yanking her sweater over her head, and fumbling to quickly unbutton her blouse, shaking her hands wildly to shove it off.

“Hermione, stop sweetheart, please.”

Hermione, unable to speak, just shook her head and yanked the cuff that had been stuck on her wrist, finally divesting herself of her shirt and leaving her in just her bra and trousers.

Before she could move to remove her pants, Draco came up behind her and grabbed her arms securely, pulling her back into his chest.

“Talk to me, love. I know the news wasn’t exactly what we wanted to hear, but the healer was very clear that there is still a chance and that we should still have hope. We can’t give up hope, Hermione.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her stomach and bent over, the weight of her emotions crushing her toward the ground.

Silent tears streaked down her cheeks as she finally spoke. “Five percent, Draco. She said there was a five percent chance I can still get pregnant because of all the scar tissue in my abdomen from the war. Five percent.”

Draco rubbed his hands up and down her arms soothingly. “Five percent is not nothing, Hermione. Five percent still means there is a chance that we can.”

Hermione spun around in his arms. “It means there is a ninety-five percent chance that we can’t!” She cried. “I’ve wanted to be a mother my whole life, and I know how badly you want to be a dad. And I…I failed us. The one thing my body is supposed to be able to do, I can’t do! You would be the best father, Draco. The best. And I’m taking that away from you. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…”

Her sobs overtook her as she leaned into his chest. Draco wrapped her tightly in his arms, the warmth of him seeping into her skin as she cried.

Hermione had been nervous about their appointment today, but even she had not anticipated just how bad the news would be.

Just over a year into their marriage, Hermione and Draco had been having a picnic in a park nearby, and as they lounged in the shade of a tree, they were both captivated by a young couple smiling and laughing as they trailed after their two toddlers as they ran through the grass. Hermione still wasn’t sure exactly what it had been about that moment, but she and Draco had turned toward each other and a silent agreement had passed between them: They wanted to start trying.

They had been so excited at the beginning, both assuming that within a few quick months, Hermione would be pregnant and they would be off on a brand new adventure.

At the end of the first month, they had sat together in bed excitedly while Draco performed the pregnancy detection charm, a wild bit of hope coursing through them. When no golden light appeared around Hermione’s stomach, she’d felt let down, but they had both laughed it off and said that maybe they would have better luck the next month.

But as the months went by, the process became more and more devastating, with Hermione often ending up crying in Draco’s arms when the charm came back negative. Draco had remained categorically positive, reassuring her that this was normal, that sometimes the process took time, and that there was no need to worry.

But after nine straight months of failures, Hermione had insisted that they see a healer, just in case.

It wasn’t until the woman solemnly gave them the news that due to the injuries that Hermione had suffered during the war, her womb had a large amount of scar tissue that would make embryo implantation extremely unlikely, that Hermione fully realized just how hopeless their situation was. How helpless she was to fix it.

And now, sobbing in Draco’s arms as he tried to sooth her, she could not help but feel like a complete failure as a wife and as a woman.

“Shhh, my love. Don’t say that, don’t ever think that.” Draco cradled her face in his hands and leaned back so he could look into her red, teary eyes.

“Listen to me, Hermione. You have not failed. You’re not taking anything away from me. You have given me so much, love. More than I could ever have dreamed. If it’s just you and me for the rest of our lives,” Hermione’s tears sped up again while Draco gently wiped them away, “if it’s just you and me, I will consider myself the luckiest man in the world. But Hermione, we are not closing this chapter yet—far from it. And even if this doesn’t work out, there are plenty of other ways for us to have children, alright? It’s us, Hermione. If this is what we want, nothing will stop us from getting it. Ok?”

Sniffling, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. “This feels different, Draco. This doesn’t feel like something we can will our way out of…”

Draco tangled his hands in her hair. “Let’s make a deal, alright? We keep trying for the next six months, just as we have been. If we get to the end of that six months and there is no change, then we start to think about our other options. Until then, we don’t worry about it. Can you do that?”

Hermione looked back at him, bewildered.

“Hermione. I love you so much, and we will figure this out, I promise you. No matter what it takes.”

There was so much fierce determination in his eyes that for the first time since those fateful words had come out of the healer’s mouth, a small spark of hope ignited in Hermione’s heart.

No matter what happened, Draco would be there. He would catch her when she fell. And they would move forward, together.

“Ok.” Her words were a hoarse whisper.

Draco nodded. “Ok.” And with that, he pulled her back into his chest, kissing her forehead and holding her steady, just as he always did.

**

The next six months seemed to go by in a blink, and as Hermione stood in her lab one Tuesday morning, just five days before the clock officially ran out, her anxiety began to spike so high that she worried she might pass out.

As each month had passed since they made their agreement without Hermione getting pregnant, that tiny spark of hope had dwindled in her mind. At this point, it was no more than a smoking cinder.

She had kept her word to Draco and had not started any research into the alternative options they would need to explore, but standing here now, her thoughts spiraled out of control.

There was adoption, of course, but from what Hermione knew about the process, that was likely to take years.

They could try muggle fertility treatments, though Hermione would need to do extensive research to see if there were any potential dangers they would need to consider given their magical status.

Suddenly, the timeline started to stretch and elongate so much that Hermione could not see the finish line, and she began to panic.

She’d wasted months of time. Years. She should have begun doing research as soon as the very first pregnancy charm had come back negative.

Hermione leaned forward, placing her palms against the work table in front of her as she tried to slow her breaths. She was starting to feel dizzy.

“Hey Hermione! Are you ready for lunch?” Padma, who had arrived for their monthly solo lunch, sounded very far away as Hermione continued to focus on stopping herself from hyperventilating.

Taking her in, Hermione watched as Padma’s eyes went wide. “Oh my gods. Hermione, are you ok? What’s —”

Hermione tried to push herself to stand straight up and turn toward her friend, but as soon as she lifted her head, she felt as though all of the blood in her body rushed toward her feet, and the last thing she saw was Padma’s terrified face before stars popped behind her eyes and her vision went black.

When she came to a few moments later, Hermione was on the ground, her back against the opposite work table as Padma kneeled in front of her checking her vitals.

“Hermione? Hermione, can you hear me?” Padma had shifted into healer mode.

Slowly, testing to ensure that she wasn’t in danger of passing out again, Hermione nodded her head.

“Yes, I can hear you. How long was I out?” Her voice sounded groggy in her own ears.

Padma shined a light from the tip of her wand into Hermione’s eyes. “Only about 90 seconds. I used arresto momentum to slow your fall, so you didn’t hit your head, but I need to get you to Mungo’s for a full workup, I don’t have the supplies I need here to perform a full diagnostic.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, no that’s not necessary. I just…I was having a panic attack, that’s all. I’m fine. I just need something to eat. I skipped breakfast and I think my blood sugar was low and it made everything worse. I’m ok now, I swear.”

Padma looked at Hermione with her signature “nice try, but not a chance” look. Hermione sighed and leaned her head back against the table in defeat as Padma stood, levitated over a chair, and helped Hermione into it before she began levitating her slowly toward the floo.

“This is unnecessary, Pad. I really am fine.” She said, weakly.

“Well then it won’t be a problem to check you out, then!” She said as she grabbed a handful of powder and threw it into the fireplace.

A few moments later, Hermione was reclined on a bed in a private room at St. Mungos, waiting for Padma to reappear after she left to change into her healer’s robes and grab her supplies.

Hermione still felt a little woozy, but was mostly embarrassed that Padma had been there to witness her anxiety attack. At this point, Hermione just wanted to get home, crawl into bed, and cry herself to sleep.

Just as Hermione was convincing herself to sneak out of the room to do just that, the door opened and Padma reappeared, parchment and quill in hand and potions’ bag secured around her waist.

“Alright, let’s get started.”

Hermione tried to resist the urge to huff.

“Hermione, can you tell me what you remember from the incident?”

Hermione clasped her hands in front of her. “It’s like I said. I’ve been experiencing an elevated amount of stress recently, and I let my anxiety get the better of me. I wasn’t thinking this morning and didn’t eat breakfast before I left for the lab, so when I started hyperventilating I got lightheaded.”

Padma, who had been scribbling notes as she spoke, paused and looked up at her, the cool healer facade momentarily gone and replaced with the concern of her friend.

“Why have you been experiencing so much stress, Hermione? Is everything alright? Is…Is something going on with you and Draco?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, no of course not. It’s not that at all. It’s…” She paused for a moment and looked down at her hands. Hermione hadn’t told anyone about their struggles conceiving, but she supposed now was the time.

With a sigh, she opened her mouth. “We’ve been trying to—”

Her words were cut off by a commotion outside the door.

“Where is she?! Tell me which room she’s in right now!” Draco’s yells were frantic, and Hermione’s eyes went wide as she flipped her head up to Padma, an accusing glare on her face.

Padma, looking chastened, shrugged. “I thought he should be here, just in case!”

Draco continued to yell outside, as some poor medi-witch attempted (unsuccessfully) to calm him.

Hermione rubbed her temples. “Well go get him before he destroys the ward!”

Padma rushed to the door and called for Draco, who came rushing through no more than a second later, eyes wild, terror on his face as he ran toward Hermione.

“Oh gods, are you ok? What happened? You fainted?” His hands were gently scanning over her body, looking for injuries. He turned his head toward Padma. “Is she ok? What’s wrong with her? What can–”

Hermione settled her hands against his wrists, his own hands still cupping her face. “Draco.”

He paused, turning back to her, eyes still wide with fear. “I’m fine, I promise. I just got lightheaded for a moment and someone,” Hermione flicked her eyes to Padma, “overreacted.”

“I make no apologies.” Padma said cooly, raising a brow as she gathered her parchments and stepped closer to the bed, wand out.

Hermione rolled her eyes before looking back at Draco. “Everything is fine, I promise.”

Draco looked unconvinced. “Padma’s message said you fainted. Fainting is not ‘fine,’ Hermione.”

“I agree,” Padma chimed in from the foot of the bed.

Hermione brought her eyes back to Draco as she felt the sadness sneak in. “I was just…I was just thinking about everything and I got overwhelmed. That’s all.”

Draco’s eyes softened. “Oh, love.” He caressed her cheeks softly, a sad smile on his face.

Padma cleared her throat. “I’d just like to run a standard set of diagnostics to confirm you’re alright, ok? It won’t take long, I promise.”

Draco looked at her hopefully, clearly wanting her to say yes. With a sigh, Hermione relented.

“Fine. Go ahead, Padma.”

Padma stepped forward, wand in hand. She swiped it over Hermione to bring up her vitals. As she examined them, she began her questions. “Wonderful. Hermione, you mentioned that you didn’t have breakfast this morning. Did you eat anything unusual in the last 24-hours?”

Hermione shook her head. “No. I had my normal breakfast yesterday, leftovers from Blaise for lunch, and Draco and I both had the same thing for dinner.”

Padma nodded. “And you’re feeling fine, Draco?”

He nodded. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“And were you working with any hazardous materials in the lab today?”

Hermione laughed. “I was recataloging my beakers all morning. I hadn’t even touched any ingredients all day.”

Padma hummed. “Most of your vitals look fine, but your heart rate is still slightly elevated and your hormone levels are a bit abnormal. Have you been taking any sleeping or calming draughts?”

Hermione shook her head. “No.”

“Any headaches?”

“No.”

“Any chance you might be pregnant?”

A sharp pang of sadness stabbed through her as Hermione shook her head and tried to keep her voice neutral as she said, “no.”

Draco squeezed her hand. “Yes, there is, Padma.”

Hermione turned toward him, devastation on her face. “Draco…”

Draco leaned forward and placed his other hand on her cheek. His words were soft but full of the same conviction that had become his standard state of being over the last few months. “Yes, love, there is.”

Hermione closed her eyes against the pain of it, not wanting to fall apart in front of Padma, again.

Hermione turned her eyes back toward the healer, and saw understanding on her face. She didn’t need to say anything else, Padma had clearly figured out what had been causing Hermione so much stress.

Gently, Padma placed her hand on Hermione’s ankle. “Is it alright if I perform the test, just to be sure?” Her tone was filled with compassion.

Hermione took a few deep breaths, a single tear escaping her eye as she nodded.

Padma took a step back, pointing her wand at Hermione’s abdomen as Draco squeezed her hand. She whispered the charm as Hermione braced for yet another negative result.

Gold.

Suddenly, a shimmering gold light appeared, hovering over Hermione’s stomach.

She heard Draco’s sharp intake of breath and Padma’s excited giggle, but Hermione just stared, not comprehending what she was seeing. She had become so used to the negatives, that it was hard to understand what was happening.

“Hermione, love.” Draco’s awed whisper pulled her out of her trance and she turned her head to face him to see his own eyes shining with tears.

“That would explain what happened. Low blood sugar and lightheadedness are common early pregnancy symptoms.” Padma’s voice sounded so unlike her normal healer’s tone that Hermione had to look back at her to find that she, too, had tears running down her face.

Hermione still couldn’t believe it. “I don’t…I…I didn’t think we could…how…I…” She was turning her head back and forth between Draco and Padma, her thoughts running too fast to catch.

“Hermione,” Padma said quietly, “would it help if I pulled up the baby’s vitals? So you can see them?”

Draco moved to put his arm around Hermione, the other still squeezing her hand.

Slowly, still bewildered, Hermione nodded. “Yes.”

With a small smile, Padma nodded and waved her wand. The gold light disappeared, replaced with a glowing chart showing the steady heartbeat from inside her womb. With another flick of her wand, the rhythmic thumping sound filled the room, and it seemed to be the thing that shocked Hermione out of her disbelief. Her own heart began to beat very fast as she turned her head toward Draco, her mouth open in awed surprise as he grinned back at her.

A loud laugh from Padma broke the moment. “Well! Of course the two of you wouldn’t just get pregnant. You’d have to really go above and beyond, wouldn’t you?”

Padma was smiling a wide, Cheshire cat smile as Hermione tilted her head. “What are you talking about?”

Padma inclined her head at the chart still floating over them. “Look at it, Hermione.”

Hermione moved her eyes back to the glowing report, showing the lines of the heartbeats as they bounced steadily along.

Lines.

Heartbeats.

Hermione gasped.

“What’s going on? Is everything ok?” Draco began frantically shifting his gaze between Padma and Hermione.

It was Hermione’s turn to smile. She turned her head back to him and placed her hand on his cheek. “Draco. Listen.”

He looked confused, but did as she said. It was clearer now, easier to spot.

The heartbeat was not echoing off the walls of the room. There were two heartbeats playing side-by-side.

It took Draco only a moment to realize it, his eyes going wide as he stared back at Hermione.

“Twins.” She whispered at him, tears falling freely.

“Twins.” He repeated, awestruck.

They just stared at each other for a moment before Draco’s smile widened as he reached out to gently lay his hand on top of her stomach. “We’re going to be parents, Hermione.”

Hermione’s hand flew to her chest as a sob escaped her. “We’re going to be parents.”

There was no stopping either of them. They both burst into tears and leaned into the other, holding each other as they cried the happiest tears Hermione thought possible.

Distantly, she heard the door snick closed as Padma stepped out to give them privacy.

Hermione didn’t realize until they walked back through the floo to their home that they had been in that room, laughing and crying with joy, for hours.

**

Hermione was jolted back to the present in Diagon Alley when one of the twins screeched with joy as they passed the magical menagerie, pointing a chubby finger toward the large spotted owl perched in the window.

She couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she looked over the edge of the pram as the twins went back to giggling and babbling back and forth to each other. Although they were capable of expressing themselves quite well at only a year and a half, she and Draco had found that they much preferred babbling to each other using nonsensical sounds—nonsensical sounds that Hermione was certain formed some sort of special twins-only language only they could understand.

Beyond the simple joy they’d experienced when finding out that Hermione had been able to get pregnant, she and Draco had spoken often about how lucky they felt that their children would always have someone to go to, a built-in best friend, an ally, since they both knew all too well how lonely it could be as an only child.

The reminder made her smile as they reached the entrance of Fortescue’s, the spells built-in to the pram causing the doors to open on their own to let them through.

“Mrs. Granger-Malfoy! How wonderful, you’ve brought my favorite customers!” Florian Fortescue, the elderly owner of the shop, leaned over the counter and smiled widely at the twins, as they both waved back and sang a chorus of “Hello! Hi! Hello!” back to him.

“Hello Mr. Fortescue, how are you?” Hermione pushed the pram the rest of the way forward and into the shop.

“Oh quite well dear, quite well! Your usual, I presume?”

Hermione smiled widely as she nodded. For the past six months or so, their family had made it a tradition to make their way to Fortescue’s at least once a week to enjoy some ice cream and family time while they watched the hustle and bustle around Diagon.

Today was a special extra trip, as the trio needed a spot to wait for Draco to finish up a last-minute case at the Ministry before they all headed to the park for a picnic.

After gathering their treats, Hermione thanked Mr. Fortescue and made her way outside to the cafe tables set up in front, setting her own ice cream down before kneeling in front of the pram to talk to the twins.

“Alright, my little loves, would you like a treat while we wait for daddy?”

She watched as their shared hazel eyes lit up and they yelped “yeah!” while nodding furiously.

Hermione laughed and set their cups down in front of them, which they both grabbed greedily. The other reason they loved coming to Fortescue’s was because Florian had perfected a type of ice cream just for kids that could not get on clothes, fingers, or anywhere else but inside little mouths, preventing any messes or need for emergency cleanups.

Hermione ran her fingers gently through their soft curls—they may have gotten their father’s hair color, but the wild curls bursting from their heads were all Hermione. “Alright, darlings. Eat up!”

“Hermione?”

Hermione turned toward the voice who had called her while still kneeling in front of the pram. It took her a moment to recognize the man standing a few feet away, looking at her with open shock. As the reality of it hit her, she too was struck by how odd it was to see him after so many years.

Standing, she slowly turned toward him.

“Ron?”

He smiled feebly before shifting his eyes behind her to the twins. “Are they…yours?”

Hermione turned briefly around to see both of them scarfing down their ice creams and blissfully unaware that a man responsible for a significant amount of pain in their mother’s life was standing only a few feet away.

Pushing that aside, Hermione turned back around to face him, throwing a quick smirk on her face.

“Oh them?” She waved back to the kids. “No, I just nicked them from the hospital.”

Ron’s eyes went briefly wide as he looked at her wordlessly.

Hermione chuckled before moving to stand next to the pram. “I’m just joking. Yes, they’re mine. This is Leo David,” she placed her hand softly on Leo’s head, “And Lyra Jean Malfoy,” she moved her hand to her bright-eyed daughter before turning back to Ron.

His eyes stayed on them for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“They’re…they’re beautiful, Hermione.”

It struck Hermione how surreal this conversation was. The last time she had seen Ron was at Theo and George’s housewarming party, and the last she had heard about him was Harry’s letter informing her that he’d quit the DMLE a few days later.

It had been over four years since then.

As she looked at him now, she was surprised to see how much those four years had aged him. His hair was longer and there was scruff around his jaw, but more prominently, there were lines around his eyes and around his face, his cheeks looked a bit more sunken, and his entire demeanor seemed much more muted than the last time she’d laid eyes on him.

And that harsh, brittle anger that had seemed to cling to him back then appeared to have faded, leaving what Hermione could only describe as emptiness in its wake.

It took her only an instant to calculate that Ron was not a threat to her or her kids.

So, she just smiled softly. “Thank you.”

“And their names are lovely.” His tone remained soft, reserved.

But his statement made Hermione smile. “Thank you. I had to spend several weeks talking Draco out of naming Leo ‘Scorpius,’ if you can believe it. I figured having parents with ridiculous names was quite enough, don’t you think?”

Ron gave a small grin. “I suppose so.”

The two stood silently for a moment, the awkward reality of their reunion settling between them.

“Would you…could we talk for a moment?” Ron’s voice was unsure, almost childlike, and if he had been attempting to disarm her, it certainly worked.

With a nod, Hermione gestured to the table and took her seat, taking a bite out of her ice cream while Ron settled himself across from her.

He looked at her for a moment, searching.

“You look well, Hermione. Are you? Well? Are you…happy?”

Hermione smiled ruefully. How odd for him to ask. Or, as it seemed from his tone, to care. “Yes, Ron. I’m very happy.”

Ron nodded quickly. “Good. That’s good. How’s…work? Are you still researching magical cures?”

Hermione hummed in affirmation. “I am. Though I’ll admit that I haven’t been looking for a cure for something quite as exciting as lycanthropy recently. I’ve spent the last two years developing a more effective treatment for magical morning sickness. Though, I’d argue that the benefits will be just as far-reaching”

A shiver went through her as her mind was flung back to the first few months of her pregnancy. The excitement of it all had worn off quite quickly when, just a couple of weeks after learning she was pregnant, Hermione found herself spending all day and night sleeping on the cold tiles next to the toilet, unable to so much as move or eat anything other than crackers and broth without becoming violently ill.

Draco had eventually used a (very illegal) extension charm to expand the bathroom enough to fit a comfortable bed that Hermione could lie on all day while he very carefully brushed a cold cloth across her forehead. Thankfully Tonks had been quite accommodating with Draco’s schedule, she herself recalling her own bouts of morning sickness during her pregnancy with Teddy, and again with his now three-year-old sister, Celeste.

Ron chuckled. “And are you still working with DoM?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, I went fully independent about three years ago. After the lycanthropy cure, I was able to secure enough funders to allow my lab to run without the assistance of the Ministry. Theo’s taken over my old liaison position, much to the chagrin of the aurors, I would imagine.”

Ron nodded again before going quiet.

Uncomfortable with the silence stretching out in front of them, Hermione jumped in.

“How are you? Are you still in…” She had to wrack her brain to remember. “Ireland? How’s Daphne? Do you two have any kids?”

Ron gave a joyless laugh and looked down at his hands.

“Well, as I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to hear, Daphne and I are divorced. As it turns out, she’d started cheating on me with some titled wizard from the Netherlands before we even moved to Ireland.” He raised his head to look at Hermione with an impotently challenging expression. “Go ahead, you’ve certainly earned the right to gloat.”

Hermione’s muscles hardened. Here was the Ron she recalled from the last few years. The Ron who expected the worst in everyone, who believed that everyone wanted to revel in someone else’s pain.

Hermione shook her head sadly, releasing a slow sigh. “That doesn’t thrill me, Ron. Nor do I have any desire to gloat. I know how awful it is to learn that someone who you believed cared about you was not who they said they were.” She narrowed her eyes and Ron dropped his, clearly chastened. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Her words were sincere. Hermione had long ago stopped feeling the need to hold any grudge against Ron. It served her no purpose.

Ron opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Leo and Lyra broke in.

“Mama! Mama hold Leo! Pwease mama!”

Hermione turned to see Leo reaching his arms out for her.

Lyra on the other hand, independent as she was, had a very different request.

“Lyra play there, mama!” She pointed to a spot just next to the pram.

With an amused huff, Hermione nodded.

“Alright, my darlings.”

First, she lifted Lyra from the pram, placing a soft kiss on her head before casting a child barrier charm in a small circle next to her on the ground, turning the hard cobblestones into soft cushions as she placed Lyra inside and handed her the plush dragon toy she had insisted they bring along.

With Lyra safely contained, Hermione reached forward and lifted Leo onto her lap, hugging his warm little body to her chest as he settled against her, sucking his thumb into his mouth. She gave him his own kiss, right to the tip of his nose, before turning back to Ron.

She found him staring, an expression of…was it longing? On his face.

She looked back at him, softly rubbing Leo’s back and waiting for Ron’s next words.

He gave a soft smile. “You’re so good with them. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, when has Hermione Granger ever not been good at something?” He gave a soft laugh.

“Malfoy.” She replied.

Ron’s head quirked to the side in question.

“My name,” she responded. “Hermione Granger Malfoy.”

Ron looked at her for just a breath before nodding his head slowly. “Right. Of course. I guess it’s still…strange for me to hear it.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she stared back. She would not give him an out for refusing to accept her relationship. If he still had a problem with it, he could fuck right off and deal with it on his own.

Ron took in her expression and put up his hands in defeat. “I didn’t mean…I…” he shook his head, “sorry, nevermind.”

Hermione took another beat to look him over before nodding. “So, are you back in London for good?”

Ron shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “I’m not sure. I came to visit mum and dad, but I haven’t really decided what I want to do next.”

Hermione nodded before falling silent.

Ron wrung his hands for a moment before taking a deep breath to steel himself. “Look, Hermione. I…I want to apologize.”

Now that she was not expecting.

“I was a right prat to you before I left.”

Hermione raised her brow. “Just before you left?”

Ron briefly closed his eyes. “No. Not just then. I was awful to you during our entire relationship. I wish I could tell you why I did it, but honestly, I don’t really know. But that doesn’t matter. I just want you to know that I’m sorry.”

Hermione stared back at him. It wasn’t enough, of course. It was not nearly enough. It was barely anything, in fact. But it was still far more than Hermione ever expected of him.

“Thank you, Ron.”

He locked eyes with her, his tentative and hopeful. “Do you…Do you think you could ever forgive me? Do you think we could ever…ever be friends again?”

“No, Ron.” Her answer was immediate. “No, we can never be friends again. That time has long since gone. I’m glad for you that you’ve realized the mistakes you made, and I hope you can learn from them and do better in the future. But there is nothing left for you and I. Do you understand?”

Ron dropped his eyes from hers, nodding sadly as he looked at his hands. “Yes, I understand.”

Hermione nodded back. “Good.”

Ron was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “Have you seen Harry? Is he alright?”

Hermione calculated her response, unwilling to give too much away without talking to Harry first. “Yes, I’ve seen him. He’s doing very well.”

That same look of longing crossed Ron’s face again. “Good. That’s good.”

He paused again.

“Do…do you think he’d be willing to see me?”

Hermione regarded him for a moment. “Honestly? I doubt it, Ron.”

She watched as Ron absorbed her response like a blow. But he didn’t fight her. Instead he just nodded quietly.

Before either could say anything else, Leo started to wiggle in her arms, and Lyra began jumping up and down in her playpen.

“Dada!” She started pointing down the alley. “Leo! Mama! It’s dada!” Hermione followed her finger as she pointed down the Alley to where Draco stood a few yards away.

Hermione saw him taking in the scene cautiously, before turning his eyes toward her in question. When she nodded in response, reassuring him that everything was fine, he dropped his gaze from her to where Lyra was bouncing up and down on the ground.

With a smile and flick of her wand, Hermione released the barrier spell and set a wiggling Leo on the ground so both he and his sister could totter over to Draco, who had crouched down and thrown out his arms, a huge smile across his face.

“Is that my Lyra Bird and Leo Lion that I see?” He called as the twins laughed and ran into his arms.

As soon as they hit him, Draco wrapped them in his arms and stood, lifting them into the air and spinning, kissing both of them over and over.

“Uh oh! Look at this delicious Lyra Bird and Leo Lion! I’m so hungry! I may just have to…eat you!” Draco shoved his face forward, pretending to chomp as the twins giggled with glee.

Hermione’s heart swelled as she watched them. It never got old to see how wonderful a parent Draco was to their children.

With a smile, she turned back to Ron and stood.

“I need to get going. It was good to see you, Ron. I wish you well, truly. I hope you find happiness.” She paused, taking him in as he stared back at her, an empty, sad look on his face. “I hope you find peace.”

With a final glance, she turned away and walked down the Alley to meet Draco and the kids.

Hermione let out a “harrumph!” as Lyra launched herself into her arms when she got close enough, only for Draco to snort with laughter before leaning in, his hand coming to caress her face.

“Are you alright?” He asked quietly, flicking his eyes back to where she had been sitting with Ron.

Hermione gave him a genuine smile and nodded, looking between him and the twins. “I am far, far better than alright.”

His eyes crinkled in a smile as he leaned in to place a soft kiss on her lips before he grabbed the handle of the pram and turned it so they could make their way out of the Alley.

“Well alright, my little elves, shall we go have a picnic?” Leo and Lyra both yelled in excitement, clapping their hands together as the family made their way back toward the Leaky Cauldron.

Hermione turned her head to look back one last time, only to find that Ron was long gone.

Chapter End Notes

Well there you have it!

Let us never forget: Once a cheater, always a cheater. ;)

And yes, this IS a Scorpius (just the name not the boy) hate account. I just...I simply cannot impose that on a child.

I truly truly cannot believe that the last chapter is posting next week. So for now I will not think about it, and instead will simply say thank you as always for reading, and I'll see you next week.

xoxo,

Flames

Epilogue Pt. 3: Long Live

Chapter Notes

This is it. We've made it.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Hermione’s arm shot out to grip the headboard, the other digging into the sheets as she let out a desperate moan.

“That’s it, love. Give it to me.” Draco panted from behind her, one hand gripping her hip tightly while the other snaked around, his fingers adding the perfect amount of pressure to her clit.

No matter how many years passed, she would never tire of this, the perfect fit of him inside of her, the lightning bolts of pleasure that exploded through her body as they moved together.

At that moment, Draco snapped his hips, hard , hitting the spot deep inside of her that caused her to yell out and clench around him.

They both groaned, the sensations echoing between their bodies. One of the most surprising effects of their soulbonding had been their ability to feel each other’s physical pleasure while having sex, an aspect of the bond that other bonded pairs had conveniently left out of their descriptions to researchers and archivists.

“There it is.” Draco dropped his hand from her hip to the bed, bracing himself as he leaned over her back so he could bring his lips to her ear, all the while thrusting deeply, hitting that spot over and over and over again. “Let me hear you, Hermione. Those sounds you make. Fuck, I love those sounds you make. You’re driving me mad.”

Hermione had long since lost the ability to form words, her keening whimpers growing louder by the second.

The tingling heat began to pulse and grow from her core; she was just at the edge.

Draco turned his head back toward her ear, his warm breath fanning over her face. “Come for me, Hermione. Right…now!”

He punctuated the demand with the hardest thrust yet, and she was powerless to deny him. Her orgasm exploded through her as she collapsed against the bed, Draco immediately following her with his own strangled yell.

They stayed like that, Draco’s weight pressing Hermione into the mattress, for a few moments as they both caught their breath, before he rolled off of her and used his arms to turn Hermione around so she could settle into the crook of his arm.

Draco placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “So, did that help ease any of your anxiety about today?”

Hermione chuckled. “Well, since I am currently incapable of so much as moving a muscle, I suppose it did.”

Draco hummed in response, his fingers drawing lazy patterns against the skin of her forearm.

They were silent for a moment before Hermione revealed in a whisper, “It’s just starting to feel very real now. Buying their supplies, getting them wands ! They’ll be on the Express in just a few days…”

Draco squeezed her to his muscled chest. “I know, love. But we knew this was coming, and they know what to expect. We’ll visit them as often as we want, and they’ll have each other! And all of their other friends. They’re going to be just fine.”

Hermione’s heart squeezed. “I know that, I do. It’s just…Leo’s so gentle, Draco. I can’t stand the idea of kids making fun of him.” She sniffled, the thought overwhelming her.

“Hermione.” Draco turned to face her directly. “Do you really think Lyra will allow anyone to ever make fun of Leo?” He raised a brow at her in challenge.

It was true, while Leo and Lyra had much in common—their love for books and learning, astronomy, and quidditch to start—Leo’s personality was far more quiet and reserved while Lyra was never afraid to speak her mind or confront anyone that she felt deserved it. In one particular incident, Hermione and Draco had been required to perform over a dozen memory modification charms when, at age seven, Lyra decided to stand up to the boy in her primary school who was pulling on the girls’ pigtails at recess by levitating all of the balls in the play yard and pelting them at him one by one.

Hermione nuzzled into Draco’s chest. “I suppose you’re right. I just don’t know what I’m going to do when they’re gone.”

Luckily, at that moment, a little fist banged on the door to their bedroom, followed by a high pitched voice demanding, “Mummy! Daddy! It’s time to get up to go get Leo and Lyra their wands! And DON’T FORGET that Daddy said I can get my own broom as well!”

Hermione and Draco looked at each other, smiles forming on their faces.

“We’re both going to spend all of our time trying to make sure that little monster doesn’t burn the house down.” Draco sighed, turning onto his back just as the banging started up again at the door.

“Cassiopeia Rose Malfoy! You know you are not allowed to bang on anyone’s door in this house!” Hermione called while both she and Draco rolled out of bed and made their way toward the bathroom.

“But it worked, didn’t it?” Came Cassie’s satisfied reply through the door.

Hermione rolled her eyes as Draco chuckled.

After Leo and Lyra’s birth, neither Hermione nor Draco thought there was much chance that they would be able to have more children, which made the surprise of finding out five years later that she was pregnant with Cassie all the more exciting.

And true to form, their youngest daughter had kept that excitement—and chaos—up since the second she entered the world.

A hasty shower later, Hermione and Draco were in the kitchen, handing out plates of breakfast to three children, two of whom were talking about wildly different topics at the top of their lungs.

“I’ve been doing my research and I bet that my wand will be vinewood, just like your’s, mum. And Leo, I think yours will be hawthorn, like dad. And I bet our cores will be the same, the books say that happens with twins!” Lyra continued to share her theories on wand lore as Cassie shouted wildly about her broom.

“Uncle Harry said that the new Nimbus can go so fast you won’t even be able to see me! Can you believe it! I’m going to be so fast, daddy!”

Draco corralled Cassie into her chair, setting a plate down in front of her as he mumbled, “Uncle Harry and I are going to have a conversation about what he says to my children…”

Hermione smirked as she took over the last plate, setting it down in front of Leo, who, as usual, was quietly monitoring the scene with a book in his lap.

“You never know, Lyra,” Hermione said as she sat down next to Draco, “remember: The wand chooses the wizard! It’s not something you can guess. And Cassie, are you sure you want a broom? Can’t you just keep riding with your dad?”

All four sets of eyes in the room turned toward Hermione, the exact same unimpressed scowls on their faces.

Hermione threw up her hands in defeat. “Fine, fine!”

“Don’t worry, mum,” Leo chimed in quietly, “I’ve been watching Cassie on her toy broom over the last few weeks and calculating the chances of her falling given her skill level. The chances are 0.001 percent that she falls from a height that would lead to a broken bone. Besides, James told me about when Uncle Harry fell off his broom and then all his bones got vanished, and you definitely don’t need to worry about that.”

Hermione stared at Leo as he spoke matter-of-factly before turning to Draco. “I think I’d like to join you in that conversation with Uncle Harry about what stories he shares with his children and ours…”

Draco smirked.

“Are James, Al, and Lilly coming today, mummy?” Cassie asked, hopefully.

“Not today, sweets. But we’ll see them on the platform on Monday. And Nana is meeting us in Diagon.”

Cassie grumbled as she ate a spoonful of oatmeal, but luckily, didn’t complain beyond that.

Two hours later, Hermione and Draco followed behind Leo and Lyra as they marched through Diagon Alley, Cassie and Narcissa trailing behind as the little girl detailed her most recent daring adventure—in this case, an imaginary battle against pirates who she believed had commandeered the swingset in the backyard—to her deeply amused grandmother.

When they arrived at the door of Ollivanders, Leo made to push it open, but Lyra froze in her tracks a few steps away.

Hermione and Draco looked at each other before coming around to stand in front of Lyra.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” Draco asked, bending down in front of the blonde witch.

Lyra bit her bottom lip, fear and confusion in her eyes as she darted them between Draco and Hermione.

Settling on her mum, she asked in a small voice, “what if a wand doesn’t pick me?”

Hermione’s heart stuttered. Lyra was strong-willed and always ready to fight for others, but when it came to herself, she was often convinced that she was not worthy of the same confidence she made sure to spread to everyone else.

“Oh, darling. You don’t need to worry, I promise.” Hermione bent down next to Draco, each of them taking one of Lyra’s hands. “I was scared, too, when I came to get my wand, but do you know what your Gran and Grandpa said to me? They said ‘Hermione Jean, you are special, you are worthy, and you are going to make a brilliant witch. Don’t let your fears stop you from shining.’” She gave Lyra’s hand a squeeze. “And you, Lyra Jean, are so special, so worthy, and already a very brilliant witch. So let’s go in there and watch you shine, ok?” She smiled as Lyra looked bashfully down at her shoes.

Leo stepped forward and looped his arm through Lyra’s. “Don’t worry, Lyrie. It’s going to be great! I promise! Let’s do it together, ok?”

Lyra met her twin brother’s eyes, a silent message passing between them, before they both nodded in unison, grabbed each other’s hands, and walked through the door with their awed parents right behind them.

The bell tinkled as they crossed the threshold, a voice sounding from behind the counter.

“Is that Leo and Lyra Malfoy? It can’t possibly be! You two aren’t old enough for wands!” Dean Thomas, a wide smile on his face, came from around the counter to take in the two children standing in front of him.

Dean had begun apprenticing with Ollivander after the war, and when the elderly wandmaker finally retired five years ago, he had turned the business over to Dean to carry forward for the next generation.

“We are, Mr. Thomas!” Insisted Lyra. “We’re eleven!”

Dean brought his hand to his heart dramatically. “I can hardly believe it! Well, I suppose we should see what’s in store for my favorite set of twins, shall we?”

Dean threw a kind smile to Draco and Hermione, who stood off to the side, watching with anticipation.

Thirty minutes and only a few broken glasses later, Hermione was tearfully clutching Draco as he looked at the twins with uncontrollable pride as they each held their brand new wands, a sense of wonder floating between them.

Dean came forward, gently taking Lyra’s wand to place it securely back in its box.

“Ash, eleven inches, with a phoenix feather core. It’s said that ash wands only choose witches with the strongest of convictions and who possess an extraordinary amount of courage.”

He reached again for Leo’s wand, setting it back in its box.

“Willow, twelve inches, also with a phoenix feather core. You know, Leo, willow wands choose wizards with the greatest potential but those who may not yet be convinced that they possess it.”

Dean gave Leo a significant look before stepping back.

“And of course you would both have phoenix feather cores! The rarest of cores and the most particular about their owners. I must say, I think you will both do great things with these.”

He patted the boxes as Leo and Lyra looked back at him in fascination.

“Well that is most certainly true! My grandchildren are the rarest and most extraordinary beings I have ever met!” Narcissa was doing her best to hide the small tremor in her voice, but Hermione did not miss her attempt to quickly dab her eyes with a handkerchief while Draco stepped forward to pay.

Hermione turned back to Leo and Lyra, who rushed toward her with excited smiles.

“Did you see, mum? That was so cool!” Leo said brightly.

Hermione knelt down in front of them, pulling them both into a hug and kissing each of their heads.

“I did see, darling. I’m so proud of you both!”

She pulled back and gave them a mischievous look. “What do you say we stop for ice cream before getting your robes?”

They both smiled their brightest smiles back at her.

Two nights later, as Hermione and Draco carefully extricated themselves from the pile of sleeping kids snugged together on the couch, zonked out after a marathon of the Toy Story films—Leo and Lyra’s request on their final night at home—they instinctively reached their hands out for each other, Hermione tucking herself into Draco’s side.

They stood there for a moment, just watching their kids, their happy, loved, brilliant kids, and smiled.

“They’re going to be ok,” Draco whispered.

Hermione nodded. “Yes, they are.”

**

The chaos of Platform 9 ¾ managed to hold Hermione’s emotions at bay as they scrambled to find everyone else and get the kids ready to board.

“Mione!” Harry called from down the platform, motioning the Malfoy family over to join the already formed group.

As luck would have it, many of their found family’s children were all starting Hogwarts together.

They met the group as Lyra and Leo rushed to join the other new first years, James Potter, Nayan Zabini, and Winifred—Freddie—Weasley-Nott. Percy and Lee’s sons Alfie and Benedict were returning as fourth and third years respectively, while Pansy and Luna stood to the side, happily everyone’s favorite childfree aunts.

The parents all stood together, as Hermione clocked the same nervous anticipation bubbling inside her on all of their faces as well.

“Hey, at least none of them will have to fight any dark wizards living on the back of the Defense professor’s head!” George remarked, a smirk on his face.

“Not funny, George!” Hermione and Harry both yelled together.

George threw up his hands. “Sorry, sorry! Just trying to ease the tension!”

“There really isn’t any reason to worry, Alfie and Ben will look after all of them,” Lee said reassuringly.

Percy nodded. “And with Teddy as Head Boy, they’ll be well taken care of.”

George raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t exactly ‘taking care’ of us as Head Boy, Perc.”

Percy just waved his hand. “Yes, well, I was a prat and Teddy’s not, so everything’s fine.”

There was a beat of silence before the group broke into laughter, some of the tension falling away from Hermione as Draco held her close.

Just then, the whistle blew, signaling five minutes until the train departed, and all of the families separated to say goodbye to their children.

Narcissa bent down first, hugging the twins tightly and promising up and down to send them care packages filled with sweets every single week, much to Leo and Lyra’s delight.

Cassie came up next, her little lip trembling as she handed her brother and sister each a drawing of the three of them together in the Manor gardens.

“You can’t forget about me, ok?” She said in a wobbling voice.

“Of course not, Cassio! How could anyone forget about you?” Lyra called, grabbing her little sister into a hug.

Leo joined them, squeezing Cassie between them.

“We’ll write to you all the time, ok? And you have to write us back and tell us how mum and dad are doing—you have to take care of them for us now.”

Hermione and Draco’s hands shot out to grab each other’s at the same moment, squeezing tightly for strength.

As the hug ended, Cassie backed up and nodded. “I’ll keep them in line, I promise.”

Finally, it was Draco and Hermione’s turn.

They took the slow steps forward together, watching as Leo and Lyra’s eyes went wide, the reality of leaving their parents seeming to suddenly hit them.

The first tear had barely begun its descent down Lyra’s cheek when Draco and Hermione gathered both of the twins in their arms.

“Why are you named after the constellations?” Draco asked in a whisper.

“Because you love us more than the whole sky.” The twins replied together.

Hermione smiled as she leaned over them, kissing the tops of their heads.

“Because we love you more than the whole sky,” Draco repeated.

Hermione stepped back, looking at her two first borns. “You are both so brave and so kind and I know that this is going to be the greatest adventure for you to take together. You’re going to meet new friends and learn new things and have more fun than you can ever imagine.”

“Promise?” Leo asked quietly.

Hermione smiled reassuringly and nodded. “I promise.”

“And you don’t have to worry about missing us, because we will be with you every step of the way, right here.” Draco tapped his finger on each twin’s chest, just above their heart.

There was a beat of silence before Leo and Lyra moved forward as one to once again throw their arms around their parents.

“If you ever need us, you just have to send an owl. And if that takes too long, you just need to go talk to Neville and he’ll get us a message right away, ok?” Hermione tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to hide the hitch in her voice. “And don’t forget to visit with Professor Hagrid, he’ll do whatever he can if you need any help.”

“We will, mum.” Came Lyra’s muffled reply.

The whistle of the Hogwarts Express blew again, alerting everyone on the platform that it was time to board the train.

Hermione and Draco pulled reluctantly back.

“Leo! Lyra! Come on, let’s go find a compartment!” James called from down the platform as he stepped onto the train.

With a final smile, Hermione nodded to the twins. “Go. Have fun. We’ll see you soon.”

Draco wrapped his arm around her, smiling. “We’ll be up for the first quidditch match next month.”

With that, Leo and Lyra looked at each other, nodded, grasped each other’s hands, and made their way up the steps to board the Hogwarts Express.

Draco and Hermione made their way back over to their group of friends as they all waved to their children as they left on the train.

Harry came up next to Hermione and looped his arm through hers. “Can you believe we made it here?” He asked, awestruck.

Hermione turned and gave him a wide smile. “Yes, I can.”

**

Later that evening, the whole group was lounging around Draco and Hermione’s living room, drinking wine and chatting while the occasional adult ran out to the garden to yell things like, “Lily, grass is not for eating!” or “Cassie! Stop trying to see if you’ll levitate by jumping off the playset! Merlin!”

Draco walked back inside shaking his head as the others laughed.

“I’m not sure where Leo and Lyra will end up, but that little girl is a Gryffindor, without a doubt.” Harry levitated the wine bottle to Draco who took it gratefully, laughing with Harry as he came to sit back down with Hermione.

The fact that the two of them had become so close over the last few years still warmed Hermione’s heart—though she would never fully forgive Harry for drunkenly gifting Draco his memory of Hermione transformed into a cat when they had gone out to celebrate their joint promotion to Head Auror four years prior. When Draco had stumbled back through the floo to find Hermione rocking a fussy Cassie, he had dropped to his knees and said simply, “Your whiskers, love! They were adorable!” before beginning to lyrically meow at Cassie for a few moments before she snuggled into his chest and immediately fell to sleep.

But that wasn’t all. As Draco and Harry joked back and forth, Hermione threw a warm smile to Cho Chang-Potter, who was rolling her eyes good-naturedly at the playful barbs the men were throwing.

Harry and Cho had reconnected at Padma and Blaise’s wedding just over thirteen years ago, and as Hermione had watched them smile and laugh with each other from across the dancefloor, she’d leaned into Draco and bet him then and there that’d they’d end up together.

Lo and behold, two years later Draco had owed Hermione many, many orgasms after she stood as Harry’s Best Woman at their wedding. They’d been a perfect match in the end, Cho’s quiet strength and steadfast conviction perfectly matching Harry’s.

It still hit Hermione occasionally that she and Harry had managed to not just come back together, but to build such a strong, lifelong bond after everything they had been through.

They never talked about Ron or Ginny anymore, or really any of the Weasleys save for Percy and George. Hermione only heard updates about them every few years when something showed up in the Prophet or on the occasions that Molly attempted to lure George and Percy back with a manipulative letter or two.

Last she had heard, Ginny had retired from professional quidditch and moved to Lithuania to coach a team there. And Ron…Ron was living in Spain with wife number four, who Hermione hoped would stick, for the simple fact that Percy had learned that they’d recently had a baby together.

But aside from the occasional DMLE raid, the drama in the group’s lives now consisted solely of children throwing tantrums or, in Freddie’s case, setting off an entire crate of wet-start fireworks in the middle of family dinner.

“Did Neville say what time he’d send it through?” Padma called from the couch.

Hermione shook her head. “Just as soon as the ceremony is over. Which should be any time now.”

A ripple of anticipation ran through everyone gathered in the living room.

Neville had taken over as Head of the Herbology Department at Hogwarts eight years ago, and he had agreed to send a note through the floo to tell all of them which houses their kids had been sorted into as soon as he could.

“Well, look at us, we’ve all managed to make it through alright, so no matter what houses they end up in, they’ll be ok.” Theo said with conviction, raising his glass.

George joined him. “Just not Hufflepuff.”

Everyone around the room raised their glasses and chorused back “Just not Hufflepuff.”

“Honestly, none of us raised Hufflepuffs ,” Blaise remarked from his spot in an armchair.

Hermione didn’t realize she was bouncing her leg up and down until Draco set his hand atop it, squeezing it reassuringly and leaning in.

“It’s going to be fine, love. No matter what.”

Hermione looked at him, anxiety crossing her features. “Even if they…?”

Draco nodded. “Yes, even if they’re put in different houses. Nothing is going to break their bond. Ever.”

Hermione released a deep sigh. She knew that, of course she did, but she couldn’t help the butterflies that were flapping inside of her stomach.

“I’m more nervous now than for my own sorting,” Cho admitted, to nods and murmured assent across the room.

Just then, the fireplace flashed green and a single scroll of parchment flew through, levitating in the air in the center of the room.

Everyone sat stock still for a moment before, as one, they jumped up and gathered around.

With a shaking wand, Hermione tapped the scroll and watched, holding her breath, as it unfurled.

A broad smile grew on her face the second she saw the words, and as she turned to face him she saw the same joy in Draco’s expression.

Whoops and celebrations started around the room, with Theo popping the cork on a bottle of champagne before grabbing George’s neck and pulling him in for a deep kiss.

Hermione threw her arms around Draco, who pulled her tightly to his chest. She could feel his heart beating fast against her own chest.

“They’re together.” She whispered.

He squeezed her even tighter and responded in a broken whisper of his own. “They’re together.”

When they pulled back, tears were shining in both of their eyes before they started to laugh from the excitement of it all, plucking champagne flutes out of the air and toasting with all of the other proud parents around the room.

**

Two hours later, Hermione was standing outside on the terrace, looking up at the stars now shining in the clear night sky, feeling content.

She felt him before she heard him, coming through the greenhouse and padding, barefoot, out to where she stood.

Draco passed her a glass of wine before wrapping his arm around her and joining her as she continued to search the stars.

“Did she fight you at all?” She asked quietly.

Draco hummed. “She demanded I read a third chapter in the Nancy Drew book, but she fell asleep halfway through.”

Hermione smiled. Leo and Lyra may love reading, but Cassie took even more directly after Hermione—devouring any and every book she could get her hands on.

“How are you feeling, love?” He asked.

Hermione thought for a moment. “I’m feeling…everything. It feels so strange to know that we’re old enough to be sending our own kids off to Hogwarts.”

“Hey, who are you calling old?” Draco joked, wrapping his other arm around her waist.

Hermione laughed. “You know what I mean. It still hits me sometimes that we were able to make it here. That Leo, Lyra, and Cassie are here. That you and I made it through everything the world threw at us.”

Draco tightened his arms around her and pressed a kiss into her hair. “I know, love. Our lives…all of it…it’s a miracle.”

She hummed in agreement. “And now Leo and Lyra get to experience this part of life for themselves. They’re going to grow so much, Draco. And maybe,” Hermione wrapped her hands around his forearms, “they’ll find their own soulmates, as well.”

Her voice was wistful and full of emotion. The possibility that Leo and Lyra might find the same type of love that Hermione felt for Draco filled her heart with hope. Above all else, she wanted her children to love and be loved with the same fervor she and Draco felt for each other.

“Twenty-four years, love. That’s how long it’s been since the first time we kissed. Since the first moment I ever thought that my future could look differently than how my father told me it would be. You saved me, my love.” His whispered words curled around her, surrounding her like a bright golden mist as it floated into the sky.

“You saved me too, Draco. I always thought I’d be alone. Even as a kid, I never thought I’d have this. And when I came into the magical world and realized how differently I was being treated…” Hermione trailed off as she sighed. “I resigned myself quite quickly to a solitary future.”

Hermione turned in Draco’s arms to face him, a gentle smile on her face.

“When we danced in Flitwick’s room, that was the first time I had felt free in my whole time at Hogwarts. I felt like I could finally breathe. All of the walls I had built around myself—you broke them down with that one dance. I wouldn’t have made it without you, Draco.”

Their eyes locked, and the adoration and love that shone through Draco’s silver eyes filled Hermione’s soul.

After a moment, Draco reached up and grabbed Hermione’s wineglass from her hand, levitating it to a nearby table, before stepping back and reaching out his arms.

Hermione’s smile widened as she stepped forward, placing one hand in his as her other came to his shoulder and his wrapped securely around her waist.

With a wink, Draco began to fluidly lead her in the steps to the dance.

That very same Belgian Waltz that had been their first dance all those years ago.

They smiled at each other as they moved together, spinning and twirling in the moonlight.

As Draco pulled Hermione back into his chest, he slowed his steps and leaned in to lay his forehead against hers.

“I love you, Hermione.”

Her eyes met his. “I love you Draco. Forever.”

He smiled. “Forever.”

They continued to sway slowly as the stars twinkled above them, safe in the knowledge that their love truly had conquered all.

xx

Chapter End Notes

It’s done! I can’t believe it’s done!

(And no, I won’t tell you which house Leo and Lyra were sorted into, you can decide for yourselves!)

~~

Where do I even start?

It has been almost exactly six months since I posted the first chapter of AVO, and to be here today posting the last chapter is beyond surreal.

I started writing this fic during a really hard time in my life. I had just had surgery on my leg, wasn’t able to walk, and found myself just sitting on my couch all day as the walls closed in around me. Writing this story down was such a catharsis, and knowing that I would get to spend time in this world with these characters that I love every week pulled me out of a dark place and really changed my life over these past six months.

And the fact that people read it???

Never ever in my wildest dreams did I think that I would be here today wrapping up a story that now has over 100,000 hits, thousands of kudos, and over 800 comments.

Hearing from you each week after I posted a chapter and knowing that there were people actually following this fic has brought me to tears many times, and I really cannot repeat enough how grateful I am to each and every one of you.

I feel like we’ve been on a journey together—and I hope we’ll all get to do it again soon!

And to that end, I do have a few announcements:

First of all, I am on TikTok and Instagram, both @twin_flame_blues, and although I am not great at social media, I do promise to post updates about new fics / posts there! Come on over and hang out!

Second, I’ve created two playlists to go with this fic: a chapter-by-chapter playlist of all of the songs used as chapter titles, and a playlist of songs I think Hermione would play in her lab. You can find them linked on my Instagram!

Third, keep an eye out, because I am hoping/planning to release a special Christmas one-shot in the AVO universe on or before Christmas Day.

And finally! I am planning to start posting my new fic before the end of January! I promise to post updates about the release on my socials.

You are all amazing, this has been an incredible ride, and I’ll see you back here soon.

Xoxo,

Flames

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Table of Contents

Epilogue Pt. 1: Karma

Epilogue Pt. 2: I Forgot That You Existed

Epilogue Pt. 3: Long Live

notes