Chapter 1: Dust and Distraction
Chapter Text
The library at Arcanum Universitas was easily three times the size of Hogwarts'-a fact Hermione Potter had not only noticed but come to deeply appreciate. Its vaulted ceilings stretched up into shadows she couldn’t quite see through, charmed to be ever shifting with the time of day, casting the high shelves and stained-glass windows in amber morning light or dusky violet come evening. Rows upon rows of ancient tomes stretched endlessly before her, broken up only by reading nooks and tall-glass lanterns that flickered softly with enchanted flame.
She had claimed her corner three hours ago. A stack of grimoires and reference books towered beside her elbow, precarious and thoroughly intimidating to anyone else who might attempt the same. Quills floated obediently at her side, jotting notes as she muttered incantations under her breath, one hand flicking pages while the other scribbled formulae into a well-worn notebook.
She didn’t notice the sound of footsteps-barely a whisper on the aged wood floors-or the soft titter of familiar laughter creeping closer.
What finally caught her attention was the book vanishing from her hands mid-sentence.
Hermione blinked, startled, as her fingers grasped at empty air. The thick text she'd been copying from-Warding Constructs and Countermeasures, Volume II—was simply gone. Vanished. Like someone had Disillusioned it and possibly the desk with it.
“Oi!” she snapped, eyes flashing. “Who-”
“You should’ve seen your face,” Ginny Weasley snorted from just over her shoulder, arms folded as she leaned against the bookshelf with a wicked grin.
Pansy Parkinson stood beside her, wand twirling idly between her fingers and a look of insufferable smugness on her face. “Honestly, Potter. You looked like someone just murdered your cat. What are you even reading? It looked like a doorstop that learned to speak.”
“I’m studying,” Hermione growled, spinning in her chair to face them properly. “Some of us value our education.”
“And some of us value not growing grey hairs before we turn twenty,” Pansy drawled. “There’s a balance, you know. You’ve heard of that, haven’t you? Or were you too busy outlining counter-hex arrays to notice?”
Hermione huffed and crossed her arms, glaring daggers at them both. “I have three exams this week. Three. Advanced Ritual Theory, Comparative Spellcasting, and Necromantic Ethics and Magical Law. So, forgive me if I choose to spend my Friday night buried in textbooks rather than drunk in a common room watching people hex each other for sport.”
“Funny,” Ginny said, perching on the edge of the table and swinging her legs. “Because we came over here to invite you to the party tonight. Thought we’d be nice. We were going to ask all sweetly.”
“And then I saw the state of your hair and realized it was a magical emergency,” Pansy said solemnly. “I mean, you’re practically begging for a makeover. Do you live in this jumper?”
Hermione glanced down, half-defensive. “This jumper is comfortable.”
“It’s tragic,” Pansy corrected.
“And!” Ginny added triumphantly. “I already told some very attractive people that our brilliant, beautiful Hermione Potter was coming.”
Hermione scowled. “Ginny!”
“Don’t act like it’s a crime,” Pansy said, smirking. “You’ve been holed up here like a cursed librarian for days. It's our civic duty to make sure you remember how to socialize. Also-Draco and Theo will be there.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “You’re trying to bribe me with Slytherins?”
“They’re hot Slytherins,” Pansy said sweetly. “Draco even asked if you were coming. And Theo’s been making bets on whether he’ll get you to dance. Personally, I think he’ll win.”
“You two are incorrigible.”
“We prefer irresistible,” Ginny said brightly. “And I’m dragging your brother along too. So if you’re thinking you’ll be the only Potter there looking like a wounded academic, think again.”
Hermione groaned. “You got Harry to go?”
“He owes me,” Ginny said smugly. “Something about that thing I promised not to tell you.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “What thing?”
Ginny grinned wider. “Exactly.”
Hermione sighed, deep and long-suffering. “I’m not going. I’m not dressing up, I’m not dancing, and I’m certainly not getting drunk. I have things to do.”
Ginny narrowed her eyes. “Don’t make me hex you.”
“Oh no,” Hermione said, deadpan. “Not the fearsome wrath of Ginny Weasley.”
“You say that now,” Ginny said sweetly, “but I’ll do something creative. Like-oh, I don’t know-charm your planner to scream ‘NERD ALERT’ every time you open it.”
“That’s actually kind of brilliant,” Pansy mused, tilting her head. “You’d hear it halfway across campus.”
Hermione stared at them, incredulous. “You two are unhinged.”
“Correct,” Pansy said cheerfully. “And I’ve already picked your outfit. Deep emerald silk. Backless. Slit up the leg. You’ll look devastating. And you’ll match me. Don’t say I never do anything for you.”
Hermione opened her mouth to protest again-logic lined up neatly in her mind, ready to be deployed like a row of chess pieces-but Ginny cut her off by clasping her hands together and giving her the most absurdly pitiful look she could manage.
“I’m begging you,” she said dramatically. “Just one night of fun. No footnotes. No quills. Just music, drinks, and maybe a little casual flirtation. Merlin knows you could use it.”
Pansy was quick to follow suit, leaning forward and batting her lashes. “Please, Hermione? For us?”
“Don’t you dare do the puppy dog eyes,” Hermione warned. “You know I can’t stand it.”
They both did it anyway. In perfect unison. Big, shimmering eyes. Slight pouts. It was horrifying.
“You’re grown women,” Hermione muttered, trying not to smile. “This is emotional blackmail.”
“We learned from the best,” Ginny said smugly.
Hermione sighed, dropping her head into her hands. “Fine. Fine. I’ll go. But I’m not drinking.”
“No promises,” Pansy chirped.
“And I’m not wearing whatever you’ve picked out. I need to approve it.”
“Nope. You lost outfit privileges the second you showed up to the seminar last week in that corduroy thing.”
“That was comfortable! And functional!”
“It was a crime against fashion,” Pansy said with relish. “But tonight, darling Hermione, you’re going to be glorious. The belle of the bloody dueling arena.”
Ginny beamed. “We’ll come collect you at eight. Be ready.”
Hermione raised a brow. “You say that like I have a choice.”
“Oh, you don’t,” Pansy said brightly. “See you tonight, love.”
Before Hermione could protest further, both girls twirled on their heels and sauntered off, chattering gleefully about glitter hexes, curl charms, and whether they could convince Blaise to spike the punch with Euphoria Elixir again.
Hermione stared after them for a moment, then turned back to her books with a groan. The tome Pansy had vanished reappeared with a soft pop, as if mocking her.
“I hate them,” she muttered, thumbing back to her marked page.
But she couldn’t quite suppress the small smile tugging at her lips.
....................................................................................................................
Hermione Potter pushed open the door to her dorm room with her elbow, arms overburdened with thick tomes and rolled parchments that threatened to slip out of her grip at any moment. She huffed and kicked the door shut behind her with the heel of her boot, muttering something sharp about “bibliophilic masochism” under her breath.
The walls of her room were charmed to a warm rose gold in the late-afternoon light, filtered through tall windows and the shimmering ivy vines that curled lazily up the outer panes. Her desk was cluttered with scrolls, open notebooks, and a mug of half-drunk tea that had gone cold three hours ago.
“Okay,” she said aloud to herself. “Drop these off. Change into the ridiculous outfit Pansy’s picked. Let them paint your face. Go to the party. Stay for one hour. Escape with your dignity.”
She moved to the center of her room and gave her wrist a practiced flick. The books levitated instantly, then spun into orderly formation and flew toward the tall, enchanted shelf against the wall-slotting themselves into place with a satisfying thump and whisper of old paper. Her quill rolled off the topmost book mid-air and bounced once on her bed before rolling beneath it. Hermione groaned but didn’t go after it.
She was just about to go dig through her drawers for something reasonable to wear-possibly black, possibly loose, definitely with sleeves-when her gaze snagged on something unnatural draped across her bed.
A sinfully deep emerald dress lay sprawled across the duvet like it owned the room. The fabric shimmered in the light, impossibly soft, the color shifting between dark forest and rich jade with every ripple. It had a slit up one thigh-very high up, her inner voice muttered-and a neckline that was frankly... criminal. The front dipped scandalously low, narrow straps crossing at the back and vanishing into folds of fabric like whispered secrets.
Resting on top was a folded note, sealed with a kiss mark in sparkling enchantment.
"You’re welcome. Try not to faint when you look in the mirror. It matches mine. You're welcome.
— P xoxo"
Hermione made a sound between a laugh and a groan.
"She really matched it,” she muttered. “Of course she did. I’m going to end up in Witch Weekly under ‘tragically outshined sidekick.’”
She had just lifted the dress with two fingers like it might bite when her dormitory door flew open without warning.
“You’re not dressed!” Pansy announced in horror, sweeping in like a force of fashion and judgement. “I knew it.”
“I told you she’d be in here still trying to negotiate with the dress,” Ginny added as she followed close behind. “Five galleons says she was just about to put on one of those tragic cardigans.”
Hermione stared at them both. “It’s not eight yet.”
“We know,” Pansy said, already conjuring a vanity chair with a swoop of her wand. “That’s why we’re here. You clearly need help. This is a project, not a prep session.”
Ginny grinned. “We're staging an intervention.”
“I was going to get dressed-”
“Were you?” Pansy interrupted, raising a brow. “Because I see no evidence of that. Just books, scattered dreams, and the panicked energy of someone considering escape by window.”
“I am not climbing out my own window!”
“Well, then sit,” Pansy said, hands on her hips. “Because your hair is a magical disaster zone.”
Hermione sputtered as Pansy guided-shoved—her toward the vanity. The mirror flared to life the moment Hermione sat down, casting a golden light around her face. She caught a glimpse of her reflection and cringed. Her curls were... well, there. A bit of a bird’s nest, really.
“This is unnecessary-”
“It’s critical,” Pansy said, already summoning an entire arsenal of magical hair tools and vials. “You’ll thank me when Theo tries to hex every man who so much as looks at you.”
Ginny flopped onto the bed beside the dress and smirked. “You think that’s bad? Draco saw you once at breakfast last week, half asleep in your oversized jumper, and walked into a bloody bench.”
Hermione blinked. “He what?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you that?” Ginny said, faux-innocent. “Must’ve slipped my mind.”
Pansy was sectioning her hair with professional speed. “You really have no idea what you do to them, do you?”
“I do nothing to them,” Hermione groaned.
“You exist,” Ginny said, beginning to summon her own collection of makeup palettes, charmed brushes, and lip color spells. “That’s more than enough.”
“I hate both of you.”
“No, you don’t,” Pansy sang.
“Also,” Ginny added, holding up a shimmering bronze highlighter like a weapon, “Draco and Theo are going to shit themselves when they see you in that dress.”
“I’m not wearing that dress,” Hermione protested.
“You are wearing that dress,” Pansy and Ginny said together.
“Absolutely not. It’s indecent!”
“It’s divine,” Pansy corrected. “You have legs. Let the world thank you for them.”
“You have shoulders, for Merlin’s sake,” Ginny added. “When’s the last time you let them see sunlight? Or moonlight? Or literally anything that isn’t parchment?”
Hermione tried to bolt but was yanked gently back into place by Pansy, who had already enchanted her curls into tumbling spirals that framed her face.
“Sit,” Pansy warned. “One more twitch and I will glue you to the chair with cosmetic adhesive.”
Hermione crossed her arms and pouted at the mirror. “This is not consent.”
Ginny grinned and dabbed at her cheeks with a light shimmer spell. “It’s cosmetic coercion. Entirely different.”
Thirty minutes and twelve makeup spells later, Hermione’s reflection made her do a double take. Her lips were a soft rosewood, her lashes long and fluttering, and her cheekbones suddenly sharp enough to cut glass. Her hair fell in cascading, voluminous waves. She looked like someone who could hex with a wink.
“This isn’t me,” Hermione murmured, stunned.
“Oh, it’s you,” Pansy said, sounding smug. “It’s just the version of you we let out on special occasions.”
“It’s the version of you that’ll live in Draco’s head for the next decade,” Ginny added with a satisfied hum. “And maybe in Theo’s dreams, too.”
Hermione flushed scarlet.
“No-absolutely not. I'm changing into something else. I can't wear that.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Pansy said, turning dramatically and lifting the emerald dress with one hand like a priestess offering up a sacred artifact, “you absolutely can. Arms up.”
“Wait-!”
“Arms up, Hermione,” Ginny echoed, wand in hand threateningly.
Groaning in defeat, Hermione raised her arms, and the two of them slipped the dress down over her head with a practiced ease that made Hermione suspicious of how many times they’d done this to other people. Or each other.
The fabric was cool and soft against her skin, hugging her waist and flaring gently at the hips. The slit exposed a scandalous amount of leg. The neckline-Merlin help her-was dangerously low, dipping between her breasts in a way that made her want to grab the nearest book and hide behind it.
When she turned back to the mirror, even she had to admit she looked like someone else. Someone confident. Someone enchanting.
“Bloody hell,” Ginny breathed. “I was joking about Theo and Draco shiting themselves, but I think I just forgot how to breathe.”
Pansy let out a low whistle. “You’re the kind of problem people start duels over.”
Hermione shook her head. “I’m going to trip over the hem and end up flashing a table of fourth-years.”
“We’ll hex them if they look,” Pansy said.
“And then we’ll steal you away before anyone gets ideas,” Ginny added, slipping an arm around her waist. “Come on, princess. You’re about to cause chaos.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, grabbed her wand, and whispered, “Muffliato,” before muttering under her breath: “I swear to Merlin, if either of them tries to flirt with me, I’m hexing someone into next week.”
Pansy grinned. “That’s the spirit.”
Ginny winked. “Let’s go ruin some reputations.”
With a final look in the mirror-and a sigh that sounded just a bit like surrender-Hermione let herself be led out into the night, the hem of her emerald silk dress whispering like a secret behind her.
.....................................................................................................................
The path down to the Slytherin common room echoed with the click of heels and the rising tide of Hermione Potter's complaints.
“This is ridiculous,” Hermione muttered, hitching up the folds of her emerald silk dress as she carefully navigated a trick stair. “I look like I’m going to seduce a Ministry official and rob him blind.”
Pansy, walking beside her with an arm linked through Neville’s, laughed. “Honestly, you could. And he’d thank you. Twice. Probably ask if you’d like the vault password while you’re at it.”
Ginny, on Hermione’s other side, gave a snort of approval. Her crimson heels matched her lipstick, and her auburn curls bounced with every smug step. “You’re the one who agreed to come. And you look amazing. So stop complaining before I make you go back and wear that cardigan.”
Hermione groaned. “You swore never to speak of the cardigan again.”
Hermione groaned. “You swore never to speak of the cardigan again.”
“That’s only if you behave,” Ginny replied sweetly.
“It had functional pockets.”
“And the soul of a disappointed librarian,” Pansy added, nose wrinkling. “Tonight, you are a vixen of vengeance and silk. Embrace it.”
“I’m going to trip over this hem and impale myself on someone’s goblet.”
“We’ll resuscitate you with glitter and gossip,” Ginny said airily.
They rounded the last corner, the green-tinged torches casting long shadows along the stone walls. The enchanted serpent guarding the Slytherin common room lifted its head lazily, eyeing the trio before the wall slid open with a low hiss. The music hit them instantly-pulsing, low, and rhythmic-mixed with laughter, the clink of glasses, and the sweet scent of enchanted firewhiskey and floral perfume.
The common room had been transformed.
Gone were the dim corners and dreary leather armchairs. Now it glittered under floating orbs of enchanted light, casting silver and emerald hues along the glassy black stone walls. Curtains of green flame licked along one side of the fireplace, charmed for dramatic flair. A long table on the far side offered drinks in shimmering goblets and bowls of glowing punch. Another held a spread of hors d'oeuvres, charmed to float and spin invitingly above plates.
Hermione paused one step inside, hand on her hip. “I’m already exhausted.”
“You haven’t even been offered a drink yet,” Pansy said cheerfully, tugging her forward. Neville trailed behind, exchanging a fond, knowing glance with Ginny.
“Hermione!” Luna called, waving from where she stood arm-in-arm with Blaise near the drinks. Her engagement ring sparkled like stardust.
Hermione smiled despite herself and made her way over. “Congratulations again, Luna. It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you!” Luna beamed. “He proposed in a Thestral sanctuary. So romantic.”
Blaise smirked. “She screamed and said no until I clarified there were no blood rituals involved.”
“Still romantic,” Luna said dreamily.
“Also dangerous,” Hermione added dryly.
“Isn’t that the best kind?” Luna asked, eyes wide with mischief.
Before Hermione could reply, Seamus’s voice called from across the room. “Oi, Potter!”
She turned to see Seamus grinning with Dean, their arms around each other, dressed in matching deep navy robes that shimmered faintly in the low light. Lavender and Parvati were spinning in a slow dance near the fireplace, barefoot and laughing, while Cho and Padma sipped from a glowing bottle and whispered conspiratorially.
Ron was near the drinks table, clearly trying to impress Daphne with exaggerated tales of Hogwarts-era pranks. Daphne looked vaguely amused. Astoria had claimed a couch and curled up with a book, feet tucked under her, clearly there under protest.
And then she saw them.
Draco and Theo.
They were leaned casually against one of the tall obsidian columns near the back of the room, each holding a crystal glass. Their tailored black robes shimmered subtly with green accents-matching the common room’s aesthetic and, to Hermione’s great suspicion, matching her.
Theo was already watching her with a grin that was equal parts predator and poet.
Draco looked up moments later, and the smirk that spread across his face was so slow it might as well have been scripted.
“Oh, no,” Hermione muttered. “Absolutely not. Turn me around. I’m leaving.”
Ginny laughed. “You haven’t even heard what they’re about to say.”
“I can feel the flirtation from across the room like a Confundus Charm. Merlin’s teeth. I’m walking into a trap.”
Before she could make good on her retreat, Theo was in front of her, sweeping into a bow so dramatic it made nearby first-years applaud.
“Hermione Potter,” he said, voice silken, “looking like a forbidden spell and twice as dangerous.”
“I see you’ve hit your compliment quota early,” she replied flatly.
“Who says there’s a quota?” Draco asked, appearing beside her. “We’re just getting started.”
She glared at him. “Don’t think I won’t hex you.”
“Would you, though?” Draco murmured, his voice low near her ear. “Right here in this dress? In front of all these people? You’d cause a riot.”
Theo stepped between them and held out a drink. “For courage, madam.”
“This is why I don’t go to parties,” Hermione muttered, snatching the goblet and inspecting its contents with caution. “You're both insufferable.”
“But charming,” Theo said with a wink.
“Infuriating,” she corrected.
“Delightful,” Draco offered.
She raised the glass like a toast. “If I’m going to survive this, I’m going to need firewhiskey.”
She downed it in one go, her eyes watering immediately. “Ugh. Still tastes like cauldron cleaner.”
“Still a Gryffindor,” Theo said proudly.
Just then, Harry approached from the crowd, arm slung casually around Ginny’s shoulders. He raised an eyebrow at the trio, green eyes sharp with protective amusement.
“I leave her alone for five minutes,” he said dryly, “and I find the two of you sleazing it up like it’s a Quidditch afterparty.”
Draco gave a theatrical bow. “I’m offended by your tone, Potter.”
“You should be. Because if either of you tries to kiss my sister, I will hex you into next week. Maybe the one after.”
Theo held up both hands. “So violent.”
“So justified,” Hermione muttered.
Harry grinned at her. “You holding up?”
“Barely. I’ve already taken a shot and been complimented to death. I need chocolate. Or bail money.”
“I’m getting her a drink,” Draco said smoothly. “Preferably one strong enough to make her dance.”
Theo leaned closer. “With us.”
Hermione took a step back. “Absolutely not.”
“Scared?” Draco teased.
“Of you? I faced a basilisk in second year.”
“But have you faced Theo’s dance moves?” Blaise called from the drinks table. “Because I did once. It was traumatic.”
“I regret nothing,” Theo replied, completely unbothered.
Ginny grabbed Harry’s hand. “Dance with me, fiancé.”
“Anything for you, menace,” Harry said, letting her pull him toward the center of the room where dancers were beginning to gather.
Hermione tried to sneak away, but Theo’s hand caught hers. “Come on, Hermione. Just one dance. I’ll behave. Mostly.”
“You don’t even know how to behave,” she said, eyeing him.
“I’m very good at pretending,” he said, grinning. “Especially with motivation.”
Draco was behind her again, fingers brushing her bare shoulder as he murmured, “Don’t make me beg, Potter. Or do. We’d enjoy it either way.”
“You two are worse than Peeves.”
“But far better dressed,” Theo said brightly.
Eventually, after more threats, three additional drinks, and one whispered dare from Ginny, Hermione found herself on the dance floor between the two of them.
To her surprise, Theo didn’t step on her feet once. He spun her with practiced charm, and when he dipped her low, Draco caught her by the waist and pulled her upright in a smooth, synchronized move that earned a cheer from Blaise and a wolf whistle from Dean.
By the time midnight struck, she’d thrown a cushion at Draco’s head, threatened Theo with a spoon she’d conjured from thin air, and started lecturing Ron and Daphne about the ethics of potion charms mid-dance.
And she was still complaining.
“Oh my god, who thought dancing in heels was a good idea? My calves are plotting rebellion.”
“You look fantastic,” Theo said, holding out a second drink.
“I hate you both.”
“You say that,” Draco said, “but you’re glowing.”
“I’m sweating.”
“Sparkling,” Theo corrected. “Absolutely radiant.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and took the drink. “If I wake up in a random dorm with glitter in my hair again, I’m burning this place to the ground.”
“You’re welcome,” Pansy said as she passed with Neville, twirling with dramatic flair.
Ginny came back to drag Hermione into another dance, but not before whispering, “Draco’s been staring at you like you invented fire. Theo’s not much better. Keep that in mind.”
“I’m going to need therapy.”
“Probably. But not tonight.”
Hermione found herself laughing again, flushed from firewhiskey, teasing, and the relentless attention of two annoyingly well-dressed Slytherins.
Later, when the party was winding down and people had paired off into small groups on cushions or danced barefoot near the dying flames, she found herself on leaning on Theo, arms crossed over her chest, sipping her fourth drink and complaing.
“I’m still mad Pansy made me wear this dress.”
“You’ve made four people drop their glasses tonight.”
“Two of them were first-years!”
“They’ll remember you forever,” Theo said fondly.
Draco leaned in from her other side. “You were glorious. Admit it.”
“I was deeply uncomfortable.”
“You were a goddess.”
“You’re both ridiculous.”
“You love it,” Theo said.
She sighed. “...Maybe.”
And when Theo dipped her again—dramatically, one last time—and Draco caught her with steady hands and a low laugh, she didn’t even hex either of them.
She just muttered, “I still hate you both.”
“You say that,” Theo whispered, “but you’re smiling.”
“It’s the whiskey.”
“Sure it is,” Draco murmured.
.................................................................................................................
The Slytherin common room had transformed into a cozy, intimate space as the night wore on. Couples had paired off, finding comfortable nooks and cushions to settle into. The air was filled with the soft murmurs of conversation, the occasional laugh, and the gentle crackle of the enchanted fireplace.
Harry and Ginny were curled up on a plush sofa, Harry's arm draped protectively around Ginny's shoulders as they whispered and laughed together. Seamus and Dean were nestled in a corner, Seamus's head resting on Dean's chest as they shared a quiet moment. Pansy and Neville were on a love seat, Pansy's hand resting possessively on Neville's thigh as they talked softly.
Hermione stood against the wall, a drink in her hand, feeling slightly tipsy and very much out of place. She watched the couples with a mix of amusement and envy, taking a sip of her drink and trying to ignore the warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through her.
Draco, noticing her solitude, sauntered over with Theo in tow. "Hermione," he drawled, "you look like you could use some company. Why don't you come sit with us?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, her wand hand twitching. "And why would I do that, Malfoy? So you can try to charm me into doing something stupid?"
Theo chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "We promise to be on our best behavior. Mostly."
Hermione scoffed. "Your 'best behavior' is still worse than most people's worst."
Draco leaned in, his voice low and teasing. "Come on, Potter. Live a little. You're at a party, after all."
Before Hermione could respond, Harry's voice cut through the air. "Oi, Malfoy! Keep your hands to yourself. She's my sister, and I'll hex you if you so much as think about doing anything untoward."
Ginny, looking up from her cozy spot with Harry, suggested, "Why don't we play 'Never Have I Ever'? It's a fun way to get to know each other better."
The suggestion was met with a chorus of agreement, and soon everyone was gathering in a circle, drinks in hand, ready to play.
Ginny started the game. "Never have I ever... kissed someone in this room."
Several people took drinks, including Harry and Ginny, who shared a knowing smile. Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't drink, much to Draco's amusement.
"It's your turn, Potter," he prompted, his eyes glinting with challenge.
Hermione thought for a moment, then said, "Never have I ever... had a decent kiss."
The room fell silent for a beat before Theo spoke up. "Well, that's easily fixable."
Draco nodded in agreement. "We could give you a demonstration, if you'd like."
The girls in the room burst into laughter, and Harry threw a pillow at Draco, hitting him square in the face. "Keep your demonstrations to yourself, Malfoy."
Ron, who had been quietly sipping his drink, suddenly gagged and made a face. "Merlin, I can't even imagine kissing any of you lot. I'd rather kiss a Bludger."
Daphne elbowed him playfully. "And here I thought you were a charmer, Ron."
The game continued, with each person taking turns revealing something they hadn't done. Luna confessed to never having ridden a Thestral, which Blaise found adorable. Pansy admitted to never having studied for an exam, which Neville found surprising. Parvati revealed she had never hexed anyone, which Lavender found hard to believe.
As the game went on, Hermione found herself relaxing, her initial reservations fading away. She even laughed at some of the more outrageous confessions, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
Hermione Potter was drunk.
Not tipsy. Not mildly flushed. Drunk.
Sprawled out across one of the large leather couches in the Slytherin common room, her head dangled off the edge like a wilting rose, hair sweeping the stone floor, curls an absolute mess. Her long emerald dress had hiked dangerously up her thighs, silver-strapped heels kicked off and lying unevenly beneath her. She had one arm flung over her face and the other still clutching a half-finished glass of firewhiskey that sloshed dangerously close to spilling.
"And then-" she gasped out between peals of laughter, "then he told McGonagall it was an ‘uncontrolled weather charm’ but it was clearly a fart!"
The entire group burst out laughing.
Ron was doubled over, cheeks bright red. Daphne sat beside him, snickering behind her hand as she leaned into his shoulder.
Luna was leaning gently against Blaise, eyes dreamy, her soft laughter mixing with the warmth of the firelight. Blaise looked entirely enchanted with her, fingers tangled in her curls.
Neville had his arm around Pansy, who had her head on his shoulder, looking like the queen of smug satisfaction.
Ginny was curled up against Harry’s side, their legs tangled together on the loveseat. She’d kicked off her shoes long ago and was sipping something pink and sparkly.
Hermione groaned. “Merlin’s tits, my head is spinning.”
“That’s because you’ve had four six and three shots,” Ginny said, amused.
“Seven drinks,” Pansy corrected. “I saw her steal Seamus’s glass when he went to dance.”
“I was thirsty,” Hermione mumbled dramatically. “And bored. And Draco was being mean.”
“I literally wasn’t even in the room,” Draco said from his place perched on the arm of the couch, sipping his own drink, looking unfairly composed.
Theo was on the other end, lounging with one ankle crossed over the opposite knee. “Don’t worry, love. I can be mean now, if it makes you feel better.”
Hermione raised her arm just enough to flip him off without looking. “You always make me feel better, Nott.”
“Mm, that’s what they all say,” he purred.
Draco leaned down, one brow raised. “Potter, are you flirting with us?”
Hermione grinned, eyes fluttering half-closed. “What if I am?”
Harry made a strangled noise. “I cannot believe my sister is drunk.”
“You’re shocked?” Ginny laughed. “Harry, she’s been holding back for months. She deserves a night to unwind.”
“I agree,” Pansy said, not lifting her head from Neville’s shoulder. “She’s usually wound so tight I can hear her think three corridors away. Let the girl live.”
“Thank you,” Hermione slurred, raising her glass. “See? Some of you get me.”
“I’m just glad she didn’t punch anyone,” Blaise commented idly. “Last time Luna had this much firewhiskey she hexed a painting into singing Celestina Warbeck for an hour.”
“I improved it,” Luna said serenely.
“You did,” Blaise agreed, kissing her temple.
“Honestly,” said Ron, frowning at Hermione, “I’m surprised you haven’t started quoting Hogwarts: A History at someone.”
“I did,” Hermione said proudly. “To the wine bottle. I’m not sure it listened.”
Draco burst into laughter.
Harry shook his head. “Okay. That’s it. I draw the line at sentient wine.”
“You’d be surprised what some of them know,” Hermione said in a sage tone.
“She’s plastered,” Theo said fondly, watching her swaying slightly on the couch, curls in disarray.
“I’m not plastered,” Hermione protested. “I’m freedom incarnate.”
Everyone laughed again, even Daphne, who usually stayed quiet.
“Alright,” Harry sighed. “Maybe she is just a little drunk. But someone’s going to have to take her back to the her dorm room eventually.”
“Draco and I can walk her,” Theo offered casually. “We’ll be perfect gentlemen.”
Hermione snorted, then blinked at him upside-down. “Maybe I don’t want you to be perfect gentlemen.”
Ron gagged immediately. “Merlin’s left arse cheek, Hermione, can you not?!”
Harry groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Seriously. I’m right here.”
Draco grinned. “Maybe when she isn’t drunk off her ass.”
Hermione giggled, lifting her hand to bat at him. “You wish you could handle me.”
Theo laughed, eyes sparkling. “We’ve handled worse, darling.”
Ginny choked on her drink.
Neville raised his glass. “You walked into that one, Harry.”
“I will murder them,” Harry muttered. “Very slowly. And the Wizengamot will thank me.”
“Harry,” Ginny said, gently patting his leg. “You’re engaged to me. You gave up having any say in other people’s love lives a long time ago.”
“I didn’t know it would involve this,” he said, gesturing wildly to Hermione, who had now slid halfway down the couch so that her knees hung over the edge and her dress threatened public decency.
Daphne, ever the cool-headed one, conjured a soft blanket and flicked it over Hermione with a roll of her eyes. “There. You may all now stop clutching your pearls.”
“Thank you,” Ron muttered.
“I still say we walk her back,” Draco said, standing now and finishing his drink. “Before she turns upside-down permanently.”
Hermione pouted. “But I like it here. It’s comfy.”
Theo crouched beside her. “I’ll carry you.”
“You will not,” Harry said flatly.
Theo blinked at him. “Are you going to carry her?”
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Ginny snorted. “Theo has a point.”
Draco held out a hand. “Come on, Potter. Don’t make me seduce you off the couch.”
Hermione raised her brows. “Is that an option?”
Pansy laughed so hard she knocked Neville sideways.
“I hate all of you,” Harry mumbled, rubbing his temples.
“You love us,” Luna said dreamily.
Blaise grinned. “He just needs more firewhiskey.”
“No,” Harry said firmly. “I need therapy.”
Theo was still beside Hermione. “One last chance to be swept into my arms like a scandalous heroine.”
Hermione gave him a mock-suspicious look. “If you drop me, I’ll hex you so hard you’ll think you’re a Puffskein.”
Draco leaned in from behind him. “If he drops you, I’ll just pick you up and tell everyone it was my idea.”
“I hate how charming you are,” Hermione grumbled.
“You adore it,” he said smugly.
She wobbled as she tried to sit up, groaning. “Ugh. Fine. Someone help me walk, before I turn into a puddle.”
Draco offered her both arms like a gentleman. “Shall we, Miss Potter?”
Theo added, “To your chambers, m’lady?”
Ron made another gagging sound. “Please. Please stop with the voices.”
“Are you going to be sick, Weasley?” Pansy said sweetly. “I’ve got a bucket spell ready.”
“I’ll hex you first,” Ron threatened.
Daphne elbowed him again. “You’re doing a lot of threatening for someone who nearly cried watching Hermione laugh.”
“I did not-” Ron spluttered. “It was the lighting.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Sure it was.”
Draco helped Hermione to her feet, and she sagged slightly into his side. Theo took the other arm, steadying her as she leaned between them.
“I feel like a princess,” she mumbled, resting her head on Theo’s shoulder.
“You look like one,” he whispered, and she giggled.
Harry sighed. “Just get her to bed in one piece.”
“We’ll tuck her in and read her a bedtime story,” Theo promised.
Draco nodded solemnly. “I’m thinking ‘Hogwarts: A History,’ chapter seven.”
Hermione groaned. “That one’s so boring…”
“You’re drunk,” Theo reminded her.
“I still have standards.”
“Goodnight!” Ginny called as they reached the stairs. “Try not to snog her unconscious, boys!”
Hermione lifted a hand without turning. “No promises!”
Harry buried his face in his hands. “I hate everything.”
..................................................................................................................
The hall was quiet as Draco and Theo guided Hermione up the stairwell that led back to the Gryffindor common room. The stone corridors echoed softly with their footsteps and the occasional hiccup from Hermione, who was draped between them like a sleepy queen, still barefoot, her heels slung from two fingers on Draco’s hand.
“I feel like a balloon,” she mumbled, head lolling onto Theo’s shoulder. “Or maybe a cloud. Is that the same thing?”
“Clouds are more dense,” Theo offered, “and balloons are usually filled with gas. So in a way, yes.”
“That’s not helpful,” she muttered.
Draco smirked. “You asked.”
Hermione looked up at him, eyes glassy but glowing. “You’re so pretty.”
Theo laughed.
“Here we go,” Draco murmured.
“I mean it,” Hermione slurred, poking him in the chest with one painted nail. “You’ve got that whole ‘dangerous aristocrat with a heart of gold’ thing going. You’re like... like if Mr. Darcy were a little meaner and wore leather boots.”
Draco arched a brow. “Do you want me to wear leather boots?”
“Don’t tempt her,” Theo muttered, grinning.
Hermione tilted toward him. “You’re pretty too, Theo. With your, like, perfect cheekbones. And your hands.”
Theo blinked. “My hands?”
“They’re veiny,” she said dreamily. “You know what that means.”
Draco choked on a laugh. “We’re going to die trying to get her up these stairs.”
“I’m trying to compliment you,” Hermione scolded. “You two are like... stupidly hot. And smart. And tall.”
Theo cleared his throat. “You’re drunk, sweetheart.”
“I’m honest,” she declared, trying to shove herself forward and ending up pressing against Draco’s side. “And if you weren’t both so noble and chivalrous and blah blah blah, I’d be doing much more than talking.”
Draco paused mid-step, arm tightening around her waist. “Potter.”
“Hermione,” she corrected, looking up at him with a soft pout. “We’re not at Hogwarts anymore. You can call me Hermione.”
“Okay,” he said carefully. “Hermione... you’re very, very drunk.”
“But I’m willing,” she whispered, grin going crooked as she slid her hand over his chest. “I’m so willing.”
Theo gently took her wrist and guided it back to her side. “And we’re so flattered,” he said with a light laugh, “but we’re not taking advantage of you.”
Hermione groaned in frustration. “This is very inconvenient. I’m clearly feeling all sorts of things.”
Draco chuckled, leading her up the final staircase. “If you still feel this way when you're not drunk off your arse,” he said, voice soft but teasing, “we’ll more than happily revisit the subject.”
Theo nodded. “More than happily.”
Hermione blinked between them, wide eyes glassy. “You’re both the worst.”
“We’re the best,” Theo corrected.
Draco smirked. “You’ll thank us tomorrow.”
They finally reached her room, and Draco murmured the unlocking charm. The dorm was dark and quiet, moonlight streaming through the enchanted skylight overhead. Theo steered Hermione toward the bed while Draco flicked his wand to dimly light the fireplace.
Hermione collapsed onto her mattress with a soft oof, landing face-first into her pillows. One arm flopped over the side dramatically.
“Help,” she mumbled into the duvet. “I’ve become one with the bed.”
Draco rolled his eyes, helping her flip over gently while Theo pulled down the blanket.
“Up,” Theo coaxed. “We’ve got to get this dress off.”
Hermione raised a brow, grinning. “Now you’re getting handsy.”
“Not like that, darling,” Theo said, laughing as he unzipped the back with surgical precision and helped slide the green fabric down over her hips while not look and Draco turned politely away.
She squirmed out of it with only minor assistance and was already halfway in her oversized sleep shirt when she sighed. “You two are no fun.”
“We’re the most fun,” Draco muttered, conjuring a glass of water and a Pepper-Up Potion for the nightstand. “You’re just not going to remember it in the morning.”
Hermione nestled into her sheets, curls haloed messily around her head. As Theo tucked the blanket over her, she reached blindly behind her and tugged something to her chest.
It was a stuffed niffler.
Draco stared. Then laughed.
“Is that new?” he asked, grinning.
“She’s had it since second year,” Theo said fondly, brushing hair from her forehead. “She just doesn’t let anyone see it.”
“I heard that,” Hermione said sleepily, eyes barely open. “And Nifflie is a treasured heirloom.”
“Nifflie,” Draco repeated, shaking with laughter. “This just keeps getting better.”
Theo leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Sleep well, treasure hoarder.”
Draco did the same, brushing her temple. “Try not to seduce anyone else in your dreams.”
Hermione yawned, already halfway to unconsciousness. “No promises.”
The boys turned toward the door, and just as they reached it, she mumbled, “You’re both very pretty.”
Theo looked at Draco.
Draco looked at Theo.
They both smiled.
And then quietly shut the door behind them.
Chapter 2: A Glorious, Chaotic Mess
Summary:
Hermione 'unwilling' spends more time around Draco and Theo
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The sunlight slanting in through the enchanted skylight hit Hermione square in the face like a curse.
She groaned.
Her head was pounding-loud, insistent, and completely unforgiving. Her throat felt like she’d swallowed parchment, her mouth tasted like regret, and her limbs were heavy with the unmistakable weight of a hangover.
It took her a solid minute to realize she wasn’t in the Slytherin common room anymore.
She was in her own bed. In her own room. Wearing an oversized shirt that smelled vaguely of lavender and comfort. Blankets were tucked neatly around her body, the way she never slept on her own. She frowned into the pillow, groaning again as she forced one eye open.
Her nightstand held a glass of water, a familiar green bottle of Pepper-Up Potion, and-
A note.
Squinting against the light, she reached for it with a hand that trembled slightly. The parchment was thick, crisp, and definitely expensive. Theo’s handwriting took up the top half in neat, swooping script:
Potter,
You were hilarious last night. And entierly to handsy. Thank you for the compliments-I will treasure them always. You offered to duel us both in the corridor and also tried to kiss Draco' kneecap at one point.
Draco almost let you fall when you called him "my sweet little aristo-bastard."
We got you hom safetly. You threatend yo hex us in you sleep. It was charming.
Drink the water. Take the potion. Don't die.
-Theo
Beneath it, in Draco's sharper slanted script.
PS: You called Theo's hands art.
PPS: You also tried to seduce us. While barefoot. In a stairwell.
PPPS: If you still was to seduce us when sober, our sechedules are very open.
Hermione let out a mortified groan and let her head fall back against the pillow with a loud whump.
“Oh, Merlin.”
She sat up slowly-painfully-and grabbed the water first, sipping it like it was liquid gold. Then she braced herself and took the Pepper-Up Potion. It scorched her throat in that awful, familiar way, steam puffing briefly from her ears, but the pounding in her skull finally began to ease.
She glanced over at the Niffler plushie cradled next to her pillow, and immediately smacked it under the covers.
“You were supposed to protect me,” she muttered at it.
A shower helped. Barely. Her curls were wild, tangled, and impossible to tame. After three attempts with a detangling spell, she gave up and shoved them into a giant messy bun, stabbing her wand through it to hold the mass in place. She tugged on soft black leggings, warm socks, and the first jumper she could find-the bright orange one with the large green "H" stitched on the front. It was slightly too big and smelled faintly of pine needles and cinnamon.
She padded over to her mirror, groaned at the sight of her blotchy cheeks, and smeared some balm on her lips.
“Not horrible,” she muttered. “But definitely not seduction material.”
At precisely 10:30 a.m., her door burst open.
“HERMIONE JEAN POTTER!” Ginny sang.
“We brought snacks!” Pansy added, balancing a tray of toast, jam, and a massive teapot.
Hermione winced at the volume. “Could we not yell?”
Ginny grinned wickedly and shut the door behind them with a dramatic flourish. “How’s the head, darling?”
“I want to die,” Hermione said flatly, climbing back into bed and dragging the blankets to her chin.
“Drink this, then,” Pansy said sweetly, pouring a cup of steaming tea and handing it to her. “It’s that nice black blend you like with the blood orange and cardamom.”
“You’re both terrifying and I love you.”
Ginny settled on the foot of the bed while Pansy plopped beside her, snagging a slice of toast.
“So,” Ginny said, biting into her own. “You had quite the evening."
Hermione sipped her tea carefully. “I drank. A bit.”
Pansy snorted. “You drank enough to flirt with Draco and Theo like you were auditioning for a Harpies halftime show.”
Hermione froze, teacup halfway to her mouth. “I did what?”
Ginny beamed. “Flirted! Aggressively. Poetically. I believe the phrase ‘veiny hands’ was used.”
Hermione nearly choked on her tea. “That could not have happened.”
“Oh, but it did,” Pansy said, eyes sparkling with glee. “You were positively purring at them, calling Draco your ‘dangerous aristocrat’ and threatening to climb him like a bookcase.”
Hermione buried her face in the blanket. “No. No, no, no-”
“You told Theo his hands were art,” Ginny added helpfully. “And you tried to seduce them in the corridor. Barefoot.”
“Please tell me I at least kept my dignity.”
Pansy lifted the note off the nightstand and waved it. “They left you a thank-you letter. That’s how memorable it was.”
Hermione grabbed a pillow and shrieked into it.
Ginny laughed so hard she nearly dropped her toast.
“They were so sweet about it,” Pansy went on. “They tucked you in like princesses and didn’t even let you kiss anyone’s kneecap. Which apparently you attempted.”
“I can never look at either of them again,” Hermione moaned.
“Oh, come on,” Ginny said. “You’ve flirted with them while sober, don’t even pretend you haven’t.”
“I haven’t!”
Pansy arched a brow. “Hermione.”
Hermione flushed. “...Maybe once.”
“Or twice,” Ginny added.
“And you do stare at Draco’s mouth like it owes you something,” Pansy said, biting her toast.
Hermione shoved the pillow over her face again and groaned.
Ginny leaned forward. “You like them.”
“I don’t.”
Pansy stole a piece of her toast. “Liar.”
“I just... tolerate them.”
“You threatened to hex Harry for interrupting your flirting,” Ginny said smugly.
“That doesn’t mean I like them!” Hermione insisted, muffled by her pillow.
Ginny and Pansy shared a look, then burst into laughter.
“You are so doomed,” Pansy declared.
“And when you do eventually kiss one of them,” Ginny said, grinning, “please let us be the first to know.”
“I will literally die before that happens.”
“Hermione,” Pansy said gently, “sweetheart. You already tried. You just picked the wrong moment.”
Hermione stared up at the ceiling, the flush in her cheeks spreading all the way to her ears. “I hate everything.”
“You’ll feel better after toast,” Ginny said, handing her a plate. “And maybe a walk. Clear your head. Reclaim your dignity.”
“I need a new name. And a new face. Possibly a new continent.”
Pansy leaned back against the pillows. “Oh come off it. If anything, they probably think it’s adorable.”
“Draco Malfoy does not think anything is adorable,” Hermione grumbled.
“Except you,” Ginny said with a wink.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “One more word out of either of you and I will hex the jam out of your toast.”
Pansy took a large bite and chewed smugly. “Worth it.”
There was a knock-two quick raps, followed by a pause, and then the door swung open before Hermione could answer.
“Do none of you understand boundaries?” she groaned.
Luna floated in like a gentle breeze, wearing soft lilac robes dotted with tiny silver moons and a headband with what appeared to be fluttering paper butterflies. “We brought more tea and emergency pastries,” she said dreamily, setting down a tin of honey scones on Hermione’s desk.
Right behind her was Daphne Greengrass, dressed in tight leggings and a Slytherin Quidditch hoodie. She carried a thermos under one arm and a bottle of fizzy pumpkin juice under the other. “I brought hydration. Heard your liver staged a mutiny last night.”
“Et tu, Greengrass?” Hermione muttered.
“Oh, definitely me too,” Daphne said with a grin, walking in and sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, right next to Ginny. “You really told Malfoy and Nott they could ‘build you a bookshelf and wreck it in the same hour.’”
Luna gasped-quietly, but somehow still delighted. “That’s rather poetic.”
Hermione buried her entire face in her jumper sleeves.
“Stop telling people I flirted,” she mumbled.
“But you did flirt,” Luna said serenely, perching herself on the edge of Hermione’s desk chair and pouring herself a cup of tea. “And it was charming. Theo looked like he was trying not to combust.”
Ginny grinned. “Draco looked like he wanted to bottle your laugh and keep it under his pillow.”
“That is not what happened,” Hermione hissed.
“You told him his eyes were the exact shade of a cursed emerald amulet you read about,” Pansy supplied, utterly delighted. “And that he had the bone structure of betrayal.”
“Which,” Daphne added, “is possibly the sexiest insult I’ve ever heard.”
Hermione groaned and flopped onto her back, holding the pillow over her face again like a shroud.
Luna, never one to miss an opportunity, tiptoed over and gently removed it from Hermione’s hands. “Don’t hide, Hermione. Everyone loved it.”
“I tried to seduce two men at the same time while barefoot and drunk,” Hermione whined, voice muffled. “That’s not charming. That’s tragic.”
“You forgot the part where you almost hexed Ron for gagging,” Daphne said brightly.
“And told Harry to mind his own broomstick,” Pansy added.
“And offered to duel Theo in a corridor for a kiss,” Luna finished.
“You lot are the worst,” Hermione muttered. “You enjoy this.”
“Only because you’re usually so put-together,” Daphne said with a smirk. “Seeing you unhinged was refreshing. And frankly? You were glorious.”
“She tried to give Draco a sultry look and nearly fell off the sofa,” Ginny added with a snort.
“I remember none of this,” Hermione whispered.
“That’s what makes it better,” Pansy said, sipping her tea like a queen. “We get to tell you.”
Luna passed Hermione a honey scone with a dreamy smile. “You made everyone laugh. And you didn’t do anything you’ll regret, I promise.”
Hermione took it and sighed, finally accepting her fate. “I suppose I didn’t hex anyone.”
“Progress,” Daphne said, raising her thermos in salute.
Pansy leaned in conspiratorially. “They carried you all the way back here, you know. Draco held the door open, and Theo tucked you in.”
“You were mumbling something about cursed tiaras,” Luna added helpfully.
“And you snuggled that little stuffed Niffler like it owed you money,” Ginny said, her grin evil.
“I hate all of you,” Hermione said, but she was smiling now.
“You love us,” Pansy said.
“Unfortunately.”
The room lapsed into a brief quiet as the girls sipped tea, picked at scones, and lounged in the post-morning chaos that only followed a house party hangover.
Hermione finally pulled her legs under her, sitting up properly, her curls a fluffy mess still held together by her wand. “Do you think they’re going to say anything?”
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Theo and Draco? About last night?”
Hermione nodded.
“Oh, absolutely,” Pansy said.
“They’ll bring it up. Constantly,” Daphne added.
“Probably before breakfast,” Luna said serenely.
“Perfect,” Hermione said, sipping her tea. “Maybe I’ll flee to Albania.”
“Maybe,” Ginny said, “you could stop pretending you don’t want them to flirt back.”
Hermione’s expression twisted. “I don’t-”
“You absolutely do,” Pansy said. “It’s written all over your face.”
“I do not have a face.”
“You have a face that glows like a Christmas star when Draco smirks at you,” Daphne said.
“Or when Theo calls you Potter like it’s a secret,” Luna added.
“I have to transfer schools,” Hermione muttered into her tea.
“No, you don’t,” Ginny said, nudging her with a socked foot. “You just have to own it. You like them. They adore you. Everyone else already knows it.”
“Do they?” Hermione asked weakly.
“Yes,” all four girls said in unison.
Hermione groaned again, but with the edge of laughter in her voice this time.
“They’re going to come find me, aren’t they?”
“Oh, definitely,” Ginny said.
“They probably made bets on who you’d yell at first,” Pansy added.
“I’d put five galleons on Theo,” Daphne said casually.
“I’d bet on Draco,” Luna murmured. “He always wins when he’s smug.”
Hermione dropped her forehead to her knees. “I’m not ready.”
“You’ll be fine,” Ginny said. “Take a walk. Clear your head. Look stunning by accident.”
“And maybe, maybe, let them flirt back,” Pansy added, tossing her an encouraging wink.
Hermione sighed dramatically, then stood and stretched. “Fine. But if I end up in another corridor barefoot, I’m blaming all of you.”
Luna smiled and handed her the last scone. “Then we’ll just carry you home again.”
..................................................................................................................
Hermione’s boots clicked softly against the ancient stone as she descended the West Wing's winding staircase, clutching a stack of parchment and a few textbooks against her chest. The corridors were quiet-unsurprising for a Saturday morning-but it made her feel oddly loud, especially with her curls bouncing wildly around her head in a haphazard bun, her wand stabbed through it like a makeshift pin.
She was halfway down the second staircase when she heard footsteps echoing from below.
“Oh, look,” came Theo’s unmistakably gleeful voice, “if it isn’t the Queen of Drunk Flirtation herself.”
Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, sighed heavily, and slowly looked up to see Theo and Draco rounding the landing, both of them far too smug for this early in the day.
Draco gave her a slow once-over, one brow arching in amusement. “Potter. You survived.”
“Unfortunately for the both of you,” she said dryly, not stopping her descent.
Theo leaned against the stone banister, looking delightfully unbothered in a Quidditch jersey and casual flying trousers. “Feeling a little tender this morning?”
“I’m fine,” Hermione said with a tone of great suffering. “Pepper-Up. Water. Tea. I’ve done this before.”
“Oh, we remember,” Draco said, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Though last night was new. You’ve never offered to drag either of us into your bed before.”
Hermione nearly tripped. “Excuse me?!”
Theo laughed. “It was implied. Quite enthusiastically.”
“I said no such thing!” she snapped, cheeks immediately flushing. “You’re both making that up.”
“Oh, definitely not,” Draco said, descending a few steps to meet her. “You were sprawled on the couch like a fainting heroine, giggling like a banshee, and very determined to discuss the benefits of shared sleeping arrangements.”
Theo nodded solemnly. “We were perfect gentlemen, obviously. Refused every advance.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “You two are impossible.”
“And you’re adorable when you’re hungover and defensive,” Draco said with a grin.
She scowled. “Don’t you have anything better to do than torment me?”
“Actually,” Theo said, pushing off the wall, “we were just heading out for a friendly game of Quidditch. A few people are meeting on the pitch. You should come.”
Hermione stared at them both as if they’d asked her to jump off the Astronomy Tower.
“I have homework,” she said flatly.
“On a Saturday?” Draco said with exaggerated horror. “Merlin’s tits, woman, have you no shame?”
“I’m catching up on Arithmancy,” she snapped. “Some of us actually take our S.P.E.L.L.S seriously."
Theo made a show of rubbing his chin. “And here I thought you’d had a breakthrough last night. All that talk of living a little. Firewhiskey. Flirting. Now suddenly you’re back to parchments and books?”
“I like parchments and books,” she said, pushing past them both on the stairs.
Draco fell into step beside her. “You like being in control. That’s not the same thing.”
She gave him a sideways glare. “Are you psychoanalyzing me now?”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he said, clearly lying.
Theo cut around to her other side, grinning as he mirrored Draco’s pace. “All I’m saying is-come play Quidditch. One hour. You can even read in the stands like a disgruntled professor if you really want to.”
Hermione stopped short on the stairs and fixed them both with a skeptical look.
“Let me get this straight. You want me,” she said, gesturing to herself with her stack of books, “to waste a perfectly productive morning-one where I actually feel like I can function again-on a bloody broomstick?”
“Yes,” Theo said immediately.
“Absolutely,” Draco agreed.
“Not a chance in hell,” Hermione said, resuming her descent.
Theo sighed dramatically. “But we can make it worth your time…”
That earned him a dangerous look.
“Don’t finish that sentence, Nott,” Hermione said warningly.
Draco smirked. “We could be very persuasive.”
“You’ve already been very annoying,” she muttered.
“But we haven’t even pulled out the big guns yet,” Theo said with a grin.
Hermione reached the bottom of the stairs, adjusted her books, and glanced between them. “Look, I’m flattered by your sad, desperate attempts to distract me from my academic pursuits-”
“Ouch,” Draco said, mock-wincing.
“-but I’m going to the library. To study. Like a normal person.”
Theo sighed. “You’re no fun.”
“Last night says otherwise,” Draco quipped.
“I will hex you,” Hermione said sweetly.
“That’s the spirit,” Theo said. “That fire’s still in there somewhere.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth tugged upward. Just a bit.
“You’re both absurd,” she said. “Go chase after your bludgers.”
Theo winked. “If you change your mind, we’ll be at the pitch. And you can always come watch. Maybe cheer us on.”
“In what universe do you think I’d cheer for either of you?” she asked.
Draco smirked. “The same one where you asked if we were ‘coming to bed or not’ last night.”
Hermione’s mouth opened in outrage.
“You are the worst,” she hissed, turning on her heel.
They called after her as she stormed down the corridor.
“We love you too, Potter!”
“See you at lunch-don’t forget to hydrate!”
Her muttered threats echoed behind her all the way to the library. But her grin lingered far longer.
.................................................................................................................
The sun filtered in through the tall library windows, casting warm patches of light across the stone floor and rows of ancient tomes. Dust motes floated lazily in the air. At the far end of one long oak table, Hermione Potter sat slumped over a thick textbook on advanced magical theory, her quill tapping erratically against the parchment.
Her eyes flicked from the paragraph she’d read five times now to her scribbled notes, which looked less like coherent insight and more like an unsorted potions inventory. Her headache-likely still courtesy of the firewhiskey from last night-throbbed behind her temples, and her stomach gurgled faintly in protest at the half cup of bitter library-brewed tea.
“Focus,” she whispered to herself, straightening her back and setting the quill down. “You are a serious academic. You are a competent witch. You are not going to let one night of being drunk and-” she paused “-questionably flirtatious with Draco and his extremely smug best friend ruin your study schedule.”
A stack of books on defensive spell layering loomed beside her like a taunt.
Twenty-seven minutes and four attempts to diagram wand movement patterns later, Hermione let her forehead fall gently onto the desk with a soft thump.
This was pointless.
Absolutely, utterly, torturously pointless.
Her mind kept drifting back to Theo’s grin, to Draco’s smirk, to the way they’d tucked her into bed like she was something precious and fragile instead of the mildly terrifying academic menace she prided herself on being.
And worse-worse-her brain kept replaying Theo waggling his eyebrows and Draco whispering “maybe when you’re not drunk off your ass.”
She groaned into the wood.
Enough.
With dramatic flair that only a true perfectionist could muster in defeat, Hermione shoved the parchment and ink back into her bag, snapped the book shut, and stood. She slung the bag over her shoulder, muttering darkly about distraction and betrayal and bloody broomsticks, and stomped out of the library with all the elegance of a cat soaked in bathwater.
It wasn’t until she reached the courtyard and heard the distant sound of cheering and broomsticks cutting through the air that she realized where her feet were carrying her.
Of course.
The Quidditch pitch.
It was enormous-twice the size of the one at Hogwarts, with glimmering golden goalposts and floating bleachers enchanted to shift and follow the game midair. She could already see movement in the distance, shapes weaving and darting through the sky.
As she drew closer, the roar of enchanted crowd simulators and a very real cluster of her friends filled the air.
“Oi, look who finally emerged from the archives!” Pansy shouted from the stands, waving a green-iced biscuit at her like a victory flag.
Hermione sighed and trudged up the steps, bag thumping against her hip.
Luna, serene as ever, patted the spot beside her. “You look like someone who lost an argument with a house-elf.”
“That’s because I lost an argument with myself,” Hermione muttered, dropping her bag beside Luna and sitting with a graceless flop. “And it turns out I’m obnoxiously persistent.”
Padma raised a brow. “Library didn’t help?”
“Not unless ‘meltdown’ is a form of academic progress.”
Parvati leaned over Padma to offer a flask of iced pumpkin juice. “Here. You look like you need hydration more than theory right now.”
“Thanks,” Hermione mumbled, accepting the drink gratefully.
From the pitch, a loud whoop echoed as Ginny narrowly dodged a Bludger and sent the Quaffle sailing past Blaise into the goal hoop.
“YES!” Ron shouted, doing a celebratory fist-pump midair.
“You’ll pay for that, Weasley!” Draco shouted from the other end, swerving his broom up beside Theo.
Theo, hovering just above the centerline, spotted Hermione in the stands and let out a dramatic whistle.
He nudged Draco and pointed. “Oi, look who decided to grace us with her terrifyingly beautiful presence!”
Hermione groaned.
Draco turned mid-hover and squinted toward the stands. When he saw her, his grin was absolutely wicked.
“Think she’s here to cheer for us, Nott?” he called over the wind.
“Or maybe she missed us,” Theo shouted, waggling his eyebrows for good measure.
“You lot are unbearable!” Harry called from his broom, circling toward them.
“She’s my sister, remember? Quit flirting before I hex your broom handles into splinters!”
“Oh, come off it, Potter,” Blaise chimed in lazily as he floated near the goalpost. “If we flirted with anyone in this friend group and you didn’t threaten violence, I’d assume you’d been Imperiused.”
Ron snorted. “He’s not wrong.”
“Oi!” Harry barked.
Back in the stands, Hermione buried her face in her hands.
“I cannot believe I came here voluntarily.”
Pansy laughed. “You absolutely can.”
“No, I really can’t,” Hermione groaned. “I had a plan. Notes. A fresh pot of ink. And then I just-gave up.”
“You gave in,” Luna corrected softly. “Which is not the same thing.”
“You also wore your messy bun,” Parvati pointed out. “That’s a very specific Hermione aesthetic. Like a warning label.”
“Still better than those green heels from last night,” Padma added.
Hermione cracked a reluctant smile. “Fair.”
“And for the record,” Pansy said, sipping her tea, “if you really wanted to be in the library, you’d still be there.”
“Traitor logic.”
“True logic.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes at her. “Remind me again why we’re friends?”
“Because no one else tolerates your encyclopedic tangents about goblin tax law?”
“Touché.”
Down on the pitch, the game picked up speed. Ginny was on fire-ducking and spinning through defenders like a comet in crimson. Neville flew with surprising grace, and Ron was far less of a liability in goal than he’d ever been at Hogwarts.
But Draco was relentless. He matched Ginny move for move, barking orders and swooping into place like a general on a battlefield. Theo—sneaky, sharp-eyed Theo-intercepted a pass and flicked it behind his back to Daphne, who took the shot and scored.
From above, Blaise raised a triumphant fist. “Slytherin pride!”
“Team Chaos, you mean,” Ginny shouted, doubling back with the Quaffle.
Harry wheeled around beside her, breathing heavily. “We need to break their rhythm!”
“Then maybe stop yelling strategy where the enemy can hear!” Ron bellowed from the other end.
Hermione leaned her chin on her hand, watching them with reluctant amusement.
Theo caught her eye again, winking before diving to intercept another pass.
“Merlin,” she muttered. “He’s smug.”
“He’s also trying to impress you,” Luna said with gentle candor.
“So is Draco,” Parvati added. “You do know you'd be the perfect power duo?"
Hermione wrinkled her nose. “I’m not aiming for that."
.....................................................................................................................
The match was over.
Draco and Theo hovered high in the air, brooms drifting lazily as smug grins spread across their flushed, wind-chilled faces. Below, Blaise and Daphne were high-fiving midair, triumphant laughter echoing through the wide open sky of the Quidditch pitch. The scoreboard flashed bright and taunting:
Slytherin: 240 – Gryffindor: 160
Draco’s eyes sparkled with delight as he twisted in midair, searching the stands. “I believe,” he said loudly enough for his voice to carry as he descended, “we get a prize.”
Theo, already diving with a ridiculous flourish, cackled. “I was promised glory, but I’d settle for something prettier.”
Draco landed smoothly, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder. “Like Hermione Potter.”
Hermione, sitting in the stands with Pansy, Luna, Parvati, and Padma, rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. She had only just gotten comfortable, feet up on the bench in front of her, a cup of hot cider balanced in her hand.
“Absolutely not,” she said flatly.
Theo reached the ground next, hair mussed and grin wild. “Come now, love. Don’t be stingy with your affection. We flew our arses off for that win.”
“You flew your arses off to flit with me mid-game." Hermione snapped.
“Guilty as charged,” Theo said cheerfully, hopping the last two stairs to stand in front of her. “But that doesn’t change the scoreboard.”
Draco swaggered up beside him. “And as winners, we should receive a reward.”
“You already got glory,” Harry muttered from the stands a few feet up, dragging his broom behind him. “Do you need my sister, too?”
Hermione choked on her cider. “Absolutely not!”
“Oi,” Ron added, his face still red from exertion, “leave her alone. Haven’t you two harassed her enough today?”
Draco held up his hands innocently. “Just floating the idea. A gentlemanly request, really.”
“A prize request,” Theo amended, winking up at Hermione. “We did promise to make it worth your time as well."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "More like a piece of my mind."
“Semantics,” Draco said breezily.
“I swear to Merlin,” Ron muttered, “I’m going to hex them both into the lake.”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Ginny said with a grin, taking Harry’s hand and tugging him down the steps. “Let’s leave Hermione to her torment.”
“You’re not helping,” Hermione called after her, but Ginny only laughed.
“Come on,” Pansy added as she took Neville’s hand. “You three are soaked with sweat and whining. Let’s get food before you collapse like the melodramatic Gryffindors you are.”
Luna hummed as she followed them, dreamily spinning her scarf around her neck. “They’re quite cute together, aren’t they?” she said to Padma.
“Oh, they’re a disaster,” Parvati replied brightly. “But an entertaining one.”
Padma gave Hermione a knowing look before turning to catch up. “Try not to murder them,” she called.
“I make no promises,” Hermione muttered.
Now mostly alone, Hermione stood and attempted to slip past Draco and Theo, but they stepped neatly to block her in tandem.
“You’re not making this easy,” she said.
Theo linked arms with her left side. “That’s because it’s more fun this way.”
Draco looped through her right side. “And we won.”
“I didn’t agree to be a prize.”
“No,” Draco said, “but it would be a shame to waste this moment. Victory is sweet. Victory with you on our arms? Sweeter still.”
Hermione sighed dramatically. “You’re both insufferable.”
“Debatable,” Theo said. “Charming is the word I’d use.”
“Entitled,” she muttered.
“Admit it,” Draco said, voice low near her ear. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Am not.”
"You almost kissed us last time." Theo added, smirking.
"You asked If I could be your prize outright," she snapped. "I wanted to curse you both in the middle of the pitch."
“I would’ve respected it,” Draco said honestly.
“Oh shut up,” Hermione said, cheeks flushing as she tried to extricate herself. “Go change. You’re both sweaty.”
Draco grinned. “We should change.”
Theo nodded. “Yes, but what about our prize?”
Hermione gave a theatrical sigh and stopped walking. “Fine. One kiss. That’s all you’re getting. And only because I want to get this over with.”
She turned on her toes, grabbing Draco’s robes to pull him down enough for a quick kiss on the cheek, then did the same to Theo. Both of them froze for half a second-and then broke into twin smirks.
“Well,” Draco said, “I suppose we’ll accept that-for now.”
“Bare minimum,” Theo added. “But satisfactory.”
“Go change before I start listing every hex I know,” Hermione threatened, stepping back.
Draco winked. “She loves us.”
“She dreams of us,” Theo agreed.
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “I dream of silencing charms.”
The two of them finally headed off toward the changing rooms, still laughing to each other as they vanished through the stone arch at the edge of the pitch. Hermione crossed her arms and waited just outside, pacing slowly as she looked out across the now-quiet field. The wind tugged lightly at her curls, still stuck in the messy bun from earlier that morning.
She could hear muffled chatter and the clang of lockers opening and closing from inside. Despite herself, she smiled a little. The chaos they brought with them was maddening-but also a little addictive.
About fifteen minutes later, the doors creaked open again and out stepped Draco and Theo-freshly showered, hair damp, and robes clean and neat. Theo was rolling up the sleeves of his jumper, and Draco had a green scarf slung loosely around his neck.
“Alright, bookworm,” Theo said. “We’re presentable. Shall we escort you to lunch?”
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Will there be more nonsense along the way?”
“Most certainly,” Draco said, offering her his arm again.
“But we’ll keep it charming,” Theo added, offering his other.
Hermione groaned, but let them each take an arm again. “Merlin help me.”
Draco leaned closer. “He already has. He gave us you.”
Hermione choked back a laugh. “Disgusting.”
Theo grinned. “And yet here you are.”
Together, the three of them strolled toward the castle-two smug, victorious Slytherins and one very begrudging, slightly blushing, allegedly unwilling Gryffindor. Behind them, the wind swept across the abandoned pitch, catching the echo of Hermione’s exasperated voice:
“Do not think for one second this means I like either of you.”
“We’re counting on it,” Draco said.
“Unwillingly,” Theo added.
Hermione muttered something about “hexes before dessert” as the castle doors closed behind them.
.....................................................................................................................
The dining hall at Arcanum Universitas was bright and buzzing with post-Quidditch energy. Sunlight slanted in through wide enchanted windows, warming the long wooden tables and casting soft golden reflections on the polished floors. The scent of roasted chicken, herb potatoes, buttery rolls, and spiced pumpkin soup wafted through the air. It was the perfect storm of victory celebration and hunger-fueled chaos.
At one of the central tables, the so-called “eighth year survivors” were gathered-well, most of them were relaxed.
Hermione, on the other hand, was not.
She sat stiffly between Draco and Theo, her plate of roast chicken and vegetables untouched, and her expression somewhere between resignation and murder. Draco leaned lazily to one side, chin in hand, smirking like he’d won the lottery. Theo was lounging on her other side, arms stretched along the back of the bench, casual and smug.
“I still don’t understand how I got stuck sitting between you two,” Hermione muttered, glaring down at her fork as if willing it to stab someone on her behalf.
“Fate,” Draco said smoothly.
“Or karma,” Theo added. “Depends how you look at it. Probably punishment for pretending you didn’t enjoy watching us win.”
Hermione’s glare intensified. “I was trying to enjoy the match. I didn’t ask for a front row seat to your egos.”
“You loved every second,” Theo said smugly.
Across the table, Ginny sat nestled beside Harry, who was cradling a mug of pumpkin cider. Ron was next to Daphne, both of them still sweaty from the match, Daphne re-braiding her hair as Ron dug into his third roll. Dean and Seamus sat thigh-to-thigh, still laughing over something that had happened mid-game. Blaise and Luna were sharing a plate of roasted mushrooms, their heads leaned together like conspirators. Lavender and Parvati were scrolling through a charmed photo album from the match, showing off action shots. Padma and Cho were dissecting tactics. Neville and Pansy had claimed the far corner, Pansy using Neville’s shoulder like a pillow while sipping from his cider.
It was, in short, an idyllic group scene-except for one very bitter brunette sandwiched between two smirking Slytherins.
“Don’t look now,” Theo murmured. “But I think she’s glowering again.”
“Definitely,” Draco said, grinning. “She gets that little crease between her eyebrows when she’s seconds from hexing someone.”
“I’m going to hex both of you into next week,” Hermione said flatly, still not touching her food.
“Do you need me to feed you?” Draco asked innocently, reaching for her fork.
Hermione turned slowly to him, voice syrupy sweet. “Try, and you’ll lose fingers.”
From across the table, Harry looked up with a grin. “That’s my little sister.”
“I’ll hex you too, Potter,” Hermione shot back without missing a beat.
Harry held up both hands in surrender. “Fair enough. Just proud of you, that’s all.”
“She’s always like this after a game,” Theo said, sipping from his water. “All worked up. Needs a way to relax.”
Hermione’s entire face turned red.
“Oh my god,” Ginny groaned, nearly choking on her cider as she started laughing. “Theo!”
Pansy cackled. “You absolute menace.”
“I hate you,” Hermione said without heat, shoving Theo’s arm off the back of the bench.
“You say that,” Theo said cheerfully, “but then you sit here.”
“She’s not moving,” Blaise pointed out. “I’d say that’s consent.”
Hermione looked around at the table of smirking friends. “I’m sitting here because if I move, one of you will follow me.”
“Guilty,” Draco said with zero remorse.
“Same,” Theo added.
“Plus,” Daphne said, tossing her braid over one shoulder, “you’re glowing.”
“I am not,” Hermione grumbled.
“You are,” Luna said dreamily, popping a honey-glazed carrot into her mouth. “Like a flower blooming in early autumn.”
Draco blinked. “Why is that both accurate and strangely romantic?”
“She’s a poet,” Blaise said. “We let her do her thing.”
Lavender leaned forward. “So. Just how smug were these two after the match?”
Hermione scowled. “They high-fived over my head and tried to claim me as their prize.”
Parvati nearly dropped her goblet. “They what?”
Theo leaned in, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “We won fair and square. Seemed only right to ask for something worth winning.”
Ron, still chewing on a roll, made a gagging sound. “Can we not?”
"I agree," Potter muttered.
“She’s your sister, Potter,” Blaise said with a grin. “You should be used to it by now.”
“Doesn’t mean I like it,” Harry muttered.
Draco turned to Hermione with faux innocence. “We just wanted to celebrate.”
Hermione leveled him with a death stare. “You celebrated by trying to walk me off the pitch like I was a trophy.”
“You’re better than a trophy,” Theo said with a wink.
Hermione rubbed her temples. “Merlin, give me strength.”
“You love us,” Draco said.
“No, I tolerate you,” Hermione corrected.
“And that’s a very fine line,” Theo said brightly.
Padma leaned across the table. “Can I ask the real question?”
“Oh no,” Hermione groaned.
Padma ignored her. “Did you let them be smug?”
Everyone fell silent.
Hermione glared at her plate. “I may have... kissed them on the cheek.”
There was a pause.
Then the entire table exploded.
Ginny whooped. Pansy shrieked. Luna clapped her hands in delight. Lavender squealed. Parvati demanded details. Blaise banged his goblet on the table. Cho grinned. Daphne let out a victorious, “I knew it!” Even Dean and Seamus chimed in with cheers.
Harry buried his face in his hands. “This is my nightmare.”
“Your sister’s growing up,” Ron said with mock solemnity.
“She’s doomed,” Harry replied.
Hermione, burning red, tried to sink under the table.
Draco nudged her gently. “See? Told you we were worth it.”
Theo added, “And we didn’t even try to sneak in a real kiss. Gentlemen.”
“Barely,” Harry grumbled.
“I’m surrounded by idiots,” Hermione muttered.
“And we love you,” Pansy chirped.
“Deeply,” Theo added.
“Obsessively,” Draco said.
Neville held up his fork. “We taking bets on when she hexes one of them?”
“Ten minutes,” said Dean.
“Seven,” added Seamus.
“Three,” Parvati said. “She’s twitching.”
“I hate you all,” Hermione announced.
“You keep saying that,” Theo said. “But you haven’t hexed us yet.”
“Maybe I’m just saving it for a more dramatic moment.”
“We love a dramatic queen,” Blaise said, raising his goblet in toast.
Theo leaned toward her, eyes glinting. “Need help relaxing yet, Potter?”
Hermione shoved him lightly, still red. “I swear, Theo-”
“I think that’s a no,” Draco said, laughing.
“I think that’s a ‘maybe later,’” Pansy added.
Hermione groaned.
But she didn’t move.
And she definitely smiled. Just a little.
Notes:
S.P.E.L.L.S - Standarized Proficiency Evaluations in Learned and Licensed Spellcraft
Chapter 3: The Threshold of Temptation
Summary:
Things get slightly hot and heavey between Draco Theo and Hermione after they convince her to go out to Muggle London
Notes:
Whoooo, this chapter was fun to write. Warning there is adult content in this chapter so if you don't like it, don't read it.
Chapter Text
The library was quiet, blessedly quiet, and Hermione was determined to keep it that way. It was a late crisp Saturday afternoon, the sun casting soft amber light through the tall enchanted windows, and most of the college had scattered across the grounds or into the city for some kind of celebration or other.
But not her.
No, Hermione had her hair in a messy bun held together with her wand, leggings tucked into thick socks with her boots, and Harry's oversized jumper pulled over her torso like armor. The sleeves hung past her fingertips as she scribbled furiously in the margins of her Arithmancy notes, a fortress of books piled on either side of her like castle walls. Her brow was furrowed, her quill tapping rhythmically against the page. The tip of her tongue poked out in concentration.
She was safe.
Until she wasn’t.
“Studying. Again,” drawled a familiar voice behind her.
Hermione didn’t look up. “Bugger off, Malfoy.”
“She didn’t even hesitate,” Theo said, mock-impressed. “That’s talent.”
“I swear to Merlin, if the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘we’re leaving now,’ I’m transfiguring you both into something small and squishable.”
“Oh come on, Potter,” Draco said, stepping around the table with an infuriating grin. “You’ve been holed up in here for hours.”
“I like being holed up in here,” she snapped, flipping a page. “It’s peaceful. Quiet. Nobody is hitting on me while I’m trying to do a bloody Rune translation-”
Theo leaned on the back of her chair, smirking. “Speaking of hitting on you…”
“Don’t.”
“What are you doing tonight?” Draco asked, sliding into the seat beside her, ignoring the pile of books he nearly knocked over.
“Bugger. Off,” Hermione repeated, eyes narrowing. “I already wasted one night being frivolous and drinking and-”
“Relaxing,” Draco interrupted, slouching comfortably. “Not frivolous. Fun. With friends. You know, that thing normal people do when they aren’t trying to save the world with footnotes.”
Theo nodded solemnly. “Or hunting Horcruxes with coffee stains.”
Hermione looked between them like they were mad. “Some of us care about our education.”
“Some of us care about your mental health,” Theo quipped.
Draco reached across the table and plucked a highlighter from her stack. “And some of us think you’d look better in jeans and eyeliner instead of leggings and ink smudges.”
Hermione snatched the highlighter back. “Some of us think you two are about to get hexed into next week.”
Draco leaned in closer. “Is that a threat or a promise, Potter?”
Before she could respond, the heavy double doors creaked open, and Harry and Ginny strode in, hand in hand. Ginny took one look at Hermione’s expression and groaned.
“Oh no. They’re doing the thing again, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” Hermione said through gritted teeth. “The thing where they annoy me into leaving the library.”
“She’s resisting with all her Gryffindor might,” Draco said, winking at Ginny.
Harry raised an eyebrow as he approached. “Are you two really harassing my sister again?”
Theo straightened up with mock innocence. “We’re inviting her. Kindly. Casually. Persuasively.”
Hermione scoffed. “You’re stalking me.”
Draco chuckled. “We prefer to call it ‘persistent courtship.’”
Harry rolled his eyes. “What’s the offer this time?”
“Muggle London,” Theo said brightly. “Dinner, dancing, drinks. Probably illegal apparating. Maybe a pub quiz if we’re feeling rowdy.”
“No,” Hermione said firmly.
Ginny plopped down on the edge of the table and grinned. “I’ll go. Harry?”
“I’m in,” Harry said immediately. “She’s going to say yes eventually. Might as well plan for it.”
Hermione gave them all a flat look. “I said no.”
“Oh come on,” Ginny said. “You’ve already studied enough to earn three degrees this week. What’s one night off?”
“I already took one night off,” Hermione said, arms crossed. “And I ended up drunk, cuddling a stuffed Niffler, and apparently flirting with those two arseholes.”
“You were adorable,” Theo said fondly.
“You were terrifying,” Draco added. “In the best way.”
Harry gagged. “Please, not again.”
“I’m with him,” Hermione said, waving her quill at Theo and Draco like a sword. “Sod off.”
Theo dropped to one knee dramatically. “If I need to beg, I will.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Harry said, turning away.
Hermione’s eye twitched. “Theo.”
“Yes, dearest?”
“Stand up before I make your trousers vanish.”
Theo stood instantly, hands raised in surrender. “Noted. No groveling.”
“Unless it works,” Draco added, giving her a very suggestive smirk. “Then we can reconsider.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and picked up the closest book-Advanced Magical Theory Vol. IV-and chucked it at him.
He caught it, barely.
Harry and Ginny burst out laughing.
“You’re going to kill one of them one day,” Harry said fondly.
“Sooner than you think,” Hermione muttered, rubbing her temples.
Draco set the book gently back down on the table, but when Hermione looked up again, he was watching her with a smoldering look that made her throat go dry.
“You know,” he said in that voice-low, smooth, dangerous-“I can make it worth your time.”
Hermione’s breath caught, and she hated that it did.
Theo grinned beside him. “Very worth it.”
“I hate you both,” she mumbled.
“You do not,” Draco said, standing up and offering his hand. “Say yes.”
She looked at his hand, then at Theo, then at Ginny-who nodded encouragingly-and finally at Harry, who just shrugged.
“You’re all insane,” she said.
“But we’re fun,” Theo added.
Hermione stared at them. At their smug, insufferable, annoyingly handsome faces. She looked down at her notes, then at the growing stack of books still untouched. She sighed.
“I need ten minutes to change.”
Draco beamed. “We’ll be waiting.”
Theo fist-pumped. “Victory!”
Harry groaned again. “You’re all going to make me lose my appetite.”
Ginny leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’ll survive.”
Hermione stood slowly, pushing back her chair. “If I regret this, I’m hexing all of you.”
Draco offered his arm. “Deal.”
Theo offered the other. “With pleasure.”
As they walked out of the library, Hermione sighed again.
“Merlin help me.”
....................................................................................................................
The marble stairs of the college’s central tower curved elegantly down into the atrium below, flooded with soft golden light from the enchanted windows high above. Footsteps echoed lightly across the grand stairwell as Hermione descended from the girls' side of the dorms, her travel coat slung casually over one shoulder and her wand tucked through the messy bun that barely held her wild curls in place.
She wasn’t trying to make an entrance.
She wasn’t trying to make anyone’s jaw drop.
She was simply dressed for the evening out in Muggle London that she had very reluctantly agreed to-tight dark blue bellbottom jeans that flared over sleek black trainers, and a low-cut black long-sleeved top that hugged her figure in a way she rarely allowed. A hint of eyeliner framed her eyes, and a sweep of gloss shimmered on her lips. She wasn’t dressed for anyone in particular.
Which made the reaction from the bottom of the stairs all the more frustrating.
Draco let out a long, appreciative wolf whistle that echoed up the marble.
Theo, beside him, seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. “Merlin’s balls.”
Hermione arched a brow as she came to the last few steps, her boots clicking softly. “You two are ridiculous.”
“And you,” Theo said reverently, eyes dragging from her shoes to the wand in her hair, “are unreal.”
Ginny grinned like a proud sister and elbowed Pansy, who looked equally delighted.
“Told you the bun with the wand was going to kill them,” Pansy said, smirking.
“She could walk into a club like that and leave with half of London,” Ginny added.
Harry, ever the big brother, stepped forward with arms crossed and his signature protective glower. “All right, that’s enough gawking. You two need to remember that’s my sister.”
Draco opened his mouth, no doubt to say something sarcastic, but Blaise beat him to it with a loud laugh. “Oh come on, Potter. If she didn’t want the attention, she wouldn’t have walked down here looking like a bloody Bond witch.”
Luna, perched on Blaise’s arm in a flowy teal skirt and knee-high boots, tilted her head at Hermione with a thoughtful expression. “She looks like the kind of woman who’d seduce secrets out of Death Eaters and then hex their memories away. It’s very effective.”
Hermione blinked. “That’s… oddly flattering.”
“Take the compliment,” Blaise advised.
Pansy stepped forward, adjusting Hermione's sleeve like a stylist. “Honestly, this is the best I’ve seen you look without it being a gala or some Ministry event. You should show off your waist more. And the neckline. Merlin, the neckline.”
Ginny waggled her brows. “Harry’s about to combust.”
Harry muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “I’m going to kill Malfoy.”
“I haven’t even done anything,” Draco said, all faux-innocence, though his eyes never left Hermione.
“Yet,” Theo added under his breath.
Hermione rolled her eyes and gestured toward the front entrance. “Can we get this over with before one of you starts writing me sonnets?”
Neville, standing beside Luna with a kind smile, motioned toward the corridor. “Apparition point’s this way. We thought we’d walk-weather’s nice.”
“It better be,” Hermione muttered, though she followed them all, tucking her coat under her arm. “If I trip in these shoes and die, I’m haunting all of you.”
“You’ll be the prettiest ghost,” Theo said automatically.
“Shut up, Nott,” Harry grumbled.
As the group walked through the corridor-laughing, teasing, with coats flapping and boots clicking-Hermione found herself flanked once more by Draco on one side and Theo on the other. Of course.
“You two really don’t know how to take a hint, do you?” she asked, not bothering to sound as annoyed as she usually did.
Draco smirked. “You wore that shirt. You can’t expect us to act civil.”
Theo bumped her hip with his. “And we did say we’d make it worth your time.”
“I remember,” Hermione said flatly. “You flirted at me until I threw a book.”
“And it was glorious,” Draco added. “Very on-brand.”
“Surprised you didn’t turn us into toads on the spot,” Theo murmured. “The lip gloss threw you off, didn’t it?”
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why am I doing this again?”
“Because you secretly like us,” Draco offered.
“Because you need a break,” Ginny added from behind them. “And because we’re going to have fun. Don’t overthink it.”
“Too late,” Hermione muttered.
They walked the rest of the way through the courtyards and toward the shimmering blue runes that marked the designated Apparition point. The grounds were buzzing with weekend activity-students lounging on the grass, flying on broomsticks overhead, or heading into the city for dates and shopping.
“Are we pairing up to Apparate?” Pansy asked, looping her arm through Neville’s. “Because I’m claiming Longbottom.”
“Already taken,” Neville said with a smirk.
“I’ll take Theo,” Luna offered sweetly, eyes glimmering.
Theo blinked. “I thought you were with Blaise?”
“Oh, I am. But he hates Side-Along. Gets motion sick.”
“It’s true,” Blaise said, looking a little green. “I’ll meet you all there.”
Draco turned to Hermione. “That leaves us, darling.”
Hermione looked heavenward. “Of course it does.”
“You’ll love Muggle London,” he promised, offering her his arm. “Cross my heart.”
She sighed and, against her better judgment, took it.
“Try anything,” she warned, “and I’ll hex your eyebrows off.”
Draco leaned closer and grinned. “Kinky.”
Harry groaned behind them. “I swear, Malfoy…”
“I’ll behave,” Draco promised, eyes twinkling. “Mostly.”
With a collective crack, they disappeared into the evening.
.................................................................................................................
The late summer air had just begun to cool with the crisp edge of early autumn, the kind of evening where the warmth of the day still lingered in the pavement, but a promise of the coming season curled around every breeze. The group spilled out of a quiet alleyway in Muggle London, the Apparition point nestled between two shuttered shops. Laughter echoed as they regrouped on the cobbled pavement, the golden-pink light of dusk fading above them. Streetlamps buzzed softly to life, casting pools of amber across the sidewalk as Muggle cars slipped by and the thump of distant music floated through the city air.
Hermione walked a few paces ahead, her coat draped casually over one shoulder, wand stuck through the bun at the crown of her head. She looked back at the group with a raised brow, as if challenging them to keep up.
“Merlin,” Draco muttered, slowing his pace as his eyes trailed her. “She’s going to kill me.”
Then, without shame, he let out a low wolf whistle.
Theo, walking beside him, nearly tripped on the curb. “Sweet Circe,” he breathed. “My brain just shut off.”
Behind them, Pansy and Ginny exchanged smug grins.
“Damn right she looks good,” Pansy said, arms crossed in satisfaction.
“She’s pulling off that mysterious-bombshell-who’ll-end-you vibe,” Ginny added.
Hermione shot them a look over her shoulder. “The goal was silent admiration. Not spontaneous combustion.”
“Too late,” Blaise called, chuckling as he adjusted his jacket and caught up with Luna. “Malfoy looks like he’s been hit with a Stunning Spell.”
“I have not,” Draco lied smoothly.
Harry stepped up between Draco and Theo with all the protective energy of a big brother on high alert. “Alright. That’s enough.”
Draco blinked. “Enough of what?”
“The ogling. That’s my little sister.”
Theo raised both hands. “We’re being respectful.”
“Respectfully ogling?” Harry deadpanned.
Draco smirked. “For now.”
Hermione arched a brow. “Say one more thing, Malfoy, and I will hex your eyebrows off.”
Harry nodded approvingly. “Thank you.”
Hermione glanced at him sideways. “I wasn’t doing it for you.”
Harry frowned. “Oi! You’re supposed to be on my side.”
She smirked. “Not tonight.”
“Betrayal,” he muttered.
Draco leaned in toward Theo and said under his breath-but not low enough-“One night at a time. We’re dragging her to the dark side.”
Theo grinned. “And she’s coming willingly.”
Hermione snorted. “You wish.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Oh no, love. You wish.”
Theo added, “And dreams come true.”
Hermione groaned as a blush crept across her ears. “You two are insufferable.”
“Technically three,” Neville piped up as he joined them. “Blaise is definitely enabling.”
“Fully,” Blaise said proudly. “I brought hair gel and everything.”
They rounded the corner, and the atmosphere shifted. Quiet shopfronts gave way to pulsing music, clusters of laughing Muggles, and the electric glow of neon lights. A sleek silver sign shimmered above the entrance of a low-lit building: The Velvet Ember.
“Oh,” Hermione said, eyeing the sleek facade. “That doesn’t look like a pub.”
“That’s because it’s not,” Theo said, clearly delighted. “It’s a club.”
Draco stepped forward with an exaggerated flourish and offered her his arm. “A very exclusive one.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “How do you two know about this place?”
Before Draco could answer, Theo jumped in. “He doesn’t. I brought him here over the summer. It was part of his Muggle-world integration.”
Draco sniffed. “I was brilliant.”
“You wore sunglasses indoors.”
“And it worked.”
Harry shook his head and looked at Draco. “Does he always talk for you?”
Draco turned to Theo, quirking a brow. “Do you?”
Theo grinned. “Not always.”
Blaise groaned dramatically. “I think I just vomited in my mouth.”
Luna, smiling softly, added, “Love is like tea left in a thunderstorm-unexpected but sometimes delightful.”
Ginny tilted her head thoughtfully. “She’s got a point.”
Pansy clapped her hands. “Alright, enough flirting and tea metaphors. I want a drink and a dance.”
Hermione sighed. “I should’ve stayed in the library.”
“But then you wouldn’t be here,” Pansy pointed out. “Wearing that. Looking like that.”
“And getting relentlessly flirted with,” Ginny chimed in.
Hermione gave her a pointed look. “Your support is very confusing.”
Ginny grinned. “Welcome to friendship.”
Theo sidled up beside her, brushing their arms. “Just one dance.”
“No.”
Draco mirrored the gesture on her other side. “One drink?”
“No.”
Theo leaned closer. “A whisper of temptation?”
“No.”
Draco grinned. “Both of us?”
“Absolutely not!”
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Someone Obliviate me.”
Draco’s voice dropped low. “We could make this night very memorable.”
Theo murmured, “One you’ll never want to forget.”
“Someone get them a cold shower,” Blaise said, already walking toward the doors.
“I’m going in before one of them gets hexed,” Neville added.
Ginny laced her fingers through Harry’s. “We’ll meet you at the bar?”
“Good,” Harry muttered. “Maybe I’ll drink until I forget this night.”
Pansy hooked her arm through Neville’s and winked at Hermione. “Try not to kill them until after I get a cocktail.”
That left Hermione standing between Theo and Draco, both of whom were now wearing matching grins and offering their hands like she was royalty deciding her fate.
“You two are impossible.”
Draco extended his hand further. “And yet, here you are.”
Theo added, “Ready to sin, just a little.”
Hermione sighed deeply. “You’re not dragging me to the dark side.”
Draco smirked. “Aren’t we?”
Theo leaned close and whispered, “One step at a time.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes at them both… then, with a growl, she grabbed their hands. “One drink. And no weird dancing.”
“No promises,” they said in unison, absolutely delighted.
The glowing doors of The Velvet Ember swung open, music spilling out into the evening like a siren’s call. Together, they disappeared into the crowd, into the noise, the heat, the promise of chaos-just as the last light faded from the London sky.
..................................................................................................................
The bass thudded deep through the walls of The Velvet Ember, vibrating in Hermione’s bones as she leaned against the sleek, dark wood of the bar. Her fingers curled around a tall cocktail glass, condensation trailing down her skin. The drink was sweet and sharp, tangy with something citrusy that tingled on her tongue. She’d long since finished the sugared rim, and now she nursed the last quarter of the drink while her eyes tracked the chaotic swirl of movement on the dance floor.
Out in the center, Ginny twirled beneath Harry’s arm, laughing with her whole body. Luna danced barefoot, spinning wildly as Blaise did his best to keep up. Pansy and Neville had taken over a corner of the floor and were half slow-dancing, half grinding, looking far too cozy for people who used to hex each other on sight. The lights overhead pulsed red, violet, and gold, painting everyone in brief flashes of color.
It should’ve felt overwhelming. It had at first.
But now?
Now it just felt distant. Like she was in a snow globe of her own, apart from it all.
Until she felt eyes on her.
She didn’t need to look. She knew who it was.
Across the room, leaning casually against a column with all the grace and arrogance of men who knew they were being watched, Draco and Theo stared at her like she was something to be unwrapped.
Draco’s gaze traveled up her body slowly, indulgently, before he tilted his head and said something to Theo that made them both grin. Theo shifted, brushed his thumb along his bottom lip, then straightened with a lazy stretch that did unspeakable things to his shirt.
She sighed into her drink.
They were being ridiculous.
Draco broke the stare first, moving toward her in long, easy strides. Theo followed a heartbeat later. They didn’t rush, didn’t need to. They moved like the dance floor would part for them-like she would.
And she hated how right they were.
As they reached the bar, Draco’s smirk widened.
“She did say yes to one dance.”
Hermione groaned softly and shot back the rest of her drink like it was a potion she didn’t want to taste. “I hate myself sometimes.”
“You love it,” Theo said, plucking the empty glass from her hand and setting it down behind her. “You love us.”
“No, I love peace and quiet and studying,” she said tartly.
Draco stepped close, his chest brushing hers. “And yet here you are.”
Theo slipped behind her, hands gentle on her waist. “You could’ve said no.”
“I did.”
“And then you changed your mind,” Draco whispered.
“Momentary lapse in judgment,” she muttered, though her hands were already sliding along Draco’s forearms, letting them lead her toward the pulsing floor.
The moment they stepped into the crowd, she was surrounded.
Draco’s hands found her hips as he guided her into the rhythm. Theo’s body pressed to her back, solid and warm, his arm draped loosely across her front. The music thrummed through them all, louder now, and the three of them moved as one. She let them guide her movements, their bodies a cage of heat and temptation she wasn’t sure she wanted to escape.
“Bloody hell,” Harry said from the edge of the floor, watching the scene unfold. “I need another drink.”
Ginny snorted. “You always need another drink when Hermione’s not acting like a nun.”
Luna, giggling, danced past them. “She’s blossoming. Like a Venus flytrap.”
Blaise laughed so hard he nearly dropped his own cocktail. “That might be the most accurate thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Seriously, though,” Harry muttered, “if either of those Slytherin bastards gets handsy-”
“Gets handsy?” Ginny raised an eyebrow, nodding toward the dance floor. “Harry, I think Theo just kissed her neck.”
Harry blanched. “I will hex them.”
Ginny smacked his arm lightly. “Stop. She’s fine. She can handle them.”
“She’s still my sister.”
“And she’s a grown woman,” Pansy added, dancing over. “Let her enjoy herself. I, for one, am thrilled she’s finally letting go a little.”
Neville nodded in agreement. “She needs this. We all do.”
Back on the dance floor, Hermione had closed her eyes, letting herself get pulled deeper into the music, the rhythm, the press of Theo behind her and Draco in front. Draco’s hands slid from her hips to her waist, fingers splaying across her sides. His breath was hot against her ear as he leaned in and murmured, “You smell like cinnamon and rule-breaking.”
She huffed a laugh. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It will later,” he whispered, his voice low and dark and intimate.
Behind her, Theo’s mouth grazed her temple before he kissed it softly, his hand curling around her middle, his thumb stroking just beneath the curve of her ribs.
“You’re tense,” he said. “Relax, love. Nothing’s going to happen that you don’t want.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” she murmured, voice barely audible.
Draco tilted her chin up. “We’d never push you, Hermione. This is your dance. Your rules.”
“But we’re going to make it very hard to say no,” Theo added with a grin she could feel more than see.
Hermione opened her eyes. “You two are dangerous.”
“Obviously,” Draco said.
“Undeniably,” Theo agreed.
“But,” Draco continued, drawing lazy circles on her lower back, “you could let go. Just for tonight.”
Theo kissed her shoulder. “No expectations. No pressure. Just us.”
Hermione bit her lip, her pulse pounding in her ears. She wanted to push them away, to remind them that she had plans and goals and boundaries.
But the truth was, in that moment-bathed in violet and gold light, wrapped in the scent of cologne and sin-she didn’t want to.
“I hate you both,” she said.
Draco grinned. “No, you don’t.”
Theo pressed his lips to the shell of her ear. “You’re ours tonight, Hermione Potter.”
Harry watched with narrowed eyes from the bar. “I swear, if they so much as breathe the wrong way-”
....................................................................................................................
The scene at The Velvet Ember had shifted, the energy rising like a crescendo in the symphony of the night. The bar was crowded with laughter and the clinking of glasses, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and the heat of bodies moving together.
Hermione, tipsy and feeling alive, took the shot Pansy offered, the burn of the liquor going down smoother than she expected. She giggled as Luna and Ginny watched her with wide eyes.
"You're on fire, Hermione," Ginny said, her own cheeks flushed with excitement.
"Indeed," Pansy said with a knowing smile. "Let's keep it going."
"Oh, I'm definitely feeling it," Hermione exclaimed, taking a moment to catch her breath. She leaned against the sticky bar, watching as Draco whispered something to Theo across the booth, his eyes never leaving her.
Theo's grin grew wicked, and he nodded slightly.
"You know what I want," Hermione announced loudly, slamming her empty shot glass down. "I want to dance again!"
Ginny and Pansy whooped. “That’s the spirit!” Pansy crowed.
Harry, mid-sip of his drink, groaned audibly. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
But before he could say more, Ginny grabbed his hand and pulled him back to the dance floor, leaving Blaise and Neville at the bar to exchange amused glances.
"Looks like we're dancing," Blaise said, downing his drink and offering his hand to Luna, who took it with a laugh.
"I can't believe we're doing this," Neville said, shaking his head. But he followed Pansy eagerly enough, the two of them joining the writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor.
And then there was Hermione, her hips swaying as she walked back to where Draco and Theo were waiting. Draco took her hand, pulling her in front of him, his eyes dark with something she couldn't quite place. Theo stepped in close from the other side, and she found herself sandwiched between them again, this time with Draco's hand resting possessively on her lower back, and Theo's on her waist.
The music washed over them, a bass-heavy wave that made her want to move, to let go, to just feel. The lights were a strobe of color, making everything flash and pulse in time with the beat.
"Ready, love?" Draco murmured in her ear, his breath hot and sweet with his own drink.
"Always," she said, a thrill racing down her spine.
And then they were moving, their bodies in sync with the music, the heat of their touches burning through the fabric of her shirt. The dance was slower this time, more intimate, and she could feel Draco’s chest rising and falling against her back, the press of his arousal.
Her breath hitched as she leaned into Theo, his hands sliding to her hips.
"You're driving me mad, Potter," Draco breathed into her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.
Theo leaned in closer, his breath hot against her cheek. "Let us in, Hermione," he said, his voice low and rough. "Just for a night."
Hermione’s heart was racing. She was tipsy, she was turned on, and she was surrounded by them, by the promise of something she’d never allowed herself to consider.
"You two are playing a dangerous game," she murmured, her eyes fluttering shut as Draco kissed a path along her neck.
Theo’s fingers slid up the curve of her spine, his thumb tracing the neckline of her shirt. "But you like dangerous games, don't you?"
Their hands moved over her, not too much, not too fast, but enough to make her want. To make her ache. To make her feel alive in a way she hadn’t in a very long time.
And she knew, even in her slightly inebriated state, that this was a line she was crossing. But she didn’t care. Not right now.
"I'm going to kiss you," Draco said, his voice a seductive whisper. "And when I do, you're going to decide if you want more."
Her eyes snapped open, and she turned to face him, her breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked so serious, so intent, it was like looking into the eyes of a different person.
"And what if I do?" she asked.
"Then we'll see," he said, leaning in, his mouth capturing hers.
The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if he was waiting for her to pull away. But she didn’t. Instead, she melted into it, her body arching back into his, her hands sliding up his chest to tangle in his hair.
Theo's hand slipped around her waist, and he pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder. "You taste like heaven," he murmured.
Her eyes slid closed again, and she moaned softly into Draco’s mouth. The music was a blur around them, the world outside the dance floor disappearing into a haze of want and need.
Draco's hand slipped down to cup her arse, and she gasped, her hips jerking against him. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers, and she could feel herself getting wet.
"Fuck, Hermione," Theo breathed, his hand sliding up to cup her breast, his thumb flicking her nipple through the fabric of her shirt.
Her moan was louder this time, and she felt Draco's cock throb against her.
This was it. The moment she’d been both dreading and craving. The moment she gave in to the desire that had been simmering just beneath the surface for months.
Then-
"Take her home!" Harry’s voice cut through the fog. “Before I change my mind and hex you both.”
Everything stopped.
Hermione flinched like she’d been hit with a stunner. The sound of her brother’s voice-so casual, so him-felt like a wrench yanking her back to herself.
Her breath caught. Her heart stuttered. Her body stiffened.
She shoved away from Draco and Theo, palms flat against their chests. “I-I need air,” she gasped, spinning on her heel.
“Hermione-” Draco called, but she was already moving.
She burst out of The Velvet Ember, the night air slapping her skin like cold water. The pulse of the club faded behind her as she stumbled to the wall and leaned against it, one hand clutching her side, the other braced on the brick. Her lungs wouldn’t cooperate.
What was I doing? she thought. Merlin, what was I doing?
Her throat closed, panic swelling fast. Her fingers trembled, and her stomach twisted.
“Fuck-Hermione!” Ginny’s voice called out behind her.
“Bloody hell,” Pansy added, rushing out behind her. “Hermione, what happened?”
“I-” Hermione’s voice broke. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I just… I just needed to breathe.”
“Hey,” Ginny said softly, grabbing her hand and squeezing. “It’s okay. Just breathe, yeah? We’ve got you.”
Pansy looped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “We’ve all been there. No one’s judging you.”
“I feel stupid,” Hermione whispered.
“You’re not stupid,” Ginny said. “You’re processing. You’re allowed to feel overwhelmed.”
Footsteps behind them.
“Hermione?” Theo’s voice, soft, careful.
She didn’t look at him, not yet.
Then Draco’s deeper tone, quiet and worried: “Are you alright?”
Hermione shook her head, cheeks wet. “I don’t know. I was fine and then I-Harry’s voice, it just-it hit me like a hex.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Theo said, stepping forward. “Not to us.”
“Yeah,” Draco added, coming to stand in front of her. “We pushed too hard. That’s on us.”
“No,” she said firmly, lifting her gaze. “You didn’t push. I said yes. I just… I wasn’t prepared for how it would feel. Or how it would look. Or-hell, how I’d react when my brother shouted across the club.”
Pansy exhaled, pulling away. “You needed space. That’s not a crime.”
Ginny nodded. “We can go home, if you want.”
Hermione closed her eyes for a beat, then shook her head. “No. I don’t want to leave. I just need a minute.”
Theo moved a step closer. “Do you want us to give you that minute?”
She looked at him—at the concern in his eyes, not disappointment, not pressure. She turned to Draco. He looked like he wanted to scoop her up and wrap her in a blanket.
She sniffled and huffed a laugh. “You two are maddening, you know that?”
“Comes with the charm,” Theo said, grinning slightly.
Draco lifted an eyebrow. “So… no to finishing that dance?”
Hermione let out a breath and rolled her eyes. “Draco-”
“Fine,” he said dramatically, raising both hands. “But for the record, I didn’t whisper anything that inappropriate in your ear.”
“That’s a lie,” Theo muttered.
Ginny snorted and pulled Pansy back toward the club door. “We’ll give you a few. Come in when you’re ready, yeah?”
“Only if you’re sure,” Pansy added.
Hermione nodded, watching as the girls disappeared back into the glow of the club.
And then she turned to Draco and Theo again, nervous but calmer now.
“I’m sorry I panicked,” she said.
Draco stepped forward slowly, brushing a loose curl from her temple. “Stop apologizing.”
“We’d rather you freak out and tell us,” Theo added. “Than pretend you're fine and then bolt.”
“I didn’t mean to bolt.”
“We know,” Draco said softly. “But when you do? We’ll always follow.”
Hermione exhaled, finally steadying. “You both are ridiculous.”
“And yet,” Theo said, reaching for her hand, “you’re still here.”
“Only because you’re both persistent arseholes.”
Draco smirked. “We try.”
“Ready to come back in?” Theo asked, cocking his head.
Hermione paused. “Just… one more minute.”
They stood with her silently, letting her breathe.
Then, finally, she pushed off the wall and reached for both their hands.
“I’m ready.”
...................................................................................................................
The corridors of Arcanum Universitas were quieter than usual-late, dark, and tinged with the soft echo of giggles and stumbling feet. The massive arched entrance closed behind them with a low, resonating thud, the sound swallowed up by ancient stone and enchantments humming faintly in the walls. A pale yellow glow floated above them from lanterns that recognized returning students and automatically lit the path forward.
Ginny was clinging to Harry like a lifeline, snorting into his shoulder as she stumbled over her own feet.
"You're not even walking, Gin," Harry grunted as he tried to haul her upright. "You're just... leaning."
"Leaning is a very valid form of locomotion," Ginny declared, raising a finger like she was making an academic point. “Besides, it’s sexy.”
Hermione snorted a laugh as she walked a bit behind them, flanked by Draco on her left and Theo on her right. Her cheeks were flushed from the walk and from laughter, her hair tousled from the breeze and the lingering chaos of the club. She swayed slightly but kept her steps mostly straight, even if she had her hand looped through each of their arms like the heroine of a romantic novel.
Behind them, Pansy cackled as she slung most of her weight over Neville’s shoulder.
“I,” she announced, her voice slurring slightly, “am definitely getting lucky tonight.”
Neville’s ears turned scarlet. “Merlin’s beard, Pans-”
“Don’t act shy now, Longbottom. You’re carrying me like I’m a bridal bouquet.”
Ginny and Hermione burst into laughter, the kind that doubled them over and made them nearly trip over themselves.
“Well,” Luna chimed serenely from where she was being half-guided, half-carried by Blaise, “at least you’re conscious. I think I might have just danced with an actual boggart for twenty minutes.”
“Better than Theo,” Blaise called back with a smirk. “He spent half the night dancing with Hermione’s spine.”
“I regret nothing,” Theo replied breezily. “Excellent spine. Beautiful form.”
Hermione groaned and slapped him lightly on the chest. “Shameless.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “She says that, but she let us grind against her in public.”
“She was drunk,” Harry called from ahead.
Hermione scoffed. “I’m literally right here, Harry.”
“And I’m literally your brother. I can and will remind you that you're my baby sister until the end of time.”
“Oh, sod off,” she muttered affectionately.
“Besides,” Theo added innocently, “she wasn’t that drunk.”
Hermione nudged him with her hip. “Careful, Nott, or you won’t get that kiss I promised you.”
Theo nearly tripped over himself. “You promised?!”
Draco chuckled lowly beside her. “I recall no promises. I think that’s a verbal contract and I’m very litigious.”
She rolled her eyes but leaned into them both anyway. “You two are insufferable.”
“And you,” Theo grinned at her, “are currently sandwiched between your knights in shining armor.”
Hermione smirked. “Damn right I am. You’re both lucky I didn’t make you carry me like Ginny.”
“I would have carried you,” Draco said smoothly. “Would’ve made a dramatic show of it too.”
“Please,” Theo snorted. “I’m taller and leaner. Far better aesthetic.”
“Do I need to summon a judge to decide who’s more qualified to carry me upstairs?”
“We can do trials,” Draco said, eyes gleaming.
Theo looked too pleased. “Timed obstacle course. Loser buys breakfast.”
“I hate both of you,” Hermione said sweetly.
“No you don’t,” they chorused, smug and stupid and far too close to the truth.
Blaise finally veered off toward the left stairwell, Luna humming something about strawberry moons and dreamfish as he guided her toward their tower.
Harry and Ginny made it a few paces further, Ginny swaying against him dramatically. “I have no bones,” she declared.
“Clearly,” Harry muttered. “Come on, you're sleeping for sixteen hours minimum.”
Ginny blinked over her shoulder at Hermione. “Tell me everything in the morning.”
“Maybe,” Hermione replied.
“You better.”
Pansy waved limply from Neville’s shoulder, giving Hermione a lascivious wink. “If I survive the night, I expect gossip over brunch.”
“Don't die,” Hermione laughed.
“I make no promises,” Pansy replied before disappearing with Neville around the corner.
The hallway quieted, their friends peeling away one by one until it was just the three of them again-Hermione between Theo and Draco, their footsteps echoing gently in the long, elegant corridor lined with enchanted tapestries and magically flickering sconces.
Hermione sighed and glanced up at them.
“Well, this feels familiar.”
Draco chuckled. “Is it really déjà vu if it’s only been twenty-four hours?”
“It’s a pattern now,” Theo said, brushing his thumb lightly against her arm as they walked. “You, us, late night corridors, inappropriate levels of flirtation.”
Hermione smiled to herself. “Except this time I’m not nearly as drunk.”
“Noted,” Draco said. “So any kisses you give us tonight are fully consensual.”
She shot him a look. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I think we passed weird six months ago,” Theo muttered.
They stopped just outside the door to her room. The corridor was quiet-early autumn wind curling in soft gusts through the cracks of the tall windows, bringing with it the scent of distant leaves and starlight.
Hermione hesitated, her hand on the doorframe. “I… um.”
Both boys immediately tensed. Draco tilted his head, gently pulling his arm from hers. “What’s wrong?”
Theo stood close, eyes focused. “Too much?”
She shook her head, cheeks burning now for a different reason. “No. I just… I wanted…”
She glanced away, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve, then finally looked back at them. “I want to-kiss. Both of you?"
The air shifted. Draco's brows lifted slightly, and Theo blinked once, then nodded.
“You never have to ask,” Theo said softly.
“But it’s adorable when you do,” Draco added with a wink.
“Don’t ruin it,” Theo hissed.
Draco smirked.
Hermione laughed quietly, then stepped toward Theo first. His hands were already at her waist as she leaned up and brushed her lips against his. He tasted faintly of sugar and alcohol, but more than that, it was warm and soft and good. His hands tightened slightly on her waist, and when she pulled back, he looked dazed.
She turned to Draco. He didn’t wait. He reached for her face, cupping her cheek as he kissed her-slower, deeper, letting it linger just a moment too long. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his coat before she forced herself to step back.
The moment they separated, her breath hitched. Her heart was pounding. They were both looking at her like they could devour her where she stood, and for a second, she swayed forward again.
Theo cleared his throat. Loudly.
“We should go,” he said, voice slightly hoarse. “Before this turns into something you might regret.”
Draco’s jaw clenched like it physically pained him to agree. “Right.”
Hermione licked her lips. “I wouldn’t regret it.”
Theo groaned softly. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
She smiled at them, just a little wicked now. “I do. But I also want to be sober for it.”
Draco made a low sound in his throat. “We’re holding you to that.”
“You’d better,” she replied.
Theo leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Sleep well, lioness.”
Draco kissed her knuckles like some old-world prince. “Dream of us.”
And then they were walking away, slowly, reluctantly. Hermione slipped inside her room, heart still racing.
She closed the door, leaned back against it, and whispered to herself.
“Merlin help me.”
Chapter 4: Notes, Nerves, and Wardrobe Interventions
Summary:
Hermione unwilling starts to give into Draco and Theo's efforts
Chapter Text
Sunlight streamed through the high windows of Hermione’s dormroom, warm and golden across her pillow. She turned away from it with a groan, only to be roused further by a persistent tapping.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
She cracked one eye open and squinted toward the window, where a sleek, unfamiliar owl with golden-tipped wings was perched. Its intelligent amber eyes were locked on her with what felt like judgment.
“Oh, brilliant,” Hermione mumbled, rolling out of bed and stumbling over a discarded shoe. She winced as she made her way to the window, pushed it open, and accepted the note tied neatly to the owl’s leg with forest green ribbon. The bird gave a sharp, approving hoot and took off into the sky before she could offer a treat.
Hermione unrolled the parchment.
Potter,
Stop overthinking.
Don't even try to spiral.
It happened. We liked it. You liked it.
That's it.
Lunch, courtyard, 1 PM. Don't be late.
No expectations. No pressure.
Just us.
-D&T
She stared at it for a long moment before flopping back onto the bed and dragging the duvet over her face.
“Merlin, they’re infuriating.”
Still hiding under the covers, she reached for her wand from the bedside table and muttered, “Expecto Patronum.”
A shimmering otter rolled from the tip of her wand and gazed at her with knowing eyes.
“Find Ginny and Pansy,” she groaned. “Tell them I need immediate wardrobe intervention. Possibly with caffeine. Definitely with sarcasm.”
The otter turned and bounded through the window in a burst of silver light.
Hermione dragged herself upright, tossing the letter aside, and padded into the bathroom. She turned on the shower, hotter than usual, and stepped in, letting the steam fog the mirror and the water pound against her shoulders.
She didn’t mean to think. She really didn’t. But her brain refused to cooperate.
Draco’s breath in her ear. Theo’s lips at her temple. The way their bodies pressed against hers like she belonged right between them. The possessive heat in their eyes. How easily she’d melted.
Stop. Overthinking.
She exhaled sharply, scrubbing shampoo into her hair like it could erase the thoughts. But they stuck. Every teasing word. Every touch. Every look.
Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty.
Finally, when her skin had turned pink from heat, she stepped out, wrapped herself in a thick towel, and opened the bathroom door, expecting solitude.
Instead-
“Well, that took forever,” Pansy drawled from the bed.
Ginny sat cross-legged beside her, a buttered croissant in one hand. “You’re lucky we brought food. We considered staging an intervention.”
Hermione blinked. “How did you even-?”
“Spare key,” they chorused, pointing to the enchanted copy Ginny dangled smugly from her wrist.
Pansy tilted her head. “So. Are we dressing for war or seduction?”
Hermione groaned and dropped onto the edge of the bed, towel clutched tightly. “They invited me to lunch. Said not to spiral. And that I liked what happened.”
Ginny smirked. “Did you?”
Hermione hesitated.
Pansy didn’t wait. “Of course she did. You were glowing last night, love. Like you’d swallowed a star.”
“I don’t glow,” Hermione said flatly.
Ginny nodded, taking a bite. “You did. It was unsettling.”
“I kissed both of them,” Hermione muttered, hands flying to cover her face. “Outside my door. What’s wrong with me?”
Pansy flopped dramatically onto her back. “Nothing. You’re just finally waking up to how devastatingly hot those two are. Late, but acceptable.”
“And now they want to have lunch?” Hermione cried. “Like normal people?”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “You’re making it weird. Just wear something sexy and pretend not to be completely obsessed.”
Hermione pointed at her. “Unhelpful.”
Pansy sat up and snapped her fingers. “Tight jeans. The ones that make your arse look like it invented physics.”
“Stop saying things like that,” Hermione said weakly.
“No, she’s right,” Ginny agreed, hopping off the bed. “The dark wash ones. Mid-rise. Pair them with… ooh-green. That soft green blouse with the buttons.”
Pansy grinned. “You mean the one Draco kept staring at during that study session like he forgot his own name?”
“Yep,” Ginny said cheerfully. “That’s the one.”
“I’m not trying to seduce them!” Hermione protested.
“Sure you’re not,” they replied in perfect unison.
Hermione groaned and dropped onto her back beside Pansy. “I hate you both.”
Ginny crossed her arms. “You say that, but you’re going to put on the jeans and the blouse. You’re going to brush your hair. You’re going to meet them in the courtyard and try not to blush when Draco calls you ‘love’ and Theo looks at you like dessert.”
“I am not dessert,” Hermione huffed.
“Sweetheart,” Pansy said with a slow grin, “you’re the whole damn menu.”
Hermione flushed to the roots of her hair.
“Pansy,” Ginny snorted, “you are actually the worst.”
“Thank you,” Pansy replied primly.
Hermione finally sighed. “Fine. Give me the jeans. But if this ends in emotional devastation, I expect chocolate from both of you.”
“We’ll bring wine too,” Ginny said, already rifling through the closet.
“And crisps,” Pansy added. “The really crunchy kind. For drama.”
Hermione stood and marched toward the changing screen. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Yes, you can,” Ginny and Pansy said together, grinning like Cheshire cats.
And though Hermione rolled her eyes, a small, reluctant smile tugged at her lips as she disappeared behind the screen.
.....................................................................................................................
An hour later, the trio descended the sweeping main staircase of North Tower. Lantern light glinted off Hermione’s dark-wash mid‑rise jeans-worn just enough at the knees to suggest comfortable confidence-and her favorite purple trainers. She wore a soft green blouse, buttons flowing down the front, long sleeves rolled up to her forearms. Her hair was just slightly tousled, pulled into a messy bun with her wand tucked through one loop, and her makeup was light-mascara and a hint of rose gloss that gleamed when she smiled, which was often.
Ginny walked on Hermione’s right, Pansy on her left. Both stifled grins as they descended.
“Really, Hermione,” Ginny teased softly, nudging her arm, “green looks stunning on you.”
“Absolutely,” Pansy agreed, her eyes glinting. “That shade brings out your eyes—and apparently everyone else’s too.”
Hermione rolled her shoulders but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at her lips. “I told you I wasn’t wearing red lipstick.”
“And yet,” Ginny murmured, “you look thoroughly lit.”
They rounded the final step, entering the arched corridor that opened onto the courtyard below.
Across the gravel, Draco and Theo were deep in conversation. Draco leaned casually against a column, Theo perched on the edge of a fountain. Both were dressed sharply-Draco in a tailored blazer and crisp trousers, Theo in a fitted waistcoat and dark slacks-but it was the moment they saw Hermione that their talk halted.
Time slowed.
Theo’s mouth curved upward in a slow, seductive smile. Draco straightened, sweeping a hand along his hair as though he’d rehearsed the action in private. Their eyes locked on Hermione’s form as she strolled forward, confident and radiant in that soft green.
Ginny and Pansy stopped at the top of the steps, still smirking.
“Go get ‘em,” Pansy whispered, winking.
“Break necks,” Ginny added.
Hermione rolled her eyes lightly and shook her head. Then, with a flash of determination, she walked the rest of the way down the steps-firm stride, head held high.
Draco intercepted her with a light arm around her shoulders; Theo took her other side, hand at her waist. Their arms formed a protective-and possessive-frame around her.
She glared half-playful, half-annoyed. “Okay, bossy note writers. What exactly do you expect from me today?”
Theo glanced between them, lips twitching, then choked on air. Draco chuckled low and loud.
Draco cleared his throat. “Um… that note? We knew telling you ‘stop overthinking’ sounded bossy.”
Theo gave Draco an offended look. “It was bossy.”
Draco shrugged. “But effective.” He turned back to Hermione. “We just… wanted you here. With us.”
Hermione crossed her arms. “That’s it?”
Theo nodded. “That’s it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You two are impossible.”
Draco grinned. “Impossible and charming.”
Theo leaned in. “We’ve got… more surprises planned.”
Hermione took a shaky breath. “What kind of surprises?”
Theo’s eyes danced. “Ever wanted lunch somewhere… special?”
Hermione eyed him warily. “Special how?”
Draco answered: “Let’s show you.”
Before Hermione could protest, Theo and Draco exchanged looks. Soft sparks of orange light flickered around them.
“Hold on to us,” Draco said.
The paralysis hit her too late-Draco’s hand brushed hers, Theo squeezed her waist-and in half a heartbeat, the world blurred. There was a sharp whoosh, a gentle tug in her chest, then silence and stillness.
They stood in a narrow lane, flanked by cobblestone buildings and flower boxes spilling with early-autumn blooms. Old-fashioned lanterns hung from iron hooks overhead and, in the distance, a low church bell tolled midday. A quiet village street, a world away.
Hermione staggered forward, awed and breathless. “Where-?”
Theo smiled affectionately at her. “One mile from the University, darling.”
Draco guided her forward. “Thought a change of scenery would help.”
Hermione closed her eyes and breathed deeply, taking in the gentle fall air and soft hum of village life. “This is… unexpected.”
Theo winked. “I do recall you saying you don't like surprises.”
She gave him a pointed look. “Careful, Nott.”
Draco placed a hand at the small of her back. “But you trust us?”
She sighed, then nodded. “Temporarily.”
Theo led them down the cobbled street to a sign reading The Gryphon & Gorgon Tavern. Warm light spilled from the windows and a wooden bell jingled overhead as they entered. Inside, the décor was classic: dark timber beams, stained glass windows, comfortable booths, and the rich scent of roasted vegetables and fresh bread.
Draco pulled out a chair for her by the window. Theo sat opposite. The world felt calm-normal, even-just three people at lunch.
A friendly server arrived. Draco ordered grilled salmon with lemon and herbs for Hermione. Theo asked for a mezze platter. Hermione hesitated, then asked for something vegetarian-roasted root platter with polenta.
Once the server left, there was a pause. Hermione stared at her drink-minty iced water-and felt suddenly like a student in trouble for late-night antics.
Theo cleared his throat softly. “So… how are you feeling?”
She sighed. “A bit overwhelmed.”
Draco reached across the table, hand covering hers. “We’ll slow it down.”
Theo squeezed her fingers. “No expectations. Just lunch.”
Hermione looked at both their faces-warm, earnest, affection radiating from each-and she nodded. “Okay.”
They talked in easy circles: Draco told a story about a mischievous local cat in the village. Theo teased Draco for falling into a pumpkin stand while trying to help an old woman. Hermione laughed until she nearly choked on her water.
They spoke of classes-Comparative Charm Theory, Advanced Magical Ethics and how Hermione had basically turned the library into half her home. Draco rolled his eyes disdainfully, but Theo praised her work ethic. Hermione teased them about playing with fire and shadows. Draco laughed and blamed it on the Slytherin heritage.
Suddenly, Hermione realized their hands were still intertwined across the table. She smiled as Theo squeezed her thumb; her fingers wove into Draco’s.
Her meal arrived, steaming and fragrant. As she took the first bite, Draco grabbed Theo’s attention with a brief touch. Theo winked at Hermione. She caught the look and exhaled, letting the warmth settle in her chest.
As Hermione took another bite of her food, savoring the roasted root vegetables and creamy polenta, she raised an eyebrow and tilted her head slightly toward Draco. “So, did we just… not even bother asking me what I wanted for lunch?”
Draco blinked. “What?”
She gestured toward her plate with her fork. “You ordered for me. Like I’m a damsel in a romance novel who can’t possibly choose her own entrée.”
Theo choked on his drink, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he laughed.
Draco’s eyes widened as he straightened defensively. “I-I thought you liked root vegetables! You always go for roasted things. And the server was looking right at me and-”
Hermione tried to hold her face, but a snort escaped, and then she broke into full laughter, shoulders shaking as she leaned back in the booth.
Theo lost it too, clutching his side. “Merlin, Draco, she baited you.”
Draco’s mouth opened, then closed. Then he narrowed his eyes, leaned slowly across the table, and said low and deliberate, “I am going to get you back for that.”
Hermione still giggling, raised her water glass and clinked it against his. “I look forward to it.”
Draco’s gaze burned into her for a moment too long, heated and promising. Theo caught it, arched a brow, then shook his head with mock disapproval. “Not in the middle of a tavern, boys and girls.”
Hermione lifted her chin primly. “I’ll have you know I’m an innocent bystander here.”
“Mm,” Theo hummed. “That’s rich, coming from the girl who just played our poor Draco like a violin.”
“Did not,” she said, lips twitching. “I merely questioned his gallant assumptions.”
Draco leaned back, draping one arm over the back of the booth. “Next time, I’m ordering you boiled cabbage and herring.”
Hermione made a face. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me,” he said, but his smirk gave him away.
They returned to their meal in companionable silence for a few minutes, the low hum of other patrons filling the background. A soft instrumental melody played on a charmed harp in the corner. Outside, sunlight filtered through the colored glass, throwing faint prisms across the wooden table.
Theo wiped his mouth and set his napkin aside. “So, what’s next on the agenda for today?”
Hermione looked between them. “Are you seriously asking me if there’s an itinerary for a surprise lunch?”
Draco chuckled. “He’s pretending to be spontaneous. Let him have this.”
Theo raised a hand solemnly. “Guilty.”
Hermione chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “Well… since you both kidnapped me and fed me, I suppose I could be persuaded to take a walk through the village before heading back.”
Draco’s grin returned, slow and satisfied. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Theo reached over and stole a bit of polenta from Hermione’s plate. She smacked his hand, but not before he popped it in his mouth with a triumphant grin. “Absolutely worth it.”
“Child,” she muttered.
“You like it,” he replied, unrepentant.
Draco’s fingers brushed hers again under the table. “Let us spoil you a little longer.”
Hermione’s heart gave a quiet thud. She didn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she intertwined their fingers once more.
“Just lunch,” she whispered.
“Just lunch,” Theo echoed softly.
Draco gave her hand a squeeze. “And maybe a stroll. And maybe dessert.”
Hermione smiled. “I make no promises on dessert.”
Theo leaned over and whispered, “We’ll wear you down.”
Her laughter was quiet, but it was real, and it echoed just loud enough to fill the space between them.
...................................................................................................................
The scent of parchment and dust was thick in the air as Hermione slipped through the narrow entrance of the ancient bookshop nestled between a Muggle tailor and a flower vendor in the village square. The carved wooden sign above the door read Crumpled Spines & Wyrmwood Pages, and just the name alone had her heart fluttering.
She didn’t hesitate-barely sparing the boys a glance-before diving straight into the labyrinthine stacks, her fingers trailing reverently across a display of gilded spines as she moved deeper into the shop.
Behind her, Theo ducked through the doorway with his usual casual grace, while Draco followed a step behind, frowning up at a crooked chandelier that looked ready to drop on someone’s head.
Draco huffed. “Do you really need more books, Potter?”
Hermione turned around slowly, lifting one brow in a way that should have been illegal. “Do you really want to get hexed in public, Malfoy?”
Theo barked out a laugh and clapped Draco on the back. “You did say you wanted to spoil her,” he said, eyes dancing as he took in the shelves surrounding them. “What did you think that would entail? A foot massage and letting her sleep in your Quidditch jersey?”
Draco opened his mouth, probably to argue, but Hermione had already vanished deeper into the shop.
“She’s like a bloodhound in here,” Theo murmured, falling into step beside him as they weaved through precariously stacked towers of books. “We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t redecorate the entire West Wing with whatever she finds.”
Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, his gaze followed the flicker of Hermione’s hair-pulled up in that messy bun with her wand sticking through it like some kind of crown-and the small satisfied smile she wore as she plucked a thick tome from a middle shelf and hugged it to her chest.
“She’s going to do exactly that,” Draco muttered under his breath.
“Damn right I am,” Hermione called back, clearly having heard him.
Theo grinned and turned to Draco. "Our girl’s got hearing sharper than a bat.”
“She’s not our-” Draco began, only to be cut off by Theo’s loud, theatrical throat-clearing and a knowing smirk. Draco shot him a glare and picked his way forward. “What are you even looking for?” he asked Hermione once they caught up to her near a leaning stack of dusty spellbooks labeled Obscure Alchemical Failures and Their Unexpected Benefits.
“Whatever catches my eye,” she answered breezily. “This is a haven, you two philistines. A holy place.”
“Of course it is,” Theo said, peering over her shoulder. “Isn’t that the same book you already have? I swear I’ve seen it next to your bed.”
“That one’s in Latin. This is a translated edition.”
“Ah. So you do need it.” Theo gave Draco a wink.
Hermione turned, arms full of books now, and caught Draco watching her with narrowed eyes. “Don’t even think about making a comment.”
Draco raised both hands in mock surrender. “No comment. None at all. Except-perhaps-if you keep grabbing books like that, we’ll need to rent a cart just to get them home.”
“Are you judging me for my love of learning?”
“I would never,” he said innocently. “I’m merely… observing.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and reached for another book—this one bound in green suede-but before her fingers touched it, Draco reached over her shoulder and grabbed it first.
“Let me,” he said smoothly, voice dropping just a touch lower. “You’ve already got your arms full.”
Hermione froze. Heat crept up her neck as Draco handed her the book, the pads of his fingers brushing her knuckles. She narrowed her eyes and muttered, “Stop trying to boss me around.”
“I’m not-”
“You’re always trying to boss me around,” she said, stepping back, clutching the book tightly. “You do realize I’m my own person, yes? I don’t take kindly to being ordered about.”
Theo stepped between them, holding up both hands like a referee at a dueling tournament. “She has a point. And for the record, we do know that. Your fiercely independent, stunningly brilliant, and entirely terrifying when your holding a stack of books.”
Hermione grinned, still flushed. “Thank you, Theo.”
Draco cleared his throat. “I wasn’t bossing you. I was… being chivalrous.”
“You were being pushy.”
“Chivalrously pushy,” he amended, eyes gleaming. “There’s a difference.”
Hermione made a dramatic show of sighing. “The worst part is I know you believe that.”
Theo wandered a few feet down the aisle, pretending to study a collection of enchanted poetry books, while Draco stepped closer to Hermione, lowering his voice just enough that it curled under her skin like silk.
“You should be careful, Potter,” he murmured. “You’re starting to blush.”
She rolled her eyes, even as her cheeks deepened. “And you should be careful, Malfoy. I’m one snide remark away from turning your hair green.”
“I might like that,” he said, stepping even closer. “You could match the Slytherin aesthetic.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“And yet…”
She huffed, but there was no real fire behind it. “And yet I’m still here.”
Draco reached out again, this time brushing a lock of hair from her cheek. “Exactly.”
Theo, returning with a book in hand, said, “Alright, stop eye-fucking each other long enough to check out. The owner looks like she’s debating whether to charge us or call the Aurors.”
Hermione let out a laugh so sudden and unrestrained that even Draco chuckled. “Fine,” she said, shifting the books in her arms and heading toward the counter.
Draco watched her go, then turned to Theo. “I wasn’t bossing her.”
Theo clapped him on the shoulder. “Keep telling yourself that.”
.....................................................................................................................
The afternoon sun filtered through the canopy of enchanted trees lining the quiet path back toward the village square. Hermione walked ahead, her fingers absently running along the spines of books nestled in a brown paper bag pressed to her chest. Her travel coat swayed with each step, and her curls-loosened from their earlier bun-bounced lightly as she moved.
Draco and Theo strolled behind her, hands tucked in their coat pockets, expressions hovering somewhere between awe and fond exasperation.
"I still don't think you needed all those books, Potter.” Draco drawled, his tone casual, though his lips twitched at the corners.
Hermione didn’t even bother turning around. “Say that again, Malfoy. I dare you.”
Theo chuckled under his breath. "Drake, did you really think spoiling her would entail Chocolate frogs and whispered poetry?"
“I thought she might want-oh, I don’t know-something less dusty?” Draco gestured toward the bag in her arms. “That shop had a collapsed ceiling in the back.”
“Which made it charming,” Hermione threw over her shoulder. “And that collapsed ceiling led to a hidden section of rare publications. You’re lucky I didn’t find another ancient magical treaty, or you two would be hauling a crate behind you right now.”
Theo caught up to her side, peering into the bag. “You do realize this is how a private library starts, right?”
“Correction,” Hermione said primly. “This is how my library starts. And unlike either of you, I have no regrets.”
Draco stepped up on her other side, rolling his eyes. “I’m half-tempted to build you a room just for books.”
“You say that like it’s a threat,” she said, arching a brow at him.
“I have plans for you, Potter,” Draco murmured, voice silky and low.
Theo raised his hands in mock surrender. “He’s doing it again-getting all bossy. You warned us, remember?”
Hermione stopped abruptly, turning just enough to jab Draco in the ribs with her elbow. “I’m my own person. Try bossing me around and you’ll find out just how sharp this elbow can get.”
Draco didn’t even flinch-just smirked, eyes glinting. “And we wouldn’t want you any other way.”
Theo snorted, grinning. “Merlin help us, we really wouldn’t.”
They crossed the cobbled street toward a tiny café tucked beneath a flowering vine. The hand-painted sign above the door read The Whimsical Whisk, and the outdoor chalkboard offered “House-Made Crumbles” and “Enchanted Gelatos” in scrolling script.
Theo motioned to a wrought-iron table nestled in dappled shade. “One last stop before heading back.”
“I’m not getting dessert,” Hermione said as she sat, shifting her bag of books to her lap.
Draco blinked at her. “Since when do you say no to dessert?”
“Since I have a lecture in Advanced Ritual Theory tomorrow, a Comparative Spellcasting lab, and I still need to finalize my notes for the lecture version of that same class,” she said, folding her arms.
Theo raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you already finish that last Thursday?”
“I did the prep work,” she muttered. “I still have final revisions.”
Draco leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. “You’re already ahead for the week. I checked with Pansy last night to make sure we weren’t keeping you from anything actually important.”
Hermione blinked. “You checked with Pansy?”
Draco shrugged. “She mentioned your schedule. Said you’d already rewritten your ritual theory notes twice and color-coded the spell lab prep.”
Hermione gave a small huff, crossing her arms tighter. “That’s beside the point.”
“It’s completely the point,” Theo said, signaling the server. “You’re not behind. You just like to pretend you are so no one tells you to relax.”
Hermione glared at both of them, but her lips were twitching.
The server brought over three menus. Hermione pushed hers away immediately.
“I’m not ordering dessert,” she repeated.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “You’re seriously going to sit here while we eat crumble?”
“Yes.”
Theo grinned. “You say that, but you’ll try a bite.”
Hermione shook her head. “Not happening. I have a draft report to outline.”
Draco sat back, arms crossed over his chest. “You realize she’s bluffing, right?”
“Of course,” Theo said smoothly. “It’s part of the game.”
“What game?” Hermione asked.
Draco leaned in. “The ‘convince Hermione to do something she’ll secretly enjoy’ game.”
Hermione scowled. “I’m not that predictable.”
“You’re adorable when you’re pretending to resist,” Theo said.
She groaned, resting her forehead against the table.
Draco laughed softly. “We’re not going to make you eat crumble if you really don’t want it.”
“I don’t,” she said, voice muffled against the wood.
Theo signaled the server again. “One vanilla-lavender crumble. Three spoons.”
Hermione peeked up. “I’m going to hex you.”
Draco gave her a wicked grin. “It’ll be worth it.”
When the crumble arrived-steaming, golden, and dusted with powdered sugar-Hermione eyed it warily. Draco handed her a spoon without saying a word.
She held it for a full minute, then muttered, “Fine. One bite.”
Theo leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “We knew you’d give in.”
“You two are insufferable.”
“And yet,” Draco said as she took a second bite, “here you are.”
She tried to glare at him, but her mouth was full. She chewed slowly, then swallowed.
“…It is really good.”
Draco grinned. “Told you.”
Theo clinked his spoon against hers. “Welcome to dessert.”
They lingered over the crumble, conversation weaving between teasing and soft comfort. Hermione found herself laughing more than she had in weeks, and when Draco leaned closer to brush a crumb from the corner of her mouth, she didn’t even protest. Much.
As the sun dipped lower behind the trees, she looked at them-Theo’s lazy smile, Draco’s silver gaze-and felt something shift inside her. Something warm. Something willing.
“Fine,” she muttered. “This was worth it.”
Draco smirked. “We knew it would be.”
...................................................................................................................
The hallway outside the West Wing dorm was quiet, lit by the soft, amber glow of enchanted sconces that flickered with the movement of the castle. Hermione lingered in front of her door, heart beating just a little too fast, book bag hanging off one shoulder, and cheeks flushed with residual warmth from the afternoon. Draco and Theo stood in front of her, both looking far too pleased with themselves.
“See you tomorrow?” Theo asked, hands in his pockets, his voice gentle but playful.
Hermione tilted her chin. “Probably.”
“Definitely,” Draco added with a smirk. “Don’t act like you’re going to resist us.”
Before she could fire back, Draco leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. His lips were warm, his breath grazing her skin.
Hermione stiffened slightly, caught off guard.
Then Theo stepped forward and mirrored the action, kissing the opposite cheek with a grin that was entirely unrepentant.
“Sleep well, sweetheart,” he said.
“I–” she began, but she couldn’t quite find words that didn’t sound like an awkward squeak.
With effort, Hermione willed her face not to explode into a blush. “Okay. Goodnight.”
They gave twin waves-Theo with a wink, Draco with a knowing tilt of his head-before walking away down the corridor.
Hermione exhaled, turned the doorknob, and stepped into her dorm room.
She froze in the doorway.
“Seriously?” she asked flatly.
All four girls-Ginny, Pansy, Luna, and Daphne-were sprawled across her space like they owned it. Ginny was lounging across Hermione’s bed, her back propped against the headboard with a pillow under one arm. Luna sat sideways in her reading chair, one leg draped over the armrest, a dainty wineglass balanced in her palm. Daphne was cross-legged at the foot of the bed, while Pansy sat perched near the window, a bowl of crisps in her lap and a smirk that could melt steel.
They were sipping from mismatched glasses of fairy wine and crunching crisps like it was a casual Sunday night at the pub.
“Am I never allowed to be alone again?” Hermione deadpanned, dropping her bag near the door.
“No,” they all chorused in unison.
“Absolutely not,” added Ginny with mock sternness.
Pansy grinned like a cat. “And now that you’re back, sit. Spill. I demand details.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, marched across the room, and snatched the wine bottle. She poured herself a healthy glass, took one long sip, and shoved Ginny off her pillow with practiced ease before plopping down in the center of the bed.
Ginny cackled and repositioned herself beside her. “You’re so rude. But fair.”
Hermione sighed dramatically and then grinned. “Fine. You want details?”
“Yes,” Pansy and Daphne said at the same time.
Luna just blinked at her serenely and added, “Emotionally explicit ones, please.”
Hermione snorted into her wine. "Okay, so... they sent an owl this morning with a very bossy note this morning."
"Oh, I saw it," Ginny interrupted. "Theo's hand writing is so perfect, it's unfair."
“Honestly,” Hermione agreed. “It looked like the owl had flown through a windstorm of perfume and ego.”
“They asked you to lunch, didn’t they?” Daphen asked, leaning forward eagerly.
“Yes, and told me not to overthink what happened at the club. Like that doesn’t immediately cause one to overthink.”
“Ignore that,” Pansy said, “boys are allergic to logic.”
“They took me to this village-about a mile from the Unaversity,” Hermione continued. “Honestly? It was… really lovely. Just us, talking. And flirting. And Theo told me there were no expectations, and Draco was weirdly sweet about it.”
“Did they feed you dessert?” Ginny asked.
Hermione gave her a look. “They talked me into it.”
“I knew it!” Ginny fist-pumped. “They always win with dessert.”
Pansy crossed her legs primly. “Did they touch you?”
Hermione nearly choked on her drink. “Pansy!”
“Well?”
Hermione cleared her throat, cheeks pink. “They held my hand. Draco ordered for me without asking and I gave him hell. Theo laughed and nearly spit out his wine. Draco promised revenge. And then after lunch, we went to this old bookshop-”
“You must’ve been glowing,” Luna said dreamily.
“Don’t interrupt the juicy bits,” Pansy hissed.
“I told Draco not to boss me around, again,” Hermione continued, grinning. “And Theo, sweet angel that he is, was like, ‘We know you’re your own person.’”
“He’s good,” Daphne murmured. “He’s so good.”
“Then they walked me home. Both kissed my cheek like I was some innocent maiden being sent to a tower.”
“They kissed you?” Ginny squealed.
“On the cheek!” Hermione held up her hands defensively.
“That still counts,” Pansy said triumphantly. “We’re counting it.”
“Did your knees go wobbly?” Luna asked, tilting her head.
Hermione paused. “No.”
Everyone stared at her.
“Okay, fine. A little. Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” Pansy purred. “So. What now?”
Hermione blinked. “What do you mean, what now?”
“She means,” Daphne said, tucking her hair behind her ear as she reached for another crisp, “where do you want this to go? With them.”
The room fell briefly silent.
Hermione shifted, picking at the label on her wineglass. “I don’t know yet.”
“That’s fair,” Luna said at once.
“Totally valid,” Ginny agreed.
“But also,” Pansy said, nudging her knee, “don’t think we won’t pry again in 48 hours.”
Hermione laughed. “I would expect nothing less.”
“I just think,” Daphne added, voice softer, “you seem happier lately. And I think you deserve whatever good this brings you, wherever it goes.”
Hermione blinked hard at that, caught off-guard by the quiet sincerity. “Thanks, Daph.”
“Aw,” Ginny cooed. “Look at us being soft.”
“No,” Pansy said, reaching for her glass, “we’re tipsy. That’s different.”
They all laughed.
Hermione leaned back against the headboard, a pillow behind her and warmth spreading through her limbs. She looked around at the four girls-her chaos, her sanctuary-and realized that for once, she wasn’t panicking about what came next.
Not entirely, anyway.
“Okay,” she said. “Ask me again in a week.”
..................................................................................................................
Hermione’s wand blared sharply, the magical alarm slicing through the quiet of her dorm room. The shrill chime repeated insistently, refusing to be ignored.
She groaned, burying her face into the pillow for a moment before rolling over and grabbing the wand from the bedside table. “Enough!” she muttered, flicking it off.
With a heavy sigh, Hermione threw off the covers and swung her legs over the bed. Today was going to be a long day.
After a quick shower, she pulled on black leggings, rolling the hems up to her calves. She slipped on her well-worn purple trainers and reached for her favorite Gryffindor sweater-its deep red and gold stripes a comforting contrast against the chilly morning air in the West Wing.
She brushed her hair carefully into a neat French braid, fingers working the strands into place as she packed the last of her books into her bag and slung it over her shoulder.
Steeling herself, she opened her door-and immediately groaned.
Draco and Theo were standing just outside, leaning casually against the wall, grinning like they’d been waiting just to annoy her.
“I officially have stalkers,” Hermione muttered, shoulders sinking.
Draco’s lips curved into a teasing smile. “You mean stockers. Because we keep stock of you.”
Theo stepped forward, holding out a steaming cup of coffee and a shiny red apple. “We thought you might need a bit of company this morning. Breakfast.”
Hermione sighed. “I’m not going to breakfast. I have last-minute touch-ups before the Comparative Spellcasting lecture.”
Draco lifted an eyebrow. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
Theo nodded earnestly. “You can’t properly cast spells on an empty stomach.”
“Guys,” Hermione groaned, turning toward the stairs. “No.”
They caught up easily. Draco’s voice dropped to mock stern. “I could carry you over my shoulder into the dining hall.”
She scoffed. “I don’t believe you.”
Theo chuckled. “You really shouldn’t doubt him.”
Before she could move another step, Draco snatched her bag and tossed it to Theo.
With a quick grin, Draco swept Hermione up over his shoulder. Her legs kicked and flailed.
“Draco Lucius Abraxas Malfoy!” she shouted indignantly.
Theo laughed behind them "You just got full named."
They moved toward the dining hall, Hermione’s muffled protests trailing behind them.
Inside, the room buzzed with morning chatter. Neville, Pansy, Harry, Ginny, Ron, Daphne, Astoria, Luna, Blaise, Seamus, Dean, Cho, Padma, Parvati, and Lavender were already gathered at their usual table, watching with amused eyes.
Draco set Hermione down gently, Theo still holding her bag.
She immediately tried to bolt for the door.
Theo’s hand caught her wrist firmly. “Going somewhere?”
Draco and Theo stepped forward, blocking the exit.
“Sit,” Draco commanded, voice low but firm.
“I’m not a child,” Hermione said, crossing her arms stubbornly.
Harry stood and folded his arms. “I’m your big brother and keeper, Hermione. You’re not getting past us.”
Hermione glanced between them, resisting.
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Sit down. Now.”
“No,” Hermione said quietly but firmly, taking a step back.
Theo’s voice dropped to a threatening murmur. “You know what? We will feed you. Whether you want it or not.”
Hermione’s resolve faltered. She let out a reluctant sigh, then eased into the empty seat beside Ginny.
Theo grinned triumphantly and piled a plate with eggs, bacon, toast, and some glowing magical fruit, setting it in front of her.
Hermione muttered, “Thanks,” still simmering quietly.
Neville leaned in, smiling. “So… did you come out of bed on your own, or was there a little… coercion involved?”
Daphne laughed. “Definitely coercion.”
Draco winked at Hermione, who rolled her eyes but smiled.
Astoria nudged her gently. “It’s good to see you smiling-even if it’s begrudgingly.”
Hermione blinked, surprised by the warmth.
Seamus grinned. “Big day ahead?”
"Comparative Spellcasting Lecture, the Practicum, and then Necromantic Ethics," she replied, taking a bite of her toast.
Padma raised an eyebrow. “You really do live in books.”
Parvati laughed. “And somehow still have a social life.”
Hermione shot them a pointed look but smiled faintly.
Conversation drifted to lectures, classes, and plans for the week. The chatter and laughter slowly warmed Hermione’s mood as she settled into the morning with her friends-much to Draco and Theo’s obvious satisfaction.
..................................................................................................................
The Comparative Spellcasting Lecture was held in one of the larger lecture halls near the eastern edge of Arcanum Universitas. The room, semicircular in shape, sloped downward toward a small dais where the professor would soon appear. Dozens of magical diagrams floated midair, slowly rotating above the chalkboard like a constellation of arithmantic stars.
Hermione entered with her bag slung over one shoulder and a determined scowl already on her face. The minute she crossed the threshold, she saw them.
Draco and Theo, seated dead center in the third row-prime viewing, prime performance. Two identical smirks bloomed the moment they spotted her.
“There’s the smartest witch alive,” Theo said with mock reverence, already patting the seat between him and Draco.
“We saved you a seat, Potter,” Draco added smoothly. “Right here, in the cradle of chaos.”
Hermione sighed and walked down the row toward them. “You’re both insufferable.”
“We know,” they said in unison.
Draco actually stood to pull her chair out for her, sweeping a half-bow that earned a few snickers from surrounding students.
Hermione sat-heavily-between them, already regretting her life choices.
“If either of you distracts me during this lecture,” she warned under her breath, “I will hex you. Not into the hospital wing-no. I will hex you so thoroughly even Madam Cavanaugh won’t be able to un-transfigure whatever I turn you into.”
Theo placed a hand over his heart. “That was almost poetic.”
Draco leaned slightly in, voice low and smug. “She threatens us like she cares.”
Hermione turned to glare at him. “Do not test me.”
Behind them, Daphne slid into the row with a lazy smirk, dropping into the seat beside Theo and unceremoniously kicking his ankle. “She doesn’t make empty threats, Nott.”
Blaise appeared on the other side of Draco, late as usual, and folded into his seat like a cat who owned the place. “It’s tragic, really,” he said dryly. “The brightest witch of her age, doomed to suffer the affections of two Slytherins.”
“Affections?” Theo asked innocently, raising a brow.
Hermione groaned and rubbed her temples. “Merlin help me.”
The professor-an aging man named Greaves with long gray robes and thick glasses-strode to the dais and waved his wand. The air shimmered with the hum of silence wards. Every whisper died instantly.
Professor Greaves began in his usual monotone, “Today’s topic: Layered Effects in Complex Spellwork…”
The moment Hermione relaxed into the lecture, her parchment spread neatly before her and quill at the ready, she felt it.
Draco’s hand slid beneath the desk and settled on her thigh-warm, steady, unmistakably intentional.
She stiffened and turned her head slightly, speaking from the corner of her mouth. “Draco.”
“Yes, darling?”
“Move your hand or lose it.”
Draco smirked but didn’t budge.
And then-
Theo’s hand landed on her other thigh, his pinkie brushing against the rolled hem of her jumper.
Hermione sucked in a sharp breath and bit the inside of her cheek.
“If I don't murder you both, it'll be a miracle,” she hissed.
Theo leaned in so close she could feel his breath. “We’re just helping you stay warm. Classrooms are so drafty.”
She shot him a look of pure venom. “You two are literal menaces.”
“Oh, we know,” Draco murmured. His hand squeezed slightly.
Daphne caught Hermione’s eye, already grinning. “You look tense, Potter. Should we be concerned? You seem... surrounded.”
Hermione gave her a deadpan look. “Daphne, if you don’t shut it, I’m hexing all of you into silence.”
“Bold of you to assume we’d mind,” Blaise added, not even looking up from his parchment.
Professor Greaves continued lecturing about the dangers of uncontrolled magical stacking. Above him, a diagram illustrated a dueling spell gone wrong, the outer energy layers of a shield spell folding in and exploding.
Hermione, normally enthralled by spell mechanics, could hardly focus with two very smug Slytherins openly teasing her under the desk.
Draco leaned in again. “You’re awfully quiet, Potter. Surely you have opinions about reflexive spell integrity.”
“Or maybe she’s just distracted,” Theo offered helpfully.
Hermione gave a strangled sigh. “I swear to Godric-if either of you touches me again, I will transfigure your kneecaps backwards.”
Theo snorted. “That's creative.”
“And disturbing,” Daphne added cheerfully. “Ten points to Gryffindor for anatomical threat innovation.”
Hermione picked up her quill, trying to pretend she wasn’t on fire from the inside out. Both Draco and Theo had backed off for now, but she could still feel the heat where their hands had been. And the way they were watching her-Draco with that lazy, confident smirk; Theo with barely-contained amusement-it made focusing nearly impossible.
She tried to take notes.
Tried.
Professor Greaves launched into a comparison between the Conflagratus Hex and its illegal cousin, the Morsis Flame Chain.
Draco leaned over, voice low in her ear. “What’s the counter-surge ratio of the modified Flame Chain?”
Hermione blinked, then narrowed her eyes. “Do your own bloody work.”
He chuckled, clearly not needing the answer.
Theo tilted his head toward her. “What’s the siphoning delay on an inverted Conflagratus?”
She didn’t even turn. “Three-point-six seconds. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”
“We’re participating,” Theo said innocently.
Blaise muttered, “Participating in making her homicidal.”
Hermione sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I’m surrounded by lunatics.”
“And you love it,” Daphne added.
Hermione shot her a glare, and Daphne just sipped her coffee from a conjured cup, utterly unbothered.
The rest of the lecture was a blur of magical diagrams, whispered threats, and half-hearted note-taking. Hermione managed to ignore the boys for the most part—but only barely. Every now and then, one of them would lean in too close, or their knees would bump hers beneath the desk. She was hyper-aware of every movement, every look.
And they knew it.
When the class finally ended, Professor Greaves lifted the silence wards and dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
Hermione stood quickly, gathering her things with a sharp breath.
“You’re both nightmares,” she muttered under her breath.
Theo handed her a spare quill that had rolled off her desk. “And yet, you keep sitting with us.”
Draco smirked, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “We’re magnetic.”
Daphne snorted behind them. “You’re insufferable.”
“And so pretty,” Blaise added, clapping Theo on the back.
Hermione looked between them, completely exasperated. “I need a nap. Or a calming draught. Or possibly an exorcism.”
"You just need a snack," Draco said cheerfully.
Theo held out his hand. "Come on. We'll escort you to the Dinning Hall. Like the gentlemen we're absolutely not."
Hermione stared at his hand, then rolled her eyes.
But she took it.
Grumbling the entire way.
Chapter 5: The Unraveling of Control
Summary:
Hermione slowly starts to trust Draco and Theo more
Chapter Text
Advanced Ritual Theory was not for the faint of heart.
Nor was it for the easily distracted.
Unfortunately for Hermione, she was currently both.
The high-ceilinged Rituals Lecture Hall at Arcanum Universitas smelled faintly of chalk, burning incense, and the metallic tinge of old magic clinging to stone. Rows of wide, tiered tables faced a massive slate board and a central ritual dais, where Professor Vanta-one of the more terrifying lecturers at the university-was already scratching out a diagram of interlinked runic circles.
Hermione had picked the back corner seat on purpose. Far enough from the dais to avoid Vanta’s hawk-like eye. Close enough to a window for fresh air. Isolated enough that she might focus.
Unfortunately, Draco was already there waiting for her.
When she climbed the steps to the back row, she didn’t even bother with pleasantries. She sat beside him, opened her satchel, pulled out her notes, and said flatly, “I’m not in the mood, Malfoy.”
He leaned over, smirking. “Well, now I’m curious what mood you are in.”
She didn’t answer, flipping her notes to the page marked ritual circles of transference and anchoring.
Draco leaned in closer, his voice barely audible. “Because if you’re feeling pent-up, I have a few suggestions-”
She held up one hand. “Draco.”
He grinned, then shifted closer until their knees touched beneath the desk.
“Studious,” he murmured in her ear, “focused… entirely irresistible.”
Hermione’s spine stiffened, but she kept her gaze on her parchment. “You are worse than Theo.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said with a lazy drawl. “And a challenge.”
“Don’t,” she warned.
Draco’s hand slipped onto her thigh.
Hermione didn’t flinch, but her quill scratched harder against the parchment.
“Don’t what?” he asked innocently. “Touch you? Whisper indecent things in your ear? Remind you that you still haven’t hexed me, and therefore-deep down-you must want me here?”
Hermione’s jaw ticked. “I want to pass this class.”
“I’m sure you will,” he whispered, fingers brushing higher on her thigh. “You're brilliant even under pressure.”
“Don’t test that,” she said flatly.
Two rows down, Blaise Zabini turned and gave them a slow, knowing smile. “Are you two doing this again? In Rituals?”
Pansy, beside him, snorted. “Potter's going to stab him with a quill. I can feel it.”
“She won’t,” Draco said smoothly, shifting just enough that his knuckles grazed the inside of Hermione’s thigh. “She loves me too much.”
“I’m trying to learn,” Hermione hissed under her breath.
Draco leaned in again, lips near the shell of her ear. “I could teach you a few things, sweetheart. Ritual magic requires endurance. Control. Trust.”
“I trust that you’re insufferable.”
“Mmm. Say that again.”
“Merlin,” Pansy muttered. “I’m going to hex both of you if you derail this class. I want my notes uninterrupted.”
“Please, as if you take notes,” Blaise said.
Pansy lifted her hand and flashed her nails. “I charm them into my parchment with dictation. Unlike you, I prepare.”
Professor Vanta’s voice cut across the room like a whip. “Miss Potter.”
Hermione stiffened, her quill pausing mid-stroke.
Professor Vanta arched an eyebrow from the dais. “Since you and Mister Malfoy seem to find your private conversation more compelling than anchoring transmutation rituals, perhaps you can answer the question I just posed.”
Draco’s fingers curled slightly on her thigh. Hermione took a deep breath, forced her face into serene neutrality, and looked down at her notes.
“Yes, Professor,” she said clearly. “You asked what the primary flaw is in attempting a dual-anchor ritual without a stabilized sigil intermediary. The answer is that the magical current will naturally seek the path of least resistance, leading to a collapse in containment and possible ritual feedback. Without the sigil intermediary to maintain balance, the energy will destabilize.”
Vanta blinked once. “Correct.”
There was a low ripple of laughter across the hall. Pansy and Blaise smirked down at their desks.
Draco leaned in and whispered, “You know that was hot, right?”
Hermione didn't look at him. “You’re trying to get me hexed.”
“I’m trying to get you flustered.”
“You’ll end up hexed either way.”
“I’d consider it foreplay.”
Hermione reached under the table and pinched the skin just above his knee-hard. Draco hissed but didn’t move his hand.
“Still worth it,” he muttered.
Pansy leaned back in her chair, stretching. “Honestly, you two need your own drama curtain. Everyone else is just here for the performance.”
“Oh, I’d watch it,” Blaise said casually, flipping a quill between his fingers. “Maybe even finance the production.”
“I’m surrounded by children,” Hermione muttered.
Draco’s thumb brushed gentle circles just above her knee now, a stark contrast to his earlier mischief. He leaned close again, lips barely grazing her ear.
“You know I love watching you prove people wrong, don’t you?” he whispered. “It’s bloody brilliant, the way your mind works.”
Hermione blinked.
That wasn’t teasing. That was… dangerous.
Emotionally dangerous.
She glanced at him sideways, saw the sincerity flickering beneath his usual smug confidence.
“I still hate you,” she whispered.
He smiled. “No, you don’t.”
“You’re not supposed to be charming. You’re supposed to be a nuisance.”
“I can be both.”
Below the table, his hand hadn’t moved further up her thigh. It was just there-warm, steady, constant.
Pansy glanced back at them and sighed dramatically. “Honestly, the sexual tension is so thick I might as well be inhaling it.”
“Careful,” Blaise said dryly. “Wouldn’t want to catch feelings by accident.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Pansy said. “I’ve had my emotional defenses up since birth.”
Professor Vanta clapped her hands sharply. “Eyes forward. Next question: what are the consequences of invoking a dual-binding under a fractured constellation alignment? Mister Zabini?”
Blaise groaned. “I hate everything about this class.”
Hermione’s lips twitched in amusement.
Draco watched her with narrowed eyes and a half-smile. “You like this,” he said softly.
“I like winning.”
“You like winning while I distract you.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
His fingers flexed lightly on her leg. “Let’s see how long you last, Granger.”
Hermione didn’t look at him. “You forget- I’m a Potter. I endure.”
He leaned in, eyes gleaming. “So do I.”
And then, as if summoned by fate, Professor Vanta said, “Mister Malfoy, since you’re clearly not at risk of distraction, please walk us through the correct method for invoking a translocation anchor under time compression constraints.”
Hermione bit back a laugh. Draco straightened slowly, adjusted his robes like a man preparing for battle, and cleared his throat.
“Of course, Professor,” he said, voice smooth as honey. “The method begins with an adjusted runic layering sequence. You double-stack the timing sigils along the third ring and stabilize with two anchor points…”
As he spoke, Hermione finally smiled.
He had been listening.
And somehow-infuriatingly, unbelievably-he was just as dangerous as she was.
She’d kill him eventually.
But not yet.
Not quite yet.
...................................................................................................................
The seminar room for Theory of Ancient Magic was tucked behind a moving tapestry on the third floor-a moody, circular chamber with faded celestial murals across the domed ceiling. Six enchanted oil lamps floated midair, casting a golden flicker over the carved desks arranged in a loose half-circle. Arcanum’s oldest texts lined the walls behind protective warding glass.
Hermione walked in with a determined look, a leather-bound notebook hugged to her chest and her hair in a messy bun that screamed I mean business. She spotted Harry already seated near the back, nursing his third cup of black tea and flipping through his notes.
She made her way toward him-but Theo was faster.
He swept into the seat beside Harry with the kind of swagger that made her instantly suspicious and patted the empty chair next to him with a grin that was far too smug.
“No,” Hermione said flatly, stopping two paces short. “Absolutely not.”
“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Theo said, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. “Seat’s warm.”
“Move,” she said, trying to sidestep.
He blocked her path with a long leg stretched out lazily in front of the desk. “I’ve been saving this seat for you.”
“I’m sitting next to Harry.”
“Too bad,” Harry muttered under his breath. “He beat you by two seconds, Mione."
She shot him a glare. “You’re no help.”
“I’m just trying to stay out of the blast radius this time.”
“Come on, Potter,” Theo said smoothly. “It’s Ancient Magic. We should be learning about deep, powerful forces-shared bonds, primal connections. What better way to prepare than by-”
“If you say exploring chemistry I will hex you into next semester.”
“-discussing academic theory respectfully,” Theo finished with a wink.
Blaise slid in on the other side of the row, coffee in hand. “This is better than breakfast theatre. Are you two always this tense or just when you’re repressing something deeply carnal?”
Hermione ignored him and grudgingly dropped into the seat beside Theo, muttering under her breath as she opened her notebook.
Theo leaned in with a stage whisper. “Still mad about Draco distracting you during Rituals?”
“He spent forty-five minutes whispering things that should be illegal in seven countries while I was trying to diagram a binding rune.”
“I take it he didn’t succeed?”
“I answered every question correctly, thank you.”
“Then I clearly need to raise the stakes.”
Hermione side-eyed him. “If you even think about sliding your hand up my thigh, I will hex you into a ferret and mail you to Siberia.”
Theo smiled slowly and-of course-slid his hand up her thigh.
Hermione didn’t even flinch. “You are asking for a public scene.”
Harry groaned, covering his face. “Can you both not do this in front of me? I have enough trauma. I don’t need mental images of my sister being harassed by Theo Nott.”
“I’m not harassing her,” Theo said smoothly, leaning closer to Hermione’s ear. “She knows the safe word.”
“I do,” Hermione said calmly. “It’s detention.”
Blaise nearly spit his drink out. “You’re joking.”
“I’m really not,” she replied, taking out her quill and beginning to write the lecture heading across the top of her page.
Theo’s hand hadn’t moved. She gave it one more minute before she reached under the table and jabbed her wand between his fingers. A small, satisfying zap lit up the hem of his sleeve.
“Ow-bloody hell-”
“Told you,” she said sweetly, eyes never leaving her parchment.
Theo withdrew his hand with a pout. “So violent.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t go for something permanent.”
“I like a girl who can curse while reciting ancient text,” he muttered under his breath.
“I heard that,” Harry said darkly.
Blaise looked between them, amused. “I give it a week.”
Hermione arched an eyebrow. “Until what?”
“Until you either hex him for real or drag him into an empty classroom and snog him senseless.”
Theo grinned. “If those are my only two options, I’ll take my chances.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and turned her focus back to her notes. “You’re all insufferable.”
Harry just shook his head and mumbled, “I miss the days when the most scandalous thing you did was break the library curfew.”
The professor swept into the room moments later, silencing the chatter. Hermione sat up straighter, focused, quill ready. Theo leaned just a bit closer-no touching this time-and whispered, “You’re brilliant when you’re in command, you know that?”
Hermione refused to look at him, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“I’ll take that as a win,” Theo said.
As the lecture began, Theo's hand found its way back to Hermione's thigh, his touch light but insistent. He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "You know, Hermione, there's a certain magic in the way you lose control. It's almost as intoxicating as the spells we're learning."
Hermione's quill paused mid-stroke, her jaw clenching. "Keep your hands to yourself, Nott. I've had enough distractions from Draco already."
Theo chuckled softly, his fingers tracing patterns on her thigh. "Draco's a bit more direct, isn't he? I prefer a slower build. More... anticipation."
Hermione's cheeks flushed, and she shifted slightly, trying to dislodge his hand. "You're playing with fire, Theo. I won't hesitate to use my wand again."
"Ooh, threats," Theo murmured, his voice low and teasing. "I do love a bit of danger. It makes the victory all the sweeter."
Harry, sensing the tension, leaned over. "Theo, give it a rest. She's trying to take notes."
Theo glanced at Harry with a smirk. "Relax, Harry. I'm just helping her... focus."
Blaise chimed in, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Come on, Theo. Don't hold back on our account. We're all adults here."
Hermione shot Blaise a glare. "Stay out of this, Zabini."
Theo's hand moved higher, his touch becoming more insistent. "You know you want to, Hermione. Just let go. I promise I'll catch you."
Hermione's breath hitched, and she gripped her quill tighter, knuckles turning white. "I said no, Theo. I mean it."
Theo leaned back, a satisfied smirk on his face. "You're a tough nut to crack, sunshine. But I do love a challenge."
As the lecture continued, Theo's whispers grew more provocative, his touch more daring. Hermione fought to maintain her composure, her mind a whirl of frustration and unwanted desire. She jotted down notes, her hand shaking slightly, as Theo's voice wove a web of temptation around her.
"You're so tense, Hermione," he murmured, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin just above her knee. "Let me help you relax. Just a little."
Hermione's resolve wavered, but she held firm. "I can handle myself, Theo. I don't need your help."
Theo chuckled, a low, seductive sound. "Oh, I think you do. And I think you secretly want it."
Hermione's eyes flashed with determination. "You're wrong. I have everything under control."
Theo's hand stilled, and he leaned in close, his lips almost brushing her ear. "Is that so? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're hanging on by a thread."
Hermione's heart raced, and she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "You're overestimating your effect on me, Theo. I'm not that easily swayed."
Theo pulled back, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "We'll see about that, Potter. The semester is young, after all."
As the lecture drew to a close, Hermione stood up abruptly, gathering her things with a shaky hand. Theo watched her, amusement and something more flickering in his eyes.
"Until next time, Hermione," he said, his voice a low promise.
Hermione didn't respond, merely nodded curtly before striding out of the room, leaving Theo with a satisfied smirk and a sense of anticipation for the battles to come.
...................................................................................................................
Hermione strode briskly down the South Corridor, her eyes fixed ahead. Behind her, a cluster of familiar figures trailed along-Draco, Theo, Pansy, Ginny, Blaise, Neville, Harry, and Ron. The chatter ahead was unmistakable, rising louder with every step.
“I swear, she’s holding back,” Draco said, smirking as he turned to Theo. “You can see it in her eyes-she’s fighting it.”
Theo chuckled low. “Tense as ever. Maybe if she just loosened up a little…”
Pansy rolled her eyes from her place beside Ginny. “You two never quit, do you?”
Blaise shook his head with an amused smile. “Honestly, it’s like watching a game of chess with all the subtle moves.”
Neville nudged Harry. “Do you think she’s going to lose her cool this time?”
Harry glanced at Hermione, who was clearly not enjoying being the center of this growing circle. “If she does, I hope she remembers she’s got me to back her up.”
Ron muttered something about the ‘madness’ of it all.
Hermione stopped abruptly and turned on her heel, eyes blazing with a fierce glare that immediately silenced the group behind her.
“Everyone else-go on ahead to lunch. I need a word with Draco and Theo. Alone.”
The group hesitated, exchanging looks, then slowly peeled away. Ginny gave Hermione a quick, supportive smile before leading the others off.
The corridor was suddenly quieter, the space between Hermione and the two Slytherins shrinking rapidly as Draco and Theo stepped forward.
“What game do you think you’re playing with me?” Hermione’s voice was steady, but the heat in her eyes was unmistakable.
Draco raised an eyebrow, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “Game? You’re imagining things, Hermione.”
Hermione scoffed, folding her arms. “Don’t patronize me. Tell me what you’re up to, before I cause real damage.”
Theo’s laughter was soft, teasing. “We’re just trying to remind you… you don’t always have to be so tense.”
Draco and Theo exchanged a quick glance, then simultaneously flicked their wands in a subtle, synchronized motion. A shimmering cloak of enchantment wrapped around Hermione-not a binding, but a gentle “Notice Me Not” charm that blurred their forms slightly from her peripheral vision.
With a swift movement, they flipped her around, cornering her against the wall. Draco’s hand slipped up the side of her neck, cupping her face with a touch that was both firm and gentle. Theo’s hand rested on her hip, steady and respectful.
“Would you ever give up your control for us?” Draco asked, his voice low and charged, the warmth of his breath brushing her ear.
Hermione bit her lip, her cheeks flushing a delicate rose as she averted her gaze to the stone floor.
“Look at me,” Draco demanded softly, not harshly, as his eyes caught hers.
Theo leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “We’ll take it slow. We just want to help you not be so tense.”
Hermione’s breath hitched. The weight of their attention was both thrilling and unnerving, a tender pressure that challenged her control.
“I’m not sure I can,” she murmured, voice trembling with vulnerability she rarely showed.
“Then we’ll be patient,” Theo assured her, fingers tightening just slightly on her hip, grounding her without overwhelming.
Draco smiled, eyes full of promise and something deeper. “We’re not here to break you, Hermione. Just to remind you that you don’t always have to hold yourself so tightly.”
Hermione exhaled slowly, a fragile smile breaking through. “Maybe… maybe I can try.”
Draco leaned in closer, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tentative kiss. Hermione gasped, her eyes widening in surprise. Theo, sensing her reaction, gently pulled her back against his chest, his hand wrapping around her neck in a possessive yet comforting hold.
Hermione fought the urge to moan, her body trembling with a mix of anticipation and resistance. Theo’s breath was warm against her ear, his voice a low rumble. “Let go, Hermione. We’ve got you.”
Behind them, a clearing of throats echoed down the corridor. Pansy’s voice cut through the charged atmosphere. “Ahem. We can see the shimmer of the Notice Me Not from here. You two are really quite obvious.”
Ginny chimed in, a note of amusement in her voice. “Come on, you three. We came to rescue Hermione for lunch before her brother implodes from waiting.”
Draco groaned, but Theo couldn’t resist one more gentle kiss to the back of Hermione’s neck before they both released her. Hermione blushed deeply, her cheeks flushing a vivid pink as Theo and Draco each wrapped their fingers through hers, a silent promise of more to come.
“Saved by the bell, it seems,” Theo murmured, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at Hermione with a mix of amusement and something more intense.
Hermione took a deep breath, trying to compose herself as she extracted her hands from theirs, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. “Thank you, Pansy, Ginny. I think I can handle lunch now.”
Pansy raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile on her face. “Oh, I’m sure you can. But do try to keep your hands to yourself, won’t you, boys?”
Ginny laughed, elbowing Hermione as they started walking down the corridor. “Come on, Hermione. Let’s get you something to eat. I have a feeling you’re going to need your strength.”
Pansy turned in her seat just enough to flash her a wicked grin. “Your karma’s catching up to you, Potter.”
Hermione sank a little deeper into her seat. “This is going to be a nightmare.”
“You say that like you didn’t enjoy the last two classes,” Draco said under his breath, leaning toward her.
Hermione rolled her eyes but didn’t answer. She was trying very hard not to acknowledge how warm the back of her neck felt.
Theo unrolled a scroll in front of them. “All right, brains, you’ve got twenty minutes before she starts circling like a hawk. Want to begin with the framework or the casting circle?”
“Framework,” Hermione said quickly. “And no distractions this time.”
Draco grinned. “Define ‘distraction.’”
“If your hand goes near my leg again,” she muttered, “I will hex it off.”
Theo chuckled. “She’s onto us.”
“I never wasn’t,” Hermione shot back.
They bent over the scroll. Surprisingly, both boys settled into a quiet rhythm with her, sketching out the sequence of sigils and elemental flows. Their teasing was toned down but still hovering at the edges.
“You have the best handwriting,” Theo murmured after a while, watching her sketch a binding weave.
“It’s legible,” she replied.
“It’s elegant,” Draco corrected. “Precise. Like you.”
Hermione didn’t respond. She just kept writing.
From the other row, Luna looked over and said, “You three have strange energy.”
“That’s putting it lightly,” Pansy chimed.
Blaise looked lazily amused. “I give it another day before one of them explodes. Or combusts.”
“Or hexes someone into the tapestry,” Hermione muttered, not even looking up.
“You’ll miss us when we’re gone,” Theo said dramatically.
“I’ll be dancing in the corridors,” Hermione replied dryly, but her lips twitched despite herself.
Class wound on, filled with chalk scratches and quiet murmurs. When the professor finally dismissed them, Hermione shoved her things back into her bag without looking at either boy.
As they stood, Theo leaned close enough for only her to hear. “We didn’t distract you. Not really.”
Draco brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, not lingering, just enough to make her breath catch. “You thrive under pressure.”
“I swear,” Hermione warned under her breath, “if either of you says one more thing-”
“Tea?” Theo offered sweetly.
She glared. “Fine. But you carry my bag.”
Draco raised a brow. “Both of us?”
“I don’t care who,” she snapped. “Just don’t talk.”
But she smiled-just a little-on her way out of the classroom.
..................................................................................................................
The fire in the corner of Hermione's dorm room crackled softly, casting a golden glow across the room as shadows danced along the walls. Hermione sat cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by piles of parchment, half-opened books, ink bottles, quills, and at least three cups of untouched tea. Her legs were bare, a pair of soft cotton pajama shorts clinging to her hips, and a snug white tank top hugged her torso. Her hair was piled in a chaotic bun on the top of her head, with her wand shoved through it like a makeshift pin.
She was halfway through writing a complex analysis of ritual intent theory for Professor Dinshaw when the flutter of wings disrupted the silence. An elegant grey owl soared in through her open window and dropped a folded note squarely onto the scroll she was writing on.
She sighed, not even looking up. “I swear, if this is another assignment deadline moved forward-”
But it wasn’t from a professor.
The parchment was pristine. The handwriting? Too refined. Too smug.
What are you doing, Potter?
Hermione stared at the note, her lips pressed in a thine line. She reached for her quill, dipped it in ink, and scrawled back on word.
Studying.
The owl hooted impatiently until she tied the reply and sent it back out into the night.
Not three minutes later, it returned-this time with two notes.
She unfolded the first.
From Draco:
All alone in your tower of parchment? Tragic. Want comapany?
She didn't dignify it with a reponse.
From Theo:
Ignoring us? Not very nice, sunshine. You'll hurt our feelings.
Hermione groaned and let her head fall back against her pillows.
Why are you both like this ?
The owl landed again with another note.
From Draco:
Because it's fun knowing you are pretending that you don't like it.
She growled under her breath, scribbled something back, and tied her note with a bit to mcuh force.
Some of us have responsibilites. You both should try it.
Minutes passed. She managed a few more sentences on her scroll before another soft thud dres her attention. This time, the owl had a tiny packet tied to it's leg. Frowning, Hermioner removed the note and the small square of chocoloate that accompanied it.
From Theo:
To keep your energy up. Also, we're not responsinilities. We're distractions. Exceptionally good ones.
She stared at the chocolate for a long beat, then tossed it beside her in the growing piles of books.
You're both pests.
She sent the message without hesitation.
From Draco:
Flattering. But I'd rather be a temptation.
Hermione made a strangled noise in the back of her throat and slapped the parchment down on her bedspread. She got up, padded barefoot to the fire, and stared into it like it might giver her strength.
Behind her,the owl hooted again.
From Theo:
Come on, sunshine. One little break. We'll even be quite. Promise.
From Draco, separately:
We'll keep our hands to ourselves. Probably.
Hermione tossed both notes into the fireplace without responding. She sat back down on her bed, yanked the nearest scroll toward her, and muttered, “I am surrounded by actual toddlers with wands.”
She barely made it through two paragraphs before the fireplace flared green.
“Hermione,” came Theo’s voice from the Floo, bright and smug. “We were just wondering-if you’re going to stay up working all night, should we at least bring snacks? Draco wants to try bribing you with strawberries.”
From behind him, the faint sound of Draco snickering.
“Or whipped cream,” he added.
Hermione threw a pillow toward the fireplace. “Go away!”
She could hear the grin in Theo’s voice. “You could just invite us in, you know. Save all this parchment from being tragically abandoned.”
“Out!” she yelled louder.
The fire died down.
But a note flew back through the open window a minute later.
From Draco:
You're cute when you're mad. But we'll behave. For now.
From Theo:
Good luck finishing the essay, sunshine. You're got this. But also, we'll be waiting... when you need a reward.
Hermione exhaled slowly, closed her eyes, and muttered, “Merlin, give me strength.”
Still-she didn't throw out the chocolate. And a faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she dipped her quill back in ink.
.....................................................................................................................
The world outside Hermione’s dorm room was quiet and still. The clock on her wall had ticked past midnight long ago, but the fire in the hearth still burned low and warm. Books were everywhere-open tomes stacked in lopsided towers, scrolls unrolled and ink smudged with half-finished lines, and notes pinned to her pillows with enchanted tacks.
Hermione sat hunched over her desk, her legs curled beneath her, one hand clutching a quill and the other propping up her head. Her eyes drooped dangerously every few minutes, and every time she blinked, it took a little longer for them to open again.
“Just one more paragraph,” she mumbled, dragging the quill across the parchment like a soldier limping across a battlefield.
There was a knock at the door.
She didn’t even look up.
Another knock. This time louder. Followed by two very familiar voices.
“We know you’re still awake, Potter,” Draco’s voice called through the door, muffled but unmistakably smug.
“Don’t make us guess the password,” Theo added. “We’ll just get Blaise to override it again.”
Hermione pressed her lips together and dipped her quill in ink without responding.
Another pause. Then-
“Come on,” Draco tried again. “Open the door.”
Still nothing.
Theo’s voice came, more playful now. “If you think we’re going away just because you’re pretending to be asleep, you really don’t know us.”
Still, she said nothing. Her hand trembled a little as she wrote, and she gritted her teeth to stay focused. The essay was almost done.
A few seconds passed. Then the door creaked open.
Hermione snapped her head up. “Excuse me?” she snapped. “Did I invite you in?”
Draco strode in first, calm and composed, followed by Theo, who leaned his shoulder against the doorframe like he belonged there.
“You didn’t have to,” Draco said, glancing around at the chaotic state of her room. “We could hear the parchment rustling from the hallway. Thought it was a small dragon at first.”
Theo’s eyes roamed the piles of parchment. “Or a banshee. Could go either way.”
Hermione turned back to her desk, her quill scratching more aggressively now. “I’m fine. Go away.”
“No, you’re not fine,” Draco said, stepping closer. “You’re exhausted, you’re jittery, and you’re on your third pot of tea.”
“Fourth,” Theo corrected helpfully, nudging one of the mugs with his toe. “She made another after dinner.”
“I’m fine,” Hermione hissed, not looking at either of them.
Draco leaned down, placing both hands on the edge of her desk. “This-” he gestured to the scroll in front of her “-is exactly what we meant earlier. The control. The pressure. The way you act like letting go of one assignment means your world will fall apart.”
Hermione didn’t stop writing. “It’s due tomorrow. I can sleep when it’s done.”
Theo walked around to her other side. “You mean to tell me you didn’t hear a single word Draco just said?”
“I heard him. I’m ignoring him,” she muttered. “Just like I ignored both of you earlier, and in the corridor, and-”
“Right,” Draco cut in smoothly. “But here we are anyway.”
Theo leaned in, lowering his voice. “You’re really going to pretend you’re not tired? That you’re not two words away from falling face-first into that scroll?”
She didn’t answer.
Draco straightened up, crossing his arms. “You know, we could’ve just gone to bed. Could’ve let you run yourself into the ground like you always do. But we didn’t.”
“Because you’re insufferable,” she muttered.
“No,” Theo said, inching closer, “because we care.”
Hermione slammed her quill down and finally turned in her chair to look at them. Her hair was half falling out of its bun, strands curling around her cheeks and ears. Her eyes were glassy from tiredness, but defiant.
“I have standards,” she said fiercely. “I’m not going to slack off just because you two think I need a nap and a cuddle.”
“Is that what you think this is?” Draco asked, one brow raised. “You think we’re here to give you cuddles?”
Theo leaned down until he was level with her. “Okay, maybe I am. But also-you need it. And you’re terrible at admitting when you do.”
“I’m not tense,” she snapped.
Both of them gave her a look.
“You’re wound tighter than Blaise’s tie knots,” Theo said dryly.
Draco smirked. “You literally snarled at Ron over toast.”
“He deserved it!” she argued.
“Sure, sure,” Theo said. “Because he buttered the wrong side.”
Hermione groaned and let her head fall into her hands. “You’re both impossible.”
“But effective,” Draco said. “You’re not writing anymore, are you?”
“I hate you both.”
Theo grinned. “That’s closer to a compliment than yesterday.”
Hermione leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. “It’s just… this class is important.”
“We know,” Draco said, quieter now. “But you’re important too. Your health. Your sleep. Your mind. We’re not asking you to drop everything. We’re asking you to breathe.”
Theo added, “And maybe trust us when we say you don’t have to carry the whole damn world alone.”
There was a long silence.
Then Hermione sighed. “You two really don’t give up, do you?”
“Nope,” Draco said.
“Not even slightly,” Theo added, pulling one of her pillows off the bed and tossing it at her gently. “Come on. Take a break. Ten minutes. You can go back to writing after.”
She eyed them both suspiciously. “You’re going to distract me.”
“Obviously,” Theo said cheerfully.
“But only a little,” Draco promised, sitting at the foot of her bed like he’d done it a hundred times before. “Just enough to make sure you don’t pass out at your desk.”
Hermione gave them a tired glare.
But a small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she pulled her scroll aside and muttered, “Ten minutes. That’s it.”
Theo grinned. “That’s all we need.”
Draco stood up and started clearing the bed, stacking books and scrolls neatly on her desk. “Don’t worry, Granger, I won’t crumple your precious essays.”
Hermione watched as he carefully placed each item, her eyes softening slightly. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
“There,” Draco said, turning back to her with a satisfied nod. “All set. Now, come here.”
Hermione hesitated for a moment before standing up and walking over to the bed. Theo patted the space between them, and she climbed in, her back to Draco and her head resting on Theo’s chest.
Draco curled around her back, his arm resting gently on her waist. Theo’s fingers began to run through her hair, massaging her scalp with a soothing rhythm. Draco’s hands found her shoulders, kneading the tension away with firm, gentle strokes.
Hermione let out a soft moan, her body relaxing into their touch. The room was quiet except for the crackling of the fire and the soft sounds of their breathing.
After a few minutes, Draco snorted softly. “You’re purring like a cat, Potter. Is this what you needed all along?”
Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at Theo with a sleepy smile. “Maybe,” she murmured.
Theo chuckled, his fingers continuing their gentle dance through her hair. “You’re very blunt when you’re tired, you know that?”
Hermione didn't smile.
Instead, she tensed.
Theo's fingers paused as her shoulders subtly stiffened, and she slowly pushed herself up onto her elbows, glancing between him and Draco.
"Can I ask you both something?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Draco shifted behind her, propping himself up on one elbow. "Of course."
Hermione swallowed. "What... what is this?"
Theo blinked. "What do you mean?"
She looked between them again, her expression guarded now, more alert despite her obvious exhaustion. "I mean... are we just... friends? Friends who flirt and try to get me to give up control and tuck me in when I'm too tired to push back?"
Her fingers twitched in the blanket. "Or are we-am I-just being warmed up for a good lay before you disappear and pretend this didn't mean anything?"
Draco was silent for a beat, his gaze on her steady, unreadable. Then his hand came up to gently cup her jaw, brushing his thumb along her cheek.
"We're not going anywhere, Hermione."
Theo shifted closer, his voice softer now. "You really think we'd do all this just for a good lay and then leave you behind?"
Hermione's eyes darted away. "I don't know what to think," she admitted. "Sometimes it's just... hard to believe. People usualy want something, and I'm..."
Theo reached out and took her hand, threading his fingers through hers.
“You’re not a passing moment to us,” he said. “We’re here because we want to be. Because you matter.”
Draco nodded, pressing a kiss just beneath her ear before whispering, “Whatever this becomes-however it unfolds-it’s real. And it’s yours to decide, not something we’ll throw away after one night.”
Hermione’s lips parted, as if to argue or question, but she didn’t speak. She simply stared at them both, like she was trying to memorize every word, every glance.
“Okay,” she whispered finally.
Theo resumed combing his fingers through her curls, slower now, more careful.
“Then relax,” he said gently. “Let us be here. Let yourself rest.”
Hermione hesitated one more second, then lay back down between them. Draco’s arm returned around her waist, holding her close. Her body, slowly but surely, began to relax again-less out of exhaustion and more out of something like trust.
She still didn’t have all the answers.
But for now… this was enough.
Chapter 6: Wandless Warfare and Whispered Promises
Summary:
Hermione becomes offical with Draco and Theo after lot's of teasing
Chapter Text
The first thing Hermione registered was the warmth-deep and all-encompassing, cocooning her in soft, steady breaths and the rise and fall of someone’s chest beneath her cheek. The second was the weight. An arm flung over her hip, a leg tangled between hers, a body curled protectively around her back. And the third was the smell-clean, crisp cedar and something dark and expensive. Draco. Theo.
Her nose scrunched as she blinked herself awake. Her curls were pressed against Theo’s bare chest, one of her legs slung over his hip, and her arm curled loosely around his waist. Behind her, Draco was molded to her back, his hand splayed just under her ribs, and his face buried in the back of her neck. The blanket had twisted down to their waists sometime during the night, exposing too much skin and not nearly enough sense.
Hermione groaned.
The sound vibrated in her throat as she tried to shift, carefully maneuvering herself to slide out from between the two very warm, very comfortable, very half-naked men. She got as far as lifting her arm from Theo’s side before Draco grumbled low in his throat.
“Stop moving,” he said, voice still thick with sleep. His arm tightened around her waist. “You’re going to ruin the moment.”
She twisted her head to glare back at him, but he looked far too pleased with himself, eyes still closed, mouth twitching with the start of a smirk. Theo hummed, clearly more awake than he’d let on.
“I could wake up like this every morning,” he said, voice low and lazy against her ear.
Hermione snorted. “You’re going to be the one who ruins it, Nott.”
Draco chuckled and kissed the back of her neck, lips warm and maddeningly soft. She shivered despite herself and glared harder, which was difficult to manage when half of her face was mashed against Theo’s chest.
“I have class,” she muttered, trying once again to wriggle out from between them.
Draco’s hand slid just a fraction higher on her stomach. “You’ll eat breakfast first.”
Hermione groaned again, more frustration than exhaustion now. “I have to get ready, and if I don’t eat in the library, I’ll never finish that-”
Her protest was cut off by Theo, who leaned in and kissed her. Firm and slow and far too effective. Her brain short-circuited for a second. When he finally pulled away, he smirked down at her, still half-asleep and utterly unrepentant.
“You were saying?” he murmured.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, lips parted, brain still rebooting. “That was unfair.”
“So is skipping meals,” Draco muttered into her neck.
Theo smiled, brushing his fingers through the mess of her curls. “Come on, sunshine. Just twenty more minutes. Then we’ll feed you and escort you to class like proper gentlemen.”
Hermione glared at both of them, but she didn’t move. She didn’t shift away or argue further. Theo’s chest was warm beneath her, and Draco’s breath against her skin was steadying. Twenty more minutes couldn’t hurt.
“Fine,” she sighed.
Draco kissed her neck again, smug. “Knew you’d see reason.”
Theo grinned. “It’s why we keep you around.”
She rolled her eyes. “You two are insufferable.”
Draco nuzzled closer. “And yet you’re still here.”
Hermione let her eyes close again, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
She hated how much she liked it here.
But not enough to leave. Not yet.
Not now.
..................................................................................................................
Twenty minutes later, Hermione was still very much stuck.
Somewhere between the comforting haze of sleep and the increasing awareness that she had things to do-important things, necessary things-she found herself unable to move. Not because she was still tired (though she was, if she was being honest), but because the two grown men pinning her in place had clearly made it their morning goal to melt her willpower into a useless puddle.
Theo was still beneath her, head tilted slightly so that her curls spilled over his shoulder. His hand was tangled gently in her hair, fingers combing through the knots in slow, rhythmic passes. He wasn’t in a rush-he never was-and the warmth of his palm against her scalp was doing things to her resolve that should be illegal before breakfast.
Draco, meanwhile, was practically fused to her back. His hand had moved higher, the pad of his thumb rubbing in small, circular motions just beneath her ribs. And he hadn’t stopped kissing her. The back of her neck. The spot just beneath her ear. Her shoulder. Light, lazy kisses meant for nothing more than keeping her pliant.
It was working. Unfortunately.
Hermione let out a long, beleaguered sigh and craned her neck slightly, trying not to sound too affected.
“It’s been twenty minutes,” she said, voice thick with sleep and irritation. “If we don’t get out of bed now, we’ll be late. I need to shower.”
Draco chuckled, brushing his lips along the shell of her ear. “I’ll happily join you.”
Theo’s fingers paused just long enough to give one playful tug at her curls before resuming. “Seconded.”
Hermione’s eye twitched. She tilted her head forward just enough to glare at Theo’s smug expression, then tried to twist slightly to shoot a look over her shoulder at Draco. Predictably, he was smirking too.
“I swear,” she muttered, “if you two don’t release me this instant, I will hex both of you into next week.”
Theo’s eyes sparkled. “Without your wand? I’d like to see you try, sunshine.”
Draco scoffed. “Please. You’re practically boneless right now.”
“I am not boneless,” Hermione snapped.
“You haven’t moved in twenty minutes,” Draco said, amused. “And I’ve been kissing the same spot on your neck for the last five. You shivered, Potter.”
“That proves nothing.”
Theo raised a brow. “So the flush on your cheeks is from what, then? Shame?”
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “You two are impossible.”
“Unrelenting,” Theo agreed.
“Shameless,” Draco added, kissing the same spot again.
Hermione huffed. “You’re both insufferable.”
“Yet still here,” they said in unison.
That was it.
She didn’t need her wand. She didn’t need a countdown. And she definitely didn’t need either of them making another snarky comment about how she “liked it.”
Without so much as a word, Hermione’s eyes narrowed, and she flexed her fingers just slightly.
A sharp crackling sound filled the room like magic snapping through the air-and then:
“OW!”
“Merlin’s-bloody hell-!”
Theo and Draco both yelped and jerked away from her in unison. Theo rolled straight off the bed and landed with a thump on the floor, one hand clutching his side.
Draco scrambled backward, nearly taking the blanket with him. He scowled at her with wide, incredulous eyes, rubbing the spot on his ribs where a stinging hex had clearly hit.
“You actually did it!” Draco exclaimed. “That was wandless!”
Theo groaned from the floor. “And nonverbal! What the hell, sunshine?!”
Hermione threw the blanket off her legs and shot to her feet in one fluid, triumphant motion.
“Warned you,” she said smugly, already marching toward the bathroom with purposeful strides. Her curls bounced with each step.
“Warned us?” Draco sputtered. “You said you’d hex us-not that you’d roast us like toast!”
Theo dragged himself up onto the bed, grumbling as he poked at the welt on his stomach. “I think she hit the same spot I hit on the corner of that desk last week. You know the one.”
Draco winced sympathetically. “That was brutal.”
“You two still talking?” Hermione called from the bathroom doorway.
They both looked up.
She was standing there, hand on the doorframe, wearing an expression of serene satisfaction that made Draco want to kiss it off her face and Theo want to argue about it until she hexed him again.
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “You’re evil.”
Hermione’s smirk widened. “You’re just upset I finally escaped your trap.”
Theo gave a mock scowl. “You’re going to pay for that later.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
She disappeared into the bathroom before they could recover further, shutting the door behind her with an elegant click. They both sat in stunned silence for a long moment, the only sound being the start of running water from the other side of the wall.
Draco turned to Theo and raised a brow. “Still think you want to wake up like that every morning?”
Theo stared at the bathroom door and sighed dramatically. “More than ever.”
Draco gave him a sideways look. “You’re a masochist.”
“You’re with the same woman I am. Look me in the eyes and tell me you aren’t.”
Draco snorted, rubbing his ribs again. “She hits hard.”
“She was holding back. That was a warning shot.”
They fell silent for another beat, the muted sound of the shower running taunting them from behind the closed door. Theo sprawled out across the bed again and groaned.
“Do we have time to seduce her again before class?”
Draco flopped down beside him, arm flung dramatically over his eyes. “We don’t even have time to find clean shirts.”
Theo lifted a hand lazily and summoned their shirts with a flick of his fingers. They landed with twin thuds on Draco’s head.
“Speak for yourself.”
Draco grunted, pulled his shirt off his face, and eyed the bathroom door again. “I still say we try.”
Theo rolled onto his side and gave a wolfish grin. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“You want a list?” Draco asked, raising a brow.
But they were both already halfway to the bathroom by the time Hermione-safely locked behind enchanted wards-shouted, “If either of you so much as touch this handle, I’ll hex your eyebrows off!”
They froze mid-step.
Draco looked at Theo. “She’s bluffing.”
Theo’s expression twisted. “You sure?”
“...Ninety percent.”
A loud pop! sounded inside the bathroom, followed by the unmistakable crackle of raw magic.
Draco took a careful step back. “Ninety percent is too low.”
“Smart boy.”
They slouched back onto the bed, defeated, as Hermione hummed triumphantly behind her enchanted door.
..................................................................................................................
Fifteen minutes later, the bathroom door creaked open, and Hermione strode out like a queen returning from battle.
A plush white towel was wrapped tightly around her body, tucked just beneath her arms and falling to mid-thigh. Her hair was twisted neatly into a damp French braid, droplets still clinging to the golden-brown strands like dew. There was a hint of eyeliner framing her lashes and the softest sheen of gloss on her lips-not much, just enough to say yes, I woke up like this, and no, you don’t deserve it.
Draco-who had been sitting on the edge of her bed tying his shoes-froze, eyes raking over her as she crossed the room like a force of nature. He arched a brow, lips curling into a knowing smirk.
“Wearing lip gloss to study in the library now?” he asked dryly. “That for the dusty books or the poor sods forced to sit across from you?”
Hermione didn’t even break stride. “It’s for me. Some of us like looking nice without the need for an audience.”
Draco chuckled. “Mm. Lucky for me, I’m still the audience.”
“You’re the reason I needed a hex this morning,” she snapped, stepping around him as she made her way toward the wardrobe.
Theo, who had just finished adjusting his emerald and charcoal tie, slid up behind her like a shadow with too many opinions. He rested his chin lightly on her shoulder and tried to snake his hands around her waist.
“Can’t blame us for admiring the view,” he murmured, voice pitched low and smooth. “It’s criminal how good you look in a towel.”
Hermione’s hand darted out, snatching a pair of dark blue bell-bottoms and a Gryffindor red t-shirt from her drawer. She turned sharply, nearly elbowing Theo in the ribs.
“Try that again and you’ll be admiring it from the corridor,” she warned, pointing a finger at him. “I mean it, Nott.”
Theo lifted his hands in mock surrender, grinning like the mischief he was. “Duly noted, sunshine.”
Draco leaned against the bedpost, arms crossed, watching her with one eye narrowed as she held the shirt up against herself.
“You are not wearing that today.”
Hermione paused, holding the soft cotton t-shirt against her front. She blinked. “Excuse me?”
Draco gestured toward the Gryffindor crest on the front like it offended his bloodline. “You heard me. That’s a crime against fashion, Potter. I’m fairly certain the textile is crying.”
She stared at him, deadpan. “I’d love to see you stop me.”
Theo, now perched on the edge of her desk, let out a delighted laugh as he adjusted his sleeves. “Oh, this is entertaining. Carry on. Do hex each other."
Hermione glared at both of them, then scooped up her clothes and marched right back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her with enough force to rattle the bookshelf.
Five minutes later, the door opened again-less dramatically this time-and Hermione emerged, dressed and buttoning the last clasp of her jeans.
The flared bell-bottoms hugged her hips perfectly, swaying slightly as she moved, and the Gryffindor t-shirt was rolled into a tasteful knot at her waist. Her braid had dried slightly and she’d tucked a quill behind one ear like the weapon it was.
She looked like a scholar who could kill a man in seven different languages. And Draco suspected she knew that.
Theo was now fully dressed, blazer buttoned, tie straight, hair perfectly tousled. Draco stood at the foot of the bed, sliding on his robes with one hand while tapping a book against his thigh with the other.
Hermione grabbed her bag, slung it over one shoulder, and marched for the door like she was making a break for the border.
Theo’s voice stopped her cold.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
Hermione didn’t even turn around. “Library.”
Draco cocked his head. “Interesting. Because I recall telling you that you’re eating breakfast first.”
Hermione finally faced them, arms crossed, one hip cocked out in that telltale posture that meant argument imminent.
“You don’t get to tell me what I’m doing,” she said sharply. “I lost twenty minutes to your nonsense, and I have three essays due next week.”
“And you’ll do them better if your blood sugar isn’t in the negatives,” Draco countered. “You look like you haven’t eaten properly since the party.”
“I had toast yesterday.”
“Toast isn’t a meal, Potter.”
“It is if you put jam on it.”
Theo slid in front of the door casually, leaning his full weight against the frame as if he had all the time in the world. “Sorry, sunshine. Library’s closed until you eat something with protein in it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re blocking the door.”
“Observant,” Theo said brightly. “Didn’t even need a textbook for that deduction.”
Hermione advanced a few steps toward him, chin tilted. “Move.”
Theo held up one finger. “Only if you say, ‘You were right, Theo. I do need breakfast, and you and Draco are devastatingly handsome.’”
She looked at him like he’d asked her to confess to murder.
Draco, for his part, wandered up beside her and said, in a maddeningly calm voice, “I’ll take just the first part, thanks. The devastatingly handsome bit’s already assumed.”
Hermione groaned and turned in a tight circle like she was praying for patience from the universe. “You two are infuriating.”
“You’re not leaving this dorm without agreeing to eat,” Draco said simply.
“I am not your ward!”
“No,” he agreed. “You’re worse. You’re stubborn, overachieving, and suicidal when it comes to meals.”
“I’m fine!”
Theo leaned in, grinning. “You’re hangry, and you know it.”
Hermione threw up her hands. “I am not hangry!”
“You just yelled that at volume,” Draco pointed out.
“You’ve been out of the bathroom for eight minutes and you’re already in an argument,” Theo added. “That’s a record. Even for you.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Fine. I’ll eat. But only because if I don’t, I’ll probably faint and won’t be able to finish my Potions essay. Not because you ordered me to.”
Draco bowed, smug as anything. “As long as you eat. I’ll take the moral victory.”
Theo swung the door open with an exaggerated gesture. “After you, sunshine.”
She shot both of them a death glare as she stormed past.
They trailed after her, walking two steps behind like bodyguards-or perhaps irritating personal assistants-the whole way.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Hermione muttered.
Draco leaned in, voice low. “Think of it as penance. For traumatizing us with a hex before sunrise.”
“Next time I’ll aim lower.”
Theo grinned. “Promises, promises.”
As they made their way down the spiraling North Tower staircase, Hermione walked with purpose and fury in equal measure, head held high and shoulders squared like she was heading to war. Draco and Theo flanked her like well-dressed chaos demons.
“You’re both the worst,” she muttered again.
Draco winked. “And yet…”
“You still love us,” Theo finished.
Hermione didn’t reply. But her lips twitched-just barely-as they descended the last step and entered the corridor toward breakfast.
...................................................................................................................
The Spell Lab was colder than usual.
The enchanted torches along the walls flickered lazily, throwing golden glints across the steel-trimmed benches and ancient chalkboards that lined the sides of the room. At the front, Professor Slater was stacking grimoires on his desk with a rhythmic clunk, each one heavier than the last.
Hermione slid into her seat at the center bench near the front-because of course she would-unbothered by the chill in the air. She already had parchment unrolled and quill inked before anyone else had even made it through the door.
To her left, Draco dropped into his seat with a smirk still lingering from their early morning standoff. To her right, Theo leaned back lazily in his chair like he hadn’t just lost a magical tug-of-war with her in her dorm an hour and a half earlier.
Across the bench behind them sat Blaise and Luna, heads bent together as Luna explained something in that dreamy, conspiratorial way she had. Ginny and Pansy sat a row over, their desks pressed together as they shared a collection of color-coded notes that definitely didn’t belong to either of them.
Hermione was halfway through organizing her ink bottles when it started.
It began with Draco leaning in-close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her neck.
“You look tense, love,” he murmured, just as Professor Slater called for attention. “Need help relaxing?”
Hermione blinked, hand still hovering over her quill. “You’re not starting this again.”
Theo’s voice joined in from the other side, low and velvet. “Starting? We never stopped. We were merely… delayed.”
Hermione turned slightly, only to find Theo’s fingers already trailing across her knee under the table.
She narrowed her eyes. “Do you need a reminder of what happened in my dorm this morning? Because I’m happy to repeat the lesson.”
Draco chuckled, voice rich with amusement. “That hex barely grazed me.”
“You almost landed in the bloody curtains,” she hissed, elbowing him lightly.
“Worth it,” he whispered back, pressing the pad of his thumb against her ribs, rubbing slow, deliberate circles just beneath her shirt. “This is payback.”
Theo’s hand slid a little higher on her thigh, and his lips brushed her ear.
“You were very rude this morning, sunshine. We’re just here to remind you of your manners.”
Hermione stiffened as her face flushed, but she didn’t swat them away. Not yet. She tried to focus on Professor Slater’s lecture, which was now meandering into the nuances of wandless levitation versus directional spell anchoring. It might as well have been Gobbledegook.
“I will hex you again,” she muttered, glaring at her open textbook.
Draco leaned in even closer, his lips brushing her braid. “Eventually, you’ll give in.”
“And enjoy it,” Theo added wickedly.
From behind them, Pansy’s voice drifted forward, syrupy and amused. “Honestly, the tension radiating off this bench could light a fireplace.”
“I’d say it’s more like a kiln,” Ginny chimed in with a snort. “Or a cauldron about to bubble over.”
Luna’s dreamy voice added, “You can actually see the glow if you squint. The lovers’ aura is practically humming.”
Hermione turned her head sharply, eyes wide. “Lovers’ aura?”
Luna nodded solemnly. “It happens when two or more people are metaphysically entangled. Yours is very golden. With a touch of crimson.”
Blaise raised a brow, glancing between the three of them with a lazy grin. “Well, at least they’re not subtle anymore.”
Theo’s fingers danced a slow, suggestive pattern on Hermione’s inner thigh, his touch featherlight. “Subtlety is boring.”
“Consent is important,” Hermione muttered under her breath, despite the heat building behind her eyes. “And you two are toeing the line.”
Draco gave her a grin so smug she wanted to punch it-and maybe kiss it off his face. “You didn’t say stop.”
Hermione’s mouth twitched.
“Yet.”
Professor Slater, oblivious to the war waged beneath the table, began distributing paired wandwork instructions. “You’ll all be working with a partner today. Comparative casting using contrast and blend techniques. Take turns and alternate methods.”
Hermione groaned internally. Of course they were partnering.
Draco smirked. “Looks like fate’s on our side.”
Hermione barely turned toward him. “If either of you try anything while we’re casting, I’ll hex you so thoroughly that your ancestors will feel it.”
Theo grinned, eyes dancing. “She says that like it’s not a turn-on.”
Pansy leaned over and whispered to Ginny, “I give it five minutes before she caves.”
“I give it three,” Ginny replied cheerfully. “They’re persistent.”
Luna tilted her head. “Hermione will cave at exactly four minutes and sixteen seconds. Just before Draco uses a stabilizing charm that lands his hand on her hip.”
Blaise looked delighted. “That’s disturbingly specific, love.”
Luna beamed. “Everything is, if you know where to look.”
Theo bumped Hermione’s shoulder playfully. “Ready, partner?”
Hermione rolled her eyes but lifted her wand. “Only if you behave.”
“Define behave,” Draco said smoothly.
The exercise began. First up: synchronized casting with mirrored intent. Hermione and Theo stood side by side, concentrating on the spell Vinctum Orbitas, a high-level binding charm designed to demonstrate power balance.
They executed it perfectly on the first go—mostly because Hermione refused to lose. But as soon as the charm dissipated into a sparkling ring of blue, Theo’s hand dipped once more to her waist, fingers brushing under her shirt again.
“You’re cheating,” she whispered.
“Improvising,” he corrected.
Draco joined them, now assigned for the second half of the task. He sidled up to Hermione’s other side, wand already out—but his other hand casually rested at the small of her back.
The moment they cast Convergio Flamma, a spell designed to merge two magical auras, Draco let his hand trail up her spine with the lightest touch.
Hermione didn’t flinch but her breath caught just audibly enough that both men grinned.
“You’re evil,” she hissed.
“You’re enjoying it,” Draco said smoothly, brushing his lips just barely behind her ear. “Don’t lie.”
“I’m focused on the assignment,” she said primly.
Theo murmured, “You say that, but your pulse just jumped.”
Behind them, Ginny snorted. “They’re going to combust right there.”
Pansy sighed dramatically. “If they do, I call Hermione’s boots.”
“They’d never survive the blast,” Luna said serenely. “But I do believe Draco’s shirt would be salvageable.”
“Enough commentary,” Hermione snapped, cheeks burning.
Blaise snickered. “Jealous you’re not in our betting pool, Potter?”
“You’re disgusting,” she shot back.
“You love it,” Theo said again.
Hermione raised her wand-not to cast the spell, but to threaten both of them.
Draco lifted both brows. “You sure you want to do that in the middle of class?”
“Try me,” she said sweetly.
Theo leaned in, whispering so low only she could hear: “We’ll make you lose control one day, sunshine. Just wait.”
Her grip on her wand tightened.
Draco’s voice brushed against her neck. “And when you do, it’ll be glorious.”
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, trying to focus on Slater’s voice.
Theo’s hand found her thigh again. Draco’s fingers grazed the edge of her spine. Both were clearly playing a game they had no intention of stopping.
She was going to hex them.
Or kiss them.
Possibly both.
Class had never felt so long.
And the girls behind her?
They were living for it.
.............................................................................................................
The library was uncharacteristically quiet-even for midday free study.
Sunlight filtered through the high, arched windows of Arcanum Universitas’s ancient east wing, casting shifting golden pools across the polished floor and the expansive reading tables. Shelves towered all around them, crammed with tomes on magical theory, spellcrafting lineage, and obscure potion formulas that hadn’t been brewed since the 1400s.
Hermione sat at the far end of the table, books spread around her like a protective barrier. Her quill danced across the parchment at a furious pace, notes stacking up beside her in color-coded precision. Her fingers were smudged with ink. She didn’t notice. Didn’t care.
She was in the zone.
Pansy, Ginny, Astoria, and Daphne sat further down the same table, parchment and books in front of them-though very little studying was happening.
“I’m just saying,” Pansy said, tapping her quill against her lips, “if Theo shows up at breakfast shirtless again, I’m going to start charging people to sit at our table.”
Astoria grinned. “Draco wasn’t exactly covered either. His collarbone was doing a lot of work.”
Daphne, flipping idly through a potions manual, added, “You think they’re trying to distract Hermione?”
“Distract us, more like,” Ginny muttered, though she was clearly amused.
Hermione, oblivious, kept scribbling.
Her brows furrowed slightly as she flipped a page, muttering under her breath, “No, that’s not right-Amato’s Third Postulate contradicts Bardell’s theory on enchanted intent…”
She didn’t even blink when a small folded piece of parchment appeared in front of her, fluttering gently to a stop beside her ink pot.
Pansy smirked. “Showtime.”
Hermione, without looking up, unfurled the note and read it.
Do you ever think about that night in the club? Because we do.
-D&T
She stared at it for a second, then calmly flicked it to the side and resumed writing.
Another note floated down not ten seconds later.
Theo says he still dreams about the sound you made when he kissed the back of your neck.
-Still D&T
Hermione inhaled slowly, quill pausing only for a moment.
Daphen leaned toward Pansy. "Should we be concerned they're playing tthis game while she's clearly on the edge of murdering someone?"
Ginny grinned "Nah. This is foreply to them."
"Disturbing," Astoria muttered, then snorted when another not appeared- this one folded in the shape of a rose and glowing faintly at the edges.
Hermione opened it with a sigh.
Draco thinks about your thighs when he's trying to study. You're the reason he failed that theory quiz last week. He sayd thank you.
-Guess Who
Pansy choked on a laugh. "Oh, they're escalating."
Hermione finally glanced up, eyes narrowed, then looked around. No sign of either of them.
She shook her head, picked up her quill again, and muttered, “Infantile.”
Astoria elbowed Ginny. “That’s the voice she uses when she’s trying not to enjoy it.”
Ginny grinned. “She’s hanging by a thread.”
Seconds later, a puff of glittering smoke slithered across the table and materialized into a scroll that slowly unraveled in front of Hermione.
It read, in elegant script:
We miss your mouth.
Respectfully, your biggest distractions.
-Theodore & Draco
Hermione pressed her fingers to her temples.
“I’m going to kill them.”
“No, you’re not,” Daphne said serenely, sipping her tea.
Another note landed beside her. This one had an enchantment that made it unfold midair and read itself aloud in Theo’s velvet voice:
"Do you need us to come and remind you how much fun you are when you're not studying?"
Hermione clenched her jaw.
Pansy bust out laughing. "Oh, they're so dead."
“They’re trying to get a reaction,” Hermione hissed, still furiously scribbling. “I will not let them win. I am learning about binding transference theory, and I will not be seduced in a library.”
“Why not?” Ginny asked, flipping her braid over her shoulder. “It’s got all the elements-quiet, forbidden, ancient bookshelves…”
“Sexy corners,” Daphne added helpfully.
Hermione glared. “You’re not helping.”
A final note fluttered in from above, this one tied with a red ribbon and enchanted to smell like Theo’s cologne.
Pansy leaned closer. “What’s the over-under on this one making her combust?”
Ginny smirked. “This is the kill shot.”
Hermione untied it, eyes blazing.
Library desks are sturdy.
Draco did a stress test this morning.
We'd like to demonstrate.
-Your Gentlemen of Sin
Hermione made a strangled noise in her throat, crumpled the parchment with one hand, and was this close to casting a full-body binding jinx when the shadows shifted at the edge of the reading room.
She froze.
Draco and Theo strolled in like they owned the place-Theo in his black button-up rolled to his elbows, Draco in soft gray that matched the storm in his eyes. Both looked infuriatingly relaxed. Theo carried a textbook under one arm. Draco had his wand tucked behind his ear like he hadn’t just sent his her ten different magically-imbued sex notes in the span of an hour.
They approached the table slowly, smiles lazy and entirely unapologetic.
“Hi, sunshine,” Theo murmured, leaning over to press a kiss to the crown of Hermione’s head.
Draco leaned in the other side, voice silk. “Miss us?”
Hermione didn’t look up. “You’re both insufferable.”
“Accurate,” Pansy said brightly.
“But effective,” Daphne added, glancing pointedly at Hermione’s flushed cheeks.
“You’re distracting me,” Hermione snapped, still scribbling but now noticeably pink.
“From what?” Theo asked innocently.
“Learning!”
Draco slid into the seat beside her, spreading his arms across the back of the bench like a smug prince. “You’ve been learning all morning. Time for a break.”
“I’ll take a break when I finish the section on aura-blending stabilizers-”
“No,” Theo said, sitting on the other side of her and nudging her elbow. “You’ll take a break now.”
Ginny leaned in, whispering dramatically to Astoria, “She’s not going to win this. I’ve seen that look in Theo’s eyes before.”
“Which look?”
“The I will carry you out of here if I must look.”
Hermione stared at both of them, exasperated. “I am not an object you can just manhandle.”
Draco tilted his head. “Would you prefer we asked first?”
“Don’t tempt me,” Theo murmured, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You look so pretty when you’re about to snap.”
“Theo.”
“Hermione,” he replied, equally serious. “Come walk with us. Or better yet, let us carry you to your dorm room and feed you grapes.”
“That sounds weirdly appealing,” Astoria admitted.
“I’d pay to watch that,” Pansy added.
Hermione threw down her quill. “Fine.”
Draco’s brows lifted. “Fine?”
“Fine,” she said again, snapping her book closed. “Only because I know you’ll keep escalating until one of you gets banned from the library.”
Theo grinned. “Guilty.”
Draco leaned in, brushing her braid off her shoulder. “And when we get banned, you’ll be responsible for tutoring us.”
“That’s not a threat, Malfoy.”
“It’s not a promise either,” he replied smoothly, offering her his hand.
She rolled her eyes, shoved her parchment into her bag, and ignored the triumphant grins on everyone’s faces as she allowed herself to be escorted away from the table by two entirely smug, utterly victorious Slytherin men.
Behind her, the girls dissolved into giggles.
“Two Galleons says she doesn’t make it back for another hour,” Ginny whispered.
“Three says her hair’s messier when she returns,” Pansy added.
“Five says they’re messier,” Astoria said with a smirk.
Daphne flipped a page of her potions book. “Ten says she hexes one of them halfway through the walk.”
They all agreed.
And at the door, Hermione paused, turned slightly, and called over her shoulder, “I can hear you, you know.”
They just grinned harder.
................................................................................................................
The door to Hermione’s dorm swung open with a soft click, the muffled sound of their footsteps the only thing breaking the quiet. The light from the enchanted sconces flickered gently across the walls, casting warm shadows as Hermione stepped inside, followed closely by Theo and Draco.
Her bag hit the desk with more force than necessary, and she let out a sharp breath as she ran a hand through her braid. She was still irritated. Not furious, not livid-just annoyed enough to make a point.
“You two interrupted a perfectly good free study,” she snapped, not turning to look at them as she flipped open the top of her notes.
“Mm,” Draco hummed behind her, far too pleased with himself. He slipped behind her, arms winding around her waist as his lips brushed the back of her neck. “You’ll survive missing an hour.”
Hermione didn’t even try to suppress the shiver that ran down her spine, but she didn’t give in either.
Theo, never one to be left out, came up beside her and grabbed her hips gently, leaning forward to kiss her temple. “He’s right. There’s nothing wrong with taking a break now and then. Even you, Potter.”
“Hermione,” she corrected, finally shrugging them both off with a frustrated groan. She stepped away and turned to face them, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “We need to talk. Like, seriously talk. Before whatever this thing is we’re doing goes any further.”
That got their attention.
Theo tilted his head, expression shifting from amused to curious. “What does that mean?”
Draco frowned slightly, stepping closer. “What do you want it to be?”
Hermione hesitated, caught off guard by the question. She looked between them, suddenly aware of how close they were, how warm the room felt. Her stomach twisted with nerves, and she pressed her lips together, unsure.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “It’s-complicated. And messy. And I’m still figuring things out. But I don’t want this to be some… casual thing that’s all teasing and stolen kisses in the library and hands under the table in class.”
Theo’s lips quirked, but he didn’t smile. “You want it to mean something.”
“Yes.” Her voice was quiet but firm. “And I know you two joke a lot, and you flirt like breathing, but if this is just fun for you-then I need to step back. Because I’m already…” She trailed off, biting her lip.
Draco stepped forward without hesitation and gently pulled her into his chest. She didn’t resist.
“It’s not just fun for me,” he said quietly against her ear. “It is fun, yes-but it’s also terrifying. And real. And I want you, Hermione. Not just for the stolen kisses. I want all of it. We can be whatever you want us to be.”
Hermione exhaled slowly, her cheek pressed to his shirt. Her heart was thudding a little too fast.
Theo walked up beside her, his eyes softer than she’d ever seen them. “Boyfriends,” he offered. “We could be that. You be our girlfriend. All in. Not half. No pretending.”
She blinked, looking up at him, startled by the sincerity in his tone.
“I’m still scared,” she admitted, voice cracking just a little. “I’m not used to this.”
Draco’s arms tightened around her waist. “Neither are we. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”
Hermione took another breath, then nodded. “Alright. Fine. Yes.”
Theo’s grin returned full force. “Damn right, yes.”
And then they both moved at once.
Draco dipped his head to capture her mouth in a kiss that was firm and deliberate, his hand cupping the back of her head as if she might bolt. Theo’s hands gripped her hips and tugged her back toward him as he leaned down to claim her lips next, slower, with a smirk she could feel against her skin.
Her knees buckled slightly, but she didn’t pull away.
Draco’s hand slid up her spine, fingers threading through the tail of her braid, his mouth moving with increasing urgency against hers. Theo pressed closer, his mouth tracing a path down the side of her jaw before finding her lips again, this time deeper, with a growl that sent heat racing through her blood.
Hermione gasped softly as Theo's hand slipped under the hem of her shirt at her waist, his touch burning against her skin. Draco's teeth grazed her lower lip as his hands traveled along her ribs, both of them holding her between them like she was the center of gravity in the room.
“You’re going to be the death of us,” Draco muttered against her skin.
“I’ll go willingly,” Theo added, voice thick with affection and heat.
Hermione finally pulled back a breathless inch, cheeks flushed and eyes dark. “You two are relentless.”
“You love it,” Draco murmured, brushing her nose with his.
“Maybe,” she whispered. “Just a little.”
Theo kissed her again, lingering. “We’ll take that as a yes.”
She huffed, torn between glaring and melting, but neither of them gave her the space to decide. Not that she minded.
Not anymore.
Not now.
...................................................................................................................
Half an hour later, the afternoon light streamed softly through Hermione’s window, warm and hazy against the bed. The tangled sheets still smelled faintly of firewhiskey, vanilla, and cedarwood—the telltale scent of Draco’s cologne. The atmosphere had quieted, the heat of the earlier moment replaced with something softer, slower. Still just as intense, but gentler.
Hermione lay nestled between them, head resting on Draco’s chest as his fingers lazily traced circles over the curve of her hip beneath the hem of her shirt. Theo was behind her, arm draped across her waist, his other hand combing carefully through her curls. He had undone her braid only minutes earlier, murmuring something about how it was a shame to keep them all twisted up when they were so soft.
Hermione didn’t have the energy to argue. Not now. She was floating somewhere between blissfully relaxed and dangerously close to sleep, her breath catching now and again as Draco leaned down to press small, deliberate kisses to her forehead, her temple, the side of her brow-wherever he could reach without displacing her.
Theo’s hand slowed, his fingers curling a lock of her hair around one finger before releasing it again with a sigh.
“You two tricked me,” she mumbled, her voice muffled against Draco’s shirt. “Absolutely tricked me.”
Draco scoffed, thumb still gliding over the warm skin of her hip. “Tricked you? That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
Theo chuckled against her neck. “I seem to remember being very upfront about what we were doing. There was kissing. Talking. Offers to be your boyfriend. I don’t recall any sleight of hand.”
“You cornered me,” she insisted, dragging one leg across the sheets and sighing when she realized moving took too much effort. “Like predators. Circling prey.”
“Again,” Draco said dryly, “you agreed. Very willingly, I might add.”
Hermione grumbled something unintelligible, squirming slightly in protest, but she didn’t move far. Theo resumed playing with her curls as though that settled it.
Draco smirked and leaned down to kiss her again, this time on her cheekbone. “Face it, Potter. You’re cuddled up between us and minutes away from falling asleep.”
“I am not falling asleep,” she muttered, though her eyes had fluttered closed sometime during Theo’s sixth or seventh pass through her hair. “I’m just… resting my eyes. Temporarily.”
“Mmhmm,” Theo hummed, lips brushing against her ear. “Resting your eyes. For the last twenty minutes.”
“I have to get back to the library,” she said weakly, though even to her own ears it sounded halfhearted.
“No,” Theo said simply. “You’re going to eat lunch.”
Hermione cracked one eye open and tried to glare over her shoulder. “Don’t tell me what I’m going to do.”
“You need to be told,” Draco said flatly, rubbing small circles into her hip with just the edge of his thumb. “Otherwise, you’ll pretend hunger and fatigue are optional.”
“They are optional,” she said, pouting against his chest.
Draco snorted. “They’re not. Your body is human, Hermione. Brilliant, but human.”
“You two are infuriating,” she mumbled. “Since when did I end up with two boyfriends who think bossing me around is love?”
“Since about an hour ago,” Theo said cheerfully, shifting behind her to nuzzle the back of her shoulder. “Though honestly, we’ve been telling you to slow down and take care of yourself since before we made it official.”
“Only difference now,” Draco added, “is we have permission to enforce it.”
“You do not,” Hermione protested weakly, stretching one leg out from under the covers before promptly tucking it back under. “You have no such power.”
Theo grinned. “Don’t we?”
Hermione twisted to look over her shoulder. “You really think I’m going to let you bully me into skipping the library?”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “You’re not skipping it. You’re taking a break. Food, then books.”
“You two are tyrants.”
“Caring tyrants,” Theo corrected. “Sexy ones, too.”
Draco laughed. “I’m not above bribing you with more kissing.”
“You’re shameless.”
“We like to win,” Theo said, brushing his knuckles gently down her spine.
Hermione sighed, long and dramatic. “Fine. Lunch. But I’m going to complain the whole time.”
Draco kissed the top of her head. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
She shifted slightly, finally pushing herself up just enough to sit. Theo’s arm dropped from her waist, but his hand remained resting just behind her, fingertips brushing her back. Draco leaned forward, his hair slightly mussed, eyes warm as he watched her blink herself fully awake.
“I still think I was tricked,” she said again, voice softer this time.
Draco smiled. “And we’re going to keep tricking you. Into eating. Sleeping. Laughing.”
Theo stretched out beside them, arms behind his head. “Loving us.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, but her mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. “You two are ridiculous.”
“And you love it,” Draco said, climbing out of bed to pull his shirt over his head again. “Now come on. You can hex us at lunch if it’ll make you feel better.”
Theo rolled to his feet and offered her his hand. “Lunch, then books. Promise.”
She took it reluctantly, letting them help her out of bed even as she muttered, “I swear I’m going to regret this entire relationship.”
“No, you won’t,” they said in unison, grinning like devils.
And deep down, even as she groaned and tugged her cardigan over her shoulders, Hermione knew they were right.
Chapter 7: Sweet Surrender
Summary:
Hermione finally lets Draco and Theo help her let go
Notes:
Wooo, this chapter is steamy!! There is adult content contained in this chapter so if you don't like it, don't read it. Other than that, I hope you enjoy!
Chapter Text
The dinning hall of Arcanum Universitas was bustling with its usual lunchtime chaos, voices echoing off enchanted stone walls, enchanted platters steaming with a spread that could rival any feast Hogwarts had ever laid out. Laughter rippled across tables, students moved in and out with plates stacked high, and the sun filtering through the enchanted ceiling cast a soft golden hue over everything.
At one of the longer tables near the enchanted windows, Hermione sat in the middle of a row flanked by her ever-growing circle of friends-Draco on her right, Theo on her left, with Pansy, Neville, Ginny, and Harry to the side. Across from them sat Seamus, Dean, Blaise, Luna, Padma, Cho, Parvati, Lavender-and Ron, who was already elbow-deep in mashed potatoes.
Hermione had a plate in front of her. That much was certain. But her fork had merely pushed the roasted vegetables and glazed chicken around into tidy little rows, without ever actually reaching her mouth.
Draco noticed first, of course. He shifted closer, voice low but pointed. “You better eat, Potter,” he said, sliding a piece of roasted carrot back into the center of her plate. “Or I will ground you from the library.”
Hermione barely blinked. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me,” he said smoothly.
Theo chuckled on her other side, leaning back with a smirk. “I’ll back him up. We’re a united front now. And we’ve faced far worse than a cranky bookworm.”
Pansy raised an eyebrow from across the table. “Honestly, someone finally threatening her with library restriction? About time. She’s practically one skipped meal away from collapsing into her Theory essay.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and nudged her plate forward an inch. “I ate some of it.”
Theo narrowed his eyes. “You’ve had three bites.”
“And that’s enough,” Hermione said primly. “For me.”
“No, it’s not,” Draco said, wrapping a firm arm around her waist and pulling her just slightly into his side. “You’re not a bird. You need more than crumbs.”
Across the table, Harry leaned forward, giving Draco a sharp look. “She doesn’t have to-”
“Harry,” Hermione interrupted with a tired warning. “I love you, but don’t start. You know I don’t need my wand to ruin your day.”
That earned a chorus of laughter from the girls.
Ginny smirked. “She’s got a point. Remember when she threatened to hex your eyebrows off second year just by blinking?”
Harry grumbled under his breath, crossing his arms, but even he was smiling slightly.
“She means business,” Luna added serenely, sipping from her goblet of rosewater. “You can always tell by the way her nostrils flare.”
“They do flare,” Parvati agreed, nodding with a grin.
Cho, seated beside Padma, tilted her head. “I say let her murder them all. It’ll boost morale.”
“Violence is sometimes the answer,” Lavender added brightly.
Hermione sighed and leaned forward on her elbows, glaring halfheartedly at her plate. “I don’t need an intervention, thanks.”
Pansy arched an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, it’s not an intervention. It’s a revolution.”
Theo reached out, placing a warm palm on the back of her neck, thumb brushing gently against her nape. “Eat more,” he said, voice low and coaxing. “Just a little more, darling.”
Hermione tilted her head back slightly and glared at him. “You two are unbearable.”
Draco leaned in until his lips hovered just beside her ear. “If you don’t finish at least half, I’ll bend you over the edge of your desk tonight and make you recite your Arithmancy formulas while I-”
From the other side, Theo smirked and leaned in until his breath brushed against the hellof her ear.
“If you keep being stubborn, sunshine, I’ll have to pin you to your bed and teach you obedience-with my mouth.”
Hermione’s entire body went rigid as heat flushed down her neck. Her hand shot out, gripping the edge of the table so hard her knuckles went white.
“You two are-”
Ron gagged. “Please, not at the table.”
Harry made a strangled sound and pointed his fork at them like a weapon. “I swear, if I have to listen to either of you talk like that again, I will petrify both of you and lock you in separate closets.”
“That would be counterproductive,” Draco drawled. “We’d find each other again eventually. Love always finds a way.”
Theo added, “Besides, I think it’s time we came clean.”
Hermione froze. “Came clean about what?”
Draco looked smug. “About the fact that we’re finally official.”
“We wore her down,” Theo said proudly.
..................................................................................................................
Hermione sat cross-legged in the middle of her bed, parchment and books spread around her in a precise semi-circle. Her hair was pulled into a loose braid again, this one already beginning to fray from her frustrated habit of tugging it every time Theo interrupted.
And Merlin, did he interrupt a lot.
“The statute clearly states-” she began, tapping her notes with her wand.
Theo, lounging casually against the bedpost at the foot of her mattress, cut in with a smirk. “That you’re brilliant, beautiful, and about to destroy me in front of the Wizengamot? Yes, I read that too.”
Hermione sighed, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. “That’s not what it says. And flattery won’t win you this case.”
“That’s what you think,” he said, straightening his tie as though preparing for trial. “I’ve found that charm and a good jawline can get you just as far as facts in a Ministry hearing.”
“That’s horrifying,” Hermione muttered, returning her attention to the parchment in her lap. “And explains far too much about Ministry corruption.”
Theo chuckled. “I’m just saying-if we’re simulating a real courtroom, I should get points for distracting the opposing counsel.”
“You are not supposed to distract me,” she said, gesturing between them. “You’re supposed to act as if you’re arguing a real case. That means presenting a cohesive, fact-based argument, citing precedent, and maintaining a proper tone. Not leaning against my bedpost like you're posing for a portrait and making innuendos every five seconds.”
Theo grinned, pleased. “So I am distracting you.”
Hermione let her head fall back with a groan. “You’re as bad as Draco.”
Theo's grin widened. “Worse, actually.”
With no further warning, he pushed off the bedpost and crawled onto the mattress with all the lazy grace of a well-fed panther. Hermione blinked, caught off guard as Theo moved forward on hands and knees, slowly closing the space between them. His tie dangled in front of him, brushing the parchment she held.
“Theo,” she warned, trying to sound stern. It came out breathier than intended.
“Yes, Counselor?” he murmured, now kneeling directly in front of her. He braced one hand beside her hip and then another, settling over her until his chest hovered just above hers. “Am I violating some article of courtroom decorum?”
“You’re violating my patience,” she said, scowling up at him.
“That’s not in the statute.”
“Theo.”
“Yes?”
“Get off me.”
Theo looked deeply unrepentant. “But I like it here.”
Hermione tried to push him with one hand, but he caught her wrist and held it gently between them. “We should be practicing.”
“We are,” he said, eyes gleaming. “I’m preparing for cross-examination.”
Hermione rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle she didn’t see the inside of her skull. “You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been told I’m persistent,” he murmured. His free hand brushed a curl away from her face.
She stilled beneath him, caught between exasperation and the unmistakable warmth blooming in her chest. “This is why I never get anything done around either of you.”
“That sounds like a personal problem,” he said innocently, resting his forehead gently against hers. “One that comes with very good distractions.”
Hermione sighed again, only this time it was softer. “You're lucky I don’t mind you being a menace.”
Theo’s lips tilted into a slow grin. “I’m lucky for a lot of reasons.”
She let her eyes close for a moment, feeling his weight, the safety of it, the quiet that somehow followed him even in the chaos. A beat passed before she opened one eye and muttered, “We still have Moot Court practice Theo..."
He kissed her forehead. "I know, but the case of Potter v. Resistance to Relaxing is more important."
Hermione groaned again. “I should’ve partnered with Blaise.”
Theo beamed. “Blaise doesn’t climb into your bed like I do.”
“Thank Merlin for that.”
“You wound me.”
Hermione finally laughed, letting herself fall back against the pillows with Theo flopping dramatically onto her a second later. She muttered, “Menaces, the both of you.”
Theo’s hand began to trace gentle patterns on her side, his touch light and teasing. Hermione’s breath hitched, and she tried to focus on the parchment that she had picked back up, but it was no use. Theo leaned in his lips brushing agasint her neck, placing soft kisses that sent shivers down her spine.
"You are incrediably tense," he muttered between kisses, " let me help you relax sunshine."
Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed, and she bit her lip to suppress a moan. “Theo, we should really-”
He cut her off with another kiss, this time on the sensitive spot just below her ear. “Shh, just let go. I’ve got you.”
She tried to push him away, but he easily pinned her wrists above her head, his grip firm but gentle. Hermione’s heart raced, and she fought the urge to arch into him as his lips continued their exploration of her neck.
“You know you want to,” Theo whispered, his voice low and seductive. “Just give in, Hermione. Let me take care of you.”
Hermione’s breath came in short gasps, and she turned her head away, trying to regain some semblance of control. “I... I can’t. We have to practice.”
Theo chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through her. “Practice can wait. This... this is more important.”
He shifted slightly, his hand running along the edge of her jeans, teasing the waistband. Hermione’s eyes widened, and she bucked her hips, trying to dislodge him. But Theo was relentless, his touch igniting a fire within her that she couldn’t ignore.
“Theo, please,” she begged, her voice a mix of plea and protest. “We can’t-”
“Can’t what?” he murmured, his lips finding hers in a soft, lingering kiss. “Can’t feel good? Can’t let go for just a moment?”
Hermione’s resolve was crumbling, her body betraying her as she fought to maintain control. She was on the verge of surrendering when a throat cleared from the doorway. “Am I interrupting something?”
Hermione blushed deeply, trying to hide her face as Theo rolled off of her with a grin. “Not at all,” Theo said, completely unrepentant. “Just a little... practice.”
Draco strode over and pulled Hermione into his chest, his arms wrapping around her in a comforting embrace. “You okay, Potter?” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.
Hermione nodded, her cheeks still flushed. “Y-yes. Just... just got a bit carried away.”
Draco’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he looked at Theo. “Making her a mess before supper sounds like a really good idea.”
“You also have two incredibly stubborn partners who are going to make you eat supper and breathe before you dive back into magical contract theory,” Theo said.
“And kiss you until you forget what ‘responsibility’ even means,” Draco added, nipping her ear.
She flushed again, but didn’t move.
“I hate that you’re both so good at making me stay still,” she muttered, though her voice had lost all edge.
“We love you too,” Theo murmured, his voice dropping.
Draco nodded. “And we’re not going anywhere. So rest. Just for a bit longer.”
Hermione sighed, settled between them again, and let herself drift in the warmth and quiet-Draco’s fingers in her hair, Theo’s heartbeat under her cheek, and the slow, grounding rhythm of their breathing all around her.
Just an hour before supper.
Plenty of time to forget the rest of the world.
..................................................................................................................
The dorm room was quiet, filled only with the hum of magic that softened the air and the lazy ticking of the enchanted clock on Hermione's far wall. The bed was wrapped in a warm cocoon of blankets, tangled with bodies and bare limbs. Hermione dozed between Draco and Theo, her breathing soft and even, lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks. Her wild curls fanned across Theo's chest and Draco's arm, like ivy creeping over ancient stone.
Draco had one arm curled protectively around her waist, his fingers gently combing through the mass of her hair, patient and methodical. Theo, propped on one elbow, ran his fingers idly just beneath her ribs under the soft hem of Draco's shirt that hung loosely from her shoulders.
"She always breathes faster when I do this," Theo murmured, watching the way her belly rose and fell beneath his touch.
Draco chuckled softly, leaning closer to press a kiss to her temple. "She's ticklish there. But she won't admit it."
"She doesn't admit a lot of things," Theo smirked.
"Like the way she likes when we baby her," Draco added, eyes flickering over her face.
"Or how her face goes bright red every time we compliment her brain."
"Especially when we do it mid-kiss."
Theo grinned, voice low. "We're insufferable."
"She deserves it. She deserves everything."
Hermione shifted suddenly, letting out a soft moan and jerking slightly in her sleep. Both boys froze for half a second.
"That sounded... vivid," Theo muttered.
Draco laughed quietly, soothing her with his fingers through her curls. "She's dreaming again. She does that sometimes."
"Should we wake her?"
Draco shook his head. "No. She needs the rest."
Theo let his hand resume its slow strokes just under the soft cotton of the shirt. "I am just glad she looks peaceful, that she finally let go."
"It's terrifying how much I-"
Knock knock knock.
Both boys went still.
"No," Draco said instantly.
Knock knock knock.
Draco groaned and buried his face briefly in Hermione's shoulder before dragging himself out of the bed with an exaggerated sigh. He padded across the room barefoot and shirtless, muttering under his breath.
When he pulled open the door, he was met with a small group of faces.
Harry stood at the front, arms crossed.
Ginny peeked over his shoulder, lips already twisted in amusement.
Pansy smirked.
Blaise arched a brow.
Luna beamed. "Hello, Draco."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Where's my sister?"
Draco raised a hand to block the doorway, carefully stepping into the frame so they couldn’t see in. "Sleeping. Why are you knocking like Aurors?"
Ginny craned her neck. "Why are you shirtless?"
Pansy tried to peek around him. "Is she naked?"
"No," Draco said flatly.
"So she is in bed?" Blaise asked innocently.
Draco's jaw ticked. "She's resting."
"And you're shirtless," Harry repeated.
"And Theo?" Luna asked sweetly. "Also shirtless?"
"I'm going to slam the door," Draco warned.
Hermione's voice drifted sleepily from the bed. "Who's at the door?"
All five heads turned toward the sound.
"Your brother," Draco called over his shoulder.
Hermione emerged a few seconds later, her curls in wild disarray and her cheeks flushed from sleep. The blue shirt she wore slipped slightly off one shoulder, baring a stretch of pale freckled skin.
Harry caught sight of her and went crimson. "Hermione-"
She blinked blearily. "Harry, I'm a grown woman. If I want to nap after getting off by my boyfriends' hands, then I will."
Draco made a choking sound.
Theo laughed from the bed. "Did she just say-"
Ginny cackled, clutching the doorframe. "I want all the details tomorrow."
Pansy pointed dramatically. "YES! Full debrief. Starting from the moment you lost your trousers."
Blaise grinned. "We knew it would happen eventually."
Luna nodded dreamily. "It was written in the stars."
Hermione flopped back onto the bed and pulled a pillow over her face. "Merlin, kill me now."
Harry looked like he wanted to dig a hole in the floor and crawl in. "Can you not talk about my sister and-"
Ginny kissed his cheek. "Love, you know what kind of girlfriend you have."
Pansy patted his arm. "She probably led the way."
Theo snorted. "She absolutely didn't. I had to corerce her to stop reading."
Hermione shouted into the pillow, "TRAITOR."
Draco turned back toward the bed with a smug grin. "She also mewls when you play with her hips."
"I WILL KILL YOU BOTH," Hermione cried, throwing her pillow at him.
Blaise caught the pillow midair. "This is the best day of my life."
Luna smiled as she leaned into Blaise, "You look happy."
Hermione sighed, peeking from behind her hands. "I am. Mortified. But happy."
Harry rubbed a hand over his face. "Can we all just... pretend this didn’t happen?"
"Nope," Ginny, Pansy, and Blaise said in unison.
Theo stretched like a cat, arm draped behind Hermione. "You barged into a post-orgasmic nap zone, Potter. This is on you."
Draco sat back down on the bed beside Hermione, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Next time, knock quieter."
Pansy looked around Draco and finally caught a glimpse of Hermione fully sprawled, shirt gaping at the collar, curls wild. "Oh, I am living for this."
"Out," Hermione groaned.
"Details," Pansy reminded.
"Tomorrow," Ginny echoed.
"I'll bring snacks," Luna promised.
Draco waved lazily. "Bye, now."
And with exaggerated reluctance, the group finally turned to go, laughter echoing down the hallway.
Hermione shoved her face into Draco's shoulder. "I hate everyone."
Theo dropped his head back against the pillow with a grin. “But you love us.”
She mumbled something incoherent in response, her voice muffled by Draco’s skin.
Draco chuckled and shifted, sliding his hand back under the blanket to tug her closer. “That went well.”
Theo snorted. “If by ‘well’ you mean Potter now needs a Pensieve to scrub his brain.”
Hermione huffed. “Good. Serves him right for barging in.”
They lay in comfortable quiet for a moment longer, Hermione curled between them, Draco’s thumb rubbing lazy circles over her hipbone, Theo’s fingers tracing the edge of her shirt beneath the blankets.
Then Hermione’s stomach gave a very loud, very pointed growl.
All three of them stilled.
Theo blinked and tilted his head. “Was that…?”
Hermione let out a quiet, sheepish groan. “Apparently I’m hungry.”
Draco raised a brow and glanced down at her. “You didn’t eat much at lunch.”
“I wasn’t really hungry then,” she mumbled defensively, cheeks still flushed from the earlier ambush.
Theo rolled to his side and rummaged for a moment under the bed. “Good thing,” he said cheerfully, “that I, unlike both of you heathens, come prepared.”
From beneath the mattress, he pulled out a sleek black tin with golden runes etched along the lid. He popped it open with a flourish and presented it like an offering.
“Magical charmed snack box. Replenishes daily. You’re welcome.”
Hermione blinked at it. “Why do you have that under my bed?”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been stashing food in her room?”
“I’ve been stashing food everywhere,” Theo said proudly. “I’m the Slytherin god of snacks. Bow before me.”
Hermione reached in, curious. “What’s in it?”
“Depends on the day,” Theo replied. “Today’s special is-ah-mini treacle tarts, dried pineapple slices, spiced cashews, and a sandwich. Cheese and pickle.”
Hermione lit up, grabbing the sandwich. “You’re my new favorite.”
Draco looked betrayed. “Excuse me?”
“Feed me, and I’ll love you forever,” she said, already chewing.
Theo smirked. “See? Goddess of war, brain of the century, reduced to affection by food.”
“Shut up and hand me a tart,” she mumbled with her mouth full.
Draco stole one before she could reach. “You don’t get to insult us both and still get first pick.”
“You’re the one who told my brother I mewl,” she shot back.
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he said smugly, licking a bit of sugar from his thumb.
Theo reached into the tin again and pulled out two bottles of pumpkin fizz. “Cheers, team debauchery.”
Hermione clinked hers against his, then Draco’s. “To hiding from all of them until Christmas.”
Draco lifted his bottle. “And to Theo’s snack box, which apparently outranks me now.”
...............................................................................................................................
The air in Classroom E-12 pulsed with focused magic and quiet ambitionin . Shelves along the walls shimmered faintly, stacked with enchanted legal tomes that rearranged themselves when Professor Aster gave a flick of his wand. The arched windows glowed with autum light of the early friday afternoon, the sun slanting golden across the long tables where the elite of eighth-year sat clustered, quills scratching furiously.
At the far end of the classroom, Hermione sat straight-backed, brows furrowed in fierce concentration. Her notes were meticulous, scrawled in fine script across parchment as she listened to Professor Aster expound on the implications of magical contracts under duress. She didn’t glance up, not when Astoria whispered to Daphne, not when Blaise flicked his wand to animate a doodle of a smug kneazle in judge’s robes, and certainly not when Theo leaned into Draco, murmuring something low and amused.
She didn’t even notice when Theo shifted closer.
Or when Draco did.
But Blaise noticed.
So did Daphne.
Astoria bit her lip and waited.
Hermione’s quill danced along the page, transcribing notes verbatim. She was locked in, drowning in legal theory, eyes bright with focus, shoulders tense with the kind of eagerness that only Hermione Granger Potter could bring to a lecture about the historical bias in Goblin inheritance law.
Theo leaned forward, stretching long legs under the table. His hand ghosted up her leg, fingers brushing just above her knee before settling high on her inner thigh, gentle pressure through the fabric of her skirt.
Hermione stiffened-but didn’t look up.
Draco, on her other side, smirked.
With deliberate slowness, he shifted his chair an inch closer. His fingers dipped beneath the hem of her blouse and ran lightly under her ribs, just over the curve of her waist, barely there but unmistakable.
Hermione’s quill stuttered, snapped down against the parchment.
She sucked in a breath.
Theo leaned toward her ear, voice velvet-soft. “Think she noticed?”
Draco’s lips brushed the shell of her ear, warm and sinful. “I wonder,” he whispered, “if you could stay quiet while I made you cum in the middle of class.”
Hermione flushed a violent shade of red. She reached for her inkpot with a trembling hand and missed entirely.
Blaise snorted under his breath, leaning forward across the table. “Someone’s about to blow a fuse.”
Daphne smirked. “I give her another thirty seconds before she kicks them both.”
Astoria peered curiously at Hermione’s pink cheeks. “Or hexes someone.”
Theo grinned like a cat. “I think we’ve got her attention now.”
Hermione slowly, very slowly, turned her head to glare at them. “You two are a menace to all educational environments.”
Draco didn’t look the least bit repentant. “That’s rich, coming from the woman who moaned my name in the library yesterday."
Blaise choked and slapped a hand over his mouth.
Daphne dissolved into laughter, shoulders shaking.
Astoria blinked. “Wait, I thought I heard something-”
“Do not finish that sentence,” Hermione warned.
Theo propped his chin in his hand and sighed dreamily. “She’s so commanding when she’s flustered.”
Draco nodded. “Powerful.”
Hermione’s eye twitched. “I am trying to learn about magical tort liability-”
“Which is important,” Draco agreed solemnly. “Especially if one of us ends up sued for the way we look at you in class.”
“You’ll both be liable for murder if you keep this up,” Hermione hissed.
Theo grinned. “Would you defend us?”
“Not if I was the one on trial for murdering you.”
Astoria leaned in. “Out of curiosity, what part of ‘tortious magical interference’ makes you so hot and bothered, Mione?”
“I hate everyone,” Hermione muttered, slumping into her seat.
“Not us,” Theo said easily.
“She loves us,” Draco said confidently, arm brushing hers.
Hermione opened her mouth to retort-but Draco leaned in again, brushing his lips barely an inch from her ear.
“When were you planning to tell us that your birthday is tomorrow?”
Hermione froze.
Then blinked.
“…What?”
“You heard me.”
Theo raised his eyebrows. “Did you think we wouldn’t find out?”
“I… I didn’t think it was important,” she said weakly.
Blaise made a strangled noise. “Not important? Not important? You’re the reason half of Arcanum is passing Magical Jurisprudence and you thought your birthday was not important?”
Hermione stared at him.
“Okay, now you sound like Pansy,” she said slowly.
“Damn right,” Daphne added. “And she’s already planning a cake.”
“I-wait, what?” Hermione looked overwhelmed.
Astoria gave her a fond smile. “You don’t hide things well, Hermione. Theo found your planner.”
Theo lifted a hand unapologetically. “You left it open on your dresser.”
Hermione groaned.
Draco bumped her knee under the table. “You’ve got about eighteen hours to emotionally prepare for being spoiled.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “You two don’t even like birthdays.”
Theo shrugged. “We like yours.”
“I don’t want a party.”
“Too bad,” Blaise said. “There’s already one planned.”
“I want something quiet-”
“Too bad,” Astoria echoed.
“You people are evil.”
“And you love us,” Theo repeated.
“I tolerate you.”
“Lie,” Draco said softly, voice brushing her skin again. “And we’ll prove it tomorrow.”
Hermione turned red again.
Professor Aster cleared his throat from the front. “Miss Potter, is there a problem?”
“No, sir,” she said at once.
“Are your tablemates distracting you?”
She smiled thinly. “Constantly.”
Aster nodded. “Good. Let it prepare you for courtroom interruptions.”
There was a ripple of laughter through the room.
Hermione dropped her forehead to the table with a groan. “Merlin help me.”
Theo patted her back. “He won’t.”
Draco reached down and laced his fingers with hers under the desk. “But we will.”
Hermione squeezed his hand and glared at Theo, who only winked at her.
Blaise leaned back with a smirk. “Tomorrow’s going to be chaos.”
Daphne flipped a page in her notebook. “Let’s make it legendary.”
Chapter 8: Between the Lines of Desire
Summary:
Hermione prepares for her birthday like she is preparing for war... and well... she kind of is.
Notes:
Adult content contained
Chapter Text
The old wing of the Arcanum Universitas library was deliciously quiet, the kind of silence that wrapped around you like a thick quilt. Long-forgotten spells hummed faintly through the shelves, enchanted to keep dust from settling on centuries-old tomes. Near the rear window, at a table stacked high with books, sat Hermione Granger-Potter. Her curls were a tangled halo, her sleeves rolled to the elbows, and her eyes locked onto a heavy volume titled Legal Precendents in Goblin Property Disputes, Volume III.
A half-eaten apple sat forgotten next to her open notebook, and her cup of tea had long gone lukewarm, resting precariously close to the edge of the table. She muttered under her breath, jotting rapid notes, then flipping to another book in the tower beside her.
“She didn’t even cast a Warming Charm on her tea,” Theo whispered from the aisle, peering between bookshelves at the back of Hermione’s head.
Draco, just behind him, crossed his arms and leaned against the edge of the shelf. “She never does. She thinks she’ll drink it in time and then forgets it exists.”
Theo quirked a brow. “Why does it seem like our girlfriend refuses to take care of herself?”
Draco exhaled with a slight smirk. “Because she’s brilliant and stubborn and entirely lacking in self-care skills unless someone drags her out of a book.”
Hermione, without looking up, rolled her eyes. “I heard that. And for the record, the apple and the tea are self-care.”
Theo stepped forward, hands in his pockets. “A half-eaten apple and cold tea? You sound like a cautionary tale for overachieving witches.”
Hermione finally looked up at them, eyes narrowed. “I have an essay due by midnight, and since you two are insistent on dragging me into birthday celebrations tomorrow, I have to finish it tonight.”
Draco stepped closer, lifting a brow. “We are celebrating your birthday tomorrow. That is not negotiable. But whether you walk out of here or get carried? That is still on the table.”
She blinked at him. “You wouldn’t.”
He tilted his head. “Want to test me?”
Before she could respond, Theo snapped his fingers. Her parchment, quill, and ink vanished in a faint shimmer of green magic.
Hermione gasped and stood up so quickly her chair scraped loudly against the stone floor. “Theo!”
“You’re cute when you’re angry,” he said, grinning.
Draco chuckled, slowly approaching. “Getting feisty, love.”
“Because you-” she started, then stopped as Theo stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her hips.
His voice was soft and low against her ear. “If you’re a good girl and eat lunch with us, we might reward you later.”
Hermione groaned, laying her head back against Theo’s shoulder.
“That is cheating,” she mumbled.
Draco smirked, brushing a curl off her cheek. “You say that like we’re playing fair.”
“I need to finish that essay,” she said, though it sounded more like a whine now.
“And you will,” Theo promised. “After you’ve eaten. With two very determined men watching you chew every bite.”
Hermione made a soft, annoyed noise, but didn’t pull away.
“Fine,” she muttered.
Draco grinned in triumph and reached for her hand. “Come on. Let’s get you fed before you turn into a legal footnote yourself.”
Theo laughed. “‘The Witch Who Starved to Death in a Library: A Case Study in Neglecting Basic Needs.’”
Hermione let herself be pulled between them, muttering under her breath. “You’re both ridiculous.”
Draco kissed her temple. “And yours.”
Theo added, “And determined to make sure you live long enough to enjoy your bloody birthday cake.”
She grumbled but squeezed their hands back as they led her from the library, the tea and apple abandoned in their wake.
................................................................................................................................
The dining hall at Arcanum Universitas buzzed with a gentle hum of conversation, forks clinking against plates, and enchanted chandeliers casting golden light over the long tables. At one end of the table, sat sandwiched between Draco Malfoy and Theo Nott, hunched over a notebook that she had sneakily brought with her despite both boys’ protests. Her quill danced furiously, her lips moving as she muttered, “... and if the ruling in 1683 set precedent, then by 1730 it had to have been overturned due to the-”
“You’re literally muttering case law over lunch,” Theo said dryly, watching her with an expression that hovered somewhere between amusement and exasperation.
“She’s possessed,” Draco murmured with mock seriousness as he slid an arm around the back of Hermione’s neck, his fingers lightly brushing the sensitive skin there. He leaned in, voice low and velvet-smooth. “Eat. Or I’ll bend you over this bench and make sure you regret ignoring me.”
Hermione froze mid-word, eyes wide as she jerked her hand and sent a splatter of pumpkin juice across the table. She coughed, cheeks flaring red as Theo burst out laughing and kissed her temple.
“You absolute menace,” she hissed, glaring at Draco and dabbing her chin with a napkin.
Around them, the rest of the table looked up in varying states of bemusement and suspicion.
Ginny raised a brow. “Do I want to know what he said?”
“No,” Hermione said flatly.
“Yes,” Theo corrected cheerfully. “But not in a public dining space.”
Pansy smirked and sipped her elderflower cordial. “She’s blushing. I like where this is going.”
“I’m not blushing,” Hermione grumbled, stabbing her roasted carrots.
“You absolutely are,” Luna said airily, leaning across the table to inspect her. “It’s charming.”
Harry narrowed his eyes at Draco. “Why are you always whispering things that make my sister turn that color?”
“Because it’s fun,” Draco replied without a trace of shame, still stroking the back of Hermione’s neck.
“She’s going to murder you both one day,” Ron muttered, eyeing Theo and Draco like they were ticking time bombs.
“Only if she catches us first,” Theo said with a wink.
Neville, seated beside Pansy, chuckled. “So, about tomorrow…”
“Don’t,” Hermione warned, pointing her fork in his direction.
“Oh, come on,” Parvati chimed in. “You’ve got to be a little curious.”
“She’s pretending she’s not,” Padma said, not even looking up from her notes. “But she is.”
“I know everything,” Hermione said proudly.
“You know nothing,” Astoria corrected with a grin.
“She’s lying to herself,” Daphne added, sipping her pumpkin juice like it was wine. “Delusional behavior. Classic birthday denial.”
“We’re not telling you anything,” Blaise said with a smirk. “So stop trying to psychoanalyze us.”
“I haven’t tried to psychoanalyze anyone since breakfast,” Hermione said primly.
“Which is a record,” Theo added.
Dean nudged Seamus. “She’s going to combust when she finds out.”
“I hope I’m there to see it,” Seamus replied with a snort.
Cho leaned in slightly. “You’ll like it, Hermione. Promise.”
“She better,” Lavender said, fluffing her hair. “I worked on my part for hours.”
Hermione groaned and dropped her forehead to the table with a soft thud. “I hate birthdays.”
“No, you don’t,” Draco said, brushing her curls off her neck and lowering his voice again. “You just hate not knowing.”
“That too,” Hermione mumbled.
Theo picked up a piece of bread from her plate and popped it into her mouth before she could object. “Eat. We had to lure you out of the library like a feral Kneazle.”
“You threatened to carry me,” she said around a mouthful.
“And I meant it,” Draco added, looking entirely too pleased.
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “You lot exhaust me.”
“Join the club,” Ron muttered.
Hermione sighed and finally picked up her fork with purpose. “Fine. I’ll eat. But I swear, if this is some kind of prank-”
“No pranks,” Ginny said with a grin. “Promise. Just chaos, mischief, and overwhelming affection.”
"...So a typical Friday," Hermione deadpanned
Everyone at the table laughed.
Theo leaned close again. “If you finish your food like a good girl, we might give you a hint later.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes but dutifully brought a forkful of mashed potatoes to her lips.
“I hate both of you,” she said softly.
“You adore us,” Draco whispered.
“You’re obsessed,” Theo added.
Hermione sighed again, cheeks pink, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she muttered something that sounded suspiciously like insufferable, and kept eating.
..............................................................................................................................
Ritual Theory – Field Work Prep was not for the faint of heart. Or the disorganized. Or, as Hermione would argue, the easily distracted-which was exactly why she didn’t trust herself to sit between them today.
She entered the classroom ahead of the crowd, her satchel already weighed down with four extra books on field rites, two enchanted drafting compasses, and one headache forming behind her left temple. Her gaze swept over the second row automatically-where Theo and Draco were already sprawled across their usual seats, a smug space left between them. Waiting.
Hermione barely hesitated.
With a sharp pivot, she crossed to the third row and dropped into a chair beside Pansy and Blaise without so much as a glance back.
Draco’s indignant sound could be heard from across the room.
Theo leaned forward across the desk. “What the hell was that, sunshine?”
“Strategic maneuvering,” Hermione replied coolly, setting out her parchment.
“More like tactical abandonment,” Draco muttered. “I’m offended.”
“You’ll survive,” she said, pulling out her ink.
Blaise let out a low whistle. “She didn’t even look at you two. That’s cold.”
“She’s punishing us,” Theo said.
“Why would I need to punish you?” Hermione asked, not looking up.
“Because you know,” Draco said, “that we’ve been on our best behavior since the birthday plans were locked in. And we haven’t-yet-spilled anything.”
“Speak for yourself,” Theo muttered.
“I’m in class,” Hermione said primly. “I’m here to learn. Kindly save your dramatics for later.”
“Oh, we will,” Draco said darkly, settling back.
Professor Nayar entered at that exact moment, swirling in a deep violet robe that shimmered with protective sigils. The room fell silent almost instantly, the kind of reverent hush that only followed a notoriously brilliant and terrifying instructor.
“Wands away for now,” Nayar called. “We’ll begin with theoretical framework before practicing.”
Hermione exhaled in relief. Notes. She could focus on notes.
But before she could even write the date, something soft and pale drifted down beside her elbow.
She glanced.
A note. Folded like a fluttering petal.
Draco’s handwriting, sharp and elegant:
Pretending we don't exist is adorable. But if you think we won't retaliate, you're sorely mistaken, princess.
She slid the note under her book without blinking.
Another followed thirty seconds later-this one in Theo's messier scrawl:
Ignoring us only makes us more creative. Do you really want to see how creative I can be with silence spells and a ritual circle?
Hermione's quill paused mid-stroke.
Pansy glanced over and bit her lip. "Is it starting already?"
"Like clockwork," Hermione muttered.
Another not dropped. A ting snake inked into the corner curled its tail across the bottom edge.
If you keep pretending you can resist us, I'm going to take it as permission to remind you just how much you can't. Loudly. Thoroughly. All night.
She choked.
Astoria, two seats down, caught the sound and snorted.
Professor Nayar glanced up. "Is there a problem, Miss Potter?"
"No, Professor," Hermione said quickly, cheeks pink.
Theo smirked across the aisle, twirling his quill like a dagger.
A fourth not appeared-this one slid via a wandless charm straight into the crease of her book:
You look beautiful today. Determined. Smart. Desperate to concentrate. I'd love to ruin that concentration.
Hermione’s hand trembled slightly as she flipped a page.
“You okay?” Pansy whispered, pretending to adjust her inkpot.
“They’re feral,” Hermione whispered back. “They’re escalating.”
“I warned you,” Astoria said without looking up. “Don’t sit near them? They’ll chase.”
A parchment crane landed on top of Hermione’s open book.
She blinked as it unfolded itself and stretched, revealing Theo’s looping writing:
Imagine-class ends. You don't run. You let us corner you, press you against the wall, wandless. Just mouths and promises. What do you say, sunshine?
Hermione made a strangled noise in her throat.
“Miss Potter,” Nayar said without turning. “You appear unwell.”
“I’m fine,” she croaked. “Just… allergy.”
Draco’s next note landed without ceremony, folded into a classic triangle.
If you last the whole class without reacting, I will personally reward you. If you crack-well. You'll still be rewarded. But less gently.
“Oh Merlin,” Hermione hissed under her breath.
Ginny leaned slightly around Astoria to mouth: Do I want to know?
“No,” Hermione whispered.
Theo’s turn again-this one scrawled quickly on parchment torn from his field journal:
I can still feel your hands in my hair from the other night. Still here the way you begged. You gonna pretend that didn't happen, angel?
Hermione clutched her quill hard enough to crack the nib.
Blaise whispered, “You’re blushing.”
“I am dying,” she muttered.
Another note. Draco again. Slid directly under her palm when she reached for her chalk:
You know we'll wait till class ends. Then your our. If you run, we'll chase. If you don't...we'll pin you down.
Pansy wheezed. Ginny slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the laugh. Astoria looked like she might cry from the effort of not laughing aloud.
Hermione scribbled something down. Not class notes. Just her own whispered scream:
I will murder them.
As if summoned by her fury, another note glided in.
Murder me slowly. Preferably in bed.
She dropped her head to the table.
Professor Nayar, mercifully, was halfway through drawing a protective rune on the board and missed it.
Time stretched.
The notes kept coming-each more ridiculous than the last. One described, in graphic detail, exactly what Theo intended to do with her if she kept biting her bottom lip like that. Another was just the word “moan” written over and over in increasingly large letters.
And the final one?
As class drew to a close, the last note slid across the table just as Nayar dismissed them.
Hallway. Five minutes. If you don't come willingly, we'll assume you're begging to be dragged.
Hermione stood up slowly. Turned to glare across the room.
Theo winked. Draco held up a parchment heart with the word Soon spelled out in dancing ink.
She turned back to her bag. Took a deep breath.
Then muttered, “I’m going to kill them both.”
“You say that every time,” Pansy chirped, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
“And you never do,” Blaise added.
Astoria grinned. “Because you don’t want to.”
Hermione didn't answer. She simply walked toward the back hallway-fuming, flushed, and exactly where they wanted her.
She was doomed.
And she didn’t mind one bit.
.............................................................................................................................
The corridors of Arcanum Universitas were mostly empty between classes, and Hermione's footsteps echoed sharply off the stone as she stormed down the lesser-used back hallway, her satchel swinging wildly at her side. Her cheeks were flushed with fury, curls bouncing with every stiff step. The fact that no one else dared walk this route was a small mercy-because she was one wrong breath away from exploding.
“Idiots,” she muttered under her breath. “Absolute, insufferable, conniving-”
A hand caught her wrist mid-step and yanked her into a darkened classroom, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft click. She barely had time to turn, to say anything, before Draco's hand slid up her jaw and pulled her mouth into his.
It wasn’t gentle. It was a kiss that said you’ve been avoiding us and now we’re done playing.
Hermione’s fists pushed uselessly against his chest as her lips parted on instinct, breath caught somewhere between anger and need. “I am still-”
“Angry, yes, we know,” Theo cut in smoothly from behind her, his arms already around her waist. She felt the heat of his chest at her back just as his mouth grazed the side of her neck.
“You were rude,” Draco growled against her lips.
“You wouldn’t even look at us during class,” Theo added, his lips brushing along her pulse point before nipping lightly at the sensitive skin. One of his hands slid up, fingers curling gently-possessively-around her throat, thumb stroking under her chin.
“You sent six notes,” Hermione hissed, breath catching when Draco’s hand cupped her face and tilted it to meet another kiss, slower this time but no less firm. “In ink that sparkled. And one of them used the phrase ‘silence spells and a ritual circle’-”
“And you didn’t even blush,” Theo said near her ear, his voice lower now. “So cruel, love.”
“I was taking notes,” she snapped, though her voice lost a touch of venom as Theo’s fingers slid along her waist and Draco stepped even closer.
“You were taking notes and pretending we weren’t there,” Draco said, mouth ghosting over hers again. “That’s worse than rude, Potter. That’s bold.”
“You should be punished,” Theo murmured against her neck, his hand tightening briefly around her hips. “But you do look pretty when you’re annoyed.”
“Don’t you dare-” she started, but Theo's teeth grazed the line of her jaw and Draco kissed the corner of her mouth just enough to leave her breathless.
“You’ve got that stormy little crease between your brows,” Draco whispered. “Like you’re going to hex someone if they say the wrong thing-”
“Maybe I will,” she bit back, panting slightly. “I told you-this isn’t fair, you’re distracting, you’re-!”
“Everything you want,” Theo said darkly.
Hermione shuddered.
And then Draco kissed her again-slow and lingering, one hand tangled in the back of her curls, the other holding her steady at the small of her back. She felt Theo press his hips gently forward, holding her in place between them, his breath heavy on her neck.
Her hands fisted in Draco’s shirt and her body trembled, every nerve alight with tension. She wanted to fight them off, push them away, keep her walls up. But her breath was coming too fast and her body leaned instinctively into the touch. Her thoughts scrambled.
“I’m-” she tried again. “I’m still angry.”
“Mmhm,” Draco hummed against her lips. “And desperate.”
“I’m not-”
“You’re shaking,” Theo whispered, licking a slow line just behind her ear.
“I hate both of you,” she lied, voice cracked.
“You’re lying,” Draco said, pulling back to look her in the eyes. “But it’s cute when you try.”
“I should hex you.”
“You should,” Theo said, mouth brushing her temple. “But instead…”
Draco's hand moved with deliberate slowness, tracing a path up the inside of Hermione's thigh. His fingers brushed against the soft fabric of her leggings, teasing and promising, as he finally slid his hand between her legs. The heat of his touch seared through the thin material, sending shocks of pleasure through her body.
Theo's grip on her neck tightened ever so slightly, a firm and possessive hold that sent a thrill of anticipation down her spine. His breath was hot against her ear. Hermione’s breath hitched, her eyes fluttering closed. The tension was building too fast-every word, every touch, every breath from them had her body coiled tight, closer and closer to the edge of something deep and dark and dangerous.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please-”
And then-
They both stepped back.
Hermione’s body swayed forward in protest, a strangled sound catching in her throat as her arms instinctively reached for them.
Draco adjusted the collar of his uniform shirt and ran a hand through his hair like nothing had happened. “Well, that was fun.”
Theo smirked and stretched lazily. “Very. You’re adorable when you beg.”
Hermione blinked at them, still breathless, her whole body thrumming with denied release and disbelief. “You-what-?”
“I believe you owe us a little apology,” Draco said smoothly, lifting a brow.
Hermione’s jaw dropped.
Theo chuckled and leaned against the desk, arms crossed. “For ignoring us. For sitting with Blaise. For pretending we don’t drive you completely mad.”
“I am mad!” she burst out.
Draco stepped closer, leaned down, and whispered, “Then prove it.”
Hermione glared, lips twitching. “I hate you both.”
“Sure you do,” Theo said, eyes glinting. “But you'll be thinking about us for the rest of the evening.”
Draco smirked. “And in your sleep."
Theo turned toward the door. “Coming, love? Or are you going to stay here and recover from…your tantrum?”
Draco chuckled and kissed her temple as he walked passed. "You're blushing, sweetheart."
Hermione huffed, adjusting her shirt and grabbing her satchel off the floor. “I am not blushing.”
“You are,” both boys said in perfect unison.
And as they walked off down the hallway-her footsteps stomping and their laughter floating back-Hermione realized she was blushing. And already plotting revenge.
................................................................................................................................
Hermione slammed the door to her dorm with more force than necessary, the echo bouncing off the stone walls like a challenge. Her cheeks were still burning, her heart thudding a wild rhythm in her chest, and her hands trembled-not with fear, but with rage. And something else. Something sharper. Hotter.
The audacity. The nerve. The absolute gall of those two-
She let out a strangled, furious sound and dropped her satchel by the desk, pacing a quick, tight circle across the rug in the center of her room. The air still felt too thick, like she hadn’t quite come back down from whatever hell Draco and Theo had dragged her into in that classroom.
And then left her in.
She growled, grabbing a quill off her desk with such ferocity that it nearly snapped. She yanked open her stationery drawer, pulled out the deep plum parchment Pansy had once declared "dramatic enough for a proper vengeance scheme," and slammed it flat on the surface. Her script was quick, sharp, and angry.
To: Pansy, Ginny, Astoria, and Daphne
I need all of you
Urgently.
I'm decalring war.
Meet me in my dorm immediately. Bring wine, if you want.
I'll explain everything once you're here.
-H
(Yes, this is about them.)
She folded the parchment with crisp precision and sealed it with a flick of her wand. The enchanted paper split into four and zipped off in different directions like arrows, out the window and through the castle corridors, straight to their recipients.
Hermione flopped back into her desk chair, arms crossed, foot tapping furiously against the wood floor.
“They want to play games?” she muttered. “Fine. I invented games. Let’s see how they handle being outmaneuvered.”
A wicked smile slowly spread across her face.
............................................................................................................................
The door to Hermione’s dorm slammed open as if blown by a spell-though it wasn’t. Just four very determined, very fashionable witches.
Pansy was first, a bottle of shimmering fairy wine in one hand and a bag of sweets in the other. “All right, Potter, what’s the emergency?”
Ginny followed with a half-dozen Honeydukes boxes under one arm and a wicked grin. “She’s got her war face on. You know something’s about to go down.”
“I live for this look,” Astoria added, twirling into the room like it was a stage, holding two bottles of something far too sparkly and probably illegal in several wizarding countries.
Daphne, ever the quietest, closed the door with an audible click before her calm voice cut in. “Okay, what’s the plan?”
Hermione sat cross-legged in the middle of her bed like a vengeful goddess. Her curls were wild, her eyes still stormy with rage and unfulfilled desire, and her dressing gown was tied a little too tightly around her waist. She looked up at her girls with a dangerous glint.
“I’m going to kill them,” she said serenely.
Pansy arched an eyebrow. “With what? Your brain or your thighs?”
“Both,” Hermione snapped, grabbing the corkscrew from Ginny’s extended hand and popping the fairy wine open with a loud pop. “I want to do a photo shoot.”
Astoria blinked. “A what?”
“A very risqué photo shoot,” Hermione clarified, pouring the glittering liquid into four mismatched teacups. “We take the best ones, shrink them down, and send them to Draco and Theo-”
“-at random intervals,” Pansy finished, eyes lighting up.
“Exactly,” Hermione said, passing the wine to her. “Tonight. Tomorrow morning. Just as they’re waking up, or walking down the corridor, or trying to eat breakfast.”
Daphne let out a low whistle. “That is… diabolical.”
“It’s genius,” Ginny agreed, flopping dramatically onto the bed beside Hermione. “God, I love revenge plots.”
“I want one arriving in Theo’s pocket just as he is getting dressed tomorrow,” Hermione muttered darkly, taking a long sip of wine. “Let’s see how smug he is when I’m not the one squirming.”
“Oh, we’re doing this,” Pansy said gleefully. With a flourish of her wand, she summoned a trunk that thudded open mid-air, spilling out silk, lace, and scandalously little else. “Wardrobe: handled.”
Ginny was already rummaging through her enchanted makeup bag, lip stains and glamor brushes floating in a neat halo around her head. “Leave the face to me. I’ve been dying to use that black shimmer liner on you since August.”
Daphne flicked her wand toward the corner of the room. “Music, obviously.” The wireless crackled before the smooth pulse of a sultry beat started vibrating the floorboards.
Astoria uncorked a second bottle and grinned. “I’ll pour. Let’s get her glam while she’s still furious-it’s the best kind of hot.”
“I’m not furious,” Hermione lied, sipping again.
“Right,” Pansy said, tossing her a sheer emerald slip of something vaguely scandalous. “That’s why your magic’s humming like a live wire and you’re glowing with chaotic sexual rage.”
...............................................................................................................................
Saturday morning broke with a beam of golden sunlight slicing directly across Hermione’s pillow.
She groaned, dragging the blanket over her head. Her limbs ached-not from exertion but from the emotional warfare she and her girls had waged the night before. Her hair was still a bit wild, vaguely smelling of Astoria’s floral-setting mist and a hint of Pansy’s illicit bubble hex. Her lips still tasted faintly of fairy wine and revenge.
A sharp tap tap tap on her window dragged her upright with a scowl.
“Oh, no,” she muttered, already knowing.
The owl-sleek, pale, and entirely too smug-stared at her with a gold-trimmed note tied around its leg.
“Absolutely not,” she said, even as she untied the note and opened it.
The handwriting was unmistakable. Elegant, slanted, expensive ink. Draco’s. With Theo’s slightly messier scrawl squeezed into the margins.
Good morning, princess.
Happy Birthday.
Now the question is...
Are you ready to apologize for your frankly shocking behaviour yesterday in class?
You wounded us,
Deeply.
Truly.
We're considering legal action for emotional distress.
Unless you feel inclined to make amends.
Soon.
Hermione snorted, tossing the note onto her desk like it was dirty laundry.
“Legal action, my arse.”
She stretched, cracked her neck, and yawned, letting her bare feet hit the floor. Then she padded over to her vanity where a stack of miniaturized photographs from the night before waited—neatly organized thanks to Daphne’s methodical labeling system and Pansy’s commentary scrawled on the backs of a few.
Hermione flipped through them slowly.
Lingerie and tousled curls. A sheer robe off one shoulder. The silk sheets wrapped just so. Eyes that promised destruction. Lips parted. A single smirk.
She found the one she was looking for: the photo where she was seated sideways in a high-backed chair, legs crossed, hair loose, a glass of fairy wine in one hand, her mouth mid-laugh, and a shadow of sin in her gaze.
She tapped her wand to the image. “Vanishus directum: Nott’s nightstand.”
The photo glowed for a moment, then disappeared with a small snap of magic.
Hermione smirked to herself.
“No,” she muttered to the empty room. “You can apologize.”
And with that, she turned on her heel and sauntered to the bathroom to start her birthday-perfectly pleased with herself.
............................................................................................................................
Theo stepped out of his bathroom, towel slung around his waist, hair damp and curling from the steam. “Did she reply yet?” he asked, rubbing a second towel through his hair as he crossed the room.
Draco didn’t look up from his place on the bed, where he lay stretched out like a smug, shirtless cat, arms folded behind his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “Oh, she replied.”
Theo paused. Narrowed his eyes. “You’re awfully satisfied for someone who just got told off yesterday.”
Draco tilted his head lazily in the direction of Theo’s nightstand. “See for yourself.”
Theo frowned, stepping over, expecting a sarcastic retort or some parchment full of snide quips in Hermione’s tidy script. What he wasn’t expecting was the small, glossy photograph propped neatly beside his wand.
His hand stilled halfway through his hair.
Then slowly-almost cautiously-he picked it up.
One heartbeat. Two.
And then- “Fucking hell.”
Draco’s grin widened. “Right?”
Theo nearly dropped the picture but couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away. “Is she trying to kill us?”
“I think she thinks this is payback,” Draco said, shifting just enough to prop himself up on his elbows. “Ignoring us in class. Recruiting the girls. Planning a whole bloody photo shoot.”
Theo was still staring. “Did you see her? The way she’s sitting? The leg- the robe- the- Merlin’s balls-”
Draco laughed, sitting up properly now. “She chose that one on purpose. She knew exactly what it would do.”
“She looks like a goddess of war and sin.” Theo’s voice was somewhere between reverence and hunger. “Like she’ll stab me and I’ll thank her.”
“That’s the idea, I think.” Draco ran a hand through his hair, watching Theo try to regain his composure and failing magnificently.
Theo finally blinked and looked at him. “We underestimated her.”
“Oh, absolutely.”
There was a pause.
“You know this means war, right?” Theo said.
Draco nodded solemnly. “Oh, I’m not letting this go.”
“We’re going to make her beg,” Theo growled, carefully setting the photo down like it was made of ancient, dangerous magic.
Draco’s eyes gleamed. “I say we start by making her wait.”
Theo turned to him, eyebrows raised. “You’re evil.”
“I prefer strategic.”
Theo dropped into the armchair near the window, towel riding dangerously low. “She’s not going to know what hit her.”
“She’ll pretend she doesn’t care,” Draco added, standing and stretching. “Pretend like we’re not in her head. Like that wasn’t her whole bloody plan.”
“But we’ll remind her,” Theo said darkly, lips twitching into a grin.
Draco nodded, walking over and plucking the photo back up between two fingers. “One picture. And I’m wrecked.”
“Mate,” Theo muttered, watching it again, “same.”
They stared at the image in silence for a few more seconds.
Then Theo stood and tossed his towel onto the arm of the chair. “She started this.”
Draco’s smirk turned downright dangerous. “We’ll finish it.”
And with that, the boys began planning their retaliation-because if Hermione thought she could win the war of desire and dominance, she had another thing coming.
...............................................................................................................................
Hermione stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, towel wrapped around her body and hair twisted up in another. She was still toweling the moisture from her shoulders as she padded barefoot back into her dorm room-only to freeze in the doorway.
Her room was full. Absolutely packed. Girls were everywhere-on her bed, on the floor, lounged on the window seat, and leaning against her wardrobe.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” they all screamed in unison.
Hermione jumped so hard her towel nearly slipped.
“Bloody hell,” she gasped, heart pounding as she clutched the towel tighter. “Are you all trying to give me a heart attack?”
“Yes,” Ginny said brightly, perched cross-legged at the foot of Hermione’s bed. “Consider it your present.”
“We figured we’d be the first to greet the birthday girl properly,” said Pansy, tossing her dark curls and raising a glittering glass of fairy wine. “And-” she gestured dramatically to Hermione’s desk, “-you’ve got a reply.”
Hermione blinked. “Reply?”
“To that picture,” Pansy said with a wicked grin.
“Oh no,” Hermione muttered, already regretting everything, but crossing the room to snatch up the note anyway.
Daphne grinned from the window seat, where she was sipping from a pink-tinted glass. “We’re all here to help you get ready, by the way. You’re not lifting a finger today. You’re the queen.”
“I’m terrified,” Hermione muttered, unfolding the note. Her eyes scanned the familiar elegant handwriting, and her lips twitched-somewhere between pride and apprehension.
“Ooh, what did they say?” Cho asked, flopping dramatically onto her stomach near the foot of the bed.
“They’re plotting something,” Hermione murmured, folding the note again and dropping it on the desk like it might combust. “They’re going to retaliate.”
“Good,” said Parvati, stretching luxuriously. “They deserve it.”
“Exactly,” added Lavender. “You don’t ignore two Slytherin boys and send that kind of photo without expecting some kind of chaos.”
Ginny raised a brow. “So… are you going to send another one?”
Hermione smirked but shook her head. “Not yet.”
“A slow burn. I respect that,” said Astoria, sipping from a pale gold goblet.
Pansy waggled her brows. “You’re going to make them squirm.”
“I want them off their game all day,” Hermione said, dropping down onto the center of her bed, still wrapped in the towel. “They’ll expect me to follow up immediately. So I won’t. Not until I’m ready.”
“You’re learning,” Pansy said proudly, reaching over to clink her glass against Ginny’s.
“You’re terrifying,” Luna added dreamily, “but in a very inspiring way.”
“Oh! I brought the enchanted lip stain,” Parvati piped up, digging through her bag. “It adjusts to your mood. Imagine sending them a photo with that on.”
“She said not yet,” Daphne reminded, though she was smiling. “First we get her ready. Then we plot.”
“Exactly,” Hermione said, grinning despite herself. “I’m still in a towel, for Merlin’s sake.”
“You won’t be for long,” Pansy said with a wicked grin and a snap of her fingers. “Let’s get to work.”
Immediately, chaos erupted.
Astoria summoned a portable glamour mirror that unfolded midair and hovered in front of the bed. Ginny flicked her wand and a tray of magical skincare products zoomed in from the bathroom counter. Lavender and Parvati both dove for their makeup kits, while Cho and Padma started rifling through Hermione’s wardrobe for possible outfit contenders.
“I vote for this one!” Cho held up a fitted deep green dress.
“Too much leg,” said Daphne, squinting. “Save that for later tonight.”
“Something flowy for brunch,” Luna suggested. “Something that says, I’m innocent, but only until noon.”
“Okay but what is happening at brunch?” Hermione asked, eyeing them all warily.
“Nice try,” Ginny said, dabbing something shimmery onto her fingertip and tapping it against Hermione’s cheekbone. “No spoilers.”
“We planned everything,” Pansy added, sitting cross-legged beside her. “And no, we’re not telling you. Just smile and drink your wine and look pretty.”
Hermione huffed, but let herself be pushed back into a cushion pile as someone-she wasn’t sure who-tugged her towel away to begin the dressing process.
“You lot are terrifying,” she muttered as someone enchanted a robe to float delicately over her shoulders.
“We’re efficient,” corrected Daphne.
“Resourceful,” Luna added.
“And vengeful,” said Ginny, adjusting Hermione’s curls with a gentle tap of her wand. “The perfect combination.”
“Speaking of vengeance…” Pansy glanced at the note again, eyes gleaming. “What exactly did they say in that reply?”
Hermione raised a brow. “That I should have just apologized. And that I should be careful what I start.”
The girls all howled.
“Oh, they’re rattled,” Daphne laughed.
“They’re thirsty,” Lavender corrected.
“They’re doomed,” Astoria said smugly.
“And we,” Hermione said with a grin as she sipped her fairy wine, “are just getting started.”
The room erupted into laughter, glamours, perfume spells, and rogue bits of glitter as Operation Birthday Chaos commenced in full, glorious force.
Chapter 9: Crimson Threads of Calculated Cruelty
Summary:
Hermine begrudgingly enjoys her birthday as well as she keeps driving Theo and Draco crazy.
Chapter Text
Hermione descended the grand wooden stairs of Arcanum’s main hall with poise, every footstep filling the quiet with purpose. She was perfectly dressed in a soft, pale‑pink knee‑length frock-elegant, clean lines, long sleeves-looking altogether innocent and deceptively calm. Behind her, Ginny, Pansy, Astoria, Daphne, Cho, Lavender, Parvati, Padma… the full squad. They followed like knighted conspirators in pink and emerald.
At the bottom of the staircase, the usual buzz had been replaced with a tense hush. Waiting was a line of expectant faces: Neville, Blaise, Ron, Harry, Seamus, Dean… and, of course, Theo and Draco, arms crossed, leaning against the balustrade.
Harry watched her with a bemused expression. “Wow. You all look like trouble.”
Draco looked past him and grinned. “Trouble is the point.”
Theo smirked. “Especially for us.”
Neville shifted his weight. “So… is this an official part of Hermione birthday?”
Blaise leaned forward, eyes bright. “We demand a better explanation.”
Ron gave Hermione a sideways glance. “Do we at least get cake?”
Hermione’s lips quirked. She raised one slender hand, flicking her fingers-a subtle tap of wandwork. A photo from last night winked midair, then vanished, slipping into Draco’s robe pocket.
Draco’s eyes widened. He glanced down and pulled the picture out-silent, shocked. Then he elbowed Theo sharply, nudging his shoulder.
Theo looked down at the photo, mouth dropping open as well.
Ginny leaned toward Hermione and gave her a conspiratorial nudge. Pansy joined, both giving Hermione matching “you devil” smirks as they reached the bottom step.
Neville broke the hush with a grin. “Happy birthday, Hermione.”
Blaise offered a crooked salute. “May your day be as chaotic as the wizarding willow.”
Ron bobbed a hearty nod. “Happy birthday.”
Seamus winked. “You look… quite angelic today.”
Dean coughed. “Dangerously adorable.”
Harry cracked a grin. “Save me a piece of that cake, yeah?”
Theo finally looked up from the astonished grin on his face. “You-what-?”
“We've got mail,” Draco said mildly, backwards glancing at him. “Birthday delivery.”
Theo shook his head in disbelief. “We’re in trouble.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, glancing at the photo in Draco’s hand. “That’s definitely not part of academic prep.”
“Happy birthday, Hermione.” Blaise repeated, voice low but warm.
Ginny placed her elbow against Hermione’s side. “Let’s go.”
No further explanation. No raised brows.
Hermione slid her arm through Ginny’s. Pansy took the other. Astoria and Daphne flanked behind.
The boys watched quietly as the girls passed by, Hermione walking with unexpected grace, her shoulders square and head held high, despite the mischief she’d unleashed-and continued to harbor-for the day.
Draco and Theo exchanged a look: equal parts defeat and stubborn pride. They watched her go without offering their arms. When Hermione slipped past them, no hesitation, she casually ignored their open embrace.
Ginny, flicking a grin at Draco, said: “Lead the way?”
Pansy added: “We’ve got our queen.”
Hermione answered with a small smile and a shrug. “Surprise me.”
Together, they walked out of the main hall, laughter trailing behind them, stepping toward an unknown adventure that no one-not even Hermione-fully understood yet.
...............................................................................................................................
Hermione stepped onto the cobbled streets of a charming wizarding arrondissement and gasped. Paris. Actual Paris, with magical cafés tucked under pastel awnings, enchanted fountains bubbling with champagne-like glitter, and hovering street lamps shaped like glass orbs. The air smelled of sugar, smoke, and spellwork.
She whirled around, eyes shining. “You… seriously brought me to Paris for my birthday?”
Blaise grinned, his hands in his pockets. “Welcome to decadence, darling.”
Pansy nudged her from behind, smirking. “It was Draco’s idea, of course. You should’ve seen his face when we told him where we could take you.”
Astoria floated up beside her, serene in a cream silk coat. “We’re only here for brunch. And maybe a bit of shopping. Maybe.”
Hermione’s gaze flicked past the girls to where Draco and Theo stood casually near a fountain. Both wore their long coats open against the breeze, shirts crisp, hair tousled just enough to look like sin. The moment their eyes met hers, the temperature seemed to spike. Their gazes raked over her-not greedy, but reverent. Possessive. Hungry.
As if they were thinking: We remember what you look like under that innocent dress.
Ginny looped her arm through Hermione’s. “Come on, birthday girl. The restaurant’s just down the lane. Let’s pretend we’re Parisians in love with ourselves.”
They strolled through the magical alleyways until they reached a pristine, ivy-wrapped café: Café des Sortilèges. Its golden-lettered sign shimmered, and the windows were laced with vines of enchanted roses blooming in slow, sensual time.
As they reached the threshold, Draco and Theo slipped in close.
Draco leaned in, his voice low and warm against her ear. “Still going to ignore us all day, sweetheart?”
His hand slid over her hip, bold and smooth.
Theo’s fingers grazed her wrist, lingering at her pulse. “It’s cruel, you know,” he whispered, voice low enough to stir every nerve. “Wearing that dress after last night… and the photo you sent this morning, wrapped in nothing but light and silk."
Hermione held her expression steady, but her cheeks flushed. She lifted a shoulder in a faux-innocent shrug. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Draco chuckled under his breath, his thumb pressing slightly into her waist as he whispered, “You’ve haunted every breath I’ve taken since last night.”
Theo leaned in the other side. “And I still haven’t figured out how I’m supposed to sit through brunch knowing what sound like when you beg."
Before she could respond-not that she had a retort-Ginny and Astoria reappeared, tugging her away. The moment snapped, but the fire stayed in her bloodstream.
Inside, they were led to a long marble table beneath a soft, floating canopy of pastel petals. The restaurant smelled of buttery pastries and bergamot.
The spread was immaculate-croissants that flaked like snow, glazed tarts, honey-soaked fruit, lavender lemonade, and cinnamon-laced cappuccinos.
Hermione sat near the head of the table, flanked by Ginny and Pansy. But it didn’t stop Draco and Theo from positioning themselves close enough to reach her in one step.
Halfway through the first course, Theo caught her eye and slid her a small folded note-simple, black paper sealed with a silver pressed charm.
You ruined my sleep.
You wore power like perfume, draped in shadows and temptation.
I want your mouth back on mine.
I wasnt you hands back where theu were.
I want that gasp you made-
I want to make you scream.
Happy Birthday, darling.
-T
Her lips twitched. She didn’t reply. Didn’t react. She simply let the note vanish between her fingers in a flick of wandless magic.
Seconds later, a picture appeared-dropped into Draco’s coat pocket with the slightest flick of her fingers beneath the table.
In this picture, the room had been filled with candlelight and shadow. Hemione sat up on her knees in the middle of her bed, her ankles crossed over eachother, her hands rested in her tousled hair, the robe she wore slightly parted, her red lips slightly parted, and her gaze locked on the camera with a look that dared.
It wasn’t overt. It was worse-it was deliberate.
Draco reached into his pocket casually, expecting something trivial. He unfolded the photo and went completely still.
His wine glass clinked hard against the table as he fumbled to set it down. He choked on a sip.
Theo glanced over, concerned, until Draco passed him the photo under the table.
Theo’s eyes widened so sharply he nearly launched his drink. Red wine frothed at the rim as he swallowed the wrong way.
Harry raised a brow from across the table. “You two alright?”
Hermione didn’t blink. “Are you alright?”
Pansy cackled beside her. “Nope. They’re finished.”
Ginny smirked, sipping her mimosa. “It’s the birthday curse. They’ll be drooling until dessert.”
Astoria topped off Hermione’s juice. “Merlin help them if she sends another.”
Daphne’s eyes sparkled. “They’re sweating.”
Parvati delicately stirred her coffee. “A public undressing. Subtle.”
Lavender leaned into Neville and murmured something that made him cough and grin.
Cho winked at Blaise. “We should order something sweet before they faint.”
Dean and Seamus high-fived silently, laughing behind their menus.
The waiter arrived with steaming cappuccinos and warm baskets of bread. Hermione, ever poised, delicately accepted a flake of pain au chocolat.
Draco leaned over to Theo, voice hushed and reverent. “That’s the one. That’s the photo.”
Theo nodded slowly, still staring at the spot on the table. “I can’t breathe.”
“I thought I was the strategist,” Draco muttered.
“She’s playing a different game,” Theo whispered back. “And she’s already won.”
Hermione hummed as she finished her pastry, then tilted her head toward Ginny. “So, cakes, desserts, mysterious stops afterward?”
Ginny grinned. “We’re keeping the rest of the day a secret. You’ll like it.”
Pansy sipped her coffee. “And no, you’re not allowed to sabotage your own birthday just because it makes them suffer.”
Hermione smirked faintly. “Suffering implies they’re not enjoying it.”
They all laughed, silverware clinking, conversations rising in joyful waves. Outside, the Parisian sky shimmered in gentle hues.
Meanwhile, Draco and Theo sat back in their chairs, shell-shocked, smitten, and thoroughly wrecked-and it was only the beginning of the day.
..............................................................................................................................
The bell above the door of Librairie Enchantée gave a soft, crystalline chime as the group stepped inside.
Hermione froze in place.
The bookshop stretched tall-four soaring floors of spiraling staircases and floating platforms, all lit by hovering crystal chandeliers and enchanted candlelight. Shelves bowed under the weight of ancient tomes, rare texts, and first editions, while soft harp music played overhead. There were magical ladders that slid with a whisper and pages fluttering like birds between sections. The scent was heaven: dust, leather, ink, and magic.
She turned to the others, eyes wide. “This is…”
“Don’t faint,” Pansy said lazily, plopping onto a velvet chaise lounge by the wine bar in the shop’s center atrium. “You’re allowed to explore. We’ll be right here getting pleasantly tipsy.”
Astoria had already summoned a glass of rosé.
Ginny pulled Hermione into a brief hug. “Go on. We’ll be here for hours.”
“You’ll lose track of time,” Daphne warned, curling her legs under herself. “So keep an eye on your watch.”
Hermione smirked, “You lot really are trying to make me relax.”
Cho raised her glass. “And you’re resisting like it’s a war crime.”
Hermione laughed under her breath and turned toward the rows of tomes, her fingers itching to explore. She caught sight of Harry, Neville, Ron, Blaise, Dean and Seamus entering just behind her-but Pansy was already blocking their path.
“Don’t you dare,” she snapped. “This is her place. Her birthday. Let her have it.”
Ron blinked. “We’re just-”
“She doesn’t need all of you trailing her like security detail.” Pansy narrowed her eyes. “You’ll hover. You’ll talk. You’ll annoy.”
Harry held up both hands. “Alright. No swarming.”
“She’ll come back when she’s ready,” Astoria said smoothly, sipping from a tall glass. “Let her breathe.”
Behind them, Draco and Theo were slipping past with a shared glance.
Pansy sighed and didn’t stop them.
“You two are the exception. Barely,” she added under her breath. “Try not to piss her off.”
Hermione was already halfway up to the third floor, floating lightly on a carpeted platform charm. Her fingers grazed along spines as she drifted, eyes sharp but dreamy. She moved like a ghost among the shelves, utterly in her element.
When Draco and Theo caught sight of her through the open rails above, they didn’t call out. They just followed, silently taking the next platform up.
By the time they reached her level, she was perched on her toes at a corner shelf, already pulling down a faded spine bound in dark emerald hide. Her wand flicked lazily, and the book followed her to a narrow alcove with a velvet-backed chair. She didn’t look at them.
Theo whispered, “She’s pretending we’re not here.”
“She’s decided we don’t exist,” Draco murmured, a half-smile on his lips. “It’s punishment.”
“Deserved,” Theo added.
They didn’t approach her directly. They wandered a few shelves over and claimed two high-backed chairs a few feet away, in her line of sight-but not close enough to interrupt.
Hermione settled in her own seat, legs curled under her, the emerald book open in her lap. The old text smelled of starlight and dried herbs. It hummed softly under her hands.
A flick of her wand adjusted the lighting. Another summoned a tea tray from nowhere.
She was serene.
Draco couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled out a narrow slip of parchment-his handwriting scrawled in confident, flowing ink-and sent it drifting her way on a tiny, enchanted breeze.
The note drifted down like a leaf, landing on the page she was reading.
She didn’t look up.
She read it slowly:
We would fallow you anywhere.
Through shadows and spells, through storms and silence.
But nothing ruins us faster than you pretending you don't see us.
I know the way your lips part when you read somthing that excites you.
I know the way your press your fingers to the spine like you're anchoring yourself to the world.
I want to ruin that focus.
I want to bend you across that desk behind you.
I want to spell your name across your skin with my mouth.
But for now-this moment-I just want you to look at me.
Once.
- D
Hermione’s lips curved faintly.
Without lifting her gaze, she touched the corner of the parchment. The note vanished in a breath of silver smoke.
She turned a page in her book, sipping her tea like nothing had happened.
Draco slumped back in his chair.
“She’s unfair,” he muttered.
“She’s brilliant,” Theo countered, grinning.
“We’ve been outplayed again.”
“We’re just background noise right now.”
Draco glanced over the rim of his cup at Hermione’s turned profile, soft in the golden light of the third floor alcove. Her curls glowed. Her brow was furrowed in the most elegant concentration.
“She’s… unshakable.”
Theo leaned back beside him. “She shook us instead.”
They sat there in silence for a while, the hum of magic and pages filling the space between them. Down below, they could hear the faint laughter of the girls sipping wine and complaining about the heels they’d chosen.
A clock somewhere chimed softly.
Theo crossed one leg over the other. “You think she’ll let us kiss her again before dinner?”
“I’m hoping she lets us breathe the same air again,” Draco said dryly.
Theo snorted. “You’re dramatic.”
“She sent us that photo,” Draco hissed. “And then banished us to the background of a bookshop.”
“She’s a genius.”
“She’s a menace.”
“I love her.”
Draco sighed. “Same.”
They didn’t try to interrupt her again. They stayed where they were, silent sentinels on the edge of her world, watching the girl who had, against all odds, made Paris hers in a single breath.
And the war wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
............................................................................................................................
An hour later, Hermione still sat at the small marble table on the third floor of Librairie Enchantée, completely surrounded by a fortress of books. The pile was deep-old incunabula, rare field‑ritual manuals, and one volume on the magical flora of the Loire. The pages in some barely held their bindings, but she treated each with reverence as she flicked quills through them, quoting softly under her breath.
A low hum pulsed through the corridor as Draco and Theo sat in plush chairs just a few feet from her-silent and waiting, not daring to interrupt.
Theo cleared his throat. Draco glanced up, eyebrows raised.
Theo smirked and pulled a slim note from his robes. He pressed it beneath a pair of reading glasses, then let it drift across the air toward Hermione.
The note flaoted to rest beside her elbow.
You think I'm content watching you flip through worn pages and parchment?
No. I'm imagining you stretched across this table, book forgotten, your dress riding high as my hands part your thighs.
I'd trace each line of your spellwork on your skin-slow, reverent, like worship.
You'd try to keep reading. You wouldn't last.
But I'll wait...for now.
Still starving- Theo
Hermione’s breath caught slightly, and her hand hovered over the page she’d been reading-but instead of reacting, she simply let the note lie there a heartbeat before touching it with a fingertip and making it vanish in a faint swirl of smoke.
Draco and Theo both groaned in unison, shoulders slumping.
Draco muttered, “She vanished it before I could read it.”
Theo let out a bitter chuckle. “I shouldn’t have written it so boldly.”
Draco glanced over at Hermione’s intense concentration, fingers brushing fragile pages. “She’s impossible.”
Theo huffed. “Daylight robbery. Emotional sabotage.”
For a few moments, nothing moved except pages turning and Theo’s leg stretching out to inch closer to hers.
Then Theo shook his head. “Fuck it.” He stood, letting his chair slide back, hesitated, glanced at Draco, then moved slowly toward her.
Draco followed immediately behind.
Theo arrived at the edge of Hermione’s table and placed a hand softly on her calf-just above her ankle. His touch was warm and confident. She froze, her finger paused on ink.
Hermione moved her leg slightly away. Theo leaned in, voice low and teasing: “Still reading? Or can I test your focus?”
She didn’t answer. Her jaw tightened. Her gaze remained locked on the page in front of her.
Draco slid around to the other side, his hand gently brushing the stack of books-almost like a claim. “Are you seriously just going to pretend we don’t exist?” he crooned. “All we asked for was an apology.”
Hermione’s breath hitched. She put her quill down carefully, then looked up through the long lashes she never knew she had.
Her glare was ice. She stood abruptly, brushing her skirt and knocking pages into the air as she passed the table.
Silence.
She gathered her books-carefully, precisely-then strode away. Draco and Theo parted as she moved, staring after her retreating figure with unleashed frustration.
Theo whispered to Draco: “She’s… gorgeous when she storms.”
Draco’s eyes stayed fixed on the path Hermione walked. “She’s lethal.”
She passed them like ghosts-unacknowledging, determined-and descended the stairwell toward the bustling café and sitting area below.
Draco remained where he was, gaze sharp, sleeves rolled, world narrowed to the line where she vanished.
Theo slumped into the chair she’d just vacated. “One look at that table and she’s gone.”
Draco ran a hand through his hair. “She came to Paris. Sent us those photo's. To make us hurt.”
“And succeeded,” Theo said quietly. “Now she’s gone.”
He flicked a lock of Hermione’s note over the table-she was halfway between floors out of sight.
Downstairs, Pansy caught Hermione’s elbow just as the others lifted glasses to toast her again.
Ginny murmured, “Don’t collapse. We’ve got shopping lists ready.”
Hermione looked immaculate in her simple, elegant dress, hair loose and soft, eyes alight with unspent energy.
She offered a faint, knowing smile: “Let’s go.”
...........................................................................................................................
The golden afternoon light filtered through the Parisian charm of the arrondissement as Hermione stepped out of the sprawling bookshop, arms freshly full of air and faint indignation. She glided down the cobblestones like she hadn’t just left two very attractive, thoroughly frustrated wizards in her wake.
Pansy and Daphne flanked her with practiced ease, each matching her long strides in their own distinctive gaits-Pansy with feline swagger, Daphne with effortless grace. Behind them trailed the rest of their curated chaos: Luna drifting like wind and petals, Lavender and Cho whispering and giggling, Astoria locked in conversation with Padma and Parvati, and Ginny bringing up the rear with her eyes trained protectively on Hermione.
“Hermione,” Ginny called as she caught up, holding out her hand. “Books?”
Hermione blinked. “Oh-right.”
With a practiced flick of her wand, Ginny shrank the stack Hermione had picked up-some thick volumes on magical theory, obscure dueling footwork, and a first-edition French text on Animagus soul mapping-and tucked them into her bottomless enchanted bag.
“So…” Hermione asked as they rounded a corner and entered a square filled with hanging lanterns and aromatic flower carts. “Where are we going next?”
Ginny gave her a sly grin. “It’s a surprise.”
Hermione groaned, though her mouth tugged upward. “Everything is always a surprise with you lot lately.”
“It’s your birthday,” Pansy chimed in. “Which means you surrendered all rights to predictability.”
“Or complaint,” Daphne added, flicking a bit of lint off Hermione’s sleeve. “Though you’re adorable when you try.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but the soft glow on her cheeks betrayed her appreciation. She looked between them-her witches, her battalion-and her heart swelled.
A few feet behind, the boys were regrouping into their own loose line of coordinated male distress.
Harry squinted ahead. “Alright, what is wrong with the girls? They look like they’re forming a protective unit.”
Draco gave an exaggerated sigh and muttered, “Theo may have pissed off Hermione.”
“You may have pissed off Hermione,” Theo muttered beside him, running a hand through his hair with practiced guilt.
Ron choked on his own breath. “Oh, you two are so screwed.”
“We know,” Theo and Draco said in tired unison.
Blaise groaned. “The rest of us didn’t even do anything wrong. Luna has barely touched me today. I don’t even think she’s made full eye contact since breakfast.”
Neville gave a slow, solemn nod. “Pansy hasn’t looked in my direction since Hermione opened her eyes this morning.”
“Can’t relate,” Seamus piped up cheerfully, glancing sideways at Dean.
Dean just smirked and laced their fingers together. “Absolutely thriving, actually.”
“Some of us make good decisions,” Seamus added, smug.
“Shut up, Finnegan,” Blaise muttered.
“Don’t whine, Zabini,” Parvati threw over her shoulder without looking. “The girls are only cold to the ones who deserve it.”
“I didn’t even say anything!” Blaise cried in frustration, hands gesturing wildly.
“You’re breathing next to Theo and Draco,” Cho said sweetly, spinning back for just a second. “Guilt by association.”
“Oh, come on-”
“Let it happen,” Ron said in a stage whisper. “Let it consume you.”
“Should we… apologize?” Neville asked uncertainly.
“No,” Harry answered flatly. “That would be too logical. They would expect us to take responsibility. Which clearly means we’ll mess it up.”
Theo snorted and ran a hand down his face. “I wrote her poetry once. She smiled for a week. Now? One note-one,-and I’m a pariah.”
“You referenced lifting her skirt in a public bookstore,” Draco deadpanned.
Theo blinked. “...I stand by my choices.”
At that moment, Astoria turned, giving them all the kind of look that could silence a whole Quidditch pitch. “Stop complaining,” she said crisply. “You made your beds. Now lie in them-alone, cold, and dramatically regretting every life choice.”
Seamus snorted. “That was terrifying.”
Draco murmured to Theo, “That’s her sweet voice.”
The group finally reached the quiet, open square that served as the Apparition point. The cobbled circle shimmered faintly with embedded runes, polished from centuries of magical travel.
Hermione stood near the center, adjusting her sleeves and blinking up at the soft sky. Her curls caught the golden light like fire and silk, and for a second, all the whispered banter and teasing melted into awe.
Ginny took her hand and leaned in. “You alright?”
Hermione nodded, her voice low. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”
“Still mad?”
“Mad adjacent.”
Pansy slid up to her other side. “You’re allowed. They’re idiots.”
Hermione smirked faintly. “They really are.”
Astoria gave her a look. “But beautiful, loyal, and utterly head over heels.”
Hermione shrugged, but her eyes betrayed the smallest crack of softness. “I might forgive them. Eventually.”
Ginny grinned. “Don’t rush it. Drag it out. It’s fun watching them sweat.”
“I am not sweating,” Draco called from a few feet behind.
“You’re literally blotting your forehead,” Daphne responded, not even looking back.
Theo adjusted his collar. “It’s warm. In Paris.”
“Nope,” Luna said serenely. “It’s mild today. The breeze has nice temperance.”
“Thanks, Luna,” Blaise muttered.
They began to gather into pairs and trios, preparing to Apparate. Ginny linked arms with Hermione again. “Ready?”
Hermione smiled as she took one last glance at the circle of chaos around her. “Let’s see what this surprise is.”
And with a unified crack of displaced air, the group vanished in swirling wind and trailing laughter, the cobbled square left shimmering in their wake.
................................................................................................................................
A moment of disorienting silence, then-
Crack! A swirl of magical wind. A shuddering pop. And just like that, the group landed in the bright bustle of Diagon Alley.
Hermione blinked rapidly, adjusting to the afternoon sun spilling down the cobblestone street—and the wall of familiar voices yelling her name.
“Mione!”
“There she is!”
“Happy birthday!”
Before them stood a small, chaotic crowd: Molly Weasley, glowing with pride; Arthur, already pulling a camera from his coat; Fred and George, holding a glittery sign that flashed SHE’S LEGAL NOW in blinking lights; Remus, smiling soft and tired like he always did; Tonks, hair a bright coral pink for the occasion; and-
Right at the center, leaning against a lamppost like he hadn’t aged a day, was Sirius Black.
Arms crossed. Leather jacket. Trademark smirk. His grey eyes lit up the second he saw her.
“There’s my girl. Happy birthday, Mia.”
Hermione froze for half a second-then dropped her bag, squealed, and ran full speed into him.
“UNCLE SIRIUS!”
He caught her in a single, effortless motion and spun her like he used to when she was little, even though she wasn’t little anymore. She laughed as he set her down, breath catching, heart hammering.
“Happy birthday,” he whispered into her curls.
Hermione’s eyes burned.
She immediately pulled back and swatted at them, half-laughing. “Ugh-nope. Nope! No tears.”
But it was too late. They were already falling.
Molly bustled forward with a frown and a handkerchief. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t you start crying. It’s your birthday, not a funeral.”
“I’m not crying,” Hermione sniffed.
“She is,” Ginny said from behind her, grinning like a menace.
“Fully sobbing,” Pansy agreed.
Theo stepped up beside Draco, arms crossed, watching her spin from Sirius to Molly to Remus and Tonks like she couldn’t believe they were all real.
Draco stood quiet and still, unreadable. Until-
Blaise leaned in and stage-whispered to him, “You planning to tell Sirius you’re dating his niece? Or are we letting him find out when he sees you holding her hand?”
Draco’s jaw tightened. Theo visibly flinched.
Harry, somewhere behind them, laughed under his breath. “Bold strategy. Let us know how it works out.”
Neville muttered, “Might want to duck.”
Dean added, “I’ve got five Galleons on Sirius hexing Theo first.”
Seamus chimed in, “Ten says he hexes both.”
Hermione turned back to the group just in time to see Remus pull her into a hug, soft and steady. “Happy birthday, Hermione.”
“Thanks,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “Is this all real?”
“Very real,” Tonks said brightly. “And we’re all here for you. Now come cry on me next, I’m wearing waterproof mascara for this exact reason.”
“I’m not crying!” Hermione protested again, wiping her face.
“You’re always crying,” Ginny teased.
“That’s what makes her her,” Luna added dreamily.
Sirius was still watching her, amused.
Hermione squinted at him. “Did you just call me Mia?”
“Of course I did,” he said, like it was obvious. “You’ll always be Mia to me.”
Theo blinked. “That’s… new.”
Harry didn’t even look up. “It’s not new. Sirius is the only one who’s allowed to call her that.”
Hermione nodded. “Yeah. Literally just him.”
Sirius grinned wider, eyes twinkling. “Well. I did practically raise her, didn't I?"
“You made her a broom out of sticks,” Molly reminded him. “And taught her to curse in five languages before she was eight.”
“Useful skills,” Sirius insisted, placing a hand on Hermione’s head and mussing her curls.
“You got her kicked out of nursery,” Arthur offered from behind his camera.
“I told her to stand up for herself.”
“You told her to kick a six-year-old in the shin.”
“She was six too,” Sirius replied indignantly.
Hermione couldn’t stop laughing. Her head tilted back, hair shining in the sunlight. “I forgot how much I missed this.”
Ron stepped forward, red-eared but smiling. “Happy birthday, Hermione.”
“Happy birthday!” echoed Fred and George in unison, their sign now blinking TOO SMART FOR HER OWN GOOD.
“Happy birthday, cousin,” Astoria said, giving her a sideways hug.
“Happy birthday,” said Daphne softly, standing behind her sister with a pleased smile.
Tonks saluted with her wand. “Another trip around the sun, and you didn’t even blow up anything! That’s growth.”
“Yet,” Hermione said, grinning.
“Yet,” Pansy echoed.
Ginny tossed an arm around Hermione’s shoulders and leaned in. “Ready to shop?”
“Oh, you mean instead of emotionally combusting in public? Sure.”
“You can do both,” Luna said serenely.
“Where do you think the rest of us learned it?” said Lavender.
The crowd began to shift as passersby paused to watch the gathering, pointing out recognizable faces like Harry Potter, the twins, and Sirius Black. Draco still hadn’t spoken. Theo was equally silent. They stood close together, but not too close to Hermione.
She hadn’t even looked their way yet.
Sirius finally noticed them and raised an eyebrow.
“Oh. You two,” he said.
Draco stiffened.
Theo cleared his throat. “Mr. Black.”
Sirius smirked. “We’ll circle back to that.”
Hermione finally glanced over. Her eyes narrowed slightly-not angry, just unreadable.
Draco nodded. “Happy birthday, Hermione.”
Theo followed suit, quieter. “Happy birthday.”
She gave them a single blink. Then: “Thanks.”
Pansy bumped her hip. “You going to forgive them today or are we dragging it out for drama?”
“I haven’t decided,” Hermione said sweetly. “Feels like I should make them sweat a little longer.”
Theo muttered, “Merlin, I forgot how terrifying she is when she’s smug.”
“She learned from the best,” Harry said dryly.
“Who?” Sirius asked.
“Herself,” Ginny answered, deadpan.
The girls started laughing again. Someone pulled Hermione’s arm toward the first shopfront. Ginny was already listing off every single store in a ten-block radius, and Molly kept murmuring about tea and lunch.
Sirius looked down at Hermione one more time, his voice soft just for her. “You look happy, Mia.”
She looked back at him-and for a second, she was seven again, sitting on his shoulders with jam on her nose.
“I am,” she whispered. “I really am.”
And just like that, they slipped into the noise and color of Diagon Alley.
With Hermione right at the center of it all.
..........................................................................................................................
The bell above the boutique door gave a soft chime as Hermione stepped inside with Pansy, Ginny, Luna, Padma, Parvati, Cho, Daphne, and Lavender flanking her on all sides like a royal entourage.
Silk gowns floated along enchanted racks. The scent of fresh parchment and lavender laced the air, and warm light spilled down from chandeliers twined with creeping ivy. This was Wisteria & Lace, the most exclusive dress shop in Diagon Alley.
Beyond a velvet curtain-lined entry, the boys waited.
Draco, Theo, Harry, Neville, Ron, and Blaise sprawled on tufted velvet lounges and low armchairs arranged like a reluctant royal court-only far more tense and under strict threat of girlfriends with opinions.
Pansy clapped her hands and announced, “We need the perfect dress for Hermione to wear tonight.”
Hermione groaned, tugging her bag higher. “You lot act like I’m being presented at court.”
Lavender grinned. “You basically are. This is just Phase Two. Phase One was brunch and books. Phase Three is classified.”
“Classified is terrifying,” Hermione muttered, dodging Cho’s swirl of a rose-gold chiffon.
Behind her, Ginny and Luna immediately began combing racks with deadly focus.
As Hermione wandered toward the back, Draco’s gaze never left her. Theo, perched beside him, mirrored the intensity.
Harry noticed. He gave Theo a sharp elbow. “Stop looking at my sister like you plan to have her for dessert.”
Theo blinked innocently. “What if I do?”
Draco smirked faintly, but didn’t look away. “He’ll share.”
Harry groaned and leaned forward, head in hands. “I’m too sober for this.”
Neville whispered, “You know this wouldn’t even be happening if they hadn’t told her to apologize in the first place.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed, still watching Hermione float from gown to gown like she was walking on charm-spun clouds. “I didn’t tell her. Theo did.”
“Bold of you to throw me under the broom,” Theo muttered.
“Not throwing,” Draco said. “More like accurately identifying the body.”
“Not helpful,” Harry sighed.
Across the boutique, Cho and Ginny held up a sapphire and emerald gown each, spinning on the balls of their feet.
“Hermione, emerald. Always emerald,” Ginny said firmly.
“I don’t know,” Hermione said as she eyed the green fabric, fingertips skimming the hem. “This is a lot of sparkle.”
Pansy swept in and added dramatically, “And not enough sin. Yet.”
As Hermione turned the dress over in her hands, a soft flutter of parchment landed near her elbow. A folded note. Familiar. Sly.
She didn’t have to look to know it came from Theo.
Looking at you, in that emerald green? You’re a walking enchantment.
Later, I’ll press you into velvet and learn how the dress sounds when I peel it off you. Slowly.
One rune for every inch of your skin I taste. And no rush, little witch.
Take your time choosing. I’ll enjoy the wait.
-Theo
Hermione’s eyes widened-just a breath-but her face remained composed.
Then, calmly, she vanished the note with a flick of her wand, a silver spark bursting in the air.
A second later, she made a subtle motion with her fingers, pulling a small object from her enchanted bag—deliberate, fluid. She didn’t look around. Didn’t check. Just flicked her wrist and sent it sailing magically across the room.
It vanished midair.
And landed with a soft flutter inside Draco’s jacket pocket.
Draco blinked, straightened slightly, and slid a hand in. His fingers brushed parchment.
He opened the photo discreetly.
His breath caught.
It was a photograph-Hermione, in a crimson teddy, kneeling on the floor of her room, head thrown back, eyes closed, her mouth parted slightly in a gasp. The lighting was dim and golden. Her bare shoulders glowed, every line of her body a spell.
Theo leaned over.
Saw it.
Choked.
Both men bit back audible groans at the same time.
Ron, suspicious, squinted at them. “What are you two looking at?”
Draco folded the photo shut. “Nothing.”
Theo shoved the photo into Draco’s inside pocket. “Absolutely nothing.”
Ron narrowed his eyes. “You’re bad liars.”
Harry muttered, “I swear to Merlin if I catch you even thinking about her like that—”
“You’ll what?” Theo teased, eyes gleaming. “Write me a strongly worded letter?”
Harry’s hand sparked briefly with residual magic. “Try me, Nott.”
Hermione was already turning to the mirror, holding the emerald dress up against herself. She wasn’t even looking at them.
But her smirk?
Yeah. That was aimed directly at them.
Lavender drifted up with a silky red gown. “Try this one too.”
“Emerald first,” Ginny insisted. “Trust me. You’ll bring Theo and Draco to their knees.”
“Mission already accomplished,” Hermione muttered under her breath.
“Was that a confession?” Pansy sang out.
“I said nothing,” Hermione replied, stepping toward the dressing curtain.
Behind the velvet, she changed-movement quick, smooth, elegant.
When she stepped back out in the emerald silk gown, the room paused.
The fabric hugged her curves. Her curls framed her shoulders. Her skin glowed like a curse wrapped in gold.
But only the girls saw.
They gasped in tandem.
Pansy blinked once, slowly, and whispered like she was witnessing divinity, “This is not a dress. This is a weapon.”
“Absolutely yes,” Ginny said.
“You’re glorious,” Padma added.
“Your thighs could start wars,” Lavender declared reverently.
Luna hummed with approval and made a pale green blossom unfurl from a clip, pinning it gently behind Hermione’s ear. “She looks like spring after a thunderstorm.”
Hermione smirked, spinning once in front of the mirror. “Too much?”
“Not enough,” Daphne said, arms crossed and dead serious.
“I vote we cancel the rest of the day and send her straight into Draco’s lap,” Parvati added.
“No,” Pansy declared suddenly. “No. We need one more option.”
Hermione turned slowly. “What?”
“You need to try the red one. The one with the slit.”
Cho held it up with a grin. “You’ll look like a walking sin.”
Hermione groaned, clutching the green dress tighter. “I already look like I murdered virtue in this one.”
“And now we need to know if you can murder reason,” Pansy said. “Try it. Final one. Then we vote.”
“I can’t believe this is my life,” Hermione muttered, disappearing back behind the velvet curtain.
Outside, the boys waited.
Draco tapped his knee restlessly.
Theo looked like he was trying not to levitate.
Harry narrowed his eyes at both of them. “Still breathing heavy?”
Theo grinned. “Just a bit.”
Draco didn’t answer. His attention was fixed straight ahead, through the curtain, like he could feel her moving.
“She’s been in there awhile,” Ron said warily.
“Which means she’s probably trying on every damn dress in the shop,” Blaise added, flipping a page in the Quidditch Weekly.
Neville sighed. “I should’ve brought snacks. Or a flask.”
Ron frowned. “We could sneak out-”
“If you value your life,” Theo cut in, “you’ll stay exactly where you are.”
“I still don’t get why they needed to dress her up like this for dinner,” Harry muttered.
“Because she’s the birthday girl, obviously,” Blaise said.
“Because she’s also secretly trying to kill us,” Theo added.
Draco exhaled through his nose. “Successfully.”
Back behind the curtain, Hermione emerged again.
This time, in crimson.
The slit ran high, the neckline scandalously low, and her expression said she was about to take everything she wanted and dare someone to stop her.
Lavender actually whistled. “Okay. We’re not choosing.”
“We’re keeping both,” she declared.
“Agreed,” Padma said. “Green for mystery. Red for murder.”
“Or red for post-murder drinks,” Luna offered, thoughtful.
“Both are deadly,” Daphne said, flicking invisible lint from Hermione’s shoulder.
Pansy’s voice was sharp. “We vanish the green one now so the boys don’t see it. And we make them wait for the red until after dessert.”
“Cruel,” Hermione muttered.
“Necessary,” Cho corrected.
As Hermione started to change out of the crimson gown, she smirked to herself.
Two dresses.
One day.
And two Slytherins currently going insane in the next room.
A slow, wicked plan began to form.
Out front, the boys sat straighter as they heard the curtain rustle.
Then-
Nothing.
Only Pansy striding out, smug.
“She’s getting both,” she announced.
Harry blinked. “Both?”
Ron frowned. “How many dresses is that?”
“Two,” Pansy said sweetly. “And you don’t get to see either until tonight.”
Draco’s jaw clenched.
Theo made a noise like a dying man.
Harry crossed his arms. “You're torturing them. You’re all sadists.”
“No,” Ginny said, joining them with a bounce in her step. “We’re experts.”
Behind her, Hermione emerged-back in her normal clothes, green and red gowns vanished into her enchanted bag.
She looked far too smug for someone who’d just survived a trial by silk.
Draco stood the moment he saw her. Theo followed a second later.
Hermione arched a brow, eyes bright. “You lot coming? Or are you just going to sit there like you've forgotten how your legs work?”
“I forgot everything,” Theo muttered.
“Same,” Draco said.
“Someone hex me,” Harry groaned.
Ron sighed. “Someone hex them.”
As they filed out of the shop, the girls wrapped around Hermione again like a personal honor guard, their chatter bright and full of plans.
Behind them trailed the boys.
Wrecked.
Wordless.
Already doomed-and only mid-afternoon.
And Hermione?
She was still smirking.
...............................................................................................................................
The table was long oak, lit by smoldering candles, nestled in a corner of a magical eatery on Diagon Alley. Outside, a swirl of late-afternoon shoppers drifted past window lanterns, the cobblestones humming with soft laughter and the scent of caramel apples from a nearby vendor. Inside, the air was warm and fragrant with roast meats, spiced apples, and whispers of enchantment. Every light danced gently, charmed flames flickering in sync with the quiet hum of conversation.
At the table: Sirius Black sat to Hermione’s right, one arm draped behind her chair, eyes bright with pride, his posture both protective and casual, like he couldn’t decide whether to threaten someone or toast the entire room. Harry, to her left, ever her anchor, sat with a quiet sort of grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes but was genuine in its brotherly warmth. Draco and Theo were seated a little farther down, side by side, both looking like they’d been dropped into a storm they’d helped summon and now had no idea how to navigate. They weren’t speaking. They weren’t smiling. They just sat there-shoulders too tight, backs too straight, forks untouched.
Molly, Arthur, and George flanked the ends of the table, shimmering with maternal delight and indulgent curiosity. The rest of the room held their closest circle. Girls were sprinkled around: Pansy, Ginny, Luna, Padma, Parvati, Daphne, Lavender, Cho—all laughing softly, sipping from thin-stemmed glasses, weaving little jokes between polite bites of salad. Astoria leaned into Fred beside the fireplace, fingers twined beneath the table, their heads close, whispering something that made him snort mid-sip. Neville, Seamus, Dean, Ron, and Blaise sat in the middle, fidgeting like boys who knew a fire was about to catch and still couldn’t stop poking it.
Hermione looked radiant in a subtle dress- gone was the innocent pink from that morning, replaced by something demure yet elegant-colored chiffon that caught the light every time she shifted. Her hair was swept softly over one shoulder, threaded with a single shimmering pin Sirius had gifted her ealier in the day. She sipped from a crystal goblet of sparkling juice, lips glossed a faint rose, cheeks just slightly flushed. She looked like a woman and a storm all at once. Sirius saw her first and beamed.
“Mia, you look stunning. Happy birthday.”
Hermione’s smile wavered for only a moment, still tinged with her earlier wariness. “Thank you.”
Harry’s voice was gentle, teasing but sincere. “How does it feel being one more year fabulous?”
She looked at him gratefully, the edge of her lip tugging upward. “Exhausting, but worth it.”
Draco flicked his eyes toward her, then back at his lap. Theo did the same. They both looked… broken. Blaise, seated between Neville and Ron, nudged Theo hard beneath the table.
“Look up or Sirius’ll hex you into next week. Quit that puppy act.”
Theo swallowed and forced himself to sit taller. Draco, next to him, adjusted his fork. Neither made eye contact.
Neville leaned toward Ron and whispered, “They should’ve just apologized earlier. Would’ve saved all of this.”
Ron sighed. “That ship sailed back at the bookstore.”
Dean tucked a napkin into his lap. “We’re riding the wave now.”
Seamus leaned on one elbow, raising a brow. “Wave of beautiful disaster.”
Ron snorted into his butterbeer. “I’m guessing something unspeakable.”
Before Draco could respond with something biting-or Theo could claim innocent friendship-Hermione laughed.
Everyone looked up.
She was leaning into Sirius’s side, laughing at something he said, her hair catching the light like wildfire. Harry, beside her, grinned wide and tossed an arm over the back of her chair. She looked at home. Happy. In control.
And completely unaffected by the slow emotional unraveling happening across the table.
Sirius set his glass down, cocked his head with a deceptively lazy smile. “So. When exactly were you planning to tell me you’re dating both Malfoy and Nott?”
Hermione didn’t even blink. She raised a brow, calm as ever. “And what makes you think that?”
Sirius gave her a knowing smirk. “Because they’ve looked like kicked nifflers since you walked in. And they haven’t taken their eyes off you all evening. I might be a little mad, love, but I’m not blind.”
Harry choked on his water.
Theo froze mid-chew.
Draco, who had just taken a sip of wine, nearly upended the entire glass into his lap.
Hermione calmly placed her roll back on her plate. “I wasn’t hiding it,” she said lightly. “You just didn’t ask.”
“You’re impossible,” Sirius muttered.
“You’re just old,” she replied, angelically.
The whole table roared.
George nearly fell out of his chair. “That’s going in a product.”
Fred wiped a tear. “Impossibly Old. Coming to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.”
“Wrinkles sold separately,” George chimed.
Arthur laughed into his napkin. Molly shook her head and muttered something about “cheeky Potters.” Lavender and Parvati high-fived. Even Cho cracked a smile, sipping from her flute.
Draco looked ready to crawl under the table. Theo just groaned and dropped his forehead to the wood.
And Hermione? Hermione smiled.
That same quiet, dangerous smile that meant trouble.
Because a moment later, she reached casually into her enchanted clutch beneath the table, brushed her fingers over a thin slip of enchanted photo paper, and flicked her wand in a motion so subtle no one caught it.
Except Blaise.
He saw it. And he knew exactly what was about to happen.
Theo, adjusting his chair, froze as a delicate photo slid with perfect grace into his lap.
He looked down. Then looked harder.
And Draco? Draco didn’t even need to see it yet. He felt it.
Theo’s mouth parted slightly. He inhaled like the wind had been knocked out of him.
Draco leaned slightly, tension coiling. “What is it?”
Theo barely handed it over. Draco caught the photo, glanced at it-and nearly dropped it.
There she was.
Hermione.
Perched at the edge of her bathtub, sheer black lace clinging to her skin like water. A single long leg crossed over the other, wine glass in one hand, her other hand draped behind her, supporting her lean. Candlelight cast golden halos across her body, her expression bold and decadent.
She looked like temptation in silk form.
A goddess made for ruination.
And she was smiling.
Smirking, really-knowing, powerful, untouchable.
It was a silent detonation.
Arthur, seated nearby, caught the look on their faces. “Everything alright, boys?”
Draco and Theo both looked up at once. In unison, they replied:
“Fine.”
“Absolutely.”
“Nothing at all.”
Their voices cracked at exactly the same moment.
Blaise choked on his water trying not to laugh. “You two are so done.”
Harry’s brow furrowed, catching the awkward shift. “Should I ask?”
“Please don’t,” Theo whispered.
Sirius, leaning lazily across the table, gave Hermione a long look. “You’re going to have to tell me what they did to earn this level of misery.”
Hermione laughed into her apple slice. “They might be more dangerous than they look.”
Harry sighed. “They look like they lost a duel.”
The starters arrived then-steaming soups, warm hearthbread, glistening spreads-just as Draco stuffed the photo into his coat pocket like it might explode if left in open air.
Conversation rolled on-golden, warm, full of teasing and banter.
Molly reached over and tucked a curl behind Hermione’s ear. “I wasn’t supposed to cry again,” she whispered, voice thick. “But look at you.”
Hermione caught her hand and smiled. “No more tears. I’m good, I promise.”
George raised his glass. “To Hermione!”
The table echoed, loud and joyful: “To Hermione!”
Pansy leaned across Ginny. “Second surprise still on deck.”
“Third one’s already ticking,” Ginny added with a sly smile.
Luna sipped her drink and nodded. “Hermione should beam for a bit. It helps the magic settle.”
Padma and Parvati argued over dessert spells with Sirius, who was playfully suggesting pepper-chocolate mousse and mustard ganache.
Lavender leaned toward Daphne. “Draco and Theo are literally trembling.”
Cho sipped her wine. “Let them.”
Across the table, Draco attempted a sip of soup and nearly choked again. Hermione caught him looking. She didn’t smile. Not exactly. But her eyes lingered.
He leaned to Theo. “I think I’m going to combust.”
Theo didn’t blink. “Try not to.”
Sirius gave them both a slow, level look. “If you two are going to keep making bedroom eyes at dinner, I’m going to require a formal proposal. Or at least-kneeling.”
Chapter 10: The Last Course of Chaos
Summary:
Hermione enjoys the final faze of her birthday
Notes:
There is adult content in this chapter!!! Once again, if you do not like it, do not read it !! Other than that, I hope you all enjoy
Chapter Text
Half an hour later, the long table at the Diagon Alley café had dissolved into dessert forks and half-full glasses. Hermione was dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a napkin, still glowing from the warmth of her family, friends, and that exquisite chaos they’d called dinner.
Then-
Pansy clapped her hands once. “Right! It’s time.”
Hermione groaned. “No, no, no. I'm comfortable.”
Draco and Theo chuckled under their breath.
She glared at them. “Don’t you dare enjoy this.”
Theo gave her a mock-serious look. “Enjoy what? The public parade of birthday revelry? Never.”
Draco nodded, too smoothly. “We’re suffering.”
Blaise coughed pointedly. “Liar.”
Ginny grinned and slung an arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “Final outfit change, darling. You didn’t think we were done, did you?”
“Unfortunately,” Hermione muttered, “I keep underestimating the Gryffindor capacity for dramatic flair.”
Padma leaned forward, sipping her water with elegance. “Excuse you, this was orchestrated by a combined house effort.”
“Backed by Slytherin funding,” Parvati added.
“And Hufflepuff patience,” Luna said serenely.
“And Ravenclaw logistics,” Cho said with a wink.
Hermione groaned again, deeper this time, and dropped her forehead to the table. “I’m being bullied. On my birthday.”
Pansy patted her hair. “Out of love.”
Molly came over and brushed crumbs from Hermione’s shoulder, smiling warmly. “Well, I think you look lovely now, but I can’t wait to see the next ensemble.”
Arthur stood beside her, nodding thoughtfully. “And wherever it is we’re going, I’m trusting that no one will try to fly anything through the living room ceiling this time.”
“That was one time, Dad,” Fred called from the far end of the table.
“And it landed safely,” George added.
Sirius leaned in and kissed Hermione’s cheek, warm and rough around the edges. “I’ll meet you there, starling. Try not to hex your friends before dessert.”
Hermione leaned into him for a brief second, a smile tugging at her lips. “No promises.”
Fred raised his glass. “To the birthday witch.”
“To Hermione!” came the cheer again, raucous and full.
Ginny, still grinning like a wildcat, pulled Hermione to her feet. “Alright. Time to move. Apparition point. Let’s go.”
The group began to rise-chairs scraping back, napkins tossed, glasses drained. It was a strange and beautiful exodus. Laughter followed them like a spell.
They made their way through the lantern-lit cobbles of Diagon, weaving around shopfronts and lampposts, all the way to the designated Apparition point just beyond the main square and then with a pop, landed somewhere unfamiliar.
As the group began gathering back around her, Hermione glanced around. “Where are we even going?”
Daphne smirked as she slipped her wand back into her bag. “Shush. No questions.”
Hermione raised both brows. “Is that a threat?”
“More like a loving silencing charm,” Astoria teased.
Harry slung an arm over her shoulder and ruffled her curls. “It’s time for Phase Three.”
Ron appeared beside him, grinning. “We did our part.”
Dean, Seamus, and Neville fell in line.
“We’ve got the next cue,” Seamus added.
Dean jerked a thumb at Draco and Theo. “And these two are with us.”
Draco blinked. “What?”
Theo frowned. “Why?”
Neville just grabbed Draco by the sleeve. “Because it’s funnier that way.”
Harry clapped Theo on the back. “Come on, loverboy.”
Draco and Theo grumbled as they were practically herded away by the boys, all of them laughing like they’d already had a few too many Butterbeers.
Hermione watched them go with narrowed eyes. “That’s suspicious.”
Before she could follow, Pansy stepped directly in front of her and pressed both hands over her eyes. “Nope.”
Hermione snorted. “Pans-”
“Don’t ruin it.”
“I can’t see!”
“That’s the point.”
Ginny giggled and grabbed Hermione’s hands. “No peeking. We are not wasting the final outfit on a hallway reveal.”
“Do I get to breathe at least?”
“You’ll thank us later,” Daphne said from behind her.
Cho’s voice followed. “If you survive it.”
Parvati added, “We’ve prepared emergency fans just in case.”
“Merlin’s beard,” Hermione muttered.
With Pansy’s hands still over her eyes and Ginny steering her by the elbows, the girls led her carefully-step by step-to the next location. Footfalls echoed differently now. There was a hush in the air, thicker, older.
Then her shoes hit something familiar.
A stone walkway. Wrought iron gates creaking open. A magical ward humming low in the bones.
Hermione blinked. “Wait. Is this-?”
Daphne whispered near her ear. “No questions. Almost there.”
She heard someone unlock the front door.
More footsteps.
The smells were different here-cedar polish, old parchment, faint lilac. Familiar and new at once.
“Up you go,” Astoria said cheerfully.
“Why do I feel like I’m being marched to execution?”
“Because you’re dramatic,” Ginny said, laughing.
They led her up the stairs, a slow process of shuffling and soft warnings not to trip on the runner. The second floor creaked under their feet.
Then a door opened.
A flick of wands. Lights flared.
Astoria removed her hands.
Hermione opened her eyes.
Her bedroom-newly charmed and redone just for her-was breathtaking.
Soft emerald and dusky gold. Candlelight hovering near the ceiling. Silk sheets. Scattered enchanted blooms that never wilted. And laid out on the bed, like a vision, was the dress.
Sleek. Dark green. Black lace trim. With heels that shimmered like moonlight.
A bottle of wine levitated itself beside a platter of strawberries.
Lavender twirled into the room, already barefoot. “Okay, it’s time. We get her ready now.”
Astoria popped the cork on the wine with a grin. “To chaos and beauty.”
“I hate you all,” Hermione whispered, stunned.
“No, you don’t,” Luna said calmly.
Padma plucked a strawberry from the tray. “You’re about to look like vengeance incarnate.”
Ginny wiggled her eyebrows. “And the party doesn’t start until you descend the stairs like a goddess of war.”
Pansy was already uncorking lipstick.
Cho handed her a glass of wine. “Drink first. Dress after.”
Hermione took the glass and sighed dramatically. “I’m going to murder someone with my heels tonight, aren’t I?”
“We can only hope,” Lavender said cheerfully.
Daphne giggled. “Please wait until after dessert.”
As the music started low in the corner-something jazzy, pulsing with energy-the girls circled around her, laughing, sipping wine, casting careful charms.
Outside, the party at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place began to light up. Candles flared on the ground floor. A small band tuned in the parlor. Magic stirred the air.
The silk of her gown whispered against her skin as she stepped forward-dark green as the forbidden forest, black lace curling at the edges like smoke. Her curls were pinned half-up, loose strands cascading down her back. A hint of shimmer graced her cheeks, and her lips were painted the soft, dangerous red of quiet threats and first kisses.
The staircase stretched below her, a gallery of awestruck gazes waiting at the bottom.
Draco saw her first.
He choked.
Quite literally.
Theo, standing beside him, caught sight of her a moment later and stumbled so hard he nearly dragged Blaise down with him.
“You two alright?” Harry muttered out the corner of his mouth, hiding a grin. “We did say she’d be the death of you.”
“Sweet merciful Merlin,” Theo whispered.
“I’m fine,” Draco said, lying. “I’m-completely-fine.”
“You’re both idiots,” Ron added cheerfully, straightening his forest-green dress robes. “But this is excellent entertainment.”
Sirius let out a low whistle, then coughed pointedly. “Boys.”
Draco and Theo snapped to attention, both of them red from their ears to their collars.
Harry looked between them and Hermione and shook his head. “Honestly. Embarrassing.”
“Is it bad that I sort of want to punch them both and hug them at the same time?” Sirius asked, still watching Hermione descend like she owned gravity itself.
Arthur chuckled beside him. “That’s how you know it’s real.”
George nudged Fred. “Do we need to fetch a mediwizard?”
“I think Theo just forgot how breathing works,” Fred said under his breath.
Angelina, in a gold satin gown, smacked George on the arm. “Don’t ruin the moment.”
Bill and Charlie were leaning against the doorframe with Fluer between them, each one in robes charmed to fit their colors. Fleur smiled, radiant, and whispered something in French that made both Weasley brothers grin.
As Hermione reached the bottom step, the room stood still.
She looked over at Harry-her brother in navy robes-and he smiled, proud and protective. Ron elbowed him. “Told you she’d stun.”
“You told me she’d ‘probably not trip,’” Harry replied dryly.
Hermione turned to Sirius, who stepped forward with an arm extended. “Come on, birthday witch.”
She took his hand, still stunned. “You helped plan this?”
He winked. “Don’t I always?”
“Pansy,” she started, “did you-?”
But Pansy was already sweeping in, eyes gleaming. “Right. Enough staring. This one’s mine for now.”
She tugged Hermione gently, slipping her arm through hers. “Time for the garden.”
Hermione blinked. “Garden?”
Pansy smirked. “Just wait.”
She led Hermione through the drawing room, past the guests who respectfully stayed behind, and out the side door.
What Hermione saw made her stop short.
The garden-once dark and overgrown-had been utterly transformed.
Soft golden fairy lights hung in swaying arcs above. Strings of them were woven through the hedges and draped over the wrought-iron gazebo at the center, glowing like stardust. Candles hovered in the air at varying heights, flickering gently, their flames enchanted in hues of violet and pearl.
A string quartet stood on a small raised platform near the back, tuning their instruments with graceful precision. Their soft harmonies drifted across the lawn.
Tables were set along the edges-elegant place settings, glassware catching the candlelight. At the very center, beneath the gazebo, was a three-tiered cake, pale green with golden runes circling each layer.
Beneath it sat a small mountain of wrapped gifts, bows and ribbons in every imaginable shade.
There were roses-real and enchanted-planted in patterns throughout the flower beds. Some bloomed in midnight blue, others a silvery blush. A soft charm drifted petals down like snow.
Hermione stared, hands trembling slightly.
Her breath caught.
“Oh…”
Pansy turned toward her, voice quieter now, intimate. “You okay?”
Hermione blinked fast. “I-I didn’t expect…”
“You weren’t supposed to.”
She laughed softly. “This is… gods, Pansy.”
“Too much?”
“No. It’s perfect.”
Pansy bumped their shoulders gently. “Theo and Draco are gonna have heart attacks.”
Hermione gave a watery laugh, pressing the back of her hand to her lips to hold in the tears.
“Don’t you dare cry,” Pansy warned, but her own voice wobbled. “I didn’t wear waterproof mascara.”
Hermione reached out and pulled her into a hug. “Thank you.”
“Thank all of us,” Pansy said, squeezing tight. “Even Ginny helped enchant the damn roses. I think she threatened the soil.”
Hermione laughed into her shoulder.
The garden doors opened behind them.
The rest of the guests began to filter in, their laughter growing louder, their robes swishing through the grass.
Music filled the air-soft strings and low cello notes.
From across the garden, Hermione saw Draco and Theo step into view.
Both had cleaned up nicely-robes tailored to perfection, hair just the right amount of tousled. But their expressions were…
Wrecked.
The kind of wrecked that came from seeing someone and knowing, that’s it-that’s the person who ruins me in the best way possible.
Hermione smirked, a little evil. She turned to Pansy and whispered, “You were right.”
“They’re completely ruined?”
“Absolutely.”
“Excellent.”
Sirius passed them with two glasses of wine and handed one to Hermione. “Go mingle, Mia. Your empire awaits.”
And with that, the party truly began
...............................................................................................................................
Half an hour later, the garden of 12 Grimmauld Place was alive with soft lantern light swinging gently in the evening breeze. The scent of honeysuckle mingled with fresh earth, and quiet laughter floated among the clusters of guests gathered for the birthday party. Hermione leaned comfortably on her Uncle Sirius’s arm, the familiar warmth of his presence steady and reassuring as they moved slowly through the crowd.
Sirius glanced down at her with a fond smile. “You’re holding up well tonight, Mia. Not letting this party wear you out.”
Hermione smiled back, her fingers brushing lightly against his sleeve. “It’s easier with you here, Uncle Sirius. Thank you.”
As they neared a small cluster of guests, Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped forward, nodding warmly. “Happy birthday, Hermione. You look radiant tonight.”
“Thank you, Kingsley,” Hermione said, returning the smile with genuine gratitude.
They shared a few words-Kingsley asking about her studies, Sirius teasing about her stubbornness and tenacity-when a sharp, deliberate clearing of throats cut through the mellow hum of conversation.
Hermione’s gaze snapped toward the source, amusement and a flicker of challenge lighting her eyes. From the far side of the garden, Draco and Theo threaded their way through the guests, their expressions a mix of determination and something softer, more intimate.
They stopped a few feet away, clearing their throats again-louder, impossible to ignore.
Sirius’s face darkened, though the gleam in his eyes was teasing. “And here comes trouble,” he said, narrowing his gaze at the two men. “What do you want with my niece?”
Draco’s smile was cocky but respectful. “We’d like to steal the birthday girl away for a while.”
Theo’s grin was almost mischievous. “Just for a little bit.”
Sirius’s tone dropped, warning clear beneath the humor. “You treat her right, or I’ll have a very unpleasant conversation with you both.”
Hermione laughed softly, freeing her hand from Sirius’s arm and slipping it first into Theo’s grasp, then linking her other arm with Draco’s. “I suppose I can spare a few minutes.”
Sirius gave her a pointed look but said nothing more as the trio moved off, the crowd parting discreetly to let them pass.
They found a quiet corner of the garden where the soft glow of lanterns cast gentle shadows over the cobblestone path. The fragrance of night-blooming flowers wrapped around them, a perfect, private cocoon from the world.
Theo’s wand flicked with a subtle motion, and a soft shimmer of enchantment cloaked them in silence and invisibility.
Hermione raised a brow, folding her arms as she looked at them both. “Notice Me Not,” Draco said quietly. “So no interruptions.”
She smirked, her gaze sharp. “Alright. What do you want?”
Draco exchanged a glance with Theo, then Draco spoke first, voice low and earnest. “We want to apologize.”
“For what exactly?” Hermione prompted, amused now.
Theo took a breath. “For how we left you yesterday.”
“You were… all hot and bothered,” he added with a crooked grin, “and we just left without a word.”
Draco nodded, his eyes darkening. “And for the note this morning. We asked if you were ready to apologize for ignoring us.”
Hermione tilted her head, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “You sent me a note?”
Theo chuckled. “Yes. And those pictures you’ve been sending all day…”
Draco’s voice dropped lower, thick with desire. “They’ve been driving us crazy.”
Hermione’s smirk deepened. “That was the point.”
Theo shook his head, mock exasperated. “And the way you barely looked at us today? Nearly killed us.”
Hermione laughed softly, warmth spreading through her chest. “I forgive you.”
Draco let out a breath of relief. “Thank Merlin.”
Without warning, Draco’s hands slid to her hips, pulling her closer as his lips crashed against hers with fierce intensity. The kiss was deep, demanding, his mouth warm and insistent. Hermione’s breath hitched as she melted against him, her fingers tangling in the dark hair at the nape of his neck. His hands pressed firmly but tenderly at her waist, molding her to him like he never wanted to let go.
From behind, Theo’s arms wrapped around her, steady and strong. His lips brushed along her neck, trailing feather-light kisses that made a shiver ripple down her spine. He nipped softly at the sensitive skin just beneath her ear, his hands sliding up under her arms, tracing the curve of her ribs.
Draco’s kiss deepened, his tongue sweeping over hers, exploring, teasing. Hermione’s heart hammered, her body humming with raw need as she leaned fully into both of them. Theo’s hands roamed lower now, resting possessively on her hips, fingers digging in lightly as his mouth continued its tantalizing trail of kisses and nips along her neck and jawline.
They shifted fluidly, Draco pulling back just enough to trail kisses along her throat while Theo captured her lips with a fierce, urgent kiss that left her breathless. Draco’s hands slid up the smooth line of her thigh, fingers brushing under the slit of her dress, sending a delicious heat pooling low in her belly.
Hermione’s breath came faster. A soft moan escaped her lips, surprising even herself.
The spell of the moment hung heavy between them, the garden around them fading into a blur of shadows and scent.
Finally, Hermione pulled back just enough to look at them, her voice a low, teasing breath. “I have a party to get back to. I don’t need Sirius or Pansy coming looking for me.”
Draco chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting with amusement and something deeper. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep you safe.”
Theo pressed a tender kiss to her temple. “Always.”
The soft shimmer of the ‘Notice Me Not’ charm lifted, the sounds of the garden party creeping back in, but Hermione remained wrapped in the warmth and fierce devotion of the two men who held her close.
............................................................................................................................
An hour after the dancing had mellowed and the garden of 12 Grimmauld Place had taken on a gentler, more enchanted glow, Hermione found herself drifting near the edge of the glowing gazebo, sipping wine and enjoying the hum of laughter and distant cello music. The party had slowed into something quieter, richer—more personal.
That was when Pansy’s familiar, determined voice sliced through the haze.
“Oi! Birthday witch,” she called, marching toward her in her garnet gown, curls bouncing. “Time.”
Hermione blinked, brow rising. “Time for what?”
Ginny appeared beside Pansy like clockwork, already smirking. “For the presents, obviously. Did you think we forgot the fun part?”
Before Hermione could formulate a response, they each grabbed one of her arms.
“I could technically resist,” Hermione muttered as they pulled her across the lawn.
“You could, yes,” Pansy said sweetly. “But we’d just call Sirius and let him guilt you.”
“Or we’d let Theo pout. And Merlin knows that’s a weapon,” Ginny added with a dramatic shiver.
They guided her toward the present table-really more of an altar, draped in emerald velvet, with stacks of perfectly wrapped gifts glowing in the candlelight. Around it, a semi-circle of people was already forming.
Theo and Draco were already there—one on each side of where they clearly expected her to stand. As she approached, Theo’s hand found the small of her back, warm and steady, while Draco’s arm curved easily around her waist, fingers resting just barely below the acceptable line.
Harry, standing directly across from them in his navy dress robes, narrowed his eyes.
“Oi,” he said loudly. “Hands off.”
Theo gave him a wide-eyed innocent look. “What? She’s cold. I’m being gentlemanly.”
Draco didn’t even pretend innocence. “She likes it.”
Harry opened his mouth, but Sirius was already there behind him, tall and dark in his black-on-black formal robes. “Boys,” Sirius drawled, smiling without warmth. “You really want to put your hands all over my niece with me standing ten feet away?”
Hermione groaned. “Merlin’s sake-Sirius.”
Sirius gave her a wink and murmured just for her ears, “What? You’re my Mia. I’m allowed to be terrifying.”
She smiled despite herself and kissed his cheek. “You’re also very dramatic.”
Sirius grinned. “Pot. Kettle. Birthday.”
Across from them, the table shimmered with magical flickers of enchanted wrapping paper and softly glowing ribbons. Hermione looked around the circle-Harry, Ron, Blaise, Luna, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Cho, the Patils, Astoria, Daphne, and Lavender were all beaming at her. Fred and George whispered something between them, grinning wickedly. Fleur and Angelina stood nearby, radiant and regal. Molly and Arthur were beside them, and Kingsley Shacklebolt stood a few feet away with his usual calm presence. Professor McGonagall sipped from a glass of wine, her eyes warm behind her spectacles. And Hagrid, at the very back, had tears already forming in his eyes.
Hermione blinked hard and turned back to the table. “Alright,” she said, voice soft. “Let’s see what madness you lot have planned.”
She began unwrapping the gifts. One by one, she peeled away ribbons and paper, revealing books she’d been longing to read, rare potion ingredients, a custom wand holster from Blaise, enchanted stationary from Luna that translated across languages, and a hand-bound journal from Neville with preserved flower petals in the pages
“I didn’t know what to write inside,” Neville said shyly. “So I left it blank. Figured you’d write the magic.”
Hermione smiled and kissed his cheek. “It’s perfect.”
A pair of glimmering emerald earrings from Daphne. A stunning charm bracelet from Cho. An obscenely luxurious green and silver lingerie set—Hermione nearly chokedcourtesy of Fred and George.
“Absolutely not,” Harry said, staring at it like it had insulted him personally.
“Absolutely yes,” Pansy countered, smirking.
Sirius snorted into his wine.
Then came Molly’s gift: a delicate, hand-stitched shawl in soft forest green with tiny embroidered books and runes along the trim.
“It’s enchanted to warm you when you’re tired, dear,” Molly said as she draped it gently around Hermione’s shoulders.
Hermione didn’t speak for a moment, her throat tight. “Thank you, Molly. It’s beautiful.”
“Alright,” Pansy said brightly, clapping once. “Now that she’s sufficiently adored, cake time!”
Everyone turned as sofy music swelled. A floating platter moved toward the center of the garden, attop it sat the three-tiered cake. It was frosted in green and gold, glowing under the candlelight, with runes spinning lazily along its sides.
Molly stepped forward again, wand raised with pride, and carefully conjured a flickering row of candles across the top.
Sirius nudged Hermione gently. “Go on, Mia. Make a wish.”
She stepped forward, bathed in the soft candlelight and surrounded by the laughter and warmth of her family-blood and chosen alike. She closed her eyes, breathed in the garden’s rich air, and made her wish.
When she opened her eyes, everyone began to sing.
“Happy birthday to you…”
The song swelled-some voices sweet and melodic, others off-key and cheerful. McGonagall even joined in, her crisp soprano blending with Hagrid’s emotional rumble.
Hermione laughed through it, cheeks flushed.
She blew out the candles in one breath, and the garden broke into applause.
Molly began to serve slices with elegant precision, her wand guiding pieces of the cake onto plates and sending them floating gently to each guest.
As Hermione took her own slice, Draco leaned in close again, lips brushing just behind her ear. “We’ve got one more gift for you,” he murmured, voice low and velvet.
Theo’s voice followed a heartbeat later, breath warm against her neck. “Ours. Later tonight.”
Hermione turned slowly toward them, cheeks warming instantly at the heat in their gazes.
Draco’s lips quirked into a smirk. “You’ll want privacy for it.”
Theo, ever the picture of mischief and heat, added with a wink, “And a locked door.”
Her heart skipped, and she let out a soft, breathy laugh. “You two are impossible.”
Draco pressed a kiss to her temple. “But unforgettable.”
Theo added, “And yours.”
Surrounded by candlelight, cake, laughter, and too much love to ever truly describe, Hermione smiled. Her hands were full, her heart fuller. For tonight-on this birthday, in this garden, with these people-everything felt exactly right.
................................................................................................................................
The lights in the sitting room flickered warmly, enchanted to resemble stars overhead as the embers in the hearth crackled low. The rest of the house had quieted, the party long since ended. An hour ago, Molly and Arthur had kissed Hermione on the cheek, warm and proud, wishing her one final Happy Birthday. Charlie, Bill, and Fleur had offered hugs and sleepy goodbyes; Hagrid’s goodbye had been the hardest-his massive arms had nearly crushed her ribs, and he’d sniffled, eyes shiny, as he told her she had “grown up into such a brave, smart, and beautiful witch.” She’d cried, just a little.
Now, however, the wine and the fire and the warm, happy exhaustion had transformed the room into a nest of giggles and laziness.
Hermione was draped across Pansy and Ginny’s laps on the velvet settee, her curls wild and cheeks pink, laughing uncontrollably at something Luna had just said—though she couldn’t remember what it was now.
“Where are my shoes?” she asked suddenly, blinking up at the ceiling as if it might tell her.
“I’ve got them,” Draco’s voice cut in dryly, lifting one sparkling silver heel into the air like he was holding a captured butterfly. “Though I have no idea how you got them up there,” he added, tilting his head toward the chandelier.
“Oh,” Hermione said cheerfully, waving a hand. “That’s easy. I was trying to levitate Theo’s drink and missed.”
“You nearly hit George in the face,” Pansy snorted.
“That was Fred,” Ginny corrected, poking her.
“I’m offended,” Fred called from the doorway where the boys were gathered, arms crossed, all of them staring at the girls as though they were a science experiment gone adorably wrong. “No one’s tried to hit me in the face all night. I feel left out.”
Theo leaned sideways to Draco and muttered, “Is this what happens when you give them three bottles of rosé and no supervision?”
“Apparently,” Draco murmured back, grinning.
Sirius stood beside them, hands shoved into the pockets of his black trousers. He watched Hermione-now giggling as she kicked her legs up, revealing glittery toes-and then looked pointedly at Draco and Theo.
“You two better take excellent care of her,” he said seriously, voice low and full of warning. “She’s my Mia. And she’s had enough people in her life who didn’t know what to do with her magic or her heart.”
Theo bowed his head slightly. “We know who she is.”
Draco added quietly, “And we’d burn the world down before we let anyone hurt her.”
Sirius held Draco’s eyes for a moment, then nodded once and squeezed Theo’s shoulder before heading toward the stairs. “Goodnight, boys. Try not to get hexed.”
Once he was gone, Blaise shook his head. “I think I like him.”
Neville nodded. “I know I’m scared of him.”
Inside the sitting room, the girls were still giggling, Hermione now sprawled more fully across Ginny and Pansy, one arm flung over Ginny’s chest and the other reaching lazily toward Luna.
“Luuuuu,” Hermione whined, “catch me a star.”
Luna smiled dreamily. “Only if you promise to give it a name.”
“I’ll call it Sexy,” Hermione declared, and the room broke into another wave of laughter.
Astoria, sitting on the rug with her knees tucked beneath her, grinned. “I still can’t believe you hexed the cake to float midair.”
“I just wanted it to hover, not do a pirouette,” Hermione said defensively.
“She’s so drunk,” Lavender whispered into Daphne’s shoulder, giggling.
“And so happy,” Daphne whispered back.
Hermione raised her head and looked toward the doorway, spotting all the boys watching them with equal parts fondness and bewilderment.
“Oi,” she called, squinting at them with mock severity. “What are you all doing standing there like lost puppies?”
“We’re watching the giggling coven cast glittery chaos spells with their wine glasses,” Ron deadpanned.
“I think Luna actually tried to enchant the chandelier,” Blaise added.
“She succeeded,” Cho said proudly. “Look-one of the candles is humming.”
Padma leaned over the armrest. “And we’re not done, boys.”
“You’re all dangerously close to floating away,” Harry muttered.
Hermione, still draped across laps, propped herself up on one elbow, eyes glassy and warm. She grinned like a cat.
“I have the sexiest boyfriends alive,” she said aloud.
Draco raised a brow.
Theo smirked.
“Right here in front of everyone?” Fred gagged.
Harry made a dramatic retching noise. “Merlin’s saggy left-Hermione!”
“What? I’m not wrong!” she said, then hiccuped and giggled again. “You’re just mad you’re not as pretty as mine.”
Ginny snorted. “He’s mad you called them sexy.”
“I’m mad she said it out loud,” Harry grumbled, marching forward to collect his fiancee. “Come on, Red. I’m taking you away before you start levitating silverware again.”
Ginny pouted. “But I’m comfy.”
“Ginny,” Harry warned.
With one last dramatic sigh, Ginny leaned over and kissed Hermione’s forehead. “Don’t let them steal your stars.”
Then Harry hauled her to her feet, tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Harry!” she yelped, giggling. “Put me down!”
“No.”
“I hate you!”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
One by one, the guys came forward to claim their girls:
Neville stepped in and scooped Pansy into his arms with ease. “Come on, trouble. Let’s get you to bed before you start charming the curtains to sing.”
“I was going to do that next,” Pansy whined.
Blaise offered Luna his arm. She curtsied to Hermione dramatically before gliding away with him, murmuring something about dream spheres and stardust kisses.
Fred-miraculously still sober-scooped Astoria into a twirl before she could object. “Let’s go, sweetheart. I can feel the chaos in your heels.”
Cho linked her fingers with Padma’s and gave Hermione a mock salute. “You survived your birthday. Barely.”
Ron, red in the face and slightly awkward, stepped toward Daphne. “Right, er… time to go?”
Daphne looked at Hermione regretfully. “We were about to get to the good gossip.”
“I’ll tell you everything tomorrow,” Hermione promised, pinky wiggling in the air.
Finally, Hermione found herself alone on the couch again—sort of. Theo had crouched beside her, brushing curls from her face, while Draco sank down onto the cushion next to her, still holding her abandoned shoes in one hand.
“You’re barefoot,” Draco said softly, amused.
“I am,” she agreed, then leaned her head on his shoulder. “But I have you.”
Theo smiled, fingers ghosting along her cheek. “That was... an event.”
“I think I’m drunk,” Hermione whispered.
“You think?” Draco teased.
She laughed and snuggled closer, pressing a kiss to the edge of Theo’s jaw. “You’re both so handsome. It’s really unfair.”
“We aim to please,” Theo murmured.
Draco added, “And seduce.”
“You’re succeeding.”
Her voice was sleepy now, her limbs loose and warm. The firelight danced across her face, and as her breathing slowed, she murmured one final thing:
“Best birthday ever.”
And for a long time after that, neither of her boys moved—just watched her with quiet devotion, their hands resting lightly on her waist and arm, like they never planned to let go.
..............................................................................................................................
The hallway to Hermione’s bedroom at Grimmauld Place was dimly lit, but she barely noticed. She was giggling softly as Draco and Theo walked with her between them, her arms looped loosely around their waists. She was still barefoot, shoes long abandoned, and leaning a bit more on Draco than she intended.
“I am not drunk,” she said, mostly to herself.
Theo snorted. “You’re not sober, either.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” Hermione insisted, though her words slurred just enough to prove the opposite.
When they reached her room, Draco pushed open the door, and Theo helped her inside. He closed it quietly behind them, casting a subtle locking charm with a flick of his wand. The soft crackle of magic answered him as Draco led her to the bed and carefully sat her down on the edge.
“Here,” Theo said, holding out a small crystal vial of deep blue potion. “Sobering draught. You’ll thank me in the morning.”
Hermione leaned back, narrowing her eyes. “I don’t want it.”
Theo arched a brow and dangled it just out of reach. “You’ll want it if you want your present from us.”
Her eyes narrowed further. “That’s cheating.”
“Is it working?” Draco asked, lips curving into a smirk.
She huffed, grabbed the vial from Theo’s hand, and downed it in one gulp. The bitter taste hit the back of her throat, and she made a face, shuddering. “Ugh. That’s disgusting.”
“Effective, though,” Theo said as she blinked rapidly, the fuzziness in her head lifting almost instantly.
Meanwhile, Draco was moving around the room, wand in hand, casting silencing charms and privacy wards. Gold sparks shimmered across the doorway and windows, giving the space a soft, enchanted glow.
Hermione looked between them, now more clear-eyed but still flushed from wine, laughter, and lingering adrenaline from the party. “Okay,” she said slowly, raising an eyebrow. “What exactly are you two doing?”
Draco turned back to her, his grey eyes darkening. “This,” he said-and stepped forward.
Before she could ask again, his hands gently gripped her waist, and he pulled her up from the bed. His mouth was on hers in the next breath-hot, insistent, and entirely consuming. He kissed her like he’d been holding back all evening, and the force of it nearly made her knees buckle.
She gasped softly against his mouth, and that was all the opening he needed to deepen the kiss, his hand sliding up her back and holding her close. His tongue explored her mouth, tasting, teasing, and drawing out a moan from deep within her. Behind her, Theo stepped in close, lips brushing her bare shoulder, the heat of his breath making her tremble. “Do you know how maddening it was,” he murmured, “watching you all day? That dress. That smirk.”
His mouth trailed upward, brushing the sensitive spot just under her jaw, and she shivered, biting back a sound she didn’t want to make. Theo’s fingers found the zipper at the back of her dress, and he began to ease it down slowly, his lips still pressed to her skin. “It’s your birthday,” he added. “Let us spoil you.”
The fabric slipped from her shoulders and down her arms. When it pooled at her feet, both boys drew back slightly-and their reactions were immediate.
Draco’s breath hitched audibly. “Bloody hell.”
Theo let out a low groan. “You planned this.”
She stood before them in midnight-blue lace lingerie-delicate, sheer in places, with silver thread glinting in soft curves and vines. The bra was cut to flatter and tempt, and the matching knickers left almost nothing to the imagination. A garter clipped to thigh-highs completed the ensemble, the dark silk of the ribbons trailing over her legs.
Hermione raised a brow, letting them look. “I did say I’d make you pay for that note this morning.”
Theo caught Hermione around the waist and pulled her back onto the bed, positioning her between his legs. His strong arms wrapped securely around her, one hand curling lightly around her throat, not tight, but enough to make her hyperaware of his touch. He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as he murmured, “You drive us mad, you know.”
Hermione shivered, her breath hitching as Theo’s teeth nipped gently at her earlobe. Behind her, Theo’s hard length pressed against her ass, a promise of things to come. In front of her, Draco knelt on the bed, his grey eyes dark with desire as he cupped her face with both hands. He leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a deep, intense, and heated kiss. His tongue explored her mouth, tasting, teasing, and drawing out a moan from deep within her.
Theo’s hand at her throat tightened slightly, his voice a low growl. “Are you wet for us, Hermione?”
She nodded, her breath coming in short gasps. Draco pulled back just enough to nip at her lip, his voice husky. “Use your words, love.”
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice breathless. “Yes, I am.”
“Good girl,” Draco murmured, his lips capturing hers once more.
“Such a good girl,” Theo echoed, his lips trailing down her neck, sucking and nipping, leaving a mark on her delicate skin. His hand at her throat tightened, holding her in place as he marked her, claiming her.
Draco’s hands roamed her body, teasing the edges of her lingerie. With a flick of his wand, he vanished her knickers, a low groan escaping his lips as he felt her wetness. “Bloody hell, you’re soaked.”
Hermione whimpered, her body aching with need. Draco looked up at her, his eyes dark with desire. “Do you want to keep going, Hermione? Tell us what you want.”
“Yes,” she gasped. “Please, don’t stop.”
With a wicked smile, Draco moved down her body, his mouth trailing kisses and nips along her sensitive skin. He settled between her thighs, his breath hot against her most intimate place. Hermione squirmed, her hips bucking as Draco’s tongue explored her folds, tasting and teasing. He delved deeper, his fingers joining the party, pumping in and out of her in a rhythmic dance that had her crying out with pleasure.
Behind her, Theo’s hands roamed her body, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing and teasing in time with Draco’s thrusts. His lips were at her ear, whispering filthy things that sent shivers down her spine. “That’s it, good girl. Cum for us. Let us hear you.”
Hermione’s body tensed, the pleasure building to a crescendo. With a final, powerful thrust of Draco’s fingers and a pinch from Theo’s fingers on her clit, she came undone, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm. Draco continued to lick and suck, drawing out her pleasure until she was a trembling mess.
As she came down from the high, Draco moved back up her body, his lips capturing hers in a deep, passionate kiss. Theo’s fingers continued to rub her clit, his other hand still wrapped around her throat, holding her in place. Draco pulled back, his voice a low growl. “I’m going to fuck you now, Hermione. Are you ready for me?”
She nodded, her breath coming in short gasps. “Yes. Please, Draco. I need you.”
Draco looked into her eyes, his expression softening. “We’ll go slow, we don’t want to hurt you.”
Theo nodded in agreement, his voice gentle. “We’ll take it easy. Just tell us if you need us to stop or slow down. We want this to be good for you.”
With a low groan, Draco positioned himself at her entrance and slowly pushed in, filling her inch by inch. Hermione cried out, the sensation of him inside her overwhelming and new. Behind her, Theo’s fingers continued to rub her clit, his lips at her ear, whispering words of encouragement. “That’s it, good girl. You’re doing so well. Just relax and let us take care of you.”
Draco began to move, his hips meeting hers in a slow, gentle rhythm that had them both crying out with pleasure. His hands gripped her hips lightly, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. With each thrust, he went a little deeper, giving her time to adjust. Hermione’s body tensed, the pleasure building gradually. With a final, powerful thrust, Draco came, his body shaking with the force of his release.
He pulled out slowly, a satisfied smile on his face as he moved to sit behind Hermione, his arms wrapping around her waist. Theo took his place, his hands roaming her body, his mouth at her ear. “My turn, birthday girl.”
Hermione turned her head, her nose brushing Theo’s jaw, then leaned forward just enough to kiss him. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Theo positioned himself at her entrance, his voice a low growl. “I’ll take it easy, sunshine. We don’t want to rush you.”
With that, he slowly pushed into her, his hips moving in a gentle, steady rhythm. Hermione moaned, the sensation of him inside her sending waves of pleasure through her body. Behind her, Draco’s hands roamed her body, his mouth at her neck, biting and kissing, his fingers finding her clit, teasing and rubbing in time with Theo’s thrusts.
Hermione’s body tensed, the pleasure building gradually. Theo’s voice was a soft murmur at her ear. “That’s it, good girl. Just relax and let us take care of you.”
With a final, deep thrust, Theo sent her over the edge, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm. He followed soon after, his body shaking with his release, his arms wrapping around her tightly as he held her close.
As they came down from the high, Theo pulled out slowly, a satisfied smile on his face. Hermione collapsed back against Draco, her body sated and content. Draco’s arms wrapped around her, holding her close, his lips at her ear. “Happy birthday, Hermione.”
She smiled, her eyes fluttering closed. “Best birthday ever.”
Theo chuckled as he laid down on the other side of Hermione. He kissed her temple as Draco adjusted so she was laying on his chest, her body nestled between theirs, surrounded by their warmth and affection.
Chapter 11: Logic and Affection
Summary:
Hermione struggles with emotions she hasn't felt in awhile
Notes:
Guys, this chapter has so many emotions and it was so much fun to write. I hope you all enjoy!!
Chapter Text
The sun filtered softly through the curtains, golden light brushing over the room like a warm hand. Hermione stirred slowly, her limbs tangled in a sea of silver and forest green sheets, a familiar weight pressing into the mattress beside her.
Then-
A slow trail of kisses along her neck.
Hermione hummed, caught between sleep and waking, before Draco's voice brushed her ear, low and smooth like warm honey.
“Morning, princess.”
She gave a half-grumble, half-groan of protest, trying to burrow deeper into the covers-but Theo’s hand slid up to brush back her curls from her face, his voice following with that silky amusement of his. “Sleepy, are we?”
Hermione stretched-then winced with a sharp squeak.
“Oh.” She hissed, freezing mid-stretch. “Bloody hell.”
That caught both of them.
Theo leaned over from her other side, propping himself on one elbow, his grin already growing. “Ah. So the soreness sets in.”
Draco gave a low chuckle as he nuzzled her shoulder. “You sound surprised. We did rather... wear you out.”
Hermione groaned again, hiding her face in the pillow. “You’re both insufferable.”
“That’s fair,” Theo said cheerfully, brushing his fingers down her bare back. “But admit it-you liked being ruined a little.”
She let out a muffled noise that could’ve been either a laugh or a grumble. “You’re lucky I’m too sore to hex you.”
Draco stretched out beside her, pressing a kiss to the top of her shoulder as he draped an arm over her waist. “Worth it.”
Theo added, “Highly.”
Hermione turned her face just enough to peek out from under the pillow. Her curls were a mess, her lips slightly swollen, and there was a satisfied gleam in her eyes she didn’t bother to hide.
“You two are menaces.”
Theo leaned in, stealing a kiss just beside her mouth. “Correct. But we’re your menaces.”
Draco smirked. “And we did promise you a present.”
“I seem to recall taking the sobering potion in exchange for that,” Hermione muttered.
“And you got it,” Theo said with mock gravity. “Us. A very hands-on gift experience.”
Hermione rolled onto her back and winced again. “Yes, yes, I noticed.”
Theo’s grin turned smug. “I particularly enjoyed the part where you-”
She clamped a hand over his mouth. “Not. One. Word.”
Draco laughed, low and warm. "You're lucky I cast a silencing charm or Siruis would have burst in halfway through."
“That’s not funny!” she said, horrified.
“It is a little,” Theo murmured around her fingers.
Hermione sighed, falling back dramatically against the pillows. “This is the part where I regret everything.”
“No, it’s not,” Draco said, his voice dipping lower as he pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “You’re just pretending.”
Hermione opened one eye and looked at him. “I’m pretending I’m not already thinking about coffee. And possibly a healing charm.”
Theo snorted. “We’ll get you both. Breakfast in bed?”
“Mm.” She gave a tiny nod. “And maybe-” she wiggled a bit before whimpering-“clothes. Eventually.”
Draco kissed her collarbone. “Eventually sounds nice.”
The three of them lay there for a long moment in the hush of morning. The quiet wasn’t awkward. It was soft. Intimate.
Hermione’s fingers found Theo’s hand beside her and laced through it lazily. “It’s weird, you know.”
“What is?” Theo asked, brushing her knuckles with his thumb.
“This. Us. Me feeling... this happy.”
Draco leaned over her, pushing a strand of hair from her face. “You deserve happy, Hermione.”
Her lips quirked. “You always say my name like it’s something you’re tasting.”
He smirked. “Because I am.”
Theo made a soft sound in his throat. “Merlin, that was smooth.”
“I try,” Draco said, not looking away from her.
Hermione rolled her eyes and kissed Theo’s fingers. “I suppose I could get used to waking up like this.”
“Good,” Theo said, eyes soft now. “Because we don’t plan on going anywhere.”
Draco nodded, his tone quiet but certain. “We’re right here. Always.”
Hermione smiled, her heart doing that fluttery thing again. She sighed contentedly and snuggled back down between them.
“Fine,” she mumbled. “But I want waffles.”
Draco grinned. “Your wish-”
Theo finished, “-is our command.”
.............................................................................................................................
Hermione lay curled under a mountain of pillows, still basking in the post-sleep haze when the unmistakable scent of maple syrup and cinnamon teased her nose.
“Are you… cooking in bed?” she mumbled, eyes still half-closed.
“No, darling,” Draco’s voice purred beside her ear. “We’re spoiling you.”
“Breakfast in bed is spoiling me. Being force-fed breakfast in bed is suspicious,” she teased, cracking one eye open to see Theo sitting cross-legged beside her on the bed, a small bowl of strawberries balanced in his lap. Draco knelt on the opposite side, a silver tray holding golden waffles stacked high with whipped cream, berries, and syrup.
Theo grinned, plucking a ripe strawberry and holding it out toward her lips. “Open up, sunshine.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “She’s having waffles first.”
Hermione giggled, leaning back against the pillows as both men descended like competing wolves with forks and fruit. “You two do realize I have one mouth?”
“Unfortunate design flaw,” Draco muttered.
Theo nodded sagely. “Mouth-to-boyfriend ratio is clearly imbalanced.”
Hermione couldn’t help it-she laughed, loud and free and unfiltered, as Theo tried to push the strawberry gently between her lips at the same time Draco tried to wedge a syrup-dripping piece of waffle in.
“Stop, stop!” she squealed through her laughter, her hands coming up to shield her face. “I can’t eat both at once, I’ll choke!”
“Efficient choking is not romantic,” Theo admitted, withdrawing the strawberry with mock solemnity.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Let the record show I was gentle with the waffle.”
She smacked his arm, still laughing. “You tried to sneak it in while Theo was monologuing!”
“I was setting the scene!” Theo protested. “You ruined the drama!”
The moment was utterly ridiculous. The three of them were tangled in the covers, shirtless boys on either side of her, with syrup-smudged plates, giggles, and crumbs everywhere.
Then-
Knock knock.
The laughter cut short.
Hermione froze, her heart dropping.
“No,” she whispered.
“Maybe they’ll go away,” Draco said hopefully.
Then the door swung open.
Harry.
Wearing a slightly wrinkled shirt, hair even messier than usual, he took two steps in before registering what he was seeing.
Draco shirtless, one hand with a fork hovering above Hermione.
Theo also shirtless, holding a half-squished strawberry.
Hermione in bed, very obviously not alone.
“WHAT THE ACTUAL-” Harry yelped, slapping a hand over his eyes and stumbling backward like he’d seen a Boggart. “I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING-I’M BLIND-I’M-OH GOD.”
“Harry!” Hermione screeched, yanking the blanket up over herself as Draco and Theo both threw the tray and bowl aside and scrambled to cover her like they were under attack.
“There’s a SYSTEM!” Harry shouted from behind his hands. “You knock, you wait, you DO NOT open the door until someone says something! WHY DID I JUST WALK IN!"
“You did knock!” Theo yelled back, half-laughing as he tucked the sheet tighter around Hermione’s chest. “You just didn’t wait! Merlin’s soggy socks, Potter!”
“I thought she’d be ALONE!” Harry said, nearly tripping backward into the hallway. “I thought she’d be SLEEPING!”
“Well, I was, partially” Hermione muttered. “Before you traumatized yourself.”
“Oh I’m traumatized?” Harry snapped from the hallway, still covering his eyes. “I’m the one who just saw his baby sister in bed with TWO SLYTHERINS!”
Draco snorted. “You didn’t see anything. The covers were up the whole time.”
“DO NOT CONFIRM IT!” Harry wailed.
Hermione rolled her eyes and shoved the blanket higher around her. “Harry James Potter, I am a grown woman. You don’t get to have a nervous breakdown every time I do something that doesn’t involve reading a book.”
“You’re TWENTY!” Harry yelled.
“And I’m happy! And loved! And fed waffles and strawberries in bed!”
Theo added, “Really good waffles, too.”
“Not helping,” Hermione muttered.
Draco rubbed her back. “He’ll live. Eventually.”
“I will not live!” Harry yelled, pacing just beyond the door frame. “Do you have any idea what Sirius is going to say?!”
“Oh no.” Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Not Sirius.”
As if summoned by name, a familiar voice echoed down the hall.
“What’s with the screaming, is Mia okay?”
Hermione let out a muffled “Noooo,” from under the blankets.
Sirius appeared a moment later, casually leaning on the door frame, a mug of tea in hand and a suspiciously knowing grin on his face.
“Well, well,” he drawled. “Looks like someone’s birthday really was magical.”
Draco groaned. “Please don’t.”
Theo deadpanned, “I’m begging you, don’t.”
Sirius just took a long sip of his tea. “Don’t what? Walk in here like a responsible godfather and make sure no one’s scarring my niece for life?”
“I’m the one who’s scarred!” Harry wailed.
Sirius winked at Hermione. “You okay, sweetheart?”
She peeked out from the fortress of pillows. “Emotionally? Mortified. Physically? Slightly sore. Spiritually? Starving, because these two were trying to smother me with breakfast.”
“I was being sensual,” Draco said indignantly.
“You were being greedy,” Theo corrected.
Hermione sighed and flopped back against the pillows. “Why are all the men in my life either feeding me or yelling at me?”
Sirius laughed, then pointed between Draco and Theo. “You two. I like you. But if she’s ever crying, and I find out it’s your fault-”
Draco held up a hand. “We’ll take care of her.”
Theo nodded solemnly. “She’s ours. We know what she’s worth.”
Sirius studied them for a moment, then nodded once. “Good. Now, if Harry ever stops hyperventilating, maybe we can pretend none of this happened.”
“I will never be the same,” Harry muttered, face pressed to the wall.
“I love you, but go away,” Hermione said, tossing a pillow at him.
He caught it without looking and groaned. “Fine. I’m going downstairs. I hope you choke on your waffles.”
“Love you too, brother dearest!” she called sweetly.
Sirius tipped his tea toward her. “Happy birthday, Mia.”
“Thanks, Uncle. Please close the door forever.”
Sirius saluted and pulled Harry down the hall by the collar of his shirt.
As silence settled once more, Hermione let out a long, dramatic sigh.
Draco pulled her back into his side. “Well… that was festive.”
Theo leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Still want strawberries?”
She giggled. “Maybe later.”
They sank back into the pillows, tangled in warmth, laughter still buzzing in the air between them like sunlight.
...............................................................................................................................
The sunlight filtering through the charmed windows had warmed the sheets into a cozy cocoon around Hermione’s limbs. For a while, she just lay there, nestled between the steady rise and fall of Theo’s chest on one side and the curve of Draco’s body on the other. It was the kind of stillness that came only after long, tangled hours of pleasure and sleep. And mockery from one’s brother, she recalled with a groan.
But eventually, her bladder and her personal sense of hygiene gave her no choice.
She shifted under the covers, stretching her sore muscles. The sheet slipped down her shoulder. A gentle hiss of discomfort left her lips as she swung her legs off the bed and sat up.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Draco’s voice drawled sleepily, his arm shooting out to wrap around her waist and tug her backward.
Theo, not even bothering to open his eyes, slung an arm lazily over her legs. “Escape attempt. How adorable.”
Hermione huffed. “I’m getting up.”
“No,” they chorused, tightening their grip like serpents around prey.
“I need to shower,” she grumbled, attempting to wiggle free. “Some of us value hygiene.”
“You smell divine,” Theo mumbled, nuzzling his nose against her hip. “Like sex and waffles.”
“That’s not a compliment!”
“It is in this bed,” Draco murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to the center of her spine. “Stay.”
She squirmed in earnest, growling now. “Let me go, or I swear I will hex you both into next week.”
Theo cracked one eye open. “So violent. And ungrateful. We fed you strawberries.”
“You tried to feed me strawberries while I was under attack by a waffle.”
Draco sighed dramatically. “She’s turning on us, Theo.”
“Like a viper,” Theo agreed, releasing her legs with an exaggerated groan.
Draco gave one last squeeze to her waist and let go. “Fine. Go. But know this - the shower is cold without us.”
Hermione stood up, gathering the sheet around her like a toga, knotting it just above her chest with a flourish. She turned back with a smirk, chin high.
“I think I’ll survive not being accosted while trying to shampoo my hair.”
Theo clutched his heart. “Accosted? You wound me.”
Draco sat up, pushing his tousled hair back. “We worshipped you. Lavished you. Thoroughly admired you from every angle.”
“And yet somehow I left the experience with teeth marks on my thigh,” she muttered, eyeing Theo.
He grinned shamelessly. “Art leaves a mark.”
She rolled her eyes and gave them both a cheeky little hip sway as she walked toward the bathroom, dragging the sheet with her in a trail of white cotton. Just before she closed the door, she glanced back over her shoulder.
“No following.”
The door clicked shut.
A beat of silence.
Then-
Theo let out a low whistle. “We’re so screwed.”
Draco flopped back onto the mattress, arms behind his head. “Absolutely. And she knows it.”
“She weaponized the sheet,” Theo said reverently. “Did you see that? Like a bloody goddess.”
“She’s always been a goddess,” Draco said with a smirk. “We’re just now allowed to bask in it.”
Theo rolled to his side to face him. “You love her.”
Draco didn’t flinch. “Yeah. I do.”
Theo nodded once, serious for a beat. “Same.”
The words hung between them, soft and unashamed. It wasn’t a competition, and they both knew it. What they had with her was complex, delicate, and still settling into shape. But there was no denying it anymore. They loved her-individually and together. And she, somehow, had come to love them both in return.
Draco exhaled slowly, watching the sunlight crawl across the ceiling. “It’s going to get harder.”
Theo arched an eyebrow. “No pun intended?”
Draco threw a pillow at his face.
“Oi!” Theo caught it, laughing, then sobered again. “But yeah. I know what you mean. The more serious this gets, the more we’re going to have to figure out what it looks like.”
“She’s still figuring it out, too,” Draco murmured. “This whole thing. Us. Her family. Her… trauma.”
Theo nodded. “She’s healing. And we’re helping.”
“We better not screw it up.”
Theo stretched his arms above his head and stared at the bathroom door. “We won’t. Not if we keep listening to her. Respecting her.”
Draco sighed. “She deserves everything.”
“She’ll have it,” Theo said, firm. “We’ll make sure of it.”
A beat passed, then Theo added with a lazy grin, “Though she might never let us live yesterday down.”
Draco snorted. “She’s going to be smug for weeks.”
“She earned it,” Theo said, tossing the pillow back toward the headboard. “You saw how she handled us yesterday. She was in control the whole time.”
Draco smirked. “She always is.”
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, both staring at the ceiling, letting the warmth of the morning and the memory of Hermione’s laughter settle around them.
Then Theo murmured, “This is it, isn’t it?”
Draco glanced over. “What is?”
“This. Her. Us. We’re not just playing anymore.”
Draco didn’t hesitate. “No. We’re not.”
Theo smiled faintly. “Feels good.”
Draco nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “It feels… right.”
Another pause.
Then Draco said, almost absently, “We should build her a library.”
Theo blinked. “What?”
“A tower. Books to the ceiling. Ladder on wheels. Cozy little reading nook. We’ll put it wherever we live next. She’ll go feral for it.”
Theo stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. “You’re already planning where we live next?”
Draco raised a brow. “Aren’t you?”
Theo grinned. “You sap.”
Draco grinned back. “You’re worse.”
They both fell silent again, listening to the soft hiss of the water behind the door, the occasional clatter of glass or ceramic, and the quiet, grounding truth between them.
Hermione had already chosen.
They weren’t waiting for something to begin.
They were already in the middle of it.
And neither of them had any plans to let her go.
...............................................................................................................................
The bathroom door creaked open with a soft puff of steam trailing behind it, curling like lazy fingers into the cool air of the room. Hermione stepped out, a white towel wrapped snugly around her torso, legs bare, her skin still flushed from the heat of the shower. Her curls were nowhere to be seen-in their place, two neat French-braided pigtails hung over her shoulders like a smug declaration of order and control.
Draco and Theo were lounging in her bed like they owned it—because of course they were. Sheets tangled around their waists, smug expressions planted firmly on both their faces.
Theo sat up first, lips parting into a slow, wolfish grin. “Sweet Circe,” he murmured. “Have you come to torment us?”
Hermione gave him a flat look. “I’m wrapped in terrycloth.”
Draco's eyes gleamed as he raked them over her. “And somehow it's the sexiest thing I’ve seen all morning.”
“Second sexiest,” Theo said with a pointed glance at Draco, who smirked and raised an eyebrow.
Hermione rolled her eyes and padded over to her trunk, dripping droplets of water across the floor. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m not dessert.”
Draco tilted his head. “Not dessert, love. You’re the whole bloody feast.”
“Disgusting,” she muttered, yanking the lid of her trunk open and rooting through its contents.
Theo flopped back onto the pillows. “Where are you going, anyway? It’s a perfectly good Sunday. You could crawl back into bed with us. We’d be very accommodating.”
Hermione pulled out a pair of battered, holey jeans and tossed them onto the armchair. “Tempting,” she said drily. “But I have to at least try to be a functional adult today.”
Draco sat up straighter, looking betrayed. “You were very functional this morning.”
Theo coughed into his fist. “Exceptionally functional.”
Hermione flushed and pointed a threatening finger in their direction. “Don’t make me regret surviving that embarrassment.”
“That embarrassment?” Theo repeated, eyes twinkling. “You mean the part where your brother walked in while we were half-naked and feeding you breakfast in bed?”
“With strawberries and waffles,” Draco added, solemn. “We’re excellent hosts.”
“You were trying to shove strawberries and waffles in my mouth at the same time,” she snapped, though her lips twitched with suppressed laughter.
Theo looked proud. “Multitasking.”
Hermione shook her head and pulled out an oversized maroon jumper-the faded gold “H” on the front practically glowing from wear. Draco made a wounded sound as she pulled it over her head.
“No,” he said. “Not the Weasley jumper. Anything but that.”
Theo groaned. “It’s enormous. And hideous.”
Hermione yanked the towel off from underneath it with practiced ease. “It’s cozy. And it’s my favorite.”
Draco crossed his arms. “It’s a crime against everything we’ve accomplished this morning.”
She wiggled her eyebrows at him as she stepped into her jeans. “That’s why I’m wearing it.”
Theo watched her with narrowed eyes as she hopped to get them over her hips. “You’re going to go downstairs looking like that?”
“Uh-huh.” Hermione sat on the bed to pull on a pair of black-striped trainers, tongues flared and laces loose. “I promised the girls I’d fill them in on the juicy stuff.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Juicy stuff?”
Hermione didn’t even blink. “Oh yes. All the sordid details. Astoria practically threatened to hex me if I didn’t report back. Pansy, Ginny, Luna, Daphne, Cho, Lavender, the Patils-”
“You’re naming them all,” Theo said, eyebrows rising. “That’s how serious this is?”
Hermione nodded sagely. “This is a full debriefing. The inner circle demands answers.”
Draco groaned and flopped backward onto the bed. “You’re going to talk about us?”
She snorted. “Please. I’m going to gleefully talk about you.”
Theo looked like he didn’t know whether to be horrified or turned on. “And here I thought we were forming something sacred.”
“You fed me waffles and licked syrup off my collarbone,” she said, tying one shoe. “Nothing about this was sacred.”
Draco peeked one eye open and grinned. “You say that now. But you’ll miss us when you’re surrounded by chaos downstairs.”
“I’ll be too busy laughing,” she said sweetly, finishing her second shoe and standing. “And making Harry relive his horror. He turned six shades of red before he bolted from the room this morning.”
Theo chuckled. “I think he forgot how to blink.”
Draco leaned back on his hands. “You know, for someone who claims she wants to be a ‘functional adult,’ you’re enjoying the chaos quite a lot.”
Hermione gave them both a look. “If you don’t let me out of this room, I will hex you both back to your dormitory days.”
“Promises, promises,” Theo murmured.
Draco reached for her wrist as she walked by, tugging gently. “Stay a little longer. We could make you forget your name again.”
Hermione leaned down, kissed his forehead, and then turned to do the same to Theo. “That is exactly why I need to go.”
Theo pouted. “You just kissed us like you’re going off to war.”
“I’m going off to girl gossip,” she said brightly, grabbing the door handle. “Which is basically the same thing.”
“Do we get to see you later?” Draco asked, watching her.
Hermione looked over her shoulder and grinned. “Only if you behave.”
“Never,” Theo replied.
She winked. “Didn’t think so.”
And with that, Hermione swung the door open and slipped out, humming under her breath. As the latch clicked shut behind her, the room felt quieter-but not empty.
Theo stared at the door. “She just walked out in trainers, a Weasley jumper, and wet braids, and I’ve never been more obsessed.”
Draco lay back and groaned. “I want to marry her and drag her back into this bed.”
Theo reached over and handed him a pillow. “Join the club.”
Draco smirked. “What do you think she’s actually going to tell them?”
Theo’s grin was slow and wicked. “Whatever it is, it’ll make us sound like gods.”
Draco raised his hand for a high five. Theo smacked it without looking.
“Bloody hell,” Theo said, settling back into the pillows. “I think I love her jumper.”
Draco sighed. “Don’t go soft on me now.”
“You’re the one who tried to feed her waffles and called it a sacred ritual.”
“…Fair point.”
They lay in silence for a moment, then Draco added quietly, “Do you think we’ve got a chance?”
Theo turned his head to look at him. “With her?”
Draco nodded.
Theo smiled. “Mate… we’ve already got her.”
..............................................................................................................................
Hermione padded down the hallway from her room, freshly showered and dressed in her favorite old, ripped jeans and a well-loved Weasley jumper that once belonged to Harry-faded maroon with a crooked golden “H” stitched across the chest. Her black striped trainers squeaked faintly on the hardwood as she reached the threshold to the living room.
The moment she stepped in, a loud wolf whistle pierced the air.
She froze, blinking.
All eight girls-Pansy, Ginny, Luna, Astoria, Daphne, Cho, Lavender, and Padma-were lounged across the sofas and armchairs like queens in a salon. Tea cups rested in elegant little saucers, plates of lemon tarts, shortbread, and slices of fruitcake spread across the low coffee table. Parvati sat cross-legged on the rug, sipping from a mug that was clearly full of cocoa rather than tea.
“Well, well,” Pansy purred from her perch on the velvet settee. “The birthday girl emerges.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow as she stepped in further. “What are you lot doing?”
“Tea,” Luna said dreamily. She was wearing a blue cardigan and had twisted her hair up in tiny knots, like stars in the sky. “And waiting for you.”
“Also gossip,” Astoria added. “Definitely gossip.”
“Also judging you,” Daphne said flatly, glancing over the rim of her cup. “But lovingly.”
Hermione blinked. “What-”
“Okay, okay, hold on,” Ginny interrupted, sitting up straighter on the couch and leaning forward with narrowed eyes. “Why did Harry bolt past us thirty minutes ago looking like he’d seen a bloody ghost?”
Hermione paused, mouth slightly open.
Lavender leaned in. “And why did he mutter ‘I’m too young for this,’ before nearly tripping over the umbrella stand?”
“Also,” Cho said helpfully, “he refused to look anyone in the eye on his way out.”
Padma smirked. “And he was redder than a tomato.”
Hermione sighed and rubbed her face. “Oh, Merlin.”
Pansy sat up a little straighter, eyes gleaming. “Do tell, Potter.”
“I-no-absolutely not,” Hermione said quickly, trying not to laugh. “It’s nothing. He just… walked in without knocking.”
“He walked in on you?” Parvati said slowly, eyes widening.
“Did he see skin?” Astoria gasped.
“Oh gods,” Daphne said, face blank. “He saw both of them, didn’t he?”
Hermione looked around at the eager faces staring at her and dropped her face into her hands with a groan.
“That’s a yes,” Ginny cackled.
Hermione peeked through her fingers. “Why are you all like this?”
“Because we live for this kind of drama,” Lavender said sweetly.
Luna tilted her head. “Did you bite him? I feel like you might’ve bitten him.”
“I scolded him,” Hermione muttered. “Told him I’m a grown woman and he needs to knock.”
“And what did the boys do?” Daphne asked. “Theo and Draco. They were with you, right?”
“Obviously,” Pansy said with a smug grin. “Have you seen the way they look at her? Like she’s the answer to every exam question they’ve ever failed.”
Hermione cleared her throat. “They, uh… may have been feeding me breakfast in bed.”
Ginny choked on her tea.
“Wait-wait,” Cho said, holding up a hand. “Like, hand-feeding?”
“Strawberries and waffles,” Hermione mumbled.
“Oh my god,” Parvati squeaked.
“That is the most disgustingly romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” Padma said with a wide smile.
“You love it,” Pansy told her.
“I do,” she agreed cheerfully.
Astoria was grinning behind her cup. “I bet Theo was trying to put the strawberries in her mouth while Draco shoved in the waffles.”
Hermione muttered, “You make it sound so violent.”
“It was very them,” Luna said dreamily. “Chaos wrapped in affection.”
“They’re going to spoil you rotten,” Lavender said.
“They’re already halfway there,” Daphne pointed out. “Have you seen the way they hover?”
Hermione dropped into the armchair across from them with a sigh and a smile. “They’re a lot.”
“You’re a lot,” Pansy said fondly. “It fits.”
Ginny leaned back, resting her cup on the arm of the sofa. “Harry’s never going to recover.”
“He’ll be fine,” Hermione said, waving a hand. “Eventually.”
“He said he was going to go ‘wash his brain out,’” Parvati said, laughing. “Poor boy.”
“I did try to warn him not to just barge in,” Hermione grumbled. “But does he ever listen?”
“Never,” all eight girls chorused.
A knock echoed through the hallway.
“Please be more tea,” Daphne said hopefully.
“It’s probably Harry back for a second dose of trauma,” Padma muttered.
But instead, the door creaked open and Neville poked his head in. “Is it safe?”
“Safe for what?” Ginny called.
“Safe for me to retrieve my girlfriend without witnessing anything scarring,” Neville said dryly.
“I’m clothed, Longbottom,” Hermione yelled back.
Neville stepped fully into the room, followed by Blaise, Ron, Fred, and Theo-who was tossing a snitch between his fingers-and then Draco, who leaned casually against the doorframe with his arms crossed and a very satisfied expression.
“You girls look cozy,” Blaise said.
“Tea party,” Pansy said with a smile, getting up and brushing crumbs off her dress. “You’re late.”
“Sorry, had to pry Fred off the sugar bowl,” Ron said with a shrug.
“I was getting sugar for you lot!” Fred argued, indignant. “It’s not my fault someone put the treacle tart beside the marmalade.”
Theo snorted.
“Okay, okay,” Hermione said, standing up and stretching. “Are we actually being social now, or just forming awkward gender lines like we’re in a school dance?”
Draco walked toward her, his gaze sweeping up and down her frame. “Nice jumper, love.”
“Thanks,” she said sweetly. “Harry’s old one.”
Draco made a face.
Theo grinned. “You’re lucky we find you sexy no matter what.”
“I am a vision of fashion,” Hermione said dramatically, flipping one of her braids over her shoulder.
“You could be wearing a potato sack and still look hot,” Blaise said, earning an elbow from Luna.
“I don’t know,” Ron said. “The jumper is a choice.”
“Shut it,” Hermione said.
One by one, the boys began collecting their partners.
Neville went straight to Pansy, who rolled her eyes but accepted his arm with a pleased smile. Blaise took Luna’s hand and whispered something that made her giggle. Fred offered Astoria a grand bow before twirling her toward the hall. Cho pulled Padma up with a tug, and Ron-grumbling about how Daphne had better not make him go near any more posh pastries-still offered her his hand.
Theo watched the scene with a bemused look and leaned toward Draco. “We’re starting to look dangerously domestic.”
Draco smirked. “Hermione’s fault.”
As the room began to clear out, Hermione stood between the two of them, arms crossed. “Looks like it’s just us.”
“Oh no,” Theo said gravely. “Alone. With you. Whatever shall we do?”
“Don’t even think about it,” Hermione said, already walking toward the kitchen. “I have plans that involve toast, jam, and not you lot kissing me into submission.”
Draco followed her lazily, grin wide. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”
Theo laughed and slung an arm around her shoulder. “One day, you’ll stop pretending you don’t like it.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and stole a strawberry from Theo’s pocket. “One day, you’ll stop thinking I’m so easy.”
Draco leaned in and whispered in her ear, “You’re not easy. But you are ours.”
Hermione’s cheeks turned pink.
“Damn it,” she muttered, chewing the strawberry. “You’re getting too good at this.”
The boys laughed, and the three of them disappeared into the kitchen, the sound of more teasing and soft laughter drifting behind them.
..............................................................................................................................
Her trunk was half-closed, books stacked in wobbling towers on either side, when a soft knock sounded on the doorframe.
Sirius stood there, shoulder braced against the wood, arms crossed. His expression was unusually unreadable.
“I need a moment with my favorite niece,” he said, eyes flicking toward the two blondes flanking her bed.
Theo and Draco exchanged a look, then moved in sync. Theo leaned in to press a kiss to her temple. “We’ll be in the living room. Don’t take too long, or Draco’s going to start pacing.”
Draco rolled his eyes, but bent down to kiss her just behind the ear. “He’s not wrong.”
Hermione smiled at them, affectionate and exasperated all at once. “Go.”
Once the door clicked shut behind them, Sirius stepped in, his boots quiet against the carpet. For a minute, he didn’t say anything. Just looked around the room-the scattered books, the photographs pinned to the corkboard, the purple sweater half-draped over the chair back.
Then, finally, he looked at her.
“You all packed?”
Hermione shrugged. “As packed as I ever am.”
“Good. You were starting to make the house smell like logic and overachievement.”
She snorted. “It’s not my fault you and Harry refuse to alphabetize the bookshelves.”
“You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered, dragging the chair back and plopping into it. “Otherwise I’d say something truly unforgivable. Like reminding you you’re turning into your mother.”
Hermione gasped. “How dare you.”
Sirius smirked. “You organize chaos. You boss Harry around. You’ve got a book in your bag right now labeled Light Reading, don’t you?”
“…Maybe.”
He smiled. “Lily would be so damn proud of you.”
The smile slipped from her lips. Something quieter settled into her expression.
“I miss them,” she said softly.
“I know.” Sirius leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “They’d be proud of both of you. And they’d be completely baffled by the fact that you’re dating both Draco and Theo.”
Hermione laughed, cheeks warming. “You’re not?”
“Oh, I’m baffled,” Sirius said immediately. “But I also remember what it’s like to be twenty and insatiable and impulsive and head over heels in love. So I’m trying not to hex either of them. Yet.”
“They’re good to me.”
“I can tell.” His gaze softened. “But if either one of them breaks your heart, I will hide a Niffler in their socks drawer.”
Hermione snorted. “That’s oddly specific.”
“Remus’s idea. He always had the best revenge tactics.”
They fell into a comfortable quiet for a moment, the kind of silence that didn’t need filling.
Then Sirius said, more seriously, “I know I tease. And I know you’re not that little girl anymore who used to correct my grammar and glare at me over teacups.”
Hermione gave him a look. “You still confuse infer and imply.”
“And yet you love me anyway.”
“Unfortunately.”
He leaned in, catching her hand in his. “You’re brilliant, Mia. And brave. And terrifying in the best way. And I know you don’t need me hovering, but… I’m always here. No matter what happens at school. No matter who you fall in love with. No matter how far you go. You’ll always have a home here.”
She blinked hard. “You’re getting sentimental.”
He grinned. “I’m allowed. You’re going back to Arcanum. You’ll be off saving the world again by Tuesday.”
She smiled, then stood and pulled him into a tight hug. “I love you, Padfoot.”
He wrapped his arms around her fiercely. “I love you more, pup.”
There was a knock on the door.
Theo: “You alive in there, sunshine? Draco’s pacing.”
Sirius pulled back with a huff.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’ll be down in a minute!”
Sirius kissed the top of her head. “Go on, then. Wreak havoc.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
..............................................................................................................................
The dorm room in the West Wing was quiet, save for the soft rustle of a page turning. Hermione sat cross-legged on her bed, a thick book resting open across her lap. The overhead lantern cast golden light over her face, highlighting the frown between her brows and the way her thumb traced the corner of the page without moving to flip it again.
She wasn’t reading anymore. Not really.
The book could have been written in runes or reversed Elvish for all she noticed. Her mind wasn’t in the room. It wasn’t even in the castle. It was somewhere distant, lingering on memories that weren’t memories so much as echoes. Smells. Sensations. Laughs that clung to the edges of her mind like music you couldn’t quite hear but never forgot.
She missed them.
Even when they had never been far from her. Even when she’d known the truth her entire life.
She still missed them.
A soft creak of the door had her blinking back to the present. She didn’t look up right away-just ran her fingers over the worn edge of the page and turned it, even though she hadn’t read the last one.
Then Draco’s warm hands cupped her face gently from behind.
She sucked in a breath.
And Theo leaned down on the other side of her, brushing a kiss to her temple, just near her hairline. His lips were soft. Familiar. Present.
“What’s wrong?” Theo asked, voice low.
“You’ve been quiet since we've been back,” Draco added, his thumbs brushing along the edge of her cheekbone. “Too quiet.”
Hermione let out a slow breath and finally looked up at them. They were both close, crouched beside the bed side by side, eyes locked on hers with concern but no pressure. They weren’t demanding she speak. Just waiting if she wanted to.
“I’m thinking,” she said, her voice scratchy.
Theo smiled softly. “Dangerous.”
Draco didn’t smile. “About what?”
She closed the book and laid it on the nightstand.
“My parents,” she said, almost a whisper.
Both of them went still.
“Lily and James?” Theo asked.
She nodded.
Draco let his hands fall away from her face, one moving to rest over hers where it lay in her lap. “What about them?”
Hermione looked down at the joined hands, thumb brushing over Draco’s knuckles absently. “I think sometimes… I forget they’re not just heroes. Or a story.”
“They were real,” Theo said quietly.
“They were my parents,” she said, voice catching. “They weren’t just the Potters. They weren’t just the ones who died to protect Harry. They were mine, too.”
Neither of them spoke, and she didn’t need them to-not yet.
“I remember,” she said, slowly now, as if unraveling something fragile, “how Mum used to sing in the mornings. She had a terrible voice. But she’d belt songs in the kitchen anyway while she made tea. And Dad would groan dramatically, like it offended his ears, and then sneak up behind her and spin her around in her slippers.”
Theo sat slowly on the edge of the bed. “You remember that?”
“Bits,” Hermione said. “I was so little when they died, but I remember things. I remember her hair-it used to get caught in everything. She hated it. And I remember how Dad would throw Harry over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes just to make him laugh.”
She swallowed hard.
“I miss them,” she said. “And I hate that I don’t have more memories. I hate that so much of what I know comes from photos and stories and other people telling me who they were. I hate that when I close my eyes, their faces feel like they’re fading.”
Draco’s hand squeezed hers. Theo shifted closer and rested his head gently on her shoulder.
“I see Harry sometimes,” Hermione went on. “And I wonder if he remembers more than I do. And then I feel guilty for wishing I did. Because we both lost them.”
Theo’s voice was soft. “You don’t have to feel guilty for missing your parents.”
“But they weren’t just mine,” she whispered. “They belonged to him, too. And sometimes… sometimes I feel like I don’t have the right to claim that loss. Like my grief is smaller because I was younger.”
“No,” Draco said, firm now. “Don’t do that to yourself. You don’t have to measure your grief against his. There’s no scale for that.”
“You had every right to them,” Theo agreed. “You still do.”
Hermione looked up at both of them, eyes glistening. “I try to be okay. I try to be functional. But sometimes-like tonight-I look at the mirror and think about how much I look like her. And I feel like I’m chasing shadows. Like I’m trying to live up to something I can’t ever touch.”
“You’re not chasing shadows,” Draco said quietly. “You are her. You’re them. You’re you. Everything they gave you… it’s still with you.”
“And if they were here,” Theo added, “they’d be bloody proud. Of the woman you are. Of what you’ve survived. Of the fire you carry.”
Hermione leaned into both of them, burying her face in Draco’s neck as Theo rubbed her back gently. She stayed like that for a while-safe, quiet, pressed between them while the world stilled around her.
“I just miss them,” she whispered again.
“We know,” Draco murmured. “We miss them with you.”
“Always,” Theo echoed.
A few minutes passed, just the three of them in a warm bubble of shared space and grief and comfort.
Finally, Hermione lifted her head and wiped under her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper. “I’m a mess.”
Draco tilted her chin up and gave her a small smile. “You’re beautiful.”
Theo leaned forward and pressed his lips to her brow again. “And you’re not alone.”
She nodded, even if she didn’t fully believe it yet.
But she was starting to.
And that was enough for tonight.
“Now,” Theo said, standing and stretching, “how do we convince you to come sneak into the kitchen for snacks?”
“You bribe me with pastries,” Hermione said, sniffing once and clearing her throat.
Draco grinned. “Done. But only if you let us carry you.”
“I have legs,” she deadpanned.
“And we have arms,” Theo countered. “Let’s compromise.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Fine. But if either of you drop me, I’m hexing your eyebrows off.”
Theo gasped. “You would.”
“I absolutely would.”
Draco laughed, and together, they pulled her to her feet and out of the dorm, their fingers laced together.
Behind them, the lamp still glowed beside the open book-forgotten, for now.
But not the memories.
Not the love.
Not the promise.
Chapter 12: The Unwritten Rules of Engagment
Summary:
Draco and Theo keep testing Hermione's boundries
Notes:
This chapter contains adult content!!!
Chapter Text
The heavy wooden door creaked shut behind the last few students filing into the dim lecture hall. Dust motes swirled in the shafts of afternoon light filtering through stained glass, lending the room an old-world gravitas that demanded respect. Professor Merrick’s voice, deep and steady, began to unravel the complexities of necromantic ethics-a topic Hermione regarded with keen interest.
She sat poised in the second row, parchment unfurled, quill poised to capture every crucial insight. The steady scratch of ink on paper was the soundtrack of her unwavering focus.
Yet, beneath the surface of intense concentration, an entirely different battle was quietly being waged.
Draco, seated to her left, slid his hand beneath the heavy folds of her skirt with exaggerated carelessness that made it clear he was testing her limits. His fingers trailed slowly, tracing teasing patterns just above her knee, inching ever so slightly higher with every subtle movement of his wrist. Hermione’s pulse quickened; she bit back a small, breathy gasp but kept her eyes locked on the parchment in front of her, determined not to betray even the faintest flicker of distraction.
To her right, Theo was no less bold. His hand crept beneath the edge of her blouse, fingertips grazing the soft skin of her ribs with a warmth that sent tiny shivers up her spine. The light pressure felt like a whisper, a secret meant only for her senses, attempting to pull her away from the steady rhythm of the lecture.
Across the room, Pansy leaned conspiratorially toward Blaise, her voice barely audible but dripping with amused disbelief. “You honestly thought they’d have learned their lesson after Saturday?”
Blaise’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. “Hermione’s stubborn, no doubt. But these two? They don’t know the meaning of subtlety. This is going to be a long week.”
Hermione’s jaw tightened. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks but forced her quill to dance across the parchment, transcribing the dense ethical arguments with precision. Every so often, Draco’s fingers would shift, a light graze higher up her thigh, or Theo’s palm would press gently against the curve of her waist, testing the boundaries of propriety-but she held firm.
Theo’s voice dropped to a near whisper at her ear, velvety and teasing. “What’s the verdict? How long before you break?”
Draco added with a smirk, “I’m betting on sooner rather than later.”
Hermione’s breath hitched just slightly, but she kept her eyes trained on her notes. “Keep dreaming.”
Undeterred, Theo’s fingers trailed more boldly beneath her blouse, exploring just beneath her ribs where sensitivity thrummed beneath the surface. Hermione felt the stirrings of a shiver but controlled the urge to squirm, biting back a smile.
Draco, his hand now resting just below her hipbone, grinned wickedly. “You sure you want to keep up this little charade? We could make you forget all about ethics in moments.”
Hermione’s mind screamed No while her fingers clutched the quill tighter, refusing to let her body betray her concentration. Not here. Not now.
Behind them, Pansy shook her head in disbelief. “She’s like a fortress.”
Blaise chuckled quietly. “Or a volcano, waiting to erupt.”
The lecture hall’s heavy silence was occasionally punctuated by the faint rustle of parchment and the professor’s steady cadence, oblivious to the silent war unfolding just a few feet away.
Theo’s thumb brushed along the waistband of Hermione’s skirt beneath the desk, a deliberate, teasing pressure that made her fingers tremble slightly as she hastened to jot down the final points.
Draco leaned close enough that his breath warmed her ear. “Almost time to see if your resolve holds.”
Hermione finally dared to glance sideways, meeting their smirking faces with a deadpan expression. “You’re both ridiculous.”
Theo grinned. “Ridiculous but effective.”
Her pulse pounded fiercely in her temples. She bit her lip to suppress a moan and refocused on her notes, willing herself to maintain the facade of normalcy.
Pansy whispered again, a note of awe in her voice. “You think she’s going to explode before this ends?”
Blaise shrugged, eyes twinkling with amusement. “If anyone can keep it together, it’s Hermione. But I’m betting the boys won’t go easy on her.”
Draco’s hand moved subtly, fingertips skimming just below the waistband of her skirt, teasing, testing how far he could push without breaking her.
Theo’s fingers curled lightly beneath her blouse, brushing the soft skin of her ribs with just enough pressure to remind her of their presence.
Hermione’s breath caught, and she clenched her jaw, forcing herself to scribble faster.
Draco’s voice, low and promising, teased, “Imagine what you’re missing out on by focusing so hard.”
Theo smiled gently. “We could make you forget all about this lecture-make you forget the world.”
The words wrapped around her like a warm temptation, but Hermione’s mind rallied, fierce and clear.
“Not now,” she whispered, voice steady but soft.
Draco’s grin widened. “You’re tougher than I thought.”
Theo nodded. “Stronger.”
As the lecture finally wound down, Professor Merrick began to wrap up, unaware of the subtle war of wills behind the second row.
Hermione closed her notebook with a firm snap, releasing a soft breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
Draco withdrew his hand with a theatrical pout. “Survived again.”
Theo smiled warmly, squeezing her hand gently. “You did better than either of us expected.”
Hermione gathered her belongings, her cheeks flushed but her eyes bright with quiet triumph. “Next time, try not to distract me quite so much.”
Draco winked. “No promises.”
Theo grinned. “But we’ll try. For your sake.”
As the students filed out, the quiet thrill of the unspoken game lingered between them-a delicate dance of teasing, resistance, and something far deeper.
......................................................................................................................
The sun filtered softly through the enchanted glass dome above the grand dining hall of Arcanum Universitas. The room buzzed with conversation and the occasional flutter of paper wings from enchanted menus. Stone walls gleamed faintly with ancient runes, and warm spices drifted on the air, mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread and charred meat.
Hermione strode in with practiced precision, eyes scanning the tables already brimming with students. Without hesitation, she made her way toward the center row of benches, where a group of familiar faces were beginning to gather.
Before Draco or Theo could say a word, she dropped her satchel on the table and slid between Pansy and Ginny, the move so smooth and deliberate it might as well have been choreographed.
Draco, just arriving with Theo in tow, stopped short.
Theo blinked. “Seriously?”
Draco scowled theatrically. “You’ve wounded us.”
Hermione didn’t even look up as she poured herself a glass of chilled citrus tea. “That’s what you get for being distractions during Necromantic Ethics.”
Theo placed a hand on his chest, aghast. “Distractions? Us?”
“I thought we were being subtle,” Draco added, settling beside Astoria but shooting Hermione a wounded glance.
“That’s adorable,” Hermione said dryly, slicing a piece of roasted squash. “You think sliding your hand up my thigh and whispering in my ear during a lecture counts as subtle.”
“Technically, I was under the table,” Theo muttered.
“Technically,” Hermione replied without missing a beat, “I should’ve hexed you both into next week.”
Ginny snorted into her pumpkin juice. “She’s got a point.”
Pansy raised her fork like a gavel. “Motion to uphold Hermione’s claim.”
“Seconded,” said Luna dreamily from further down the table. “Distractions carry energetic consequences. Even metaphysically.”
Padma, beside her, nodded. “They threw off her academic resonance.”
Parvati leaned in with a grin. “And Hermione’s academic resonance is a sacred thing.”
Daphne arched a brow at Hermione. “Was it... good distraction, at least?”
“Very,” Hermione muttered under her breath, then immediately tried to redirect, “But beside the point.”
Astoria grinned at Draco. “She didn’t say you weren’t effective.”
Cho laughed into her cider. “There’s a certain amount of chaos that comes with dating, I guess.”
Lavender added, “Especially when you date two walking thirst traps who have no respect for lecture etiquette.”
Theo made a show of gasping. “I am deeply respectful.”
Draco smirked. “He lies with flair, at least.”
Hermione arched a brow at them both. “You two made me miss three core arguments from Merrick’s lecture.”
“You’ll survive,” Theo said lightly, sitting across from her. “You’ve got the best memory in the school.”
Draco added, “And the best legs. So really, we all win.”
Hermione gave him a warning look. “Keep it up, and I’ll transfigure your fork into a quill and make you write a full essay on the ethics of magical intimacy in class.”
“I’d make it an erotic epic,” Theo muttered.
“You’d get detention,” said Ginny.
Across the table, Harry had just arrived with Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean in tow. Harry slid onto the bench beside Luna and caught the tail end of Theo’s line.
“Are we already on the verge of detention? We’ve only been out of class for ten minutes.”
Ron made a face. “It’s always something with them.”
Neville nodded. “At this point, I’m just impressed Hermione hasn’t hexed them yet.”
“She’s considering it,” Hermione said sweetly, stabbing a piece of roasted beet with intent.
“Girlfriend’s being very rude today,” Theo noted, nudging Draco with his elbow.
Draco gave a slow, deliberate smile. “We might just have to take care of that later.”
Harry gagged. “Please no.”
Ron groaned. “Why do you say things like that while we’re eating?”
Dean raised his goblet. “To oversharing!”
Seamus knocked his own glass against it. “And emotional trauma.”
Pansy laughed. “You lot are so sensitive.”
“I’m just trying to enjoy my food without mental images,” Harry said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Too late,” muttered Ron. “It’s already burned in.”
Ginny was grinning. “You should see them during study sessions. They think being in the library gives them subtlety points.”
Lavender rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t.”
Padma shrugged. “I’m not sure they’ve ever had subtlety.”
Draco folded his arms. “I’m plenty subtle.”
“You wore a sheer shirt to lecture last week,” Hermione deadpanned.
“Confidence is not the enemy of subtlety,” he countered.
“Your nipples were showing, Malfoy,” said Parvati.
Theo laughed into his drink. “And I thought I was the shameless one.”
“You are,” Hermione said.
“I’m flattered you keep track,” he said, blowing her a kiss.
Hermione rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched.
Across from them, Blaise watched with a slow, amused grin. “You all exhaust me.”
“That’s because you only like drama when you’re the center of it,” said Daphne.
Blaise lifted a brow. “Guilty. But at least I make it look elegant.”
“You once challenged a boy to a duel over your hair tonic,” Astoria reminded him.
“It was imported,” Blaise said with a sniff.
“You nearly burned down the east wing,” said Cho.
“Still looks good, though,” Seamus said, gesturing toward Blaise’s head.
“It does,” agreed Dean. “I respect the commitment.”
Neville leaned toward Hermione. “Are you sure you want to keep dating both of them?”
She took a long sip of tea before answering, “No. But unfortunately, my hormones staged a coup.”
“You love us,” Theo said smugly.
“I tolerate you with great difficulty,” Hermione corrected.
Draco leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “And yet you sat between two other girls today.”
“She’s punishing us,” Theo said dramatically.
“For being incorrigible,” Hermione said.
Draco smiled. “Then it’s working.”
Theo nodded solemnly. “I feel very chastised.”
Pansy giggled. “Your faces when she sat down were priceless.”
“I thought Theo was going to cry,” said Ginny.
“I was composing a tragic sonnet,” he admitted.
“We’re still not over it,” Draco added.
“You’ll live,” Hermione said, finishing her lunch with the elegance of someone entirely unfazed.
“Oh, we will,” Theo murmured. “But we won’t forget.”
Draco smirked. “We’re patient.”
“And petty,” Luna added softly.
“You love that about us,” Draco said.
Luna blinked slowly. “I actually do.”
Hermione stood, brushing off her robes. “If either of you touches me under the table during the next lecture, I will retaliate.”
“You say that like it’s a deterrent,” Theo said.
“It is,” said Ron.
“It really, really is,” added Harry.
“Then it’s working,” Hermione said with a slight smirk.
As she walked off, Pansy and Ginny stood with her, the trio exchanging a look of perfectly aligned mischief.
Theo turned to Draco. “She’s so going to get us back.”
Draco leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
......................................................................................................................
The early afternoon light spilled through the tall, arching windows of the East Wing courtroom, illuminating rows of dark oak benches and a raised dais framed by flickering witchlight sconces. Carved into the walls were quotes from famed magical legal scholars-Greengrass, Shacklebolt, Bones-etched in gleaming runes that shimmered faintly when read aloud.
At the center of the room stood Professor Lysandra Vane, a sharp-featured witch with ink-dark robes and a clipped, no-nonsense voice. A former prosecutor in the International Confederation of Wizards, she commanded the room like a judge overseeing a high-stakes trial. Her wand was a slender ironwood piece with a steel cap, more scalpel than staff.
"Today’s exercise," she began crisply, "is moot court preparation. You’ve all been assigned your trial groups. You’ll find your roles-counsel, witness, magistrate-on the parchment in front of you. I expect coherence, logic, and evidence-based arguments. Emotions are not a substitute for law."
Hermione sat two rows back, posture straight, eyes gleaming with eagerness. Legal magic was her bread and butter-second only to magical theory. Beside her, Theo lounged back in his seat, legs crossed, wearing that insufferable smirk he always wore when he was up to something.
Across the aisle, Blaise and Daphne leaned in toward one another, already reviewing their assigned briefs.
Harry dropped into the seat behind Hermione, parchment in hand, grumbling under his breath. "Great. I’m a character witness in a property boundary dispute. Riveting."
"Be glad you weren’t assigned the inheritance hex litigation case," Hermione replied without looking up. "The records are cursed with shouting ghosts."
"Lovely," Daphne said, flipping a page. "I got the murder-by-potion trial. Again."
"At least murder’s interesting," Blaise murmured. "Some of us got petty hex disputes over dueling contracts.”
Professor Vane clapped once. “Begin preparing. You have twenty-five minutes before presentations start. You may confer quietly. Quietly.”
Chairs scraped against stone as students shifted into clusters. Hermione leaned slightly toward Theo, opening her leather case and extracting her annotated book of wizarding statutes. “We’re defense for the illicit enchantment case. You’ll handle the rebuttal.”
Theo was watching her mouth rather than the parchment. “Mm. You’re sexy when you’re assigning roles.”
“Focus,” she said, scribbling on a piece of parchment. “We need to establish our counterargument to the charge of unlawful compulsion charms.”
“Oh, I’m very focused,” Theo murmured, his hand drifting beneath the wide sleeve of her robe and curling lightly around her thigh under the desk. His touch was warm-soft at first, but slowly growing bolder.
Hermione’s eyes snapped to him. “Theodore.”
He smiled lazily. “You look tense. I’m offering emotional support.”
“I’m about to emotionally support my fist in your ribs.”
Behind them, Blaise whispered to Daphne, “He’s doing it again.”
Daphne didn’t even glance up. “And she’s letting him-for now.”
“She’s going to hex his bollocks into another dimension.”
“I’ll bet she lets him get away with it until Vane turns around,” Daphne murmured, scribbling in her notebook. “Then? Game over.”
Behind Hermione, Harry was watching with increasing suspicion.
“Theo,” he said in a low, warning voice. “I swear on Sirius’s favorite firewhiskey, if I see that hand move one more inch-”
“I’ve got it, Harry,” Hermione said without turning around, her tone calm and razor-sharp. “You can put your big-brother wand away.”
Theo leaned in and whispered into her ear, voice smooth as velvet. “You sure? You’re trembling.”
“I’m not trembling.”
“You are-just a little. It’s adorable.”
Hermione clenched her jaw and kept writing.
“You’re biting your lip,” Theo added. “That thing you do when you’re trying not to react.”
She inhaled slowly through her nose. “You are skating on very thin ice.”
“Careful,” he murmured. “I’ve always liked it rough.”
Hermione paused. Her hand twitched, fingers splaying ever so slightly.
Theo smirked. “Planning to make good on that threat from lunch?”
She didn’t look at him. Her fingers barely moved.
“I think you’re bluffing,” he whispered.
And in that exact moment, Theo’s body jolted.
“Bloody hell!” he hissed, jumping in his seat, nearly knocking over his ink pot. He grabbed the edge of the table and glared at her. “You hexed me!”
“I warned you,” Hermione said, eyes still fixed on her parchment.
Across the room, Professor Vane raised her head sharply. “Is there a problem?”
Theo, still slightly twitching, adjusted his robes. “No, Professor.”
“Good. Then keep it that way.”
There was a low ripple of laughter across the benches. Harry leaned back with a smug grin.
“Told you.”
Theo muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Worth it.”
Blaise shook his head. “You’re either brave or incredibly stupid.”
“Possibly both,” Daphne added, flipping her notes. “Though the facial expression he made was priceless.”
Hermione finally looked up, her expression cool and composed. “You’re lucky I only used a minor tickling hex.”
“That wasn’t minor,” Theo grumbled, still adjusting.
“I didn’t say where it would tickle.”
“Somewhere incredibly sensitive, I gather,” said Blaise, smirking.
Theo gave a pained noise. “I’m filing a grievance.”
“With who? Your other girlfriend?” Daphne asked sweetly.
“Draco would defend me.”
“Draco would laugh at you,” Harry said.
Hermione smirked and finally gave Theo a glance from the corner of her eye. “Still think I’m bluffing?”
His eyes met hers. “Not for a second.”
There was a quiet, loaded beat between them-heat, challenge, and something fond beneath it.
Professor Vane raised her wand, and the room quieted immediately.
“Time’s up. We’ll begin with the property boundary case. Witnesses to the stand, defense to the bench.”
As the room rearranged into its simulation courtroom formation, Theo leaned close to Hermione again, keeping his voice just under breath.
“You know, I’ve had detention in three countries,” he said. “But that hex? Might’ve been my favorite punishment.”
Hermione didn’t look at him as she stepped forward to take her seat at the bench. “Good. I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”
Behind them, Harry muttered, “Merlin help me.”
Blaise leaned toward Daphne with a small smirk. “He’s going to need it.”
Daphne chuckled under her breath. “We all are.”
....................................................................................................................
The air in the room had shifted.
Gone was the casual murmur of study groups and whispered banter. Now, the grand chamber of the East Wing courtroom had transformed, its long oak benches now orderly galleries, and the center floor cleared for argument.
A shimmering magical illusion of a judicial seal-scales balanced over an open book-hovered above the dais behind Professor Vane, who had assumed the role of for the simulation.
Her robes shimmered subtly with judicial blue, her wand resting on the polished stone bench before her. “You may now begin your opening statements. The charge: Use of an Unlawful Compulsion Charm against a sentient magical being. Representing the prosecution-Miss Potter. Defense-Mr. Nott. Proceed.”
Hermione rose first.
She stepped confidently into the open floor, robes swaying softly, her hands loosely clasped behind her back. The courtroom light caught the subtle sheen of her Arcanum Universitas pin, marking her as one of the top students in the Magical Law program.
“Thank you, Professor Vane,” she began clearly, her voice echoing clean and crisp across the chamber.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the court, what separates us from the beasts, from the chaos of raw magic, is law. And law only holds power if we choose to uphold its most sacred principles-chief among them, autonomy and consent.”
She paced once along the floor, each step deliberate.
“The defendant in this case stands accused of casting a Compulsion Charm upon a sentient magical being-a house-elf, bonded but not bound. This was no mere suggestion, no enchanted encouragement. This was deliberate, targeted coercion. A theft not of gold or artifact-but of will.”
She turned, facing the benches directly.
“The magical laws we uphold are clear. Section 19A of the Sentient Being Rights Act prohibits the use of any enchantment designed to override the free will of another sentient magical creature. And yes-house-elves are sentient.”
Her eyes flicked toward Daphne and Blaise, sitting as student-jurors, and then to Professor Vane.
“Magic may be powerful. But so is choice. And in this case, that choice was taken.”
She bowed her head slightly. “The Prosecution rests its opening.”
As she returned to her seat, Theo stood, his expression a study in charming detachment.
“Well,” he said, with a warm smile and a faint nod, “that was impassioned.”
Chuckles rippled through the student body.
“But passion,” he continued smoothly, “doesn’t always equal truth.”
He stepped forward, his posture relaxed, his tone almost conversational.
“Yes, the law prohibits the use of compulsion charms against sentient beings-but the question at hand is intent, and whether the charm in question qualifies under that statute. Because-” he paused for emphasis, “-what we are dealing with here is a gray area.”
He gestured lazily toward the imaginary case file floating behind him, a magical illusion conjured by Hermione for effect.
“The defense maintains that the charm cast was a Protective Urgency Enchantment, a legal variant often used in high-risk magical environments-designed not to compel behavior against will, but to alert and prioritize safety.”
A few students leaned forward, intrigued.
Theo’s grin widened slightly. “And as the elf in question sustained no injury, gave no formal complaint, and has testified to feeling ‘grateful’ afterward, we must ask-is this truly a crime, or is it an overzealous application of abstract principles to a very practical, very gray situation?”
He gave an elegant little bow. “The Defense rests.”
From her seat, Hermione gave a small sigh.
“Of course,” she murmured to herself. “The charm was for their own good.”
Theo flashed her a smirk across the courtroom. “You love it.”
“I’m about to love cross-examining you.”
Professor Vane’s voice cut across the courtroom. “Prosecution, you may call your witness.”
Hermione stood again. “The Prosecution calls Elder Kellith, a house-elf and groundskeeper, to the stand.”
The illusion shimmered, and a well-dressed, older house-elf appeared in the witness box-Hermione’s own creation. The courtroom hushed. Her enchantments were known for detail.
Hermione straightened her shoulders. “Elder Kellith, please describe what happened the day of the incident.”
The illusion spoke in a soft, lilting voice. “The young wizard cast a charm on Kellith. Kellith was going to return to the greenhouse, but the charm made Kellith stop and return to the cottage instead.”
“Did you want to return to the cottage?”
“No. Kellith wished to continue tending the fire orchids. But Kellith’s body did not obey.”
“And how did that make you feel?”
The illusion-elf frowned. “Confused. Small. Like Kellith’s mind was not Kellith’s.”
Hermione turned, her voice clear and deliberate. “No injury. No scars. Just confusion. The sense of being stolen from. That’s all it takes to violate consent.”
She stepped back, letting the weight of her words settle.
Theo rose again, calm as ever.
“Elder Kellith, have you ever felt gratitude toward the young wizard for preventing you from burning yourself that day?”
The elf nodded. “Yes. Kellith did not realize how dangerous the fire orchids were blooming.”
Theo spread his hands. “So, the charm may have prevented injury?”
“Yes.”
“And did you come to harm?”
“No.”
“Do you resent the young wizard?”
The elf hesitated. “No... but Kellith also does not understand why choice was taken.”
Theo turned, facing the courtroom again. “And there it is-the heart of the issue. Conflict. Confusion. Not criminality.”
He returned to his desk with a confident step.
Hermione stood again, voice calm but iron beneath. “Rebuttal, Your Honor.”
Professor Vane inclined her head.
Hermione stepped forward once more. “Defense would have you believe gratitude erases violation. That good intentions absolve unlawful action. But we do not measure justice by outcomes alone.”
She turned sharply toward Theo. “Imagine someone oblivated your memory of a mistake. You might be thankful afterward. But did they have the right?”
She pointed toward the elf illusion. “Kellith did not consent. And even gratitude cannot erase that fact. As legal scholars, we do not legislate comfort. We legislate boundaries.”
Her voice rose-not shouting, but ringing with precision. “And today, those boundaries were crossed.”
There was a silence as her words lingered in the air.
Even Theo, smug just moments ago, had gone very still.
Professor Vane finally stood. “Thank you. The case is concluded.”
A few chairs squeaked as students shifted nervously, waiting for critique.
Professor Vane’s gaze scanned the room, then settled on Hermione.
“Miss Potter.”
Hermione sat up straighter.
“You’ve just given the best moot court prosecution I’ve seen in this room in five years. Your understanding of nuance, use of magical legal precedent, and emotional restraint was exemplary.”
Hermione blinked. “Thank you, Professor.”
Theo gave a soft, sarcastic cough. “Show-off.”
Professor Vane smiled faintly. “Mr. Nott, your delivery was charming as ever, and your argument well-constructed. But charm only takes you so far when the facts are against you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Theo said easily.
The students began packing up, still buzzing from the trial.
Harry clapped Hermione on the shoulder. “That was incredible.”
She gave him a half-smile. “Sirius would’ve heckled me for being too righteous.”
Harry grinned. “Yeah, but then bragged to everyone that you were his kid.”
Theo walked by slowly, leaned in toward her ear, and murmured, “Still think you’re not a little bit turned on when you win?”
Hermione didn’t even flinch. She flicked her wand-and Theo’s inkwell exploded with a pfft of purple smoke.
“Answer: yes,” he said, coughing, and grinning like an idiot.
.......................................................................................................................
The silver moonlight poured through the arched, enchanted windows of the Arcanum Universitas Library, casting soft, shifting patterns across rows of aged books and glass-domed study lanterns. The scent of parchment, ink, and ancient dust hung heavy in the air. At this hour, most students had already filtered out, retreating to common rooms or late dinners.
But not Hermione.
She was nestled at a wide stone table in the eastern alcove, surrounded by a fortress of books on magical law, sentient rights, and legislative precedent. Her sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, a quill perched behind one ear, and her brows furrowed in a way that meant do not interrupt me unless you wish to be hexed into next week.
She was so focused, in fact, that she didn’t hear the approaching footsteps-confident, unrushed, and unmistakably familiar.
Theo arrived first, hands in his pockets, wearing his usual air of dry amusement.
Behind him, Draco followed, his tie undone and slung around his neck like an afterthought, silvery-blond hair falling effortlessly into place.
“She really is in the zone,” Theo whispered, nodding toward Hermione, who was scribbling furiously, muttering case law citations under her breath.
“She doesn’t even realize we’re here,” Draco replied, cocking his head. “That’s almost insulting.”
“Almost?” Theo smirked. “You say that like you’re not wounded.”
“I’m deeply wounded.”
Theo leaned on the end of the table. “So, Hermione.”
She didn’t look up.
Draco slid into the seat on her left. “Lovely performance today in Moot Court. Truly-gold star.”
Still nothing.
Theo plopped into the chair on her right. “I mean, you did absolutely kick my arse in front of half the school. It was impressive, if mildly emasculating.”
Her quill paused for a split second. But she said nothing.
Draco rested his chin on one hand, watching her profile. “Still ignoring us, Potter?”
Theo nudged her elbow lightly. “Maybe she’s mad about lunch.”
Hermione didn’t look at either of them, but her voice was icy calm. “Maybe I just value silence. Something I don’t get nearly enough of.”
“Oh, she’s definitely mad about lunch,” Draco said, pleased. “You know, the not sitting with us part.”
Theo tilted his head. “Right. Sitting between Pansy and Ginny like we didn’t exist.”
Hermione finally looked up, eyes sharp. “That’s what you get for behaving like complete distractions during Necromantic Ethics.”
Draco raised a brow. “So you are admitting we were a distraction.”
“I said no such thing.”
Theo grinned. “But you didn’t deny it.”
Hermione inhaled deeply, clearly counting to ten. “If either of you touches me while I’m working,” she said, voice calm but dangerous, “you will not like what happens next.”
Draco leaned a little closer, resting his arm along the back of her chair. “So tense, love. Sounds like someone could use a break.”
Theo mimicked him from the other side. “A very... hands-on break.”
Hermione turned a page with enough force to ripple the parchment. “Try me.”
Draco smiled, eyes glittering. “We are trying.”
Theo lowered his voice to a sultry whisper. “You’ve been sitting here for hours, Hermione. Law texts don’t keep you warm at night.”
Hermione scribbled a note in the margin. “Neither do smug Slytherins.”
“Oh, come now,” Draco said, letting his breath tickle the shell of her ear, “admit it-you love our smugness.”
Theo leaned in the other way, voice velvet-smooth. “And the way you melted in Moot Court? You’re telling me you didn’t find that hot?”
Hermione’s hand jerked just slightly-but she kept writing.
Draco traced a lazy fingertip along the back of her chair. “You’re going to snap that quill in half if you grip it any tighter.”
“Better that than snapping your fingers.”
Theo chuckled. “I think she’s bluffing. I don’t think she’ll hex us in the library.”
Draco nodded gravely. “Right. Because she’s all about rule-following.”
Hermione’s hand moved just a little too quickly-and her wand slid into it from her sleeve in a fluid motion.
She murmured something under her breath, and suddenly Theo let out a yelp and slapped at the back of his robes.
“What the-? Did you just-?” he twisted to look at his back, which was now emitting tiny blue sparks in the shape of runes that spelled: DO NOT TOUCH WHILE STUDYING.
Draco burst out laughing.
Hermione didn’t even glance at him. “Still think I’m bluffing?”
Theo stared at her, utterly betrayed. “You branded me with study rules.”
“You’re lucky I used something temporary.”
Draco leaned closer, amusement bright in his eyes. “You’re really not going to let us touch you?”
“Not while I’m working.”
Theo crossed his arms. “Unbelievable.”
“Unreasonable,” Draco corrected. “This is clearly emotional retaliation for lunch.”
Hermione glanced at them both, eyes cool but glittering with restrained amusement. “If by ‘emotional retaliation’ you mean ‘reasonable boundaries enforced with wand precision,’ then yes.”
They both stared at her.
“You love this, don’t you?” Theo finally said.
“You mean studying in peace?” she asked, innocently turning a page. “More than life.”
Draco rested his head dramatically on her shoulder. “So cruel.”
Theo mirrored the gesture on her other side. “Utterly heartless.”
Hermione sighed deeply. “And yet, I’m the one with the highest GPA among the three of us. Curious, isn’t it?”
Draco smirked. “Only because your essays aren’t interrupted every other paragraph by intense fantasies of us.”
Theo nodded solemnly. “Distractions are a form of sabotage. We should be compensated.”
Hermione finally looked at them again, her expression half-exasperated, half-affectionate. “You two are ridiculous.”
“Ruthless,” Draco corrected.
“Relentless,” Theo added.
She arched an eyebrow. “Still not touching me.”
They groaned in unison and slumped against her shoulders like defeated children.
“I’m still recovering from being hexed,” Theo mumbled into her hair.
“I think she damaged my ego,” Draco said mournfully.
Hermione allowed herself a faint smile, even as she kept scribbling notes.
“You’re both fine,” she said softly.
Theo reached across the table, snagged a piece of parchment, and mockingly pretended to take notes. “At least let us watch you be brilliant, then.”
Draco leaned back with a grin. “And if we happen to whisper terribly inappropriate things while you annotate legal precedent…”
“You’ll be hexed into the Restricted Section,” Hermione said sweetly. “And good luck getting out of there.”
Theo nodded approvingly. “I do love a woman with boundaries.”
Draco sighed. “And hexes.”
They stayed beside her, occasionally whispering teases or brushing her shoulder lightly, but this time-respecting the unspoken line she’d drawn.
.......................................................................................................................
The faintest tapping sound stirred Hermione from sleep.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A low, muffled groan escaped her throat as she turned her face into her pillow, stubbornly ignoring it. Probably a bird, she thought. But the persistent tapping didn’t stop-in fact, it became more pointed, more rhythmic.
Finally, she cracked one eye open and squinted toward the window. A sleek, pale grey owl was perched on the sill, tapping insistently against the glass with its beak. Even through her sleep-fogged brain, she recognized the telltale glint of a Malfoy family seal on the small scroll tied to its leg.
“Of course,” she muttered, rolling out of bed and padding barefoot across the floor in one of Theo’s old Arcanum sweatshirts that reached just past her thighs. She unlocked the window with a twist and opened it, letting the cool morning air rush in.
The owl stuck out its leg expectantly.
Hermione untied the scroll and gave the owl a quick scratch behind the feathers before it took off silently into the sky.
Still half-asleep, she unrolled the parchment and blinked at the handwriting.
Hermione,
Let us in.
We bring gifts.
You're not aloud to say no.
You've been far to tense and we've decided that is unacceptable.
Be ready.
-D&T
P.S. The gifts are good. And we're better.
Hermione rolled her eyes so hard she nearly gave herself a headache.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered, grabbing a quill and flipping the note over to scrawl a reply.
Fine.
Twenty-five.
I'm showering.
If you barge in while I'm still naked, I will hex you into next term.
She tied the note to Aristophanes’ leg and sent him off with a warning look, then padded off to the bathroom.
The shower was quick, just hot enough to melt the tension in her shoulders. Moot Court still lingered in her mind-she’d absolutely trounced Theo in front of the class, and while he’d laughed it off, she knew him well enough to expect payback. And Draco? He lived for moments when she was barely keeping it together.
She wrapped herself in a thick towel and stepped back into her room—and froze.
Both of them were already there.
Theo was lounging against her headboard like he belonged there, one arm behind his head, utterly at ease. Draco sat at the foot of her bed, flipping through one of her books like he owned it-and the room.
Her eyes narrowed.
“How,” she asked flatly, “did you get in here?”
Theo grinned. “Ancient Dorm Secrets™. Trade knowledge among morally flexible upperclassmen.”
Draco didn’t even glance up. “Your window security could use some creativity.”
Still clutching the towel tighter around herself, Hermione stalked toward her wardrobe. “If either of you saw anything through that window, I will personally transfigure your eyes into dung beetles.”
"Tempting," Theo murmured.
Draco closed the book and finally looked up, watching her from where he sat. "You've been wound tighter than a cursed timepiece since the night we came back from you uncles."
"She get's that face on when she's in full Professor Potter made," Theo said, stretching. "But frankly, it's been cutting into our fun."
Hermione yanked open the wardrobe, determined not to react. "We have class."
"In an hour," Draco said, rising. "Which is why we came prepared."
She turned her head slightly to see him holding two coffee cups and a bag of pastries.
Theo stood as well, eyes dragging over her with lazy admiration. “You weren’t even going to let us in.”
“I was in a towel,” she said, exasperated.
Draco stepped closer, his voice smooth. “Then why bother getting dressed?”
Hermione blinked, and in that split second, he was there- his hands settling lightly on her waist, fingers warm where they touched bare skin.
Theo moved in too, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. “Honestly,” he said, his voice low, “we're just going to remove your clothes anyway."
"I will hex you," she said, though it lacked its usual bite.
Theo smiled, all slow confidence. "We missed you."
Draco leaned in, his lips brushing just below her ear. "Let us help you unwind."
Her hands tightened on the towel, but she didn't move away.
"You've been keeping us at arm's length," Theo said gentle, tipping her chin so her eyes met his. "Let us bring you back to center."
Draco's fingers traced her spine through the towel. "You're always so focused on studying. Let us give you something else to focus on."
Hermione closed her eyes for a second, then opened them with a sigh. “This is a terrible idea.”
“And yet,” Theo murmured, leaning in, “you’re not stopping us.”
She didn’t. Instead, she let them come closer, let Draco’s lips graze her jaw, let Theo’s hands smooth along the edge of her towel.
“We’ll stop the moment you say so,” Draco murmured, eyes locked with hers.
Hermione’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Don’t.”
And just like that, the air shifted.
Theo was the first to kiss her, slow and deep, his hand tilting her head with practiced care. Hermione melted into him, her towel slipping slightly as Draco’s hands skimmed her back, undoing the knot with agonizing gentleness.
When they pulled back, she was still wrapped modestly, but barely. She should have protested. Instead, she let Draco press a kiss to her collarbone and shivered as Theo’s hands slid along her sides.
“If I’m late to class,” she murmured, “I’m blaming both of you.”
“We’ll accept full responsibility,” Draco said with mock solemnity.
With that, Draco leaned in and captured her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. Hermione leaned into him as Theo's hand slid higher on her bare thighs. Hermione's arms wound around Draco's neck as she kissed him back with equal fevor. Theo's hands roamed her body freely now, exploring every curve and contour.
When Draco finally pulled back, they were both breathless. Hermione’s eyes fluttered open to find Theo watching her, his expression hungry and intense.
"My turn," he said, his voice a low purr.
He leaned in and claimed her mouth, his kiss even more demanding than Draco's. Hermione moaned softly, her body pressing against his as she kissed him back with abandon. His hands found the edge of her towel, slowly he pulled it from under her arms, leaving her bare to them.
Theo broke the kiss and stepped back, his eyes roaming over her body. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.
Draco's finger traced just under her breats, sending shivers down her spine. "And all ours," he added, his lips finding the sensative spot just below her ear.
Hermione gasped as Theo's calloused hands cupped her breats brushing over her already hard nipples. Behind her, Draco's hand slipped over her hips, walking them all back towards the bed.
Hermione complied, and Theo followed. She gasped as Draco pulled her down on the bed and between his legs, Theo gave her an evil grin as he crawled over her.
One of Draco's hands slid behind her to her ass, squeezing and kneading. "You have the most perfect ass," he growled, his lips finding the curve of her neck.
Theo's hands slid up the inside of her thighs, causing Hermione to bite back a moan and throw her head back against Draco's shoulder.
One hand slid higher, grazing her folds, just barely. "You're already so wet for us," he murmured, his finger beginning to stroke and tease.
Hermione moaned, her hips bucking againt's Theos' hand. "Please," she gasped. "I need more."
One of Draco's hands wrapped gently around her throat as his lip pressed just under her ear, "We'll give you everything you need, love," he promised, his voice just a low growl.
Theo's finger's slid into her faster as Draco leaned in to capture Hermione's lips with his in a deep demanding kiss, his tounge exploring every inch of her mouth.
Hermione moaned into Draco's mouth, her body trembling with pleasure. She reached up to grip the wrist of the hand still around her throat.
Draco's other hand found her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple in time with Theo's strokes. Hermione's body tensed, the pleasure building to a crescendo. With a final powerful stroke from Theo's fingers and a swipe from Draco's thumb, she came undone, her body shaking with force of her orgasm.
As she came down from her high, Draco pulled back, he breath ragged. "That's it, good girl," he murmured, his lips brushing against hres. "You did so well."
From between her legs, Theo's fingers continued to stroke and tease, drawing out her pleasure until she was a trembling mess. Hermione leaned further into Draco, her body boneless and sated.
"Fuck, you're so sexy when you cum," Theo growled, leaning forward, his lips found the sensative spot just below her ear. "I could watch you all day."
Draco's hands roamed over her body, his touch gentle and soothing. "We will always help you relax," he promised. "As often as you need."
Hermione turned her face towards Theo, her hips shifting as she kissed him deeply, her tounge exploring his mouth. One of Theo's hands slid to her ass, squeezing and kneading as he kissed her back with equal passion.
When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathless. Hermione's eyes fluttered open to find Draco watching them, his expression hungry and intesne.
"My turn," Draco said, his voice a low growl, filled with promise and hunger.
He slid out from behind her and captured her mouth in a deep, demanding kiss. His hands roamed over her body exploring every curve and dip as Theo slid into position behind her, his strong arms pulling her flush against his chest.
Draco settled between her thighs, his breath hot against her most intimate place. Hermione squirmed, her hips bucking as anticipation coursed through her. Behind her, Theo's hands found her breasts, his fingers rolling and pinching her nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core.
Draco's toungue explored her folds, tasting and teasing, delving deeper with each stroke. Hermione moaned, her body writhing as Theo's kisses and nips trailed along her neck, his teeth scraping lightly against her sensitive skin. His hand wrapped around her throat, not tight, but enough to make her aware of his touch, of the power he and Draco held over her pleasure.
"That's it, good girl," Theo murmured against her ear, his voice a low rumble. "Let him make you feel good."
Hermione's body tensed, the fire building with each stroke of Draco's tounge and each pinch of Theo's fingers. Draco's fingers pumped in and out of her in a rhythmic dance that had her crying out with need.
"You taste so sweet," Draco growled, his voice vibrating against her sensitive flesh. "I could eat you out all day."
Behind her, Theo’s hand slid up her body, his fingers finding a nipple, pinching and teasing in time with Draco’s thrusts. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Cum for us, Hermione. Let us hear you.”
Hermione's body tensed, the heat building to a crescendo. With a final, powerful thrust of Draco's finger and Theo's grip tightening on her throat, she came undone, her body shaking with the force of her ogasm. Draco continued to lick and suck, drawing out her pleasure until she was a trembling mess.
As she came down from her high, Draco moved up her body, his lips capturing hers in a deep, passionate kiss.
"Happy now?" Draco murmured against her lips.
Hermione smiled, eye fluttering closed, her body still humming from the aftershocks. "Mmm-hmm," she breathed.
Draco let out a doft groan and flopped down beside them, his hair a tousled mess, a satisfied grin playing at his lips. He lazily threw an arm over Hermione's waits, his fingrs brushing against Theo's as they both held her close.
Theo nuzzled against the back of her neck, his voice softer now, almost tender. “Feel better, sweetheart?”
Hermione shifted slightly, turning her face toward him with a sleepy smile. “Infinitely. But-” She sighed, as though the weight of reality was suddenly crashing back down on her. “I really do need to get ready for class.”
As she began to turn onto her side to get up, Theo made a low sound of protest and gently slid out from behind her, only to immediately circle around and wrap himself around her other side. His leg draped possessively over hers, his hand resting on her hip.
Draco smirked, tugging her closer until her head rested on his bare chest. One hand came up to lazily thread through her curls. “We’ve still got a bit before breakfast ends,” he murmured, his voice warm and coaxing. “No harm in staying just a little longer.”
Hermione exhaled, the breath catching somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “You two are incorrigible.”
“And yet,” Theo said, brushing his lips against her temple, “you haven’t hexed us yet.”
“Don’t tempt me,” she muttered, though her body remained tucked between theirs, cocooned in heat and comfort.
Draco’s fingers traced slow circles against her scalp, soothing. “Five more minutes. Then we’ll let you go. Maybe.”
She didn’t answer, but the way she melted into his chest and tangled her legs with Theo’s spoke volumes.
Neither of them pointed it out. They just held her tighter.
Chapter 13: Chaos, Consent, and Comfort
Summary:
Draco and Theo force Hermione to relax
Chapter Text
Hermione was dead asleep-sprawled between them, a mess of tangled limbs and warm skin, one leg draped over Theo’s, her head pillowed on Draco’s chest. Her hair was a wild, beautiful halo of curls across both of them, and her breathing had settled into a soft, steady rhythm that betrayed just how deeply she’d passed out.
Draco shifted slightly, glancing at the clock on Hermione’s bedside table.
“Twenty minutes,” he said with a sigh, brushing a thumb over her bare shoulder. “If we don’t wake her soon, she’s going to curse us into next week.”
Theo yawned and stretched his long limbs, completely unbothered. “She looks peaceful. Do we really want to be the ones to ruin that?”
Draco shot him a look. “You want to be hexed?”
“…Fair point.”
Still, neither of them moved for a second.
Then Draco smirked and ran his hand lightly along Hermione’s ribs, fingers brushing gently over the sensitive skin. “Rise and shine, darling.”
Theo joined in, dragging his fingers through her curls, letting the soft strands twine lazily around his fingers. “Potter,” he murmured into her ear, voice low and coaxing. “Time to wake up.”
Hermione stirred, blinking sleepily as her eyes opened. She hummed in contentment, nuzzling closer between them, clearly not ready to let go of the warmth cocooning her.
“Mmm… five more minutes,” she mumbled, her voice muffled against Draco’s chest.
Draco chuckled. “You don’t have five minutes, sweetheart.”
At that, Hermione’s eyes shot open fully. She whipped around to glare at the bedside clock.
7:45.
“Fuck!” she shouted, scrambling upright and sending Theo’s arm flying off her waist. “I have fifteen minutes to get dressed and get to Advanced Ritual Theory! Vanta’s going to set my robes on fire if I’m late!”
Both boys watched with varying degrees of amusement as Hermione all but flew out of bed, a whirlwind of limbs and muttered swear words.
“I told you we shouldn’t let her fall asleep,” Draco said lazily, folding his arms behind his head.
“You were the one stroking her hair like a bloody lullaby,” Theo replied, smirking.
Hermione shot them both a look of death as she practically dove for her underthings, slipping them on quickly before wriggling into her jeans and grabbing the nearest loose shirt-one she didn’t even look at before yanking it over her head.
She yanked open her drawer, cursed when she couldn’t find her usual trainers, then spotted her purple ones near the foot of the bed. She shoved her feet into them without a second thought.
Hair a disaster, she snatched a hair tie off the nightstand, twisted her curls into a messy bun, and jammed her wand through it to hold everything in place.
Bag, bag, bag-where was-
“There!” she yelled triumphantly, grabbing her satchel from the chair and slinging it over her shoulder.
Draco and Theo were still sprawled on her bed, looking entirely too smug for two people who had definitely helped make her late.
“You two are-”
“Beautiful? Talented? Excellent motivators?” Theo offered.
Hermione groaned. “The worst.”
And with that, she sprinted out of the room, muttering spells under her breath to fix her appearance on the run.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Draco sat up and called after her, loud enough to carry through the door she’d left swinging open behind her.
“Potter! You’re wearing my jersey!”
Silence.
Then, faintly down the hall-
“WHAT?!”
Theo laughed so hard he fell sideways onto the mattress.
Draco grinned, satisfied. “That’ll keep her thinking about us all through Vanta’s lecture.”
Theo wiped his eyes. “And maybe even hex us just a little less.”
Draco arched a brow. “Unlikely.”
They both collapsed back into the bed, still laughing.
.....................................................................................................................
The heavy oak doors to Lecture Hall Seven slammed shut with a thud the moment Hermione darted through, breathless, wand sticking out of her hair, bag strap slipping from her shoulder.
Professor Vanta didn’t even flinch. She merely turned her cool, lined gaze on Hermione with a look that could freeze molten lava.
“Miss Potter,” she said, voice crisp and faintly dangerous, “how gracious of you to join us before the threshold dismembered your ankles.”
Hermione flushed and bowed her head slightly as she shuffled toward the back row. “Apologies, Professor.”
“I should hope so. Do take your seat before I take points from your house.”
“Yes, Professor.”
Hermione slid into a chair at the very back of the lecture hall, trying to keep her breathing quiet and pretend she wasn’t half-sweaty from her sprint. She rummaged in her bag for her notes, quill, and inkwell, keeping her head down.
She’d just unscrewed her ink when Pansy Parkinson’s whisper floated from the row in front of her, far too deliberately loud to be private.
“Is that Draco’s jersey she’s wearing?”
Daphne Greengrass let out a laugh. “It is. That’s definitely his number on the back. How… territorial.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Blaise Zabini drawled lazily, chin in hand. “Like a Niffler marking its hoard. Only with sex and less glitter.”
Hermione snapped her head up and glared at all three of them.
“Oh, don’t look so surprised, Potter,” Pansy said with a wink. “You’re practically glowing.”
“Honestly, you’re lucky,” Daphne added with a sly grin. “Some of us wanted to wear Draco’s jersey.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Touch it and die.”
“Ooooh,” Pansy cooed, delighted. “There she is. Feisty.”
“Settle down,” Professor Vanta snapped from the front of the hall without turning around. “Some of us are here to study.”
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and turned her eyes forward, though she could still hear them whispering and snickering just out of reach.
She was just starting to scrawl the lecture title-Advanced Ritual Theory: The Three Pillars of Blood-Bound Warding-when the lecture hall doors creaked open again.
Two distinct shadows sauntered in.
Theo strolled in first, entirely too casual, his sleeves rolled to the elbows and his tie half-knotted. Draco followed, tie even less knotted, looking smug as sin and not even pretending to be in a rush.
Professor Vanta paused mid-sentence.
“Mr. Nott. Mr. Malfoy.” Her voice was now icier than the Alps. “Your timing is as impeccable as ever.”
Theo smiled easily. “It’s a gift, Professor.”
“You’re fifteen minutes late.”
“We prefer the term fashionably late,” Draco said smoothly, slipping his hands into his pockets.
Vanta’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Ten points from Slytherin. Each.”
Hermione smirked behind her notes.
Theo, however, didn’t miss a beat. “If it helps, Professor, we were engaged in a rather advanced study of soul resonance bonding-purely experimental, of course. Quite… intense.”
Hermione choked.
Vanta raised one sharp brow. “If I find out that’s some sort of euphemism, Mr. Nott-”
Theo placed a hand over his heart. “Perish the thought.”
Hermione could feel the heat creeping up her neck. She knew half the room was watching her now. She was still bright red when Theo and Draco slid into the seats on either side of her, Theo taking her left and Draco on the right like they planned it.
“You’re late,” she hissed, not looking at either of them.
“So were you,” Theo whispered, far too close to her ear. “But at least you had the decency to wear my competition’s name on your back. I’m aroused and offended.”
“I’m going to hex you in your sleep.”
Draco leaned in. “Then can I watch?”
Hermione narrowed her eyes and resolutely turned to her notes, ignoring them both.
From the row in front of them, Daphne tilted her head slightly to the side. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be in a throuple. They make it look almost functional.”
“It’s the chaos,” Blaise mused. “Turns people on.”
“Oh, it’s definitely the chaos,” Pansy whispered. “Have you seen how Draco looks at her when she’s mad?”
Hermione let out a long, slow breath and wrote in bold strokes:
FOCUS ON THE PILLARS. IGNORE THE IDIOTS.
“Potter,” Theo murmured.
She kept writing.
“Potterrrr.”
“What.”
“Can I borrow your notes from last week? I may have been… indisposed.”
Hermione turned to him slowly. “Indisposed?”
Theo leaned in, his voice a soft purr. “You were there.”
Draco snorted.
“I hate both of you.”
“No, you don’t,” Draco said, flicking a lock of hair off her shoulder. “You just hate how much you don’t.”
She turned back to her parchment, jaw clenched, ears pink.
Professor Vanta’s voice rose again as she gestured to a complicated ritual circle diagram projected above the dais.
“This, students, is the foundational ward structure used in the Second Oath of Binding between allies in a war pact. Who can tell me why the circle uses iron rather than silver?”
Hermione’s hand shot up automatically.
“Miss Potter?”
“Iron’s raw magnetic properties help ground binding energies when blood is introduced. Silver disrupts and reflects magical signatures, which would weaken the ritual’s permanence.”
“Correct. Five points to Gryffindor.”
Theo leaned back in his chair. “Brains and legs,” he muttered to Draco. “How are we alive.”
Draco gave him a long look. “Fear. Mostly.”
Blaise whispered something to Daphne that made her laugh behind her hand.
Hermione had had enough.
“If any of you have something to say to me,” she said through gritted teeth, “say it to my face.”
Pansy turned around with a sweet smile. “Alright then. I think it’s adorable that you’re accidentally wearing your boyfriend’s clothes like some sort of house elf caught in a romantic sitcom.”
“Technically,” Blaise added, “you're dating two people and still managed to color coordinate. Impressive.”
“And," Daphne chimed in, "you even pulled off the messy wand-bun. Are you trying to kill us with jealousy or just flexing?”
“Flexing,” Theo said before Hermione could reply. “Definitely flexing. Did you see those jeans?”
Hermione looked like she might snap her quill.
“Enough,” Professor Vanta barked, glaring toward the back row. “If I hear one more word that doesn’t relate to ritual theory, I will start flinging hexes.”
Everyone went silent.
Theo looked at Hermione.
Hermione didn’t look back.
But the edges of her mouth curled ever so slightly.
Draco saw it.
And so did Theo.
......................................................................................................................
Hermione strode down the corridor with sharp, purposeful steps, her wand still tucked through the messy bun at the crown of her head. Her bag thumped against her hip, and her trainers squeaked faintly on the ancient stone floors of Arcanum Universitas. She said nothing, and she didn’t need to. Her silence radiated tension like a magical pulse.
Behind her, the rest of the group followed at a far more relaxed pace-Theo and Draco walking shoulder to shoulder, followed by Harry, Ginny, Blaise, Daphne, Pansy, and Astoria.
Harry narrowed his eyes at his sister’s retreating back. “Alright, what did you two idiots do to piss off Hermione?”
Theo gave a lazy shrug. “Do you really want the answer to that question?”
Harry groaned. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Draco smirked. “Let’s just say she didn’t quite appreciate our… time management strategy this morning.”
“Time management,” Ginny repeated, eyebrows arching. “And is that why she’s wearing your jersey, Malfoy?”
Draco looked far too pleased with himself. “It suits her, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know if ‘suits her’ is the phrase,” Daphne said with a sly smile. “More like ‘claims her in capital letters.’ Honestly, it’s practically a magical bond marker.”
Pansy snorted. “It is Malfoy we’re talking about. Subtlety has never been his strength.”
Astoria giggled. “It’s actually weirdly cute. Like a dragon marking its territory.”
Draco just smirked, completely unapologetic.
Blaise folded his arms behind his head as they walked. “Well, at least now we know what they were doing while the rest of us were dragging ourselves to class like responsible students.”
“I can hear you, you know!” Hermione snapped without turning around.
The group fell momentarily quiet.
Theo exchanged a look with Draco, then lengthened his stride to catch up to her. Draco mirrored him, the two flanking her like an unstoppable, charmingly arrogant wall of Slytherin energy.
“Potter,” Theo said, keeping pace. “You alright?”
“No,” she replied curtly, not slowing. “I’m was late, I’m annoyed, I’m under-caffeinated, and I’m wearing your boyfriend’s name on my back like some lovesick fangirl.”
Draco’s grin was immediate. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Yeah,” Theo added, his voice dropping to a suggestive drawl. “You looked plenty pleased about it earlier. In fact, if I recall-”
“Don’t.” Hermione turned a glare on him so potent that even Theo, master of flirtation, threw up his hands in surrender.
“Fine, fine. No reminiscing. Not yet.”
Draco leaned in slightly. “We do still have time before Theory of Ancient Magic. Plenty of time, actually, if we’re creative. And you look stressed.”
“Very stressed,” Theo agreed solemnly. “A repeat of this morning might loosen those shoulders.”
“I hate both of you.”
“No you don’t,” they said in unison.
Hermione rolled her eyes so hard they nearly fell out of her skull. “You’re incorrigible.”
“We know,” Draco said, eyes glinting. “It’s part of our charm.”
Theo glanced over his shoulder. The rest of the group had paused at the mouth of the hall, talking amongst themselves.
He nudged Draco with his elbow. “Hey, give us a sec, will you?”
Harry looked like he was about to protest, but Ginny caught his arm. “Let them be, Harry. Honestly.”
Theo gave the group a mock salute and turned back just in time to see Draco’s fingers wrap gently around Hermione’s wrist.
“Come here,” Draco said softly.
“I have class-”
But she didn’t get to finish. Draco pulled gently but firmly, guiding her toward an empty classroom just off the corridor. The door creaked open on silent hinges. Sunlight filtered through tall, dust-speckled windows. Hermione tried to protest again-
“Draco-!”
-but then his mouth was on hers.
The world slipped away in a heartbeat.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss, and it wasn’t teasing either. It was intense and deliberate, like he was trying to remind her of something important. Something only they knew. One of his hands cradled the side of her face, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw, and the other slid down to her waist, grounding her.
Hermione melted into it before her brain could stop her. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, the press of his body against hers maddeningly familiar.
She barely noticed the door shut behind them until Theo slid in, locking it and casting a silencing charm with a flick of his wand.
He approached with that feline grace he never seemed to turn off. His hands found her waist as Draco gently pulled back. Hermione was panting softly, her cheeks flushed.
Theo’s hands slid up, one curling at her waist, the other rising to cup her cheek, then trail softly around the back of her neck, his fingers tangling briefly in the curls spilling down from her messy bun. His kissed the sensative spot just behind her ear before Draco spun her around.
"What are you two doing?" Hermiome mumured, blush creeping up her neck.
"This," Theo murmued, his hands sliding to the front of her jeans.
Hermione's eyes widened, but she didn't protest as he slowly unbuttoned her jeans, his finger brushing agasint her skin. Draco slid his hands around the top of her hips, pulling her back against him. She could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against her ass, and it sent a shover of anticipation down her spine.
"Is this what you need, love?" Theo asked, hos voice low as he slid his hand into her jeand, his fingers finding her clit and beginning to rub slow, deliberate circles. "A moment to forget about everything else?"
Hermione moaned, her hips bucking against his hand. "Yes," she gasped. "Please Theo. I need more."
Draco's hands slid to the edge of her jeans, pushing them and her panties down her hips before his hand joined Theo's in between her legs. His fingers found her entrance, pumping in and out in a rhythm that matched Theo's strokes on her clit.
"That's it, good girl," Draco murmured, his lips against her pulse point. "Let us make you feel good."
Hermione's body tensed, the pleasure building with each stroke of Draco's fingers and each rub of Theo's fingers against her clit. Draco's other hand wrapped around her throat in a comfotring grasp.
"Do you want to cum for us, Hermione?" Theo asked, his voice rasping. "Tell us what you need."
"Yes," she begged, her voice breathless. "Please, let me cum. I need it so badly."
Draco's grip on her throat tightened slightly, his finger pumping into her faster as Theo's fingers rubbed in tight, fast cirlces. Hermione's body tensed, the pleasure building to a crescendo. With a final trhust of Draco's fingers and a pinch on her clit from Theo. she came undone, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm.
As she came down from the high, Theo pulled his hand out from between her legs, his fingers glistening with her arousal. He brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a satisfied smile. "You taste so sweet, sunshine. I could do this all day."
Draco pulled her jeans back up and buttoned them as he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. "You alright now?" He asked quietly, lips pressing against her neck.
Hermione blinked up at Theo, dazed. "I... You two are going to be the death of me."
"Likely," Theo murmured, brushing his thumb along her jaw. "But you'll be smiling when you go."
"You two are impossible," she said, thoug her tone was soft.
Draco chuckled, his hands resting on her hips as he turned her around. "You needed a moment. We gave you a moment."
"That was not a 'moment'. That was you both being-" she gestured between them "incendiary chaos wrapped in jawlines and muscled arms."
Theo grinned. "Compliment accepted."
"We'll let you go to class in a second," Draco said. "But we needed to remind you-"
"-that we're on your side," Theo finshed. "Even if we're annoying."
Hermione exhaled slowly. "You are very, very annoying."
Draco's lips twitched. "But irresistible."
Hermione laughed as she pulled herself from Draco's arms.
Theo leaned in, his forehead resting lightly against hers, "We'll see you after the seminar?"
Hermione nodded slowlt, her hand now resting lightly against Theo's chest. "Only if you both behave. And keep your hands to yourselves."
"No promises." they said together.
Hermione huffed but smiled despite herself. “Fine. But I’m still making you take my notes tonight.”
“Fair,” Draco said, already moving toward the door.
Theo pressed one last kiss to her cheek and followed.
Hermione straightened her bun, adjusted the too-big jersey she now remembered she was wearing, and stepped back out into the corridor-where her friends were trying very hard to not look like they'd been eavesdropping.
She glared at them.
“Not. A. Word.”
Pansy mimed zipping her lips. Blaise gave her a dramatic thumbs-up. Harry looked vaguely traumatized. Ginny just shook her head with a knowing smirk.
Draco, back at her side, leaned in and murmured, “Still glowing.”
Hermione elbowed him.
......................................................................................................................
Ritual Construction had never been Hermione's favortie, mostly because it required patience, trust, and a partner who wouldn’t accidentally explode something. Today, however, she was determined to make it through without incident-or at least without throttling Draco Malfoy.
She swept into the classroom with purpose, her curls tied up in a slightly neater bun than this morning’s disaster, her purple trainers squeaking faintly on the polished floor. Blaise and Draco were already seated at one of the long workbenches near the center, parchment and ritual chalk scattered in front of them like they’d at least pretended to prepare.
Draco leaned back in his chair the moment he saw her, arms crossed lazily, looking like he hadn’t a care in the world. He smirked at her, eyes glinting with amusement, clearly expecting her to sit beside him.
Hermione didn’t even glance his way.
Instead, she slid into the seat next to Astoria Greengrass on the opposite side of the room, unrolling her notes with deliberate calm.
Draco’s posture stiffened ever so slightly, his expression slipping into something vaguely offended.
Astoria leaned in with a barely suppressed grin. “Bold move,” she whispered. “He’s definitely pouting.”
“I can feel the pout from here,” Hermione muttered, flipping to the proper section in her notebook.
From across the room, Blaise raised a brow. “You’d think after what happened in that empty classroom this morning, she'd be in a better mood.”
Hermione choked on her own breath, coughing violently.
Astoria giggled behind her hand. “Merlin, Blaise. Subtlety isn’t your strong suit, is it?”
Draco laughed outright, low and smug. “Oh, come on, Potter. You were glowing.”
Hermione gave them both a murderous look as she tried to stop coughing. Her face burned hot, her cheeks nearly matching the crimson sash tied around her robes. “You lot are impossible,” she muttered.
Blaise just winked. “Guilty.”
The professor-an imposing witch with storm-grey robes and a stern set to her mouth-swept into the classroom with all the grace of a general entering the battlefield.
“Wands away unless I tell you otherwise,” she barked. “Today, we’ll be focusing on defensive layering. I expect precision, silence, and the barest hint of actual intelligence.”
Professor Acasta Grimthorne had a reputation for being as terrifying as she was brilliant. The room snapped to attention at once.
Hermione tried to focus as the lecture began, scribbling key phrases in the margin of her notes, keeping her eyes on the runic chart projected at the front of the room. She was halfway through underlining a particularly complicated sequence when a small folded bit of parchment floated down onto her desk.
She glanced around warily before unfolding it.
You look very studious today.
It's annoying how hot that is.
-D
Her lips twitched. She didn’t look over at him.
Another note appeared a few minutes later.
I can't believe you are still wearing my jersey.
If you're trying to drive me mad, it's working.
Very well.
-D
Hermione swallowed a laugh, her eyes flicking to him and then back to the ritual diagram in front of her.
If you look at me like that again, princess, I can't
promise to behave after class.
-D
She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, resisting the urge to glance over at him.
You reall shouldn't wear my clothes. I start getting ideas.
Dangerous ones.
Involving runes, chalk circles, and locking charms.
-D
Her hand trembled slightly as she wrote, and Astoria leaned in, whispering, “You alright?”
Hermione nodded stiffly. “Fine. Just... hexing someone in my mind.”
Astoria smirked. “Tell Draco I said hi.”
Another note floated down:
You're so focused. It's almost respectable.
Almost.
But I'm mostly thinking about how soft your thighs felt wrapped around my head this morning.
-D
Hermione’s quill snapped mid-stroke.
Blaise, not even looking up, muttered, “That good, huh?”
Hermione groaned softly, placing her forehead on the table.
Grimthorne didn’t even pause in her lecture. “Miss Potter, if you’re quite finished with your dramatic reenactment of magical despair, perhaps you could explain the purpose of the secondary anchor runes in a perimeter ward.”
Hermione sat up straight at once. “Of course, Professor,” she said crisply, launching into the answer with only the faintest quiver in her voice.
As she spoke, Draco leaned forward in his seat and rested his chin on his hand, looking at her like she was the only person in the room.
She did not look back. She could feel him watching her, the weight of his gaze far too familiar now, and entirely too distracting.
When she finally sat back down, another note landed on her desk. This one was folded differently. Smaller. Sloppier.
She sighed and opened it.
I'm only half-joking about the ritual circle thing.
Meet Theo and I after dinner?
Bring your wand.
And maybe don't wear anything under your jeans.
-D
Hermione let out a frustrated, flustered sigh and finally, finally turned to glare at him.
Draco gave her a slow, innocent blink. Then smirked.
She turned back in her seat, cheeks flushed, determined not to react any further.
Astoria leaned close and whispered, “You are the strongest woman I know.”
Hermione groaned. “I’m going to kill him.”
But when she looked down at her notes again, her heart was still pounding… and her lips were twitching into a smile she couldn’t quite suppress.
...................................................................................................................
The soft crackle of magical lamplight filled Hermione’s room with a golden glow, casting long shadows over scattered parchment and half-drunk mugs of tea. A small enchanted clock on her desk ticked quietly as Hermione sat cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by open textbooks and annotated scrolls. Padma was perched on the edge of the armchair near the window, quill tapping rhythmically against her lip, while Blaise sprawled on the rug, chin resting in his palm, eyes scanning the page in front of him with an impressively unimpressed expression.
“This is nonsense,” Blaise muttered, flipping the page. “Ritual stabilization theory reads like it was written by someone actively trying to confuse us.”
Padma didn’t even look up. “That’s because it was. Professor Grimthorne is seventy-five percent witch, twenty percent cursed amulet, and five percent pure dramatic flair.”
Hermione smirked, circling a passage in her notes. “It’s not that bad. Once you get past the archaic phrasing, the structure is actually quite clean.”
Blaise groaned. “You would say that. Your idea of fun is color-coding Arithmantic sequences.”
“I’ll have you know, it’s very effective.”
“I bet your idea of rebellion is labeling things inaccurately.”
Padma snorted, flipping her page with flair. “She lives on the edge. By which I mean… an alphabetized, cross-referenced, rune-warded edge.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but a fond smile tugged at her lips. “At least I’ll be ready for our next Ritual Construction exam. Unlike some of us.”
Before Blaise could fire back another quip, a knock echoed from the door.
Three sets of eyes turned toward it.
Hermione blinked. “We weren’t expecting anyone, were we?”
Padma shook her head. Blaise raised an eyebrow.
Hermione set down her quill and padded barefoot across the room, tugging the door open-and immediately groaned.
Draco leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, a lopsided smirk tugging at his lips. Theo stood just behind him, all tousled curls, dark eyes, and an expression that managed to look both amused and innocent, which was always dangerous.
Draco greeted her with mock offense. “So this is how it is now?”
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “What?”
“You ghost us after dinner,” he said, stepping inside without invitation, “and now we find you locked away with Blaise and Padma, of all people? I’m wounded, princess. Truly.”
Theo followed him in with a hand over his heart. “A betrayal of the highest order.”
Hermione crossed her arms. “I had important things to do. None of which involved being accosted by my overly clingy boyfriends.”
Blaise let out a short laugh. “To be fair, they are a lot. One might say… an emotional handful.”
Theo turned his head toward Blaise, amused. “And yet she keeps them around.”
“Because she has questionable taste,” Padma chimed in brightly, not even looking up from her notes.
“Oi,” Draco muttered.
“Hey,” Theo added at the same time.
Hermione shook her head, half-smiling. “What do you want?”
Draco’s grin turned sly. “We’ve come to steal you away for the night.”
Padma raised an eyebrow, finally looking up. “How romantic.”
“No,” Hermione said flatly, turning back toward her desk.
Theo stepped around her, cutting off her path. “Oh come on. Don’t you miss us? A little?”
“Not particularly.”
Blaise, still on the floor, stretched like a lazy cat. “Hermione, we’ll manage without you. Go. Get doted on. Or whatever it is they do when they’re not being disasters.”
Padma nodded. “They’ll probably feed you chocolates and recite sonnets.”
Theo brightened. “I do know a sonnet. It’s about-”
“No,” Hermione interrupted.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Is that a no to the sonnet or the chocolates?”
“Both.”
Theo leaned closer. “We’ll let you pick the music?”
“No.”
Draco’s voice dropped a notch. “There may be backrubs.”
Hermione arched a brow, fighting a smile. “You’re shameless.”
“We’re Slytherins,” Theo said with a wink. “We specialize in shameless.”
Hermione gave them both a long look. “I need to change.”
Draco immediately plopped onto her bed like he owned it. “By all means.”
Theo took the armchair Padma had recently vacated, resting one ankle over his knee. “We’re very respectful.”
Blaise stood, brushing off his trousers. “We’ll leave you to it, then. Have fun, try not to cause any public scandals.”
Padma packed her notes into her bag with practiced ease. “Remember to rest, not just get distracted.”
Draco gave her a slow grin. “Define distracted.”
“Don’t,” Hermione warned, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him.
Blaise caught it midair and tossed it back on the bed. “Later, Potter. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That’s not a very high bar,” she muttered.
The door clicked shut behind them.
Hermione exhaled slowly, then turned toward her wardrobe.
Draco, sprawled across her bed, folded his arms behind his head. “So. What are we getting?”
She shot him a look. “Something comfortable.”
Theo grinned from the chair. “We can work with that.”
She grabbed a soft, oversized maroon jumper-her favorite one, worn from years of use-and a pair of charcoal-grey leggings. With a pointed look toward both of them, she began changing. Deliberately.
Draco’s eyes tracked her every movement, clearly enjoying the show. “You know, if this is your version of revenge for earlier, it’s working.”
Hermione tugged the jumper over her head, letting it fall just past her hips. “Good.”
Theo let out a low whistle. “That color looks ridiculous on you.”
She blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”
“Ridiculously good,” he clarified with a grin.
Draco propped himself up on his elbows. “We’ll keep it on. For the first half of the night.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, adjusting the waistband of her leggings. “You two are hopeless.”
Theo rose, stepping close enough to brush his fingers down her sleeve. “But you like us that way.”
“Debatable.”
Draco stood too, tugging her gently toward him. “Well, you’re stuck with us either way.”
She didn’t fight him, just leaned into his chest for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne.
“I have three essays to finish tomorrow,” she murmured.
“And we’ll make sure you’re rested enough to do them,” Theo promised from behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.
Draco dipped his head to press a kiss just behind her ear. “Come on, Potter. Let’s go.”
Hermione sighed, but her smile gave her away.
“Fine,” she said. “But if either of you distract me from sleep, I’m hexing your pillows to bite you.”
Theo kissed her temple. “Noted.”
Draco held open the door, smirking. “You’d have to come back to our rooms to do it.”
And with a resigned shake of her head and her favorite jumper hugging her frame, Hermione stepped out into the corridor between her two annoyingly charming, endlessly persistent Slytherins.
They walked down the hall together, the kind of trio that made heads turn and whispers spark-and not a single one of them cared.
.........................................................................................................................
The East Wing corridors were quieter at night, lit with low-burning sconces that flickered green-gold across the stone walls. Shadows danced along the arches overhead as Hermione walked between Draco and Theo, the rhythm of their boots echoing softly with each step. Their pace was unhurried, almost lazy, as though they weren’t leading her somewhere specific-but she could feel the intent in their bodies, in the subtle press of Theo’s hand at the small of her back, in the way Draco’s fingers brushed hers with teasing regularity, just enough to be felt.
Hermione narrowed her eyes slightly, arms crossed over her jumper as they reached the darker, more secluded end of the East Wing-where the Slytherin dormitories were tucked behind ancient runes and misdirection wards.
“What exactly are we doing?” she asked suspiciously, glancing between them. “I left a perfectly good cup of tea and two cooperative study partners for this.”
Draco’s lips twitched, the torchlight catching the pale gleam of his smirk. “It’s a surprise.”
“I hate surprises,” she mumbled, more to herself than to them.
Theo chuckled low under his breath. “You say that like it’s news.”
Hermione shot him a look. “That’s because every time one of you says surprise, it ends in chaos. Or detention.”
“That’s not true,” Draco said smoothly as they reached the ornate door bearing the Slytherin crest-two entwined serpents carved in dark green stone. “Sometimes it ends in you blushing so hard your freckles go into hiding.”
“Draco.”
“Yes, love?”
She sighed, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her. “Fine. What’s the surprise?”
“Not yet.” He tapped the door with his wand. The serpents shifted and uncoiled, parting soundlessly as the door melted open.
Theo held his hand out theatrically. “After you, dearest Potter. Into the lair.”
Hermione stepped through warily. She’d only been to the Slytherin dorms a few times-not because she wasn’t welcome, but because she knew better than to test her luck with their housemates too often.
The space they entered was low-lit and warm, filled with deep emerald and obsidian tones. Their shared suite-Theo and Draco’s-was spacious, with thick rugs covering the stone floor and charmed windows showing a dusky forestscape despite being underground.
She turned slowly, taking in the flickering candles, the soft classical music playing from an enchanted gramophone in the corner… and the small stack of sweets on the coffee table, next to a steaming pot of tea and three cups.
“Wait,” she said, blinking. “This isn’t some elaborate seduction?”
Draco flopped down onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Must everything we do be seduction?”
“Yes,” Theo said, deadpan.
Draco tilted his head. “Fair.”
Hermione raised a skeptical eyebrow.
Theo moved toward the tea, pouring her a cup. “You’ve been running yourself ragged since Sunday. We thought maybe-just maybe-you’d let us force a break on you before you actually started glowing from stress. Which, to be fair, would be impressive, but a bit alarming.”
Draco stretched out, resting one arm along the back of the couch. “So the surprise is… nothing. No chaos, no detentions, no secret rituals in abandoned towers. Just tea, sugar, and us. Your incredibly handsome emotional support Slytherins.”
Hermione blinked. “You made me walk across the entire East Wing for tea and sugar?”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Would you have come if we’d said that up front?”
“…No.”
Theo handed her a cup with a satisfied smirk. “Exactly.”
Hermione took it with a grumble but wrapped her fingers around the mug, letting the warmth seep into her hands. The tea smelled like vanilla and orange blossom-one of her favorites.
Draco patted the space beside him. “Come on. Sit before you fall over. And yes, you have to sit between us. It’s in the bylaws.”
“There are no bylaws.”
“There are now,” Theo called, already curling into the other end of the couch, blanket in hand.
Hermione reluctantly sat, setting her tea on the table as she tucked her legs beneath her. Draco immediately pulled the blanket over all three of them and rested his chin on her shoulder.
“You’re warm,” he mumbled.
“I’m wearing a jumper.”
“You should wear them more often. Cozy Potter is my favorite flavor.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and sipped her tea, half-hiding her smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Charming,” Draco corrected.
Theo leaned in with a wicked grin. “And very effective. Don’t forget that part.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the quiet hum of music filling the room. Hermione let her muscles relax for the first time all day, the blanket heavy and comforting across her lap, their familiar presence cocooning her from the outside world.
After a while, she turned to glance between them. “So… this is it? No hidden hexes? No enchanted candles? No magical paint that writes ‘Hermione is ours’ on the ceiling?”
Theo smirked. “Now that’s an idea.”
“Don’t encourage him,” she muttered.
Draco smirked lazily, brushing a kiss to her temple. “We meant what we said. You’ve been carrying the weight of this semester on your back. Let us handle things for a night.”
“You can’t write my essays.”
“Obviously not,” Theo said, flicking her knee. “But we can bribe you with sugar and warmth and an aggressive amount of attention.”
Draco toyed with a curl that had escaped her bun. “We’re very talented at all three.”
Hermione leaned back against the couch, finally letting herself sigh. “You know, I expected you two to be a menace tonight.”
Theo grinned. “We can still be.”
“No,” she said firmly, but her voice had softened.
Draco kissed her shoulder. “Later, then.”
She laughed quietly. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Theo murmured, resting his head against hers from the other side, “here you are.”
Here she was.
Wrapped in a blanket between two annoyingly brilliant Slytherins, a cup of perfectly steeped tea in her hand, stress easing from her body with every moment.
She hated surprises.
But she couldn’t help thinking… maybe this one wasn’t so bad.
.........................................................................................................................
The sitting room was warm and quiet, bathed in the golden hush of candlelight. The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the dark green walls and deep velvet furnishings of the dorm room.
Hermione sat curled up on the emerald couch, a book long since abandoned in her lap. Her head rested against Draco’s shoulder, her breathing soft and even. One of Draco’s arms was wrapped loosely around her waist, the other playing absently with the sleeve of her oversized jumper.
Theo sat on her other side, his legs stretched out, his fingers slowly weaving through the thick curls he’d tugged free from her bun earlier. The rhythmic motion soothed her even in sleep, and she shifted slightly but didn’t wake.
“She’s out,” Theo said, his voice low, careful not to disturb her.
Draco tilted his head slightly to glance down at her, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Didn’t even make it through the third chapter.”
Theo huffed a quiet laugh. “She barely stopped all day. Can’t say I blame her.”
They lapsed into silence for a few moments, content to listen to the crackle of the fire and the soft sound of Hermione’s breathing.
Then Theo broke it. “When are you going to tell your parents about her?”
Draco didn’t respond right away. His gaze stayed on Hermione’s face, soft and relaxed in sleep. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “Soon. I want to. I just... I know what my mother will say. And what my father won’t.”
Theo didn’t press, just nodded. “Yeah.”
Draco turned his head slightly. “What about you? When are you going to tell your family?”
Theo snorted. “Bit hard when one’s rotting in Azkaban and the other’s across the bloody country.”
Draco frowned. “Alexander’s still in France?”
“Last I heard,” Theo said, a little too casually. “Doing something diplomatic and important, supposedly. I stopped asking. Haven’t spoken to him in over a year.”
There was a beat of silence between them, thick with unspoken things.
Draco looked back down at Hermione, who murmured softly in her sleep and shifted closer. His voice dropped lower. “I don’t want her to think I’m ashamed. Because I’m not.”
Theo’s hand stilled for a moment in her curls. “I know you’re not. She knows too. But I get it. There’s no easy way to bring someone like Hermione into a family like ours.”
Draco’s jaw tensed. “I don’t want them to make her feel small.”
“She wouldn’t let them.”
“No, but still.”
Another moment passed. Hermione sighed in her sleep, her fingers curling loosely into Draco’s shirt.
Theo’s voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “She changed everything, hasn't she?”
Draco nodded. “Yeah. She has.”
Theo smiled faintly. “And I’d let her do it all over again.”
Draco shifted carefully, trying not to jostle her. “Come on. Let’s get her to bed.”
Together, they rose. Draco gently slipped one arm beneath Hermione’s knees and the other behind her back, lifting her effortlessly. She stirred but didn’t wake, her head dropping lightly against his chest as he carried her across the room.
Theo pulled the heavy blankets back on their shared bed and waited as Draco lowered her onto the mattress with practiced ease.
“She’s still wearing all her clothes,” Theo murmured, amused.
“Let her sleep.”
“Hang on,” Theo said, reaching out to ease off her leggings. He moved carefully, respectful in every motion. “These’ll twist on her by morning.”
Hermione shifted slightly but didn’t wake as he slid them off and tugged the blankets up over her legs. Her oversized jumper stayed in place, the hem reaching her thighs. Her curls spilled out wildly around her head as she turned into the pillow.
Draco sat on one side of the bed and Theo on the other. They both lay down gently, framing her between them. Draco hooked an arm beneath her shoulders and pulled her into him. Theo curled behind her, his hand resting just above her hip.
The room dimmed further as the fire began to burn down, and the world quieted.
Wrapped in each other’s warmth, they said nothing more.
Not that they needed to.
Notes:
Draco's Father would not approve of Hermione entierly becuase even though she is a Potter she is still only half-blood and not pureblood. Narcissa however, would not care she would just want Draco and Theo to be happy.
Chapter 14: Armor and Affection
Summary:
Hermione gets a letter from the last person she thought would want to talk to her
Chapter Text
The shrill screech of Draco’s enchanted alarm filled the room like a banshee’s wail.
Hermione groaned immediately, her face scrunching as she buried it deeper into the pillow. “Draco Malfoy, shut that bloody thing off before I hex it into the Void.”
On her other side, Theo made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl. He buried his face into her shoulder, his voice muffled and grumpy. “Kill it. Kill him. Preferably both.”
Draco, stretched out with his arm flung over his eyes, cracked one open and reached toward the side table, blindly slapping at the small enchanted device. After three failed attempts, he managed to silence it, and the room blessedly fell back into a warm, sleepy quiet.
He yawned and pushed himself up onto one elbow, smirking at the pair still tangled beneath the duvet. “Honestly, the two of you are hopeless. Hermione Potter, Golden Girl, Bringer of Logic and Terror, reduced to a grumbling pillow lump before eight in the morning.”
Hermione rolled onto her back and glared up at him, her hair a glorious riot of curls. “One more word, Malfoy, and I’ll transfigure your shampoo into bubotuber pus.”
Theo groaned into her neck. “Make it lemon-scented. He might not notice.”
Draco snorted and threw the covers off, standing in a single fluid motion. “You’re both dramatic. Morning is an opportunity, not a curse.”
“Says the man who doesn’t need three cups of tea to form a sentence,” Hermione muttered.
Theo flopped flat on his back beside her. “Tell me when he’s gone. I can’t look directly at that much motivation before sunrise.”
Draco stood, stretching lazily. The muscles of his back flexed beneath smooth, pale skin as he reached his arms overhead, the waistband of his pajama pants riding low on his hips.
Hermione cracked one eye open, then immediately opened the other. She propped herself up on an elbow, her gaze unapologetically fixed on him.
And she wasn’t subtle about it.
Theo turned his head and caught her in the act, arching a brow. “Well, well, Potter. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were objectifying our boyfriend.”
Hermione smirked, unrepentant. “If he didn’t want to be ogled, he wouldn’t stretch like that.”
Draco looked back over his shoulder and gave a crooked grin. “I like being ogled. Especially by you.”
Theo groaned. “I’m surrounded by narcissists.”
“You chose this,” Hermione reminded him sweetly.
Draco moved toward the wardrobe, grabbing a towel and slinging it over his shoulder. “Shower time. Try not to start without me.”
“Are you implying something, Malfoy?” Hermione asked, stretching luxuriously under the covers, the hem of her jumper riding up just enough to make Theo glance quickly away, only to glance back a second later.
Draco gave a wicked little smirk as he opened the door to the ensuite. “I never imply. I state directly-with flourish.”
With that, he disappeared into the bathroom, and the sound of running water started moments later.
Theo smirked as the door clicked shut and turned onto his side, hand sliding slowly up her thigh beneath the duvet. “You know,” he murmured, voice low, “if you’ve got that much energy this early, we could do something about it…”
Her breath hitched as his hand eased higher, his fingertips tracing slow, maddening circles over the soft cotton of her jumper where it met her bare hip. “Theo,” she warned, but there was no real bite to it.
He leaned in, brushing his lips along her jaw. “Draco’ll take forever. He’s got a whole routine-face masks and conditioner and whatever hexed thing he does to his eyebrows. We’ve got time.”
She gave a soft, reluctant laugh. “We should be getting ready. Brekfast in-what?-an hour?”
“Plenty of time,” he whispered, before claiming her mouth in a kiss that made her forget the schedule entirely. His hand slid up her back, warm under the oversized jumper she hadn’t bothered to change out of. It didn’t go further-didn’t need to. The kiss was deep, intense, deliciously slow, the kind that stole thought from her head and breath from her lungs.
Theo broke the kiss just enough to speak, his forehead resting against hers. “We should definitely start without him.”
Hermione chuckled under her breath, flushed and dazed. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”
He grinned. “We’re already in trouble.”
His mouth was on hers again before she could argue, one hand tangled gently in her curls and the other trailing down her waist, thumbs grazing her ribs. Hermione clutched at the front of his shirt, trying not to melt entirely into him.
The bathroom door opened with a quiet creak.
Draco stepped out, dressed now in his crisp Arcanum jumper and fitted black trousers, toweling his damp hair dry. “And here I thought I was the vain one,” he said dryly, looking at them tangled on the bed.
Hermione pulled back instantly, breathing a little heavier than before, cheeks a stunning shade of pink.
Theo didn’t even pretend to be sheepish. “Welcome back,” he said easily. “We were keeping your spot warm.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “That so? You look like you were trying to steal it.”
Hermione pushed Theo gently off her, tugging the duvet up higher with a huff. “You both are impossible.”
Draco grinned and sauntered back to the bed, tossing the towel aside. “You love us for it.”
Theo stretched lazily, still watching Hermione with a satisfied little smirk. “That’s not the word she used ten minutes ago.”
Hermione groaned and threw a pillow at him.
Draco caught it midair and tucked it behind his head as he dropped beside her. “Should’ve stayed in the shower,” he murmured. “Clearly missed something good.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and reached for her wand on the nightstand. “You’ll both miss your limbs if you don’t let me get ready for class.”
Theo grinned and leaned back beside her. “Worth it.”
.........................................................................................................................
Hermione stepped out of the bathroom, toweling the damp ends of her braid and adjusting the towel wrapped snugly around her body. Steam followed her out in curling wisps, clinging to her skin and making the cool morning air feel all the sharper. She blinked blearily, one hand reaching up to pat at her braid-then stopped dead.
On the bed Draco and Theo were very much in the middle of a kiss. It wasn’t one of their usual cheeky, passing things either. No, this was the slow kind. The kind where mouths moved in sync, where Theo’s hand was curved lightly around the back of Draco’s neck, and Draco was leaning into it like he felt everything in it.
Hermione stared, one brow lifting despite herself.
Draco noticed her first. He pulled back with a low hum, lazily turning his head to look her way as though he’d been expecting her all along. “Well, there’s a sight for sore eyes.”
Theo followed his gaze and let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Merlin, you should wear towels more often, sunshine.”
Hermione folded her arms, the towel shifting slightly with the motion. “I have no idea what you two are talking about.”
Draco’s grin turned positively smug as he sat up against the headboard, dragging a hand through his tousled hair. “Sure you don’t. You’re the picture of innocence, standing there half-naked and flushed.”
“I just got out of the shower!”
“Exactly our point,” Theo added, lips twitching.
Hermione gave them both a look that could have withered roses. “Well, as enthralling as your commentary is, I need clothes.”
Theo leaned back on his elbows. “You could always wear mine today,” he offered, voice low and teasing. “I’ve got a green jumper with my name on the back. Would look bloody brilliant on you.”
“I’ll hex your name off it,” Hermione shot back, nose wrinkling as she walked further into the room. “And then embroider ‘Prat’ where it used to be.”
“Ouch,” Theo said, but he looked delighted.
Draco was already moving. With a casual flick of his wand, a crisp button-up shirt flew from his trunk and hovered in front of him. “Try this on instead. Should fit.” Another flick, and it shrank subtly, tailored now to her frame but still oversized enough to hang in that careless, borrowed-from-my-boyfriend way.
At the same time, Theo stretched out his arm and summoned the charcoal grey leggings Hermione had been wearing yesterday. They soared toward him from the small pile on the floor where he’d left them last night. With a muttered “Tersus,” they shimmered clean in midair.
Both boys held out the clothes to her like a coordinated performance.
Hermione blinked, caught off-guard. “You two are ridiculous.”
“But efficient,” Draco replied smoothly, eyes raking over her towel-wrapped form like he was doing mental measurements.
Theo twirled the leggings around one finger. “And extremely helpful.”
“I’m not sure if I’m flattered or suspicious.”
Draco shrugged. “Both is fair.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes at the shirt, then at them, but didn’t argue. She took the button-up first, shaking it out before slipping it on over her towel.
“Hold on-” Theo interrupted with a soft smirk. “Let us appreciate this properly.”
Hermione glared. “You so much as
“That’s harsh,” Draco said, entirely unbothered. “But worth the risk.”
She dropped the towel after that, quick and matter-of-fact, pulling the shirt on with practiced ease. The hem fell mid-thigh, long enough to be decent but short enough to be distracting-which was, of course, the problem.
Theo made a low noise of approval as she stepped into the leggings and tugged them up. “Definitely should’ve gone with my jumper. You look far too good in his clothes.”
blink wrong and I’m charming your eyebrows off.”
“You’re both insufferable,” Hermione said, though her ears were a bit pink. She turned to the mirror and gave herself a once-over, smoothing the shirt and adjusting the braid over her shoulder.
Draco came up behind her, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist and watching her reflection in the mirror. “What, you didn’t want to wear the jersey with my last name on it again?” he teased, voice soft in her ear.
Hermione tilted her head toward him. “I wouldn't have noticed if our friends hadn't have pointed it out."
Theo stood and joined them by the mirror, looping his arms around them both and resting his chin on her shoulder. “You’re a very unconscious flirt when you’re tired.”
“I’m just efficient,” she replied, smirking at them both in the glass.
Draco nuzzled her cheek. “You’re something.”
“Dangerous,” Theo added.
Hermione sighed dramatically. “And yet, you both keep coming back.”
Draco pressed a kiss to the top of her braid. “We’re gluttons for punishment.”
Theo grinned. “Or just very, very attached.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she reached for her wand on the dresser and tucked it into the side of her braid. “Come on, you sapballs. We’re going to be late.”
Draco took her hand as they turned for the door. “Worth it.”
......................................................................................................................
Comparative Spellcasting – Spell Lab had the peculiar distinction of being both a hands-on and deeply theoretical course, and Professor Julian Greaves clearly took immense satisfaction in ensuring that his students were under constant pressure.
Greaves was a wiry, silver-haired man with a penchant for high-collared robes and dry sarcasm. He wrote with his wand in the air as if carving curses into smoke, and his lectures often involved dodging minor explosions, vanishing desks, or his personal favorite-pitting students against each other in real-time spellcasting duels.
Hermione, of course, was in her element. Mostly.
She was bent intently over her parchment, scribbling notes with lightning-fast efficiency, her brow furrowed in concentration. Greaves had just conjured a rotating set of rune diagrams midair, showing the complex interplay of modified Severing Charms on magically reinforced materials. Hermione tracked each change, muttering under her breath as she compared it to the standard variant from her book.
Draco, sitting beside her, was not taking notes. He was lounging with one elbow on the desk, twirling his wand between his fingers like it was a quill and he hadn’t a care in the world.
Hermione sensed movement beneath the bench. A moment later, his hand slid onto her thigh.
She froze, quill stopping mid-word.
“Draco,” she hissed, barely glancing his way.
He leaned close, his voice low and undeniably smug. “You and Theo really oughtn’t start things you didn’t plan to finish, princess. It’s unsporting.”
Her head snapped around, her cheeks pink. “Are you serious right now?”
“I’m always serious about you,” he whispered. His thumb traced idle circles above her knee, slow and maddening. “And your unfortunate habit of making me wildly frustrated and then walking off like nothing happened.”
“Frustrated?” she repeated through clenched teeth. “I’m the one who got interrupted by you barging in from the bathroom."
“You oggled me,” he reminded her, grinning.
Before she could form a scathing reply, a dry voice cut through the classroom. “Miss Potter.”
Hermione jumped. Professor Greaves was staring at her, unimpressed. “If you’ve mastered the layered runic interchange, perhaps you can explain why the intersection point is shifted by five degrees counterclockwise in the third variation.”
Her mouth opened. No words emerged.
“Oh, she’s definitely not focused on rune theory right now,” Blaise said from the row behind them, his voice a little too amused.
“Zabini,” Hermione snapped without turning, her cheeks now flushed crimson.
“Oh, come on,” Pansy drawled. She had her elbow propped on her bench, lazily twirling her wand. “He’s not wrong. Malfoy’s hand is practically in your lap. How are you supposed to focus on spell matrices when he’s busy auditioning for your affections under the desk?”
Parvati, seated beside her, leaned forward conspiratorially. “Honestly, Hermione, just hex him and get it over with. Then snog him later.”
“Why are all of you like this?” Hermione groaned, sliding a hand down her face. “We’re in class.”
"You're the one wearing Draco's clothes again," Pansy noted helpfully.
"It's all there was!" Hermione snapped.
Greaves, arms crossed at the front of the room, let out a long-suffering sigh. “If everyone is quite done playing at flirtation and scandal, perhaps we can proceed with the actual spellwork?”
“Yes, Professor,” Hermione said quickly, ducking her head.
“Ten points from Slytherin,” Greaves added. “For inappropriate desk conduct and emotional disruption. Mr. Malfoy, you may keep your hands to yourself or I will personally transfigure them into garden trowels.”
Draco withdrew his hand slowly, his smirk unrepentant. “Duly noted, sir.”
“You’re incorrigible,” Hermione muttered under her breath as she refocused on her notes.
“Admit it,” he whispered, leaning in again. “You missed me.”
“I’m going to set your robes on fire,” she said sweetly.
“I’ve had worse threats.”
Behind them, Blaise stifled a laugh while Parvati mimicked writing Hermione and Draco’s names in hearts in the air with her wand. Pansy leaned over and muttered to Blaise, “I give it ten minutes before they’re making out in a storage closet.”
“You’re being generous,” Blaise replied.
Hermione bit back a smile as she tried-desperately-to focus on Greaves’s continuing lecture. But then a folded bit of parchment floated down into her lap, unmistakably charmed by Draco’s handwriting.
She opened it.
I'm still thinking about this morning. Sepcifically the way you gasped when Theo kissed you neck. Very distracting. 0/10 for you self-control, Potter.
She turned just slightly to glare at him. He winked.
Another note floated in moments later.
I wonder how long it'd take to get you out of those leggings again. My guess: not long if I used my wand.
She shoved the parchment deep into her bag before Greaves could see and tried not to combust.
.....................................................................................................................
The Great Atrium was bright with midday light, its enchanted windows casting shifting amber patterns across the banquet tables. Hermione Potter sat between Draco Malfoy and Theo Nott, a half‑eaten roast sandwich untouched before her. In her hands was a thick tome of Advanced Ritual Symbology, its pages alive with glowing ward sketches. She scribbled marginal notes, utterly absorbed.
Around her, the table hummed with chatter. Pansy teased Parvati over a third‑year boys’ duel gone sideways. Blaise reclined across from Neville, offering running commentary in his smooth drawl. Ginny and Daphne leaned together, stifling giggles. Ron and Harry bickered good‑naturedly over which of them could brew a better calming draught. Dean and Seamus exchanged lively stories involving Peeves and wiped‑out corridors. Lavender and Cho, always observant, watched the others with amused expressions.
Suddenly, Theo’s hand slipped beneath the table, sliding up Hermione’s thigh. There was a soft gasp.
"Theo!" Hermione hissed, cheeks flushing.
Theo looked at her, feigning innocence. “You’re ignoring the world.” His fingers curled to tickle near her knee. “Couldn’t help myself.”
Before she could retort, Draco snatched her book from her lap and held it just out of reach, flicking an amused eyebrow her way. “You’ll earn this back once you eat something, love.”
Hermione looked horrified but stabbed into her food anyways. "You're the wort."
“But also the greatest,” he mused with a smirk.
Pansy leaned closer from the other side. “Honestly, Potter-food is passive protest. If you don’t eat, you lose.”
“Too much philosophy in your lunch,” Hermione retorted.
Blaise snorted. “Wonderful. She’s quoting philosophy about potatoes now.”
Parvati smiled. “She is brilliant, though.”
Ron chimed in. “Right, but also potentially terrifying-especially underfed.”
Conversation flowed easily from there: debate over the ethics of summoning bestial components for alchemical studies, tales of dormitory secrets, complaints about upcoming exams. Hermione, so long accustomed to driving toward knowledge, let herself laugh a few times.
Then a crisp white envelope slipped down onto her lap, as if gravity itself had escorted it.
She looked up. Every pair of eyes at the table shifted toward her.
A familiar crest-three serpents entwined under the letters Malfoy-blinked in green ink.
Hermione swallowed. Draco tensed beside her. He reached for it-but she slapped his hand away decisively.
“It’s addressed to me,” she said softly, keeping her voice even.
Draco’s cheeks flushed, brows knitting. “Right. Sorry.”
She unfolded the letter. The writing was elegant, personal-but restrained.
Miss Hermione Potter,
Word has come that you are known to be involved with both my son Draco and my adopted son Theodore. I would be pleased to get to know you-and them-at tea this Saturday at noon, in Daigon Alley.
Warmest regards,
Narcissa Malfoy
Silence fell.
Ginny leaned forward. “Tea with Narcissa? That’s… big.”
Seamus’s brows shot up. “Is this… acceptance city?”
Hermione didn’t answer. She folded the letter, feeling it warm in her fingers.
Finally, she said in a steady voice, “She knows.”
Draco swallowed. Theo’s leg bounced under the table.
“You… told her?” she asked Draco quietly, gaze flicking between them.
Draco rubbed the back of his neck. “I… sent a letter this morning, between lectures. I didn’t think she’d move so fast.”
Theo exhaled. “To be fair, ‘fast’ is her baseline.”
Hermione turned the letter over in her hands. “So she’s fine with… us?”
Draco gave a small, rueful smile. “She’s fine with tea. What comes after that… that’s still undecided.”
“Understood,” Hermione said. She tucked the envelope into her lap. “One meeting. That’s it.”
Theo reached under and squeezed her hand. “And we’ll be with you every step.”
Hermione smiled faintly, hope and tension mixing in her chest. “Thank you.”
Draco slid her book back into her lap. “Now, if we’re done with parental politics, I’ll let you have your knowledge back.”
Everyone chuckled, tension lifting.
Pansy raised her goblet. “To Hemione surviving tea without silk‑tongued interrogation.”
Blaise leaned back with a grin. “May her composure exceed expectation.”
Astoria offered Hermione a small, supportive nod. “You’ll be brilliant.”
Hermione cleared her throat and bit into her sandwich with gusto. It tasted astonishingly good.
........................................................................................................................
The library’s portrait-lit lamps cast a soft halo around Hermione as she slumped in a high-backed leather chair. Her hair was piled in a messy bun, strands escaping in wispy curls. Parchments and open books surrounded her, ink-stained fingers tapping gently on her cheek. Her brows were furrowed, eyes fixed on a single passage of advanced rune theory. She was so deeply absorbed that the bustling world around her barely registered.
Ginny slid into the chair across from her, setting down a cup of herbal tea with a gentle clink. Pansy and Astoria followed, forming a quiet trio at her table. Hermione remained motionless, head bowed, shoulders tight with concentration.
“Practicing a new sign language for exhaustion?” Pansy murmured, leafing idly through a stack of textbooks Hermione wasn’t using.
Astoria crossed her arms and tilted her head. “She’s been at this since midday. Hasn’t even stopped to blink.”
Ginny curled a strand of red hair around her finger. “Hermione-” she began softly.
Hermione looked up slowly, her expression distant and unreadable. “Hm?”
Pansy leaned forward, resting her elbow on the edge of the table. “Do you really think throwing yourself into more work is going to make you forget about tea with Narcissa this Saturday?”
Hermione stiffened. “I’m not trying to forget. I’m trying to be ready.” Her voice cracked, then steadied. “If she expects… certain expectations, I want to meet them on my own terms.”
Astoria raised a brow and exchanged a glance with Ginny. “It’s tea, Hermione. Not a duel at dawn.”
“It’s Narcissa,” Hermione replied dryly. “So, it could still be both.”
Ginny offered a small, amused smile, but her tone remained kind. “You’re brilliant, Hermione, but you don’t have to prove that to her. Or to anyone, for that matter.”
Pansy tilted her chin. “You’re amazing at structure and logic, but some things don’t work like a ritual circle. You can’t ward off anxiety with diagrams and citations.”
Hermione’s breath caught. She looked at her friends-warm, caring, genuine-and then back down to the mess of parchment and scribbled notes, her voice quiet. “I just… don’t want to mess it up.”
At that moment, footsteps echoed from the corridor. Draco and Theo strode into view, casual but purposeful. They paused at the library entrance and exchanged a glance that didn’t carry their usual teasing energy—something quieter, more concerned.
Theo cleared his throat sharply.
The girls looked up. Hermione didn’t.
Draco offered a half-smile as he approached. “We must’ve all had the same idea.”
Hermione finally lifted her gaze, brow arched. “What idea?”
“They’ve come to check on you,” Ginny said, nudging the cup of tea closer. “We thought maybe you’d like a break.”
“Fresh air,” Pansy suggested. “Or human interaction. Radical, I know.”
Hermione opened her mouth, about to argue-but Draco spoke first.
“Ladies,” he said smoothly, tone polite but firm. “If you’ll excuse us. We’ll take it from here.”
Pansy raised a brow but stood. “You break her, you fix her.”
Astoria hesitated, eyes still on Hermione. “Just remember she’s not a problem to be solved.”
That was the moment Hermione’s jaw clenched. She set down her quill and looked up, voice steady but with a sharp edge. “I’m not something to be handled.”
The words rang out, quiet but definitive.
Ginny gave her a small, proud smile. “No, you’re not.”
"We know that, love." Draco inserted.
"We're just worried." Theo added.
Astoria took a small step back and glanced at Hermione with a smirk. “Well, if your dragons can keep you from spontaneously combusting, I suppose we’ll leave you to them.”
“Good luck,” Pansy added dryly as the three girls turned and made their way out.
Hermione exhaled heavily and leaned back, rubbing her temples. “I don’t need babysitting.”
“No,” Theo agreed, sliding onto the armrest of her chair, “you need a break. You’re running yourself into the ground.”
Draco sat on the other side, resting one ankle over his knee. “We’re not here to handle you, Hermione. We’re here because we know what stress looks like when it’s eating you alive.”
She didn’t respond right away, just stared down at her scrawled parchment. “It’s not just nerves. It’s-Narcissa. What if she thinks I’m not enough? For you. For either of you?”
Theo’s fingers found her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Then she’s wrong. And you’ll be Hermione Potter either way.”
“You’ve already won her son,” Draco added. “And her adopted son, for the record.”
Hermione cracked a small, reluctant smile. “Merlin help me.”
“Exactly,” Draco said lightly, rising. “So. Ten minutes. Outside. Air, stars, maybe a snack if you behave.”
Theo stood too and offered his hand. “No runes. No textbooks. Just you and us.”
She looked between them, and after a beat, slowly placed a hand in each of theirs. “You two are insufferable.”
“And yet, beloved,” Theo said with a wink.
Draco draped her scarf around her shoulders and nudged her toward the exit. “Let’s go, princess. Time to be unproductive for once.”
Hermione smiled fully as she let her Slytherin's pull her from the library.
......................................................................................................................
The school was quiet in the late evening, the sun just having dipped below the horizon. The corridors glowed softly with candlelight as Hermione walked between Theo and Draco, each of them tucked comfortably under her arms. Her scarf fluttered slightly as they led her up the East Wing stairs, their steps slow and steady.
“I thought you said ten minutes,” she said, squinting suspiciously as they passed the astronomy classroom. “This feels suspiciously like more than ten minutes. I do know how to tell time, you know.”
Draco gave a mock-wounded gasp. “Potter, are you accusing us of subterfuge?”
Theo tilted his head with a grin. “I think she’s accusing us of being predictable. Which is worse.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Well, considering the two of you are literally dragging me up an endless staircase toward Merlin-knows-what, I’d say yes, I’m accusing you both of something.”
“You’re very mouthy for someone we’re trying to romance,” Draco muttered, but there was nothing sharp in his voice-just affection and quiet amusement.
“I’m mouthy in all situations,” she quipped, letting them pull her along, though her legs were starting to ache.
They reached the final flight of stairs, the old wooden door ahead slightly ajar. The sky beyond was a velvet black, freckled with stars. But what made Hermione stop, breath catching in her throat, was what lay on the other side.
The rooftop star-gazing platform had been completely transformed. A thick wool blanket was spread across the stone floor, layered with plush cushions and soft throws. Floating candle lanterns drifted above like tiny orbs of starlight, flickering in the gentle night breeze. A charmed thermos hovered nearby, steam curling from the spout, along with two mugs and a little tin of biscuits. A small wireless radio sat off to the side, low instrumental music humming in the background.
She froze, staring. “Did you… Did you two plan this?”
Draco smirked, his hand pressing lightly against the small of her back. “We knew you’d stress yourself half to death about tea with Mother. So yes. We planned.”
“We thought a little celestial therapy might be in order,” Theo added. “You’re not great at relaxing, so we figured we’d help.”
Hermione blinked, and then again. She looked between them, her eyes slightly glassy.
“Oh, for-don’t cry,” Draco said, sounding more panicked than annoyed. “This was meant to be romantic, not tragic.”
“I’m not crying,” she said, though she wiped the corner of one eye. “I’m just… overwhelmed. In a good way.”
“Well, good.” Theo leaned in to kiss her temple. “Come sit.”
They led her to the center of the blanket, lowering her carefully onto the cushions. The moment she was settled, Hermione curled her legs beneath her and leaned back into Theo’s chest. Draco settled beside her, looping an arm around her waist.
The air was crisp, the stars clear and bright above them, and for the first time all day, Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“This is really… beautiful,” she said softly.
“You’re beautiful,” Draco replied easily, brushing her braid over her shoulder to kiss the back of her neck.
Theo’s fingers found hers under the blanket, lacing them gently. “You work so hard, love. You deserve moments like this too.”
Hermione tilted her head back, looking at both of them. “You two are absurdly good at being sweet when you want to be.”
Draco smirked. “We’re full of surprises.”
“Oh, I’m well aware,” she murmured.
Theo dipped his head, brushing his nose along her cheek before stealing a slow, soft kiss from her lips. When he pulled back, his expression was calm and content. “Better?”
Hermione nodded, dazed. “Much.”
Draco’s hand slid beneath the hem of her jumper to rest warm against her waist. His voice was low and teasing as he leaned closer. “You know, we never did get to finish what you and Theo started earlier…”
Her eyes widened. “We’re star-gazing, Draco.”
“We can multi-task,” Theo murmured, nuzzling against her jaw. “Stars above, gorgeous girl in our arms… seems like an ideal night.”
Hermione half-laughed, half-sighed. “You two are insatiable.”
“Only for you,” Draco said, brushing his lips just behind her ear.
Their kisses came in turns-soft, deliberate, unhurried. Theo’s hand smoothed up her spine, tracing the line of her braid. Draco’s fingers splayed along her hip, drawing small circles.
No words were needed for a few minutes. The hush of the night folded around them as Hermione relaxed fully, allowing herself to melt between them. It wasn’t rushed or wild-just warmth and closeness, breath shared and hearts settled.
Eventually, Theo whispered, “We’ll be right beside you on Saturday, you know.”
“I know,” Hermione said quietly. “But tonight… tonight, I just needed this.”
Draco kissed her temple again. “Then tonight, this is all yours.”
She smiled against Theo’s chest, her hand finding Draco’s again as the stars spun slowly overhead.
........................................................................................................................
The dawn light that seeped into the East Wing was pale and tentative, but Hermione Potter had already been awake for hours. The room looked like a whirlwind had torn through it: clothes strewn across bed and floor, rejected trousers thrown over chairs, and three blouses draped like banners on the bedposts. A single boot lay abandoned near the door, its partner nowhere in sight.
Hermione paced barefoot, her hair braided with several strands already frizzed loose. Her eyes flicked from a neatly scrawled checklist pinned to her corkboard to the enchanted mirror that sighed each time she passed—an unmistakable encouragement to stop worrying.
At precisely 6:05 a.m., the door creaked open. Theo slunk in first, dark curls untamed, his shirt thrown open over a plain cotton tee. “Could hear you pacing all the way from the East Wing-at least two corridors away,” he announced, leaning against the frame.
Draco followed, blond hair absurdly neat despite the hour. He carried a steaming mug-chamomile with lavender, exactly how Hermione liked it-and held it out. “Before you combust entirely, Potter,” he said, voice warm. “Take your tea.”
Hermione whipped around, eyes frantic. “I don’t need distractions.”
Theo brushed a lock of hair from his face. “I don’t agree.”
Before she could snap back, Theo crossed the room in two strides, cupped her face, and kissed her deeply. His lips pressed into hers like a promise, grounding her frantic thoughts. Hermione went still, breathing shallow.
Draco came up behind her, setting the tea aside and wrapping his arms around her waist. He planted gentle kisses along her neck and behind her ear. “We know you’re terrified,” he murmured, “but you’re not doing this alone.”
Theo rested his forehead against hers. “Let us help, yeah?”
Hermione’s shoulders slackened. She whispered, quiet but fierce, “Alright. I surrender. Temporarily.”
Draco smirked. “Wise choice. Now drink.”
She sipped the tea, sweet warmth flooding her chest. When she exhaled, the stiffness in her shoulders eased slightly.
A few moments later, she retrieved her wand and whispered in a firm voice: “Expecto Patronum.” A bright silver otter burst from the tip, doing a jubilant loop around the room before streaking off past the window-her coded message:
Help. I’m panicking. I need you.
She let the wand fall to the desk. “Pansy, Ginny, and Astoria will be here soon.”
“It figures,” Theo murmured, slouching on her bed near a pile of books and stray socks. “I’ll leave snacks to them.”
Draco leaned against her desk and took a careful breath. “What about that boot? Tactical plan or random casualty?”
Hermione threw her hands up: “I don’t know! I’m running on three hours of sleep!” She collapsed into her chair dramatically. “What if I say the wrong thing? What if I look the wrong way? What if she decides I’m completely unsuitable-like I wasn’t even supposed to exist?”
Theo clasped her shoulders. “Hey. You are absolutely permitted to exist. Right here. Right now with us.”
"My mother will adore you," Draco added gently. "If she can give Theo and I the space to grow in whatever we've become, she'll give you the benefit of the doubt-at least at tea."
Hermione exhaled with a shaky laugh. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“You’re going to be,” Theo said softly.
Draco reached for her hand. “Trust yourself. We will be there. Whole way through.” He brushed her palm. “Even if it’s just to promise that afterward, we’ll cover for you with kisses disguised as stress relief.”
She glanced at them and let a small smile break free. “You two are dangerously persuasive.”
“That’s our talent,” Theo said proudly.
At that moment, a firm knock rattled the door. “Open up, Mione,” Ginny’s voice called. “We’re outside-present delivery! And advice hotline.”
Pansy added, “Plus a third eyebrow pencil, in case you go full ‘scared academic.’”
Astoria chimed in softly, “We brought normal tea, not sugar water disguised as flower essence.”
Hermione glanced toward the door, then at the boys. “Here goes nothing.”
Draco kissed her hair, warm and protective. “You’ve got this, love.”
Theo leaned in, voice hushed. “If Mum gets cross about anything, we'll tell her that these two loyal gentlemen will duel her over biscuts."
A laugh escaped Hermione. “Fine.”
Draco scooped up the teacup. “Now finish that tea. We leave in a few hours."
She let him wrap her in a hug, Theo’s arm draped over her shoulder. “It’s going to be a long day-but I’m not terrified anymore.”
Theo gave a half smile. "We'll conquer it together."
.......................................................................................................................
The early morning haze had long lifted, and now the warm late-morning sun streamed through Hermione’s tall dormitory windows, painting golden stripes across the rug. Her room, usually neat and filled with the quiet hum of magical textbooks, had transformed into a war zone of nerves and preparation. Tea with Narcissa Malfoy loomed like a prophecy.
Clothes were still everywhere-robes tossed on bedposts, dress shoes lined up in an unhelpfully similar row, and no less than seven rejected outfit combinations hanging halfway off the wardrobe doors. But amidst the chaos, Hermione sat cross-legged on the middle of her bed in a plush green dressing robe, a steaming cup of chamomile tea cupped in both hands. Her fingers trembled slightly, but her shoulders were straighter than they’d been all morning.
Ginny sat behind her on the mattress, weaving her hair into an elegant half-up French braid with small twined coils at the crown. “Hold still or you’re getting a crooked knot,” she warned, tongue poking slightly out in concentration.
“I’m not moving,” Hermione muttered, although her foot was still tapping out a frantic rhythm on the rug.
Astoria sat to the side, makeup spread across a small conjured vanity on the bedside table. “Her whole face is tense,” she commented as she swept a delicate shimmer across Hermione’s cheekbones. “You’re going to crack your jaw from clenching.”
“I’m not clenching,” Hermione said through clenched teeth.
Pansy groaned from across the room where she was elbow-deep in Hermione’s trunk, throwing garments over her shoulder one by one. “Merlin’s sake, have you been secretly hoarding old jumpers? What is all of this? Do you just… collect cardigans?”
Hermione cringed. "They're comfortable."
“They’re all beige!”
Ginny grinned. “I think this might be what panic looks like in textile form.”
Pansy stood up, holding two dramatically clashing skirts. “You need to let me take you shopping. Like immediately. This is an emergency.”
Hermione let out a low, weary laugh. “If I survive tea with Narcissa Malfoy, you may dress me in whatever you want.”
Pansy’s face lit up with mock-glee. “You heard her. That’s a verbal contract.”
Astoria smiled as she blended soft coral blush onto Hermione’s cheeks. “We’ll start with something classic. Maybe a few pieces that don’t come in academic tones.”
Ginny stepped back, eyeing her braid critically. “And shoes. We’re throwing out the ones you’ve had since fifth year.”
Hermione blinked. “Wait, you’re seriously going to throw out my Oxfords?”
“You mean the ones with a talking scuff on the left toe? Yes.”
Pansy finally let out a satisfied “aha!” and pulled a dress from the back of Hermione’s wardrobe that had somehow escaped the clothing hurricane.
It was simple, yet stunning: a soft, deep forest green with a high collar and delicate ivory embroidery along the cuffs and bodice. The fabric was lightweight, a flowing chiffon overlay giving it an almost enchanted quality when it moved. Pansy laid it out on the bed reverently.
“This. You’ll look like you were summoned by the forest spirits themselves,” she said dramatically.
“This. You’ll look like you were summoned by the forest spirits themselves,” she said dramatically.
Hermione eyed it. “It’s… elegant.”
“And understated,” Astoria added. “Modest enough for Narcissa but entirely you.”
“Do I look like someone who’s ready to have tea with her boyfriend’s mother?” Hermione asked quietly as she slipped into the dress.
“No,” Ginny said bluntly, helping her tie the waist ribbon into a neat bow. “You look like someone who’s going to charm the hell out of her.”
Hermione glanced toward the mirror. Her reflection showed her with softly glowing cheeks, delicate winged eyeliner, and a slight coral tint on her lips. Her braid was tucked in a crown-like twist with a few deliberate curls brushing her collarbone.
“I look like a fairy tale,” she murmured.
“A grounded, brilliant fairy tale,” Astoria corrected, slipping cream-colored gloves onto Hermione’s hands. “Consider this your final armor.”
“And the blush isn’t just makeup,” Ginny said, reaching for the final touch-a delicate gold necklace with a small charm shaped like an open book. “It’s because you’re surrounded by people who love you.”
Pansy stepped back, arms crossed with pride. “All right. Nott and Malfoy are going to lose their minds.”
Hermione smiled.
“I’m betting Draco freezes,” Ginny said cheerfully. “And Theo’s going to say something very charming and also immediately lose his vocabulary.”
“And possibly the ability to walk,” Astoria added.
Hermione rolled her eyes, "That's a bit dramatic."
“You love us,” Pansy replied.
Hermione stood and glanced at the time. It was nearly ten.
“Ready?” Astoria asked.
“No,” Hermione said honestly. “But let’s go anyway.”
The four of them made their way out of the West Wing, laughter floating behind them. They descended the staircase toward the Entrance Hall, where two very well-dressed boys stood at the bottom, waiting.
Draco, in a tailored grey waistcoat over black slacks, glanced up the stairs-and went still.
Theo, in deep navy with the sleeves of his jacket pushed to his elbows in his usual offhanded style, blinked once, then straightened. “Bloody hell.”
Hermione lifted a brow as she approached, the hem of her dress floating just below her knees. “That bad?”
“‘Bad’ is not the word I’d use,” Theo said slowly. “Try ‘dangerously beautiful.’ Or maybe ‘utterly disarming.’ Or just-'mine.’”
Draco reached for her hand, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “You’re exquisite.”
She smiled shyly. “You two clean up rather well yourselves.”
“We have a few stops before tea,” Draco said, offering his arm. “There’s a new release at Florish and Blotts. Thought we’d let you browse a bit.”
Theo hooked her other arm. “And then Sugarplum’s. I’m bribing you with chocolate frogs and enchanted truffles.”
Hermione blinked. “You’re bribing me?”
“For being brave,” Theo said simply.
Pansy, Ginny, and Astoria exchanged proud, smug smiles before stepping back.
“We’ll be waiting to hear every detail,” Pansy said.
“And don’t let her overthink everything,” Ginny warned the boys.
“She’s going to be brilliant,” Astoria said softly.
Hermione turned to them one last time, eyes shining. “Thank you. For everything.”
And with that, she descended the final steps, Draco and Theo flanking her like the courtly rogues they were, leading her into the midday sun-and toward whatever waited in Diagon Alley.
She wasn’t calm.
But she wasn’t alone.
Chapter 15: What Love Looks Like
Summary:
Hermione face's Narcissa.
Chapter Text
The bell above the door jingled gently as the three of them stepped into the cool, dust-scented air of Flourish and Blotts. The moment they crossed the threshold, Hermione slipped from between Theo and Draco’s arms with a distracted, “Just a quick look-just a minute, I promise.”
That minute passed in a blink.
Before either of them could stop her, she was gone, her forest-green skirts sweeping behind her like a whisper as she vanished between the towering shelves with the sort of single-minded determination typically reserved for Aurors and Arithmancy professors. The scent of parchment, ink, and centuries-old magic seemed to pull her forward, and she followed without hesitation, fingers already trailing across the spines like they were greeting old friends.
Draco watched her disappear with a long-suffering sigh, folding his arms. “I didn’t think I’d have to compete for her attention,” he muttered, “with bloody books, of all things.”
Theo leaned against a nearby display of enchanted cookbooks, clearly amused. “Come on, you’ve known her for years. You didn’t think this place would make her forget we exist?”
“She walked straight past me,” Draco said, sounding personally affronted. “I could’ve been a bookshelf.”
Theo snorted. “You’re prettier than a bookshelf. Not by much, but still.”
“I was going to distract her,” Draco continued, deadpan. “Charm her. Say something soothing about tea and elegance and how much I appreciate her. But apparently she’s having a more intimate moment with a copy of Revolutionary Runecrafting than she’s had with either of us all week.”
Theo tilted his head, watching Hermione disappear around another shelf. “I think that was The Defensive Wards of Pre-Ottoman Bulgaria, actually.”
“Oh, well then, I feel much better,” Draco drawled. “Nothing like a good Eastern European ward to spice up the day.”
Hermione popped briefly into view again, her arms now stacked with six books. “Don’t mind me!” she called cheerfully. “I just remembered another section I wanted to check.”
Then she vanished once more into the maze of shelves.
Draco stared after her. “We’re never getting out of here.”
Theo pushed off the shelf. “We might as well pay for what she’s already collected before she wanders into the special collections room and gets hexed by a protection curse.”
Draco muttered something under his breath about “runic trances” and followed Theo toward the front counter, cradling the stack of books Hermione had already abandoned on a nearby bench. There were books on magical diplomacy, rare defensive charms, new editions of political essays, and at least one text written entirely in Latin.
“Any bets on how much this costs?” Theo asked dryly.
“She’ll be annoyed either way,” Draco replied. “Might as well make it worth it.”
As the witch behind the counter began tallying up the total, Theo leaned closer and murmured, “You do realize she’s absolutely going to scold you when she finds out you paid.”
Draco’s lips curled in a slow, satisfied smirk. “She’ll get over it.”
“She won’t. She’ll launch into a passionate debate about autonomy and the ethics of transactional affection.”
“She won’t. She’ll launch into a passionate debate about autonomy and the ethics of transactional affection.”
Draco smirked, watching the shopkeeper wrap the last of the books. “And while she’s quoting footnotes and building a case against me, I’ll be too busy admiring how brilliant she looks when she’s furious.”
Theo laughed under his breath. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
Draco’s smile only deepened. “Maybe. But if the stakes are her eyes flashing and her hands on her hips, I’m happy to lose every round.”
Behind them, they heard the soft sound of flats. Hermione was back, cradling four more books to her chest with a suspicious glint in her eye.
“What are you two doing?”
“Nothing!” Theo said too brightly, backing slightly from the counter.
Draco was less subtle. “Just finalizing the emotional support library.”
Hermione’s gauze-draped arms tightened around the last few books she hadn’t relinquished. Her brows arched.
“She was ringing them up already,” Draco said smoothly, not meeting her eyes.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “I was gone for three minutes, and you staged a covert operation behind my back?”
“They were heavy,” he offered. “You looked busy. Lost in thought. I seized the moment.”
Theo raised his hands. “I’m innocent. He’s the menace.”
Hermione stared at the parcel, then at Draco, then let out a long, exasperated sigh. “This isn’t over.”
“I know,” Draco said, brushing a kiss to her temple as he handed over the parcel. “But for now, it’s your pre-tea peace offering.”
She opened her mouth-probably to protest on principle-but Theo stepped behind her and gently took the new stack of books from her arms before she could start a proper rant.
“We figured you'd need a little sugar after all that paper and ink,” he said, sliding his free hand into hers.
Hermione blinked. “Sugar?”
“Our next stop,” Draco said casually, slipping his hand around her waist as the three of them turned toward the door. “The sweet shop.”
“We were thinking chocolate bark. Or those little French ones you like that look like seashells,” Theo added.
Hermione raised a brow. “You planned a candy detour. On the way to meet your mother.”
“Distraction is a legitimate pre-battle strategy,” Draco said. “Also, you get adorable when you sample fudge.”
“I am not adorable,” she grumbled.
“You absolutely are,” Theo said.
“And tragically outnumbered,” Draco finished, slipping his hand into hers with an infuriatingly pleased smile. “You never stood a chance.”
Hermione flushed, cheeks pinking slightly as she let them guide her back out into the sunlight. “You two are utterly impossible.”
“Accurate,” Theo said, grinning.
“But charming,” Draco offered.
Hermione shook her head with a sigh, her fingers tightening around theirs. “Fine. One sweet shop. But I’m choosing the flavors.”
“Wouldn’t dream of denying you,” Theo said solemnly.
“You already denied me the right to pay for my own books,” she pointed out.
“I consider it tribute,” Draco said with a smirk. “To the goddess of logic and literature.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now, the tension from earlier unraveling thread by thread. As they stepped out into the cobblestone streets, surrounded by the chatter of late-morning shoppers and the golden warmth of the sun, she found she could breathe just a little more easily.
And with a hand held in each of theirs, she felt-if only for now-invincible.
......................................................................................................................
The sweet shop was a riot of color and charm, packed to the rafters with everything from sugar-quills to honey-dukes dark fudge, and lit with soft golden sconces that made the candy glimmer like treasure.
Theo was gone the moment the bell above the door jingled.
“Licorice bats!” he gasped, darting toward a corner display like a child possessed. “They flap when you eat them now!”
Draco blinked after him. “Every time we come here.”
Hermione chuckled under her breath. “Is it the sugar or the nostalgia?”
“A devastating combination,” Draco murmured, turning back to her with a small smile. “You alright?”
She nodded once, slowly. “Better. Still a little jittery.”
He offered her his arm, and she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, letting him lead her past shelves stacked with chocolate frogs and fizzing whizzbees. Her tension had quieted since Flourish and Blotts, but it still hummed beneath the surface, tucked behind her eyes.
“You know,” Draco said conversationally, “my mother has a sweet tooth. Not many people know that.”
Hermione blinked at him. “Narcissa Malfoy eats sugar?”
“She has a particular fondness for crystallized violets and white lavender bark. She used to sneak them into my school trunk.” He shot her a sideways glance. “Just a reminder-she is human.”
“Elegant, lethal, terrifying human,” Hermione muttered.
Draco gave her a warm look. “She invited you to tea, Hermione. Not to trial. She wants to see who you are. And if you are yourself, she will see exactly why I-” He paused, then amended, “-why we both adore you.”
Hermione’s mouth parted slightly, surprised by the weight of his words. Before she could answer, Theo reappeared, arms loaded with sweets and a licorice bat hanging out of his mouth.
“You two are absolutely no fun,” he mumbled around the wings. “I found sugar-quills. The raspberry kind.”
“You’re a menace,” Draco said, taking a few of the treats out of Theo’s overloaded hands.
Hermione laughed softly, the first genuine one in a while. “You’re going to make yourself ill.”
“I’ve trained for this my whole life.”
As Theo ran off again-this time to inspect the sherbet cauldrons-Hermione and Draco stepped up to the counter, each placing a few chosen items down. Draco added one of the violet boxes he’d mentioned, sliding it in front of her with an arched brow.
“For courage,” he said.
Hermione opened her mouth, half-smiling, a quiet warmth softening her features. “Draco, you really don’t have to-”
She turned.
A girl stood there, maybe thirteen, her Hogwarts robe slightly too big, her arms filled with pastel-wrapped taffy. Wide-eyed, cheeks flushed, she looked as though she had been working up the courage for several minutes.
“Um-excuse me?” the girl asked, voice a little high and breathless. “Are you Hermione Potter?”
Hermione blinked. “Yes. That’s me.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Oh wow! You’re Harry Potter’s sister, right? I mean-your hair’s not red, obviously, but I heard you’re the clever one. Is it true you rewrote half of Professor Dippet’s dueling curriculum?”
Hermione smiled, but it was thin. “I helped revise some of it."
The girl wasn’t listening. “That’s so cool! What’s it like having Harry Potter as a brother? Is he as amazing as they say? I saw him once in Hogsmeade and I swear I almost fainted. Does he really talk to centaurs? Do you live with him? What’s it like?”
Hermione’s smile faltered. Her hand slipped from Draco’s arm. “He’s… he’s great. I’m very proud of him.”
The girl bounced on her toes, beaming. “You’re so lucky! I’d give anything to be related to him. Do you think he’d sign my-”
“She’s a bit busy right now,” Draco said, stepping slightly in front of Hermione, his voice polite but edged.
Theo returned just in time, catching the girl’s starry expression. “You alright there?” he asked Hermione, lightly brushing her hand.
Hermione offered the girl a gentle nod. “It was nice meeting you.”
The girl blushed bright pink, clutched her taffy, and scampered back to her friends.
They left the shop moments later, parcels swinging from Theo’s hands and a thick, uneasy silence clinging to the space between them.
Hermione didn’t speak as they turned onto the cobbled alley, her gaze distant, one hand brushing along the ribbon at her waist. Theo glanced at Draco, then quietly slowed his step beside her.
“Alright, sweetheart?” Theo asked softly.
Hermione hesitated. Then: “It just… happens more than I’d like.”
Draco frowned, his hand drifting to the small of her back. “What does?”
“That,” she murmured. “People only seeing Harry. Even when they’re looking at me. Like I’m just… a footnote in his legacy.”
Theo’s brow furrowed. “You’re not.”
“I know,” she said quickly, biting the inside of her cheek. “I know. It’s just-some days I forget how often I’m expected to be grateful for proximity. I love my brother. I do. But sometimes I want to be noticed for me.”
Draco’s hand settled more firmly on her back. “You deserve that. You are not a reflection of anyone else’s glory, Hermione.”
Theo reached for her hand. “You are lightning-bright all on your own.”
Hermione looked between them-Draco’s fierce, steady presence and Theo’s gentle affection-and something in her shoulders loosened.
“I know,” she said again, softer now. “It’s just harder on days like today. I already feel like I’m walking into a room where I have to prove I belong. And then some starry-eyed girl reminds me I’m just ‘Harry’s sister.’”
“You’re not,” Draco said again. “Not to us. Not to the people who matter.”
Hermione gave a small smile, but her eyes shimmered with quiet vulnerability. “Thanks.”
Theo bumped his shoulder into hers. “Tell you what. After you charm Narcissa Malfoy into loving you, we’ll take you out again.”
“To a place with fewer sugar-crazed Hogwarts first-years,” Draco added.
Hermione laughed despite herself. “And no questions about centaurs?”
“Only questions about how you managed to out-charm two of the most charming Slytherins in the school,” Theo said.
Draco snorted. “Speak for yourself.”
Hermione took their hands in hers as they walked. “I think you’re both absurd.”
“But you like us absurd,” Theo teased.
She smiled. “I do.”
And as the tea appointment loomed closer, the nerves didn’t vanish entirely-but they no longer controlled her. Not with warm fingers laced in hers. Not with laughter still clinging to the corners of her lips.
Not when she had them.
......................................................................................................................
The garden at Madam Puddifoot’s glowed with soft midday sun, petals drifting lazily from the rose arbors overhead. Hermione sat nestled between Draco and Theo at a small round table draped in pastel linens, a delicate porcelain teacup warming her hands. The air smelled faintly of lavender and sugar, mingling with the faint hum of quiet conversations from other tables.
Her heart fluttered unevenly beneath the calm exterior. She wrapped her fingers tightly around the cup, trying to steady the tremor that danced in her fingertips. Draco’s hand slid over hers, warm and reassuring, his thumb tracing slow circles across her knuckles. He didn’t say a word-his quiet presence spoke volumes.
From the other side, Theo leaned in, voice low and steady. “You’re doing fine, sweetheart. Just breathe with me.”
Hermione blinked up at him and took a slow, deliberate breath, her heel brushing gently against Draco’s boot beneath the table, a silent tether to reality.
The quiet was broken by the soft jingle of the bell as Narcissa Malfoy swept into the garden, the graceful sway of her gown mirroring the roses above. She paused briefly, offering a polite smile, then apologized, her voice smooth and composed.
“My apologies for my tardiness. Lucius required some last-minute counsel,” she said, her eyes flickering briefly to Draco.
Draco rose instantly, bowing his head in a subtle but unmistakable gesture of respect.
“It’s quite alright, Mother,” he said quietly as Narcissa took her seat. Theo carefully placed a delicate porcelain cup in front of her, the fine china shimmering in the sunlight.
Draco exhaled softly and returned to his seat beside Hermione. “Thank you for joining us.”
Narcissa’s gaze settled on Hermione with an intensity softened by kindness. “I want to begin by expressing my gratitude for your testimony on Draco’s behalf after the war. Very few had the strength to stand where you did. Speaking the truth then-well, it took courage.”
Hermione’s throat tightened, her voice barely above a whisper. “I only said what I believed to be true, Lady Malfoy.”
“And you did so with clarity and integrity,” Narcissa replied gently. “That means more than you might realize.” She leaned forward slightly. “I wished to tell you that myself.”
A hush settled around the table. Draco’s shoulder brushed hers, and Theo’s fingers entwined with hers beneath the cloth, grounding her in the moment. Her heart beat unevenly, a fragile rhythm of gratitude and nerves.
Narcissa’s eyes softened as she tilted her head, studying Hermione thoughtfully. “Tell me, how did this morning find you? Not as Draco and Theo's partner, but as Hermione-your own self?”
Hermione took a moment, gathering her thoughts. “Honestly, I was terrified. I kept imagining saying something wrong, disappointing everyone.”
Draco’s voice was firm, steadying. “You’re not a disappointment. Not to us.”
He brushed a gentle kiss along her wrist, brief but full of meaning.
Narcissa nodded solemnly. “No, you are not. You have my respect, Hermione. Draco and Theo speak often of your compassion and intelligence, and always with admiration.”
Hermione’s gaze dropped to her lap, cheeks warming. “I never expected to be noticed... in my own right.”
Narcissa’s smile deepened, genuine and warm. “I don’t merely notice you. I admire you. You have proven yourself in ways that matter beyond titles or alliances.” She paused, then added lightly, “Now, let us set aside all formalities. I hear Madam Puddifoot’s strawberry jam is simply exceptional.”
Theo grinned, offering a small plate of pastries from the tray nearby. Draco’s eyes sparkled with relief, and the tension that had seemed to cling to Hermione began to loosen.
Hermione allowed herself a small smile, accepting a bite of flaky pastry. “Yes, please.”
They settled into a quieter rhythm, the conversation softening into easy companionship. Narcissa spoke occasionally, sharing anecdotes about the Malfoy estate and subtle insights into wizarding society, her tone less guarded than Hermione had anticipated. Draco remained vigilant, proud yet tender, and Theo kept a protective watch, his presence a steady shield.
Hermione’s eyes wandered over the blooming garden, the warmth of the sun now mirrored in the gentle ease spreading through her chest. She let herself relax, cradled by the two men she trusted most.
After a while, Draco rose, bowing his head slightly in farewell. “Thank you for joining us, Mother.”
Narcissa stood gracefully, placing a light hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “You are always welcome in my home, Hermione. Not as their companion-but simply as yourself.”
Hermione felt a quiet swell of something like peace. “Thank you.”
As Draco and Narcissa exchanged a brief, unspoken understanding, Theo slipped an arm around Hermione’s waist, guiding her gently toward the garden gate. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows, but Hermione’s heart felt lighter than it had in weeks.
“I think you surprised her,” Theo murmured, eyes twinkling as they walked away.
Draco chuckled softly. “It wasn’t the easiest conversation. But she means it.”
Hermione glanced up, gratitude shining in her eyes. “Thank you-for being here.”
Draco squeezed her hand. “Always.”
They stepped into the warmth of the afternoon, the future feeling a little less daunting with each step.
.......................................................................................................................
The stone steps of Arcanum Universitas echoed softly beneath their feet as Draco and Theo flanked Hermione on the walk back to her dormitory. The afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long golden shadows across the campus grounds.
Hermione walked in the middle, her arm tucked comfortably between Draco’s and Theo’s, a quiet sort of contentment settling around her like a cloak. Yet the nerves from earlier still lingered faintly in her chest.
“So,” Theo began, nudging Draco gently as they moved, “how do you think your mother handled that? Really?”
Draco gave a short, humorless laugh. “She’s complicated. She’s proud, but protective. You saw how she softened-barely. I don’t expect an easy warm embrace anytime soon, but... at least it’s a start.”
Hermione glanced up at him. “You were incredibly poised back there. More than I could’ve managed.”
Draco’s eyes softened. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? You have this way of carrying yourself, even when you’re afraid.”
She shook her head with a small smile. “I think I’m just very good at hiding it.”
Theo grinned. “You don’t have to hide it from us.”
Hermione looked between them, gratitude blooming. “I know.”
They walked the last few steps in companionable silence, the quiet between them threaded with unspoken support.
Hermione reached out a hand to press against the wooden door of her dormitory. She drew a slow breath and twisted the handle.
As the door swung open, she paused.
The room inside was a lively, unexpected chaos.
Pansy lounged on the window seat, a glass of deep red wine in hand, one eyebrow arched in amused surprise.
Ginny was sprawled on the floor, laughing as she balanced a plate of dark chocolate truffles.
Astoria sat elegantly at Hermione’s desk, swirling wine in her glass, her expression contemplative.
Daphne and Cho were nestled into the armchairs, quietly chatting, while Lavender Brown and Luna Lovegood sat cross-legged on the rug, engaged in a whispered debate about the merits of different magical herbs.
Finally, the Patil twins occupied the far corner, animatedly planning some future event, their voices weaving in and out of the room’s buzz.
Draco and Theo both froze just inside the door, eyes wide and unprepared for the full house.
Theo’s lips twitched. “Well. That’s my cue to disappear.”
Draco smirked, stepping forward to plant a gentle kiss on Hermione’s cheek. “We’ll leave you to it. Remember to have fun-just don’t get too wild.”
He followed Theo, who gave Hermione a quick kiss on the other cheek before they slipped quietly out, closing the door with a soft click behind them.
Hermione took a breath, turning to find a glass of wine thrust into her hand by Pansy.
“Spill,” Pansy said with a sly grin.
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Astoria’s voice cut in, calm and measured. “We mean, what happened this morning. With Narcissa. How did it go?”
Hermione sipped her wine, swirling the liquid thoughtfully. “It was... intense. More than I expected, honestly. Narcissa is difficult, but she was kind, in her own way. She thanked me for my testimony after the war.”
“That must have been terrifying,” Lavender said softly. “Standing up like that.”
“It was,” Hermione admitted, “but I felt... stronger, somehow, afterward.”
Cho nodded. “I can imagine. Standing before a Malfoy is daunting. They command respect and fear.”
Astoria’s eyes grew distant, a shadow crossing her face. “The first time I met Narcissa, I was absolutely terrified. She’s not someone who shows fear easily, but you can feel the weight she carries. The way she protects her family-it’s fierce.”
Luna leaned forward, dreamy eyes alight. “Fierce protection often comes with complicated emotions. Like a thestral guarding its herd-quiet but watchful.”
Ginny laughed softly. “That’s a good comparison.”
Pansy smirked. “She’s like a queen bee. You don’t mess with her, but if you prove yourself, she’s loyal for life.”
Hermione looked around at the faces circling her-friends, allies, the women who made this dorm a home.
“I was scared,” she said honestly. “Not just of Narcissa, but of what it meant to be there. To be judged, not just as Draco and Theo's partner, but as myself. But hearing her say she respects me-it helped. A lot.”
Daphne nodded approvingly. “That respect is hard-earned. You earned it.”
Theo’s voice echoed softly in her memory-You don’t have to hide it from us. She felt that now. Surrounded by strength and warmth, she could let the weight fall away a little.
“Thank you,” Hermione murmured, lifting her glass. “For this. For being here.”
The room raised their glasses in unison, a chorus of voices blending in a warm celebration.
“To courage,” Astoria said quietly.
“To friendship,” Luna added.
“To finding strength where you least expect it,” Ginny whispered.
Hermione smiled, her heart full.
“This,” she said, “is exactly what I needed.”
......................................................................................................................
Fatboy Slim’s Praise You blared through Hermione’s dormitory, the pulsing beat bouncing off the ancient stone walls in joyful rebellion. The room was bathed in warm candlelight and strung with fairy lights someone—probably Luna-had magicked into looping spirals. Pillows and blankets were strewn everywhere like the remains of a sleepover gone mildly feral.
Hermione, flushed from wine and laughter, stood in the center of the chaos with one foot perched precariously on a velvet pouf, Draco’s oversized green Slytherin jersey hanging off one shoulder and a pair of soft pajama shorts keeping her decent-barely. Her curls had exploded out of their updo and now tumbled freely in a messy bun, glittering faintly from some earlier charm Astoria had insisted on casting. She swayed on the beat, a nearly empty wine bottle in one hand and a hairbrush-turned-microphone clutched in the other, singing-loudly and slightly off-key-into the air.
Pansy and Ginny flanked her like backup dancers, hands on their hips, striking exaggerated poses as they belted the chorus with gleeful abandon.
“Oh my god,” Pansy shouted over the music, laughing as she twirled, “this is the best thing we’ve done all term-and I’m including that time we broke into the potions cupboard!”
Ginny bumped her hip. “Don’t tempt fate-we’re still on thin ice after that!”
Across the room, Cho and Padma were spinning together in an impressively graceful two-step that almost resembled an actual dance. Lavender and Parvati had claimed the far corner, giggling uncontrollably as they choreographed some half-synchronized sequence, clutching their wine glasses like lifelines.
And Luna, radiant in a robe embroidered with constellations, twirled gently under the window, arms swaying like sea kelp, her eyes half-closed. “If you listen closely,” she said dreamily to no one in particular, “you can hear the sugar fairies dancing with us.”
Pansy ducked under Hermione’s arm and dramatically snatched the hairbrush mic. “Okay but who brought the good wine? This is brandy, not whatever fermented grape water Astoria usually smuggles from her family cellar!”
“It’s house brand!” Ginny called from the other side of the room. “Just... a very rich house!”
Hermione giggled into her hand and stumbled into a spin, catching the hem of Draco’s jersey as it twisted around her thighs. “How is this even still on me?” she asked through breathless laughter.
“Because the universe knows you’re dangerous when undressed,” Pansy replied solemnly, pushing a full glass into her hand. “Drink up, rock fairy.”
Ginny nodded sagely. “Just keep that wine upright. It’s sneakier than it looks.”
Someone restarted the song, and cheers went up like they’d summoned an encore at a concert. The floor turned into a swirling mess of movement and color.
The door creaked open mid-chorus, and two tall silhouettes paused on the threshold.
Theo leaned against the frame, blinking. “Is that... Praise You?”
Draco, behind him, took in the sight of Hermione swaying in his jersey, cheeks flushed, hair askew, dancing like she hadn’t a care in the world. “It is,” he said, voice caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. “We’ve lost her to the chaos.”
Hermione turned mid-spin and spotted them. Her face lit up like the fairy lights behind her. “You’re here! Come dance with me!”
Without waiting for their answer, she lunged across the room, seized Theo’s hand, and dragged him inside. Pansy whooped and Ginny made space as Hermione pulled both boys into her makeshift dance circle, their expressions ranging from bemused to charmed.
Theo let himself be tugged into place in front of her, grinning as she passed the imaginary mic to him.
Draco came up behind her and slid an arm around her waist, steadying her gently as she tipped forward.
“This is absurd,” he murmured, but there was a smile in his voice.
“You’re absurd,” Hermione replied, pressing a wine-damp kiss to his cheek. “Now dance.”
And they did-Theo leading, grinning like a fool; Draco smoothing his hand up her arm, eyes warm. The music rose again. Hermione, tucked between them, laughed so hard her knees gave a little and both boys caught her at once.
Then the door burst open again.
Harry stood there with Ron, Blaise, and Neville at his back, all four of them looking faintly overwhelmed.
Harry blinked. “We were just trying to figure out where our girlfriends—and fiancé-had gone... and this is…”
Ron made a face. “It’s very pink in here.”
Blaise smirked. “They look... festive.”
Neville held something aloft. “I found Hermione’s shoe. Should I be worried or...?”
Hermione leaned into Theo, barely holding in laughter. “You can keep it, Neville. Consider it a thank-you gift for services rendered.”
Pansy pointed a lazy finger at the group. “Entrance Hall, five minutes, boys. If you’re not carrying chocolate or cheese, you’ll be ejected.”
Harry lifted both hands in mock surrender. “Right. Message received.”
They backed out slowly, the door closing with a soft click behind them.
Theo leaned down to whisper, “They were definitely judging us.”
Draco snorted and kissed Hermione’s temple. “They’re just jealous they weren’t invited.”
Hermione smiled, lifting her glass. “Then they should’ve brought wine.”
The music dipped and swelled into a slower groove. Ginny swept Pansy into a theatrical waltz while Cho and Padma passed the wine bottle between them. Lavender and Parvati sat on the bed now, sharing gummy bears. Luna stood in the center of the room, watching the ceiling with gentle reverence.
“Feels like home,” Hermione whispered.
Theo kissed her forehead. “It is home.”
Draco tucked a curl behind her ear. “You make it that way.”
Hermione, swaying between them, raised her wine in quiet salute. “To reckless joy.”
And as the music pulsed through her, lifting her heart like a charm, she knew-no matter what the world threw next-she had this. Friends who danced beside her, boys who held her steady, and enough love in the room to drown out even her deepest fears.
...................................................................................................................
Sunlight slanted through the high dormitory windows, golden and soft, too gentle for the pounding headache currently thudding behind Hermione’s eyes. She groaned before she was even fully awake, the sound muffled by the pillow as she tried to shift onto her side.
But something warm and solid blocked her.
An arm. A very firm arm, heavy across her waist.
She gave another groan, tried again to move-only for the arm to tighten and pull her back in.
“Don’t even think about it,” Draco murmured, his voice still rough with sleep and that faint rasp that made her chest flutter even through the fog of wine and too many late-night dance breaks.
Before she could formulate a reply, another set of fingers brushed through her curls-slow, lazy strokes that traced from her scalp to the nape of her neck and back again. Theo.
“Mmmph,” she muttered into the blankets. “How... how am I still alive?”
“Because of us,” Draco said dryly, shifting behind her so his knees tucked more comfortably behind hers. “You would’ve turned to dust hours ago without our intervention.”
Theo’s voice came next, amused and still low with sleep. “We cut you off at two. And I had the rest of the girls escorted back to their dorms around three. You're welcome, by the way.”
Hermione groaned again, louder this time, and burrowed beneath the duvet like a mole seeking refuge. She shoved her face firmly into Theo’s bare side, wrapping one arm around his waist as if she could escape the hangover through sheer proximity to his warmth.
“I think my teeth are wine,” she said miserably.
“You did drink directly from the bottle at least twice,” Theo said. “That may have contributed.”
Draco chuckled behind her and kissed the back of her shoulder, exposed where his jersey had slipped slightly off her frame. “You sang into a hairbrush, love. Loudly. You and Pansy rewrote half the lyrics to Praise You.”
Hermione winced. “No.”
“Oh yes,” Theo confirmed. “Ginny and Luna added harmonies. It was... deeply moving. I think Parvati cried.”
“I think I want to die,” Hermione mumbled.
“No you don’t,” Draco said easily, hand sliding under the hem of his jersey to rest warm and familiar against her stomach. “You just need tea and about six hours of silence.”
“And a sandwich,” Theo added, tucking her closer. “Possibly bacon. I could be persuaded to fetch something if I’m bribed properly.”
Hermione shifted slightly, peeking one eye out from beneath the blanket. Her hair was definitely a bird’s nest. The room was still dim, curtains drawn halfway, the air smelling faintly of wine, sugar, and parchment.
“You cut me off at two?” she asked, voice muffled against Theo’s ribs.
“We did,” Draco replied. “And you pouted. Then insisted you were stone cold sober.”
“Even though you tripped trying to kick off your slipper,” Theo added helpfully.
Hermione groaned again and covered her face with both hands. “And the others?”
“Back in their own beds, I assume,” Theo said. “Pansy blew us kisses down the hall. Lavender fell asleep mid-wave.”
“You stayed with me?” she asked softly.
There was a pause, not awkward-just full of shared air and sunlight.
“Obviously,” Draco murmured, leaning in to nuzzle the curve of her neck. “You didn’t think we’d let you wake up alone with a pounding head and absolutely no one to make fun of you properly, did you?”
Theo’s hand traced up her back, fingers gentle through the jersey. “Besides, we like you like this. A bit ruffled. Full of chaos and poor wine decisions.”
“It's endearing,” Draco added.
“It’s tragic,” Hermione groaned, though her mouth curled up despite herself. “And I smell like honey and socks.”
“Not a bad combination,” Theo said, amused. “Honestly, I’d bottle it.”
There was a comfortable silence, the kind that could only come after late-night revelry with people you trusted beyond reason. The quiet hum of morning birdsong drifted in through the window. Draco’s hand drew lazy circles against her hip.
Hermione exhaled slowly. “I meant to go over notes this morning.”
“You also meant to drink just one glass,” Theo pointed out gently. “Plans evolve.”
“You needed the break,” Draco added, pressing another kiss to her shoulder. “You’ve been wound tighter than McGonagall’s schedule planner since Tuesday.”
Hermione turned slightly so she could see them both-Theo sleepy-eyed and fond, Draco tousled and warm, the faintest smirk playing at his lips.
“I was terrified yesterday,” she admitted quietly. “Before tea. I thought... maybe I’d ruin it.”
Draco shook his head. “You were perfect.”
“You were brave,” Theo said. “And honest. She saw that.”
Hermione blinked, throat tight. “Do you think she really meant it? That she admires me?”
Theo tucked a curl behind her ear. “She meant every word.”
“And even if she hadn’t,” Draco added, “you’ve got nothing to prove, Hermione. Not to her, not to anyone. Especially not while wearing my jersey and lying across both of us like a smug little dragon.”
“I am not smug,” Hermione protested, though she didn’t make the slightest effort to move.
“You are,” Theo said fondly, kissing the top of her head. “And it’s well-earned.”
They lay like that a while longer-entwined, limbs tangled, the weight of expectation evaporated like mist under a warm sun. Hermione’s breathing slowed, the steady comfort of them lulling her deeper into the mattress.
“Don’t let me fall back asleep,” she whispered.
“We won’t,” Draco said.
“But if you do,” Theo added, “we’ll just be here. Like always.”
She didn’t answer-only let herself relax into the warmth of them, the faint ache in her skull forgotten, her world narrowed to the rustle of sheets and the quiet rise and fall of their chests.
.......................................................................................................................
The hour drifted by in gentle quiet. The soft rustle of pages turning filled the dorm, broken only by the occasional contented sigh. Sunlight slanted in through the tall windows, catching in motes of dust that drifted lazily above the bed.
Hermione was still curled between them, her face half-buried against Draco’s chest, one leg tangled with Theo’s. Her breathing was slow and even, not quite asleep but far from awake. Draco’s arm was slung loosely around her waist, book balanced against his bent knee as he read in silence, occasionally glancing down to press a quiet kiss to her hair.
Theo, meanwhile, was definitely not reading.
He was lying on his side, one hand idly threading through her curls, the other lazily drifting in slow, featherlight trails across her ribs. Back and forth. Fingers skimming the hem of Draco’s old jersey she still hadn’t changed out of. Every now and then, his thumb would brush a bit more boldly beneath the edge of the fabric, a grin playing at the corner of his mouth.
Hermione stirred, brow scrunching as she shifted slightly-then let out a low, half-conscious sound somewhere between a moan and a sigh, nuzzling closer to Draco.
“That’s dangerous,” she mumbled thickly, eyes still closed. “If you don’t plan on finishing whatever you’re starting…”
Theo chuckled, his breath warm against her shoulder. “Didn’t plan on starting anything. Just amusing myself.”
Draco looked up from his book with a dry arch of one brow. “You do realize she bites when provoked.”
“Only sometimes,” Theo said innocently, fingers brushing a particularly sensitive spot just under the curve of her rib.
Hermione made a noise of protest and wriggled half-heartedly, kicking her foot against Theo’s shin. “You’re both evil.”
“Untrue,” Draco said, turning another page. “I’m just reading.”
“With a smug little smirk every time you look at me,” she grumbled.
“Pure coincidence,” he said, not looking up. “I’m simply enjoying the way you’re trying to decide if you want to hex Theo or climb into my lap."
“Why choose,” Hermione muttered, finally cracking one eye open. She blinked blearily at both of them. “What time is it?”
Theo glanced at the clock. “Half-ten.”
“We’ve been here that long?”
Draco finally set the book aside. “You haven’t moved in nearly an hour.”
“I was recovering,” she said dramatically, flopping onto her back with an arm over her eyes. “Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually. From all of you.”
Theo leaned over and kissed her forehead. “You love it.”
“I’m reconsidering.”
Draco’s fingers found her hand under the blanket and squeezed. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“No,” she sighed, tilting her head toward him. “Not for a while.”
Theo nestled closer on her other side, draping his arm comfortably across her middle, the three of them folded into each other like puzzle pieces. There was nothing demanding in the way they held her-only quiet affection, patient warmth.
“You were brilliant yesterday,” Draco said quietly, voice low near her temple.
Theo hummed. “Yeah. You kept it together better than I ever could’ve.”
Hermione’s eyes fluttered open again, her chest tight with feeling. “I didn’t feel brilliant. I felt like I might faint into the jam.”
“You didn’t,” Draco said. “And my mother adores you now.”
Hermione blinked slowly. “She kissed me on the cheek when we left.”
“She doesn’t even kiss me on the cheek when we leave,” Theo muttered, mock-offended.
“She used to hex me when I was fourteen,” Draco added. “Consider yourself very special.”
Hermione smiled faintly, cheeks warm. “Still think I should’ve gone with a darker gloss”
Draco rolled his eyes. “You looked perfect.”
“You always look perfect,” Theo agreed, tightening his arm around her.
“Lies,” she whispered, but she smiled.
They fell quiet again, the soft hush of morning wrapping around them like a second blanket. Somewhere outside, students were starting to stir—footsteps on the stairs, distant laughter, the hum of castle life resuming. But inside this room, time felt suspended.
Eventually, Hermione stretched her legs beneath the covers and sighed contentedly.
“We do have to get up at some point,” she murmured.
“Not yet,” Draco said, shifting to press a kiss behind her ear.
Theo kissed her knuckles. “Not until you say the word.”
Hermione nestled deeper between them, eyes fluttering closed again.
“Then I’m not saying anything.”
And neither of them argued.
........................................................................................................................
Half an hour later, Hermione lay nestled comfortably between Draco and Theo, her body sinking into the warmth of their presence. She was dozing lightly, her breathing slow and steady. Draco’s fingers traced a slow, lazy path along her bare shoulder, planting soft kisses that made her skin prickle with warmth.
A sudden, unmistakable growl from Hermione’s stomach broke the quiet. She stirred, cheeks flushing faintly as her eyes fluttered open.
Theo’s eyes caught hers immediately, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Hungry?” he murmured, his voice low enough to be a secret.
Hermione gave a small, tired shake of her head, voice barely above a whisper. “No… I’m fine.”
Draco, never missing a beat, smirked against her skin. “That was not ‘fine,’” he said, voice teasing but gentle. “That was a growl that could wake the dead. Don’t try to fool us.”
Hermione groaned softly, burying her face closer to Draco’s chest. “Okay, yes, I’m hungry. But I don’t want to move.”
Theo chuckled quietly, brushing his fingers through the curls at the nape of her neck. “You don’t have to.”
With a subtle flick of his wand, a small tin materialized on the bed beside them. Hermione’s eyes cracked open in surprise, and when the lid was lifted, inside were jam biscuits, golden tea cakes, and a few delicate sweets, arranged neatly as if by magic itself.
“Where were you hiding that?” Hermione asked, her voice still thick with sleep but clearly delighted.
Theo grinned, shushing her with a finger to his lips. “That’s my secret. You’re lucky I’m sharing.”
Draco laughed softly, shifting so he could sit up straighter, pulling Hermione gently with him. “We deserve proper refreshments for taking care of our girl.”
He flicked his wand, and a steaming teapot appeared on the small table by the bed, along with fine porcelain cups. The rich scent of brewed tea mingled with the sweet fragrance of the treats.
Hermione smiled, feeling the quiet luxury of the moment settle warmly around her. She reached out, taking a jam biscuit and nibbling carefully, savoring the sweetness.
Just then, a soft knock came at the door.
Hermione groaned, already feeling reluctant to leave this cozy bubble. She tried to push herself up, but Draco’s hand caught hers firmly.
“Stay,” Draco said softly, eyes locking on hers. “I’ll get it.”
She nodded gratefully and eased back against the pillows, watching Draco rise and open the door.
Harry stood there, rubbing the sleep from his eyes but with a small smile. “Morning, I just wanted to check on Hermione.”
Draco stepped aside. “Come in, Harry.”
Harry looked around the room, then gave a slight, knowing smile. “Had to haul Ginny back to her dorm at three this morning. She was pretty determined not to leave.”
Theo raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like someone was having fun.”
Harry chuckled. “Yeah, well, someone needed help staying upright. You all kept the party going late.”
Hermione offered a tired but amused smile. “We might have.”
Harry’s eyes softened. “Just making sure you’re okay. No one got too wild in here?”
Hermione shook her head. “No, nothing like that. Just some wine, dancing, and a lot of noise.”
Draco nodded. “We kept an eye on things.”
Theo grinned. “And we made sure everyone made it safetly back to their dorms."
Harry’s gaze settled on Hermione. “Good. Just don’t push yourself too hard.”
Hermione reached for Draco’s hand. “Thanks, Harry. We’ll be fine.”
Harry smiled warmly. “Alright. I’ll leave you to your breakfast and tea then. Send an owl if you need anything.”
As Harry turned to leave, Draco closed the door gently behind him. He sat back down, pulling Hermione closer. “He worries.”
Theo nodded, brushing a strand of hair from Hermione’s face. “Because he cares.”
Hermione sighed, feeling the warmth and comfort of her two boys beside her. “I’m fine,” she said softly, “really.”
Theo smiled. “Good. Because we’re not going anywhere.”
Draco kissed her temple. “Now, let’s eat before you starve.”
They settled back, sipping tea and nibbling biscuits in quiet contentment, the late morning sun spilling siftly through the windows.
Chapter 16: Fractures in the Foundation
Summary:
Hermione's past comes back to haunt her.
Notes:
This chapter contains adult content!!!
Chapter Text
Sunlight drifted through the curtains in soft golden stripes, painting lazy patterns across the tangled duvet and bare shoulders of the two boys curled close together. Draco’s arm was slung possessively across Theo’s waist; Theo’s face was turned into the pillow, mouth slightly parted in sleep. They looked peaceful, entirely at ease in the warm cocoon of Hermione’s room.
Hermione lay between them, blinking up at the ceiling with a soft, defeated sigh. Her muscles ached in that deliciously heavy way that meant sleep had been deep and dreamless, but her bladder was not nearly so content. Nor, if she was being honest, was her hair-which felt like a slightly damp lion’s mane mashed into the back of her head. She shifted slightly, hoping to wriggle free without disturbing them.
Theo murmured something in his sleep and instinctively tried to pull her closer.
“You're sweet, but you are in my way.” Hermione mumbled under her breath, barely louder than a whisper, as she carefully pried his arm from her waist and began to shimmy toward the edge of the bed.
Draco stirred, brow furrowing, but didn't wake.
With slow, practiced precision, Hermione maneuvered herself through the maze of limbs and blankets, finally-finally-placing her feet on the rug-covered floor with a victorious whisper: “Ha.”
She glanced back at the bed, expecting two groggy sets of eyes and maybe a grumble or two, but instead, both boys remained fast asleep, now curled toward each other in her absence. Draco nuzzled closer into Theo’s chest. Hermione’s heart clenched at the sight-she paused, smiling, before tiptoeing toward the bathroom with a soft yawn and her towel slung over one arm.
The hot shower was bliss.
Steam filled the small bathroom as Hermione rinsed her curls and let the water beat down on her sore shoulders. She washed away the last bits of sleep, a slight headache, and what she suspected was sticky toffee from one of Theo’s late-night tea cakes behind her ear. She stayed under the water longer than strictly necessary, just enjoying the calm, then stepped out and wrapped herself in her towel before padding back into her room.
She barely made it a few steps into the bedroom before two rather unimpressed expressions met her at the doorway.
Draco leaned against the headboard, arms crossed, pale hair tousled into something that looked like a Calvin Klein ad gone rogue. Theo had propped himself up on one elbow, squinting like she’d just offended every principle of basic human decency.
“Well, well,” Draco drawled, arching an eyebrow. “Look who decided to escape the nest.”
Theo scowled in mock betrayal. “We woke up to cold sheets and betrayal. Again.”
Hermione snorted and tugged the towel a little tighter around herself. “Oh, come off it. I just needed a shower and a moment to myself that didn’t involve elbows in my ribs or someone stealing the covers.”
Theo pointed at her accusingly. “We are the covers.”
Draco rose from the bed slowly, one leg at a time, like a panther stretching after a nap. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes-those sharp, silvery eyes-followed her every step. “And yet you slipped away,” he said softly, voice laced with theatrical injury. “Didn’t even leave a note.”
“I was gone twenty minutes,” she deadpanned.
Theo sat up fully now, ruffling his hair. “It’s not about how long you were gone, Hermione. It’s about the principle.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “What principle? You two are absurd.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Theo murmured, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “You don’t get to walk around in a towel looking like that and then mock us.”
Draco padded toward her now, the corner of his mouth curling into something predatory. “She’s even smug about it.”
“I’m not smug,” Hermione said, backing up a step instinctively as he advanced. “I’m clean.”
Theo joined him, moving like a shadow, voice low and teasing. “She thinks she can just slink off before noon and pretend like that’s normal.”
“We should teach her a lesson,” Draco said lightly, now only a few steps away.
Hermione stopped backing up and raised an eyebrow. “You two are ridiculous.”
“And yet,” Theo murmured, stepping behind her, his hands feather-light as they settled on her hips, “you’re still standing there.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but the gesture was interrupted by a sharp gasp as Draco's hand began to slide up the inside of her thigh. His touch was deliberate and teasing, making her skin tingle with anticipation. Theo's hand tightened around her throat, not enough to retrict her breathing, but enough to send a rush of heat straight to her core.
"I told you she was trouble," Theo murmured, his lips brushing against her ear as his other hand moved to cup her breast, his thumb circling her nipple through the towel.
Hermione's breath hitched as Draco's finger found her clit, rubbing slow deliberate circles that made her knees weak. Draco leaned in, his voice a low growl. "You're so responsive, Hermione. It's almost too easy."
Theo untied the towel, letting it fall to the floor and exposing her completely. "And so beautiful," Theo added, his hands roaming over her body as if memorizing every curve.
Hermione's eye fluttered closed as the sensations overwhelmed her. She reached out, exploring the hard planes of their chests and the muscles of their arms. Draco's fingers slipped inside her, curling and probing, finding that spot that made her see stars. Theo's hand found her clit, his thumb circling and pressing in time with Draco's movements.
"Cum for us, Hermione," Draco whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "Let us feel you cum."
Theo's fingers joined Draco's inside her, stretching and filling her as they moved in perfect synchronized rhythm. Hermione's body tensed, her muscles coiling tightly as pleasure reached a fever pitch. With a cry, she came, her body convulsing as waves of ecstacy swept over her.
"On the bed, princess," Draco commanded, his voice rough with desire. "We're not done with you yet."
Theo guided her backward until she fell onto the matress. They crawled onto the bedone on each side, their hands and mouths exploring every inch of her skin. Draco positioned himself between her legs, tongue replacing his fingers. Theo moved beside her, his lips finding her neck, his hands roaming over her body.
Hermione moaned, her hips lifting to meet Draco's mouth as Theo's touch sent shivers down her spine. Draco slid two fingers inside her, curling and probing as he tongue continued to work her clit. Theo's mouth moved to her breast, teasing her nipple as his hand found her other breast.
"Fuck, you taste so good," Draco murmured, his breath hot against her flesh.
Hermione's hand clentched into the sheets as the pleasure built. Draco pulled away, positioning himself at her entrance. "I need to be inside you," he growled, sliding into her slowly, filling her completely.
Theo's lips moved back to her throat, his hand sliding downt to her clit as Draco began to move. Hermione's legs wrapped around Draco's waist, pulling him deeper. "Kiss me, Hermione," Theo commanded, his lips capturing hers in a deep, intense kiss.
Draco's thrust became speratic as Hermione's moans were swallowed by Theo. He gave one final thrust, his body shuddering. Hermione cired out, her own orgasm crashing over her in waves of pleasure.
Theo smirked as he took Draco's place between Hermione's legs. "My turn, love." He said, a wicked grin growing on his face. Draco took Theo's place beside her, his fingers finding her clit as Theo began to thrust.
"Fuck, you're so tight," Theo groaned, his pace quickening. "So wet."
"Cum for us again, Hermione," Draco whispered, his lips brushing her ear. "Come undone for us."
With a cry, Hermione came once more, her body convulsing. Theo followed soon after, his body shuddering as he filled her.
They collapsed onto the bed, their bodies entwined, breathing heavily. Draco and Theo pulled her close, their arms wrapping around her protectively.
Hermione was breathless, her heart racing. Despite herself, she felt a rush of affexction and contentment. Theo pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, warm and affectionate now.
"So," he said, clearly grinning againt her skin, "shall we let her get dressed before we make her breakfast? Or is that apart of the punishment?"
Hermione groaned and dropped her head back onto Draco’s shoulder. “I was feeling smug. Now I feel ambushed.”
Draco chuckled and wrapped his arms fully around her. “Ambushed with affection and sex. Terrible fate.”
“Fine,” she said, wriggling between them, “but if I end up late to the library because you two are emotionally needy-”
“We’re physically needy,” Theo corrected.
“Emotionally is just a bonus,” Draco added.
She shoved them both gently. “Let me get dressed, or I swear to Merlin I’ll hide every jam biscuit in this room.”
That got them to drop their arms away, reluctantly.
Draco saluted her as they propped themselves against the pillows. "Ten minutes. Or we barge in."
Hermione gave him a very rude gesture in response and turned toward the bathroom, still smiling. “And if that was a punishment,” she called over her shoulder, “then I need to sneak out of bed more often.”
Behind her, Theo chuckled as he turned to Draco. "You think she knows she's our entire world?"
"She will," Draco murmured. "Every damn day."
.........................................................................................................................
The dorm room was bathed in late afternoon sunlight, warm and dappled across the carpet where it streamed through the enchanted windows. A soft breeze stirred the curtains. Hermione stepped out of the bathroom in worn jeans and an old Gryffindor t-shirt tied at her waist, her braid damp and heavy down her back. She rubbed her towel along the ends absently, only to stop short when she spotted the bed.
Draco and Theo were still curled together in the tangle of sheets and each other, the two of them barely awake, faces soft and flushed with sleep. Theo’s leg was thrown across Draco’s hip; Draco’s arm was around Theo’s waist. Both blinked at her slowly, like cats disturbed from a sunbeam.
Theo squinted and lifted his head slightly. "I still can not beileve you are dressed."
Draco yawned and rubbed his eyes. "We had a system, and you runied it. You-us-bed."
Hermione rolled her eyes and reached for her satchel, which she’d stuffed halfway beneath her desk the night before. “It’s nearly one in the afternoon. I’m dressed because I’d like to be a functioning adult for the next few hours.”
Theo flopped dramatically onto his back. “Functioning is for weekdays.”
“I have reading,” she reminded, slinging the satchel over her shoulder. “And at least two scrolls of notes to organize before Monday. And a group presentation with Padma and Daphne on Tuesday. I can’t keep letting you two distract me every single weekend.”
“We’re a delight,” Draco argued, voice still hoarse with sleep. “The best kind of distraction.”
“We’re practically educational,” Theo added, smirking up at her. “Surely there’s a paper in this somewhere.”
Hermione laughed despite herself and slipped her trainers on, toeing the laces tight. “You two are impossible.”
“And you love us,” Theo said brightly.
Hermione gave him a pointed look. “Unfortunately.”
Theo grinned and elbowed Draco. “Did you hear that? She’s smitten.”
“I heard it,” Draco said, voice thick with pride as he sat up, the sheets slipping down his bare chest. “But I’m choosing to ignore her betrayal.”
“Betrayal?” Hermione repeated, throwing up her hands.
Draco swung his legs over the side of the bed and crossed the room in just his sleep pants, standing directly in front of the door.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Move.”
“No.”
“Theo,” she called over Draco’s shoulder, “your boyfriend has lost his mind.”
Theo stretched lazily. “He’s not letting you leave, is he?”
“He is not.”
“I warned you,” Theo said, grinning as he propped himself up on his elbows. “You shouldn’t have showered and dressed. That’s always the first mistake.”
Hermione huffed and put her hands on her hips. “You cannot keep me hostage in my own dorm room.”
Draco raised a single, perfectly arched brow. “Watch me.”
Hermione drew herself up, eyes flashing. “Draco Lucius Abraxas Malfoy,” she said sweetly. “Move. Before I hex you. Very creatively.”
Draco visibly winced, mouth twitching at the corners.
Theo let out a loud, wheezing laugh. “Oh, that’s not fair-you pulled out the full name! Merlin, I haven’t seen him flinch like that since Professor Sinistra told him to redo his entire star chart.”
“Shut it,” Draco muttered, glaring at him as he reluctantly stepped
Hermione grinned smugly and swept past him, pausing just long enough to reach up and kiss his cheek.
“You’re lucky I’m merciful,” she said, and then ducked out the door before either of them could drag her back.
Theo’s laughter echoed after her. “Bring us back biscuits if you come to your senses!”
Draco crossed his arms and glared at the closed door for a beat longer before turning to Theo, who was now lounging like a smug cat in the middle of the bed.
“She used the full name.”
“She did.”
“She’s getting too powerful.”
Theo smirked. “You like it.”
“…unfortunately.”
They both laughed, the sound warm and easy in the quiet dorm room as the sunlight crept further across the sheets.
......................................................................................................................
The library was hushed, warm with the scent of old parchment and polished wood, and speckled with late afternoon sun filtering through tall arched windows. Hermione sat tucked away in a back corner-one of the most hidden study tables, half-shielded by overgrown stacks of books and trailing ivy from the enchanted sills. The table was practically buried beneath towers of texts: political treatises, spellcraft journals, and a heavily annotated volume on early postwar magical legislation.
She chewed thoughtfully on the end of her quill, scrawling a note in the margin of her parchment before flipping the page of the volume before her. Her braid lay over on shoulder, her reading glasses slipped slightly down her nose, and her t-shirt was rumpled from leaning over the table for so long.
She barely noticed the shadow that passed overhead.
Then-thwap-a folded bit of parchment drifted lazily down in front of her face, landing right atop her notes.
Hermione blinked.
She narrowed her eyes, then unfolded it, scanning the slanted script.
You looked far too seriooud a minute ago. Can we tempt you back to bed if we promise we'll let you study afterwards?
- D&T
She snorted softly, rolling her eyes. Quill already in hand, she scribbled back a quick reply.
No. Some of us are capable of focus without being bribed with tea and scandalous promises.
She flicked her wand and sent the note zipping off in the direction it came from, not bothering to look up.
Three minutes later, another piece of parchment floated down.
We have tea and scandalous promises. Also, we miss you.
Hermione’s lips twitched. She didn't smile. Not really. But the corners of her mouth curved in a distinctly smug, amused way.
She responded without hesitation.
You are two of the most distracting human beings on this planet. Let me work, or I'll rearrange your eyebrows with a permanent transfiguration charm.
The next note simply read:
You're beautiful when you're threatening. Also, we brought biscuts. And we're getting closer.
Hermione groaned under her breath, snatched the note up, and crumpled it with practiced irritation-though the blush that warmed her cheeks gave her away. She was still chuckling softly to herself when she felt the air shift nearby.
She didn’t need to look up.
A second later, a familiar voice murmured from just behind her.
“Are we forgiven if we surrender the biscuits first?”
Hermione looked up over her shoulder.
Draco was there, arms folded, leaning one shoulder against a nearby bookshelf with an entirely too smug expression. He was in a soft black jumper and dark slacks, windswept hair falling into his eyes.
Theo stood behind him, a lopsided grin on his face, holding a tin that clearly contained contraband baked goods. “We considered disguising ourselves as bookcases to sneak in unnoticed, but the glamour wasn’t sticking.”
“Because someone sneezed mid-charm,” Draco added blandly.
“That dust was aggressive,” Theo said with dignity.
Hermione sighed, pushing her quill into the inkwell. “I was being productive.”
“You are productive,” Draco said smoothly, stepping closer. “We’re just here to offer moral support. And snacks.”
Theo popped the tin open with a flourish, revealing sugar-dusted tea biscuits and some still-warm jam tarts. “Peace offering. Or bribe, depending on how merciful you’re feeling.”
Hermione stared at them for a beat, then pulled her braid over her shoulder again and said, “You’re going to hover and be distracting until I give in, aren’t you?”
“Correct,” said Theo brightly.
Draco leaned down and brushed his lips against her temple. “It’s your fault, really. You left us unsupervised.”
“I left you in my room,” Hermione replied dryly.
“A common mistake,” Theo quipped.
With a sigh that was only partially exasperated, Hermione shifted her chair back to make room. Theo immediately took the opportunity to sit on the arm of her chair and start laying out the snacks on a spare bit of parchment. Draco perched on the edge of the table beside her books, careful not to knock anything over.
Hermione watched them for a moment, then said, “I take it this means you didn’t do any of your own reading.”
Draco looked mock-affronted. “I read. I read your notes while you were gone.”
Theo smirked. “Which means I did twice the work by reading his version of your notes.”
Hermione pressed a hand to her forehead. “Merlin help me.”
“You love us,” Theo said, offering her a tart.
She took it despite herself, lips twitching. “I do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hex you both.”
“That’s fair,” Draco said mildly. “Though you’ll be less inclined once you’ve had three more of those tarts.”
She bit into the one in her hand and made an involuntary noise of appreciation. “You warmed them.”
Theo beamed. “We’re not monsters.”
They settled in around her-Draco cross-legged on the edge of the table, Theo draped half across the back of her chair, his fingers playing absently with the end of her braid. Hermione, despite her earlier focus, found herself relaxing.
The tower of books no longer felt like a wall but a cocoon. With Theo gently brushing his thumb along her nape and Draco occasionally reaching out to tap the page she was reading, pointing out a passage he liked or disagreed with, it felt less like studying and more like some private little world of their own.
After a while, Hermione leaned back slightly, tipping her head toward Theo.
“I’m still going to finish this essay before dinner,” she murmured.
“Mm. Of course you are,” Theo said, not even pretending to believe it.
Draco stole another tart and smirked. “And we’ll be right here to make sure you take breaks every fifteen minutes.”
Hermione looked between them, laughter in her eyes. “You’re both insufferable.”
“But you adore us,” Theo murmured.
“I do,” she said, finally letting herself smile-soft and warm and entirely genuine. “Now hush. I’m working.”
And she was. Sort of.
At least until the next note mysteriously floated down from nowhere, charmed to sparkle.
Hermione rolled her eyes. But her cheeks stayed pink the whole time.
..........................................................................................................................
Hermione's dorm room was quiet, cloaked in the stillness of the late hour. The faint golden glow from the window cast long, slanting shadows over the walls, and a soft breeze from the crack in the enchanted glass stirred the drapes like a lullaby. Hermione lay curled between Draco and Theo, one of Draco’s arms draped protectively around her waist, Theo’s fingers resting lightly in her hair.
She was deeply asleep, her breathing slow, even. The only sound in the room was the steady rhythm of their joined heartbeats, the occasional rustle of bedsheets as someone shifted.
But then-
Hermione twitched.
Her brow furrowed, lips parting around a soundless word. Her legs kicked slightly, heel knocking into Theo’s shin, and her fingers clawed lightly at the sheet.
A low whimper escaped her throat.
Theo blinked awake, barely, and shifted a little closer to her. His fingers brushed her temple soothingly, murmuring something soft he wasn’t even fully conscious of.
But it didn’t help.
Hermione’s breaths turned sharp, shallow, panicked.
“No,” she mumbled. “No, please-please don’t-”
Draco stirred then, the tone of her voice cracking through his sleep. He blinked once, groggy. “Hermione?”
She thrashed suddenly.
Her back arched, legs tangled in the sheets, arms flinging out wildly.
Then-
“NO!” she screamed, voice raw and shattering in the dark.
Magic exploded out from her like a detonation. The window cracked in the corner, the curtains flared. The small reading lamp on the desk sparked and died. Her hair lifted from her scalp as if caught in a whirlwind, and a high, keening sob tore from her chest as both boys sat bolt upright.
“Hermione!” Draco said, grabbing her shoulder.
She was still asleep, but her eyes were open now, wide and unseeing. She was panting like she couldn’t breathe, chest heaving.
“No,” she sobbed, “no, not again-please not again-please-”
Theo moved fast, his hands catching her flailing wrists before she could hurt herself or them with her wild magic. “Hermione, it’s us-it’s just us-you're safe. You’re safe.”
Draco’s hands cupped her face. “Sweetheart. Wake up. Come back to us.”
Her body jerked once more-and then, finally, her eyes focused. She blinked, wild and unfocused, and stared at them. The room trembled as her magic slowly began to pull back into her chest like a tide retreating.
“Draco?” she whispered.
“I’m here,” he said immediately, leaning closer, forehead brushing hers. “I’m here. You’re safe.”
Theo eased her hands down gently, then took one of them in his own. “It was just a nightmare, love. Just a dream.”
Hermione began to sob. “I’m-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-I didn’t think it was going to-I didn’t-”
“Shhh,” Draco murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “None of that. You don’t have to apologise.”
Theo tucked the blanket back around her shaking shoulders, drawing her tightly against his chest. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I-I didn’t know it was still in me like that,” she whispered, eyes wide with horror. “I thought-I haven’t dreamed of her in months.”
“She’s not here,” Draco said, his voice quiet but iron-solid. “She’s gone. She’ll never come near you again.”
Hermione’s breathing finally began to slow. Her magic calmed, the buzz in the air fading. Her lashes fluttered, and she nodded once before burying her face in Theo’s chest.
They lay like that for several minutes, curled close together, her body gradually relaxing again.
Eventually, she fell back asleep, trembling faintly, Theo’s arms holding her like iron, Draco still seated close, one hand stroking up and down her back.
The silence returned slowly.
Theo’s voice was quiet, but clear. “You think it was that day?”
Draco didn’t answer right away.
His grey eyes were unreadable as he stared at the faint lines of moonlight across the duvet. Then he nodded once.
“I’m almost sure.”
Theo exhaled slowly. “I’ve heard her speak of it before. Sparingly. I’ve never seen her like that, though.”
Draco swallowed hard. “It was the worst day of my life.”
Theo looked at him then, frowning softly.
“Not just because of what happened to her,” Draco said quietly. “But because it happened in my house. With my aunt. And I didn’t stop it.”
Theo reached out and pressed his hand briefly to Draco’s shoulder.
“You were a boy,” he said, his voice firm but kind. “We all were. No one could have stopped her.”
Draco closed his eyes. “I should have.”
Theo said nothing for a moment. Then, “But you’re here now. She trusts you. Loves you.”
A breath passed between them.
“I know,” Draco said. “But I’ll never stop trying to make up for it.”
Theo’s eyes flicked to Hermione, sleeping now between them, her face finally still. Her hand was clutching the hem of Draco’s shirt.
“She doesn’t need you to make up for anything,” Theo murmured. “She needs you to hold her.”
Draco looked down at her, and something in his face softened.
“Then that’s what I’ll do.”
He lay back down slowly, curling his arm around her waist once more.
Theo tucked himself back into her side, brushing his thumb gently along the edge of her jaw.
“I don’t think this’ll be the last one,” Theo said, after a moment.
“No,” Draco agreed. “But we’ll be here. Every time.”
They lay in silence for a long while after that, Hermione breathing between them.
And despite the shadow of what had come before, despite the lingering echo of fear that still drifted in the room like smoke-there was peace.
Real peace.
Hard-earned. Fiercely protected. Unshakeable.
And in the dark, they kept her safe.
......................................................................................................................
The soft grey light of early morning filtered in through Hermione’s dormitory windows, casting pale shadows across the rumpled bedclothes. The air was still and faintly warm, touched by the lingering scent of her shampoo and tea cakes from the night before. Theo shifted first, nose buried into the pillow that still smelled like her, and reached out instinctively for her warm form.
His hand landed on cool sheets.
He frowned.
A moment later, Draco stirred too, arms stretching before sliding over to Theo’s side-and then pausing, fingers brushing against empty linens. His eyes opened slowly, confusion knitting his brow as he turned his head.
“Hermione?” he murmured, voice still hoarse with sleep.
Theo cracked open an eye. “She’s not in bed?”
Draco sat up, sweeping his tousled hair out of his eyes, the covers falling to his waist. “No. She’s not in the bathroom either,” he added, glancing toward the slightly ajar door and the darkened interior beyond.
Theo propped himself up on one elbow, expression sharpening. “Maybe she just couldn’t sleep. Maybe she went to the library to read.”
Draco’s mouth twisted, not quite buying it. “At-what time is it?”
Theo lifted his wand and muttered, “Tempus.”
Soft golden numbers shimmered in the air: 6:14 a.m.
Draco exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “Hermione, you impossible woman…”
Theo groaned as he sat up fully, rubbing his eyes. “You think maybe last night got to her more than she let on?”
“She didn’t say much after,” Draco said quietly, eyes narrowing with thought. “She curled up and passed out not long after we got her calmed. But that dream-”
“I know.” Theo’s voice was subdued, his brow furrowing. “I could feel her shaking when she finally fell asleep again. She clung to me like I was the edge of a cliff.”
Draco looked grim, pushing the blankets aside and stepping onto the rug. The chill of the stone floor was sharp beneath his feet. He summoned his trousers with a flick and caught them one-handed as Theo stretched and pulled a jumper over his head.
“You think we should tell Harry?” Theo asked as he slipped into his jeans, his voice low, cautious. “Just so he’s aware she might be spiraling?”
Draco froze in the middle of buttoning his shirt.
“No,” he said firmly. “She’d hate that. She’s not a child. She’d see it as us going behind her back.”
Theo nodded slowly, tugging his sleeves down. “You’re right. And it’s not like he could do anything we’re not already doing.”
“He’d want to, though,” Draco muttered, voice softening. “He loves her. But this… Hermione has to come to him. Or us. On her own time.”
Theo’s mouth quirked into a tired, affectionate smile. “You almost sound wise.”
Draco arched a brow. “I always sound wise.”
“You always sound smug.”
“You love it.”
“Tragically, I do.”
Draco’s lips lifted just slightly as he reached for his boots. “Library first. If she’s not there…”
Theo nodded solemnly, grabbing his wand and slipping it into his back pocket. “We’ll find her. She’s probably just being Hermione and losing track of time in a tower of books.”
Draco looked toward the empty half of the bed, Hermione’s pillow still bearing the soft indentation of her head. His gaze lingered.
“She didn’t even take her satchel,” he murmured.
Theo glanced at the floor near the bed. “That’s unlike her.”
“Yeah,” Draco agreed quietly. “It is.”
They exchanged a look-one of shared worry, understanding, and unspoken resolve.
Together, they crossed the room and slipped into the corridor, their footsteps quiet on the worn stone, the dormitory door clicking shut behind them.
Not racing. Not panicking. But definitely not wasting time.
........................................................................................................................
The library was silent, as it always was at this hour - thick with dust motes and golden shafts of morning light piercing through high arched windows. Rows upon rows of shelves loomed like sentinels, their spines whispering secrets in languages long forgotten. At the far end, tucked into a shadowed corner of the restricted section - not technically in it, but close enough - sat Hermione.
Her braid was neat, her jumper crisp, and her cardigan folded neatly on the chair behind her. Quill in hand, she scribbled furiously across a scrap of parchment, ink smudging faintly along the edge of her wrist. The book in front of her was older than the castle itself - its cracked leather spine held together with magic and sheer will. She’d been poring over it for Merlin only knew how long, lips moving silently as she read, brow furrowed so tight it looked almost painful.
The page turned. Another note. Another anxious sigh that caught in her chest.
Her fingers were ink-stained, her tea had long gone cold, and her eyes burned with exhaustion and something darker - a tightness behind them that betrayed more than just lack of sleep. Her foot tapped beneath the table. Her jaw clenched. She read the same sentence twice, then again, but the words refused to take root.
She didn’t notice them approaching until she heard the footsteps halt - and the sharp intake of breath behind her.
“There you are,” Theo said, voice low but laced with palpable relief. “Bloody hell, sunshine. It took forever to find you.”
Hermione stiffened but didn’t turn around. Her quill scratched a final word, then stopped.
Hermione stiffened but didn’t turn around. Her quill scratched a final word, then stopped.
“Maybe I didn’t want to be found,” she said, without looking up.
Draco came to stand beside Theo, arms crossed over his chest. “You can’t just disappear,” he said, gentler than Theo had been. “Not after-last night. We woke up and you were gone, Hermione.”
She finally turned to look at them. Her expression was neutral, composed-but her eyes betrayed her. Red-rimmed. Tired. Not from lack of sleep, but from fighting something invisible.
“I’m not your responsibility,” she said. “You don’t have to check on me every time I go somewhere alone.”
Theo furrowed his brow. “It’s not about responsibility. We care about you-”
“Well, maybe I don’t want to be cared about,” she snapped, voice rising as she pushed her chair back and stood. The legs scraped across the floor with a screech. “Maybe I want to be left alone for once in my bloody life.”
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Draco stepped forward, his tone calm but firm. “You don’t mean that.”
Hermione’s eyes flashed. “Don’t tell me what I mean. Don’t act like you understand. You hover and you soothe and you act like I’m-like I’m something fragile, like I’m going to shatter at the next strong breeze. I’m not some broken thing that needs your pity.”
“It’s not pity,” Theo said quickly, taking a step toward her. “It’s not that. Don’t do that-don’t twist this into something it isn’t.”
Hermione’s mouth pressed into a hard line. Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
“Oh, I’m twisting things, am I? Right. Of course. It’s me. Again.”
Draco inhaled, trying to keep his voice level. “Hermione, we’re just trying to help. You don’t have to do everything alone.”
“Well, maybe I want to,” she snapped. “Because every time I don’t, someone ends up dead or broken or ruined, and I’m tired of dragging people into the mess that is my life.”
Theo looked pained, and Draco’s expression had gone carefully blank.
There was a long, brittle silence.
Hermione turned sharply, collecting the books on the table and stuffing her parchment between the pages. “I need to go get my satchel,” she muttered. “And then I need to get ready for class.”
She turned to go-
Draco held out her satchel without a word. It had been slung over his shoulder since they’d left the dorm. Her eyes flicked to it briefly, then back to his face.
“You left it behind,” he said quietly.
She took it, the strap brushing his fingers as she snatched it from his hand. “Thanks.”
“You haven’t eaten,” Theo said softly. “Class doesn’t start for another half an hour, sweetheart. Just… sit with us. For five minutes. Please.”
She didn’t look at him.
Didn’t answer.
Didn’t pause.
She slung the satchel over her shoulder, turned on her heel, and strode from the library without another word.
Draco watched her go, jaw tight.
Theo dragged a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath. “Well. That could’ve gone better.”
Draco exhaled, slow and sharp. “We can’t push.”
“She’s pushing us away.”
“I know.” Draco’s tone was heavy. “But she’s allowed to. For now.”
Theo didn’t answer right away. He glanced at the parchment still resting on the table, ink smudged with what might have been a fingerprint… or a tear. He carefully closed the old tome she’d been reading and gathered the paper into his hand.
“I just wish she’d let us help her.”
Draco stared toward the arched doorway where Hermione had vanished.
“She will,” he said. “Eventually.”
He just hoped it would be before she shattered.
........................................................................................................................
The Comparative Spellcasting lecture hall was already filling when Draco, Theo, Blaise, and Harry stepped through the arched doorway. The space was cavernous-vaulted ceilings, enchanted stained glass windows flickering with soft magical auras, and rows of stone benches that descended toward the dais where Professor Greaves’s ancient desk sat like a monument to dusty tradition.
Hermione was already there.
She sat at the back of the hall, perfectly upright, surrounded by her usual meticulous arrangement: parchment stacked, textbook open, notes aligned with geometric precision. She looked composed. Untouchable. Cold.
Until one looked closely-at the too-tight grip of her quill, the slight tremble in her fingers, the barely-perceptible pinch at the corners of her eyes. Hermione was unraveling quietly, thread by thread.
Draco’s heart squeezed at the sight of her. He hesitated, exchanged a glance with Theo, then moved toward the empty seat beside her.
“Hey,” he said gently.
Without a word-or even a glance-Hermione flicked her wand beneath the desk. The chair beside her vanished with a soft pop.
Draco stopped in his tracks. “Are you serious right now?”
Hermione turned a page in her textbook, her voice clipped and glacial. “Yes, seriously.”
Theo winced. “Hermione, can we just talk?”
“I don’t want to talk,” she said tightly. “I want to learn. That’s what this room is for.”
Harry stepped forward, eyes narrowed. “Alright, what the hell is going on with you three? Because I left a trail of Chocolate Frog wrappers trying to get Ginny back to her dorm last night, and I don’t have the energy for cryptic brooding.”
Theo exhaled and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s not exactly simple, Harry.”
“She had a nightmare,” Draco said, voice low. “Woke up screaming. Magic flaring. She wouldn’t talk to us about it.”
“She disappeared this morning,” Theo added. “Didn’t tell anyone where she went.”
Hermione slammed her book closed. The sound echoed across the hall. "If I wanted my brother informed, I would have bloody told him myself.”
Harry blinked. “Alright, well… that answers that.”
Blaise, already lounging several rows up, muttered dryly, “She’s got claws out today.”
Hermione’s glare flicked toward him. “Would you like to see what else I’ve got, Zabini?”
Blaise lifted his hands in mock surrender, grinning.
Draco’s jaw tensed. He stepped forward, voice quiet. “You don’t have to shut us out.”
“I’m not shutting you out,” Hermione snapped. “I’m drawing a boundary.”
Theo frowned. “That’s not what this is, and you know it.”
She stood abruptly, drawing the eyes of several nearby students. “What this is, is none of your concern anymore.”
Draco held up one of her books- one she had left behind in the library. He offered it silently, expression unreadable.
Hermione snatched it from his hand without a word.
Theo’s brow furrowed. “You still haven’t eaten anything.”
“I’m aware,” she said coldly. “Class is starting.”
Professor Greaves entered just then with his usual flourish of dusty robes and a frown deep enough to split stone.
“Wands away,” he barked, dropping a heavy tome onto the dais. “This is Comparative Spellcasting, not some first-year Charms circus.”
The room shifted and stilled. Students quickly obeyed.
Draco and Theo exchanged a long glance-then slid onto a bench beside Harry, a few rows ahead of Hermione.
As Greaves launched into a dry, droning explanation of divergent spellcasting structures between Dwarvish rune-sequences and Anglo-Celtic wandwork, Theo pulled a bit of parchment from his pocket. He scribbled a few words, folded it, and flicked it backward with his wand. It fluttered down silently beside Hermione’s elbow.
She didn’t look at it.
Draco sent another, his handwriting firm, the ink still drying:
Let us in. Please.
Hermione vanished it with a flick of her fingers.
Theo tried again:
We're worried because we care. Not because we think you're weak.
Another vanish. Another blank expression.
Draco leaned against his desk, watching her in his peripheral vision. She was statue-still, staring ahead, one hand clenched in her lap. She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just wrote-flawlessly, mechanically, as though nothing else existed.
But Draco could see it. The tiniest tremor in her left hand. The stiffness in her shoulders. The way her jaw locked tighter every time another note appeared.
Harry leaned over and muttered, “Is she always like this when she’s upset?”
“Only when she’s really upset,” Theo murmured.
Draco nodded. “She’s hurting. And she thinks the only way to handle it is to go numb.”
“Should we tell someone?” Harry asked, brow furrowed.
Draco shook his head. “No. That would only make it worse.”
“She’s going to class,” Theo murmured. “We’re going to class.”
“Feels more like stalking,” Pansy said under her breath, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Exceptionally well-dressed stalking, but stalking nonetheless.”
“She’s not even looking at us,” Ginny added, her brow creased. “It’s like we’re not even here.”
“She knows,” Draco said tightly. “She just doesn’t want to acknowledge it.”
There was a pause before Blaise added, “It’s been a full morning of this.”
“I know,” Draco muttered. “Trust me.”
They passed beneath another high window. The shifting light caught on the golden threads in Hermione’s braid, but she didn’t flinch or turn. The sound of her shoes tapping on the stone floor was brisk, determined, and ever so slightly too fast.
Harry, walking just behind Theo, finally exhaled hard and came to a stop.
“I’ve had enough of this.”
Theo turned. “Harry, don’t-”
But Harry was already moving.
“Harry-” Draco tried, but it was too late.
Hermione heard his footsteps change. She knew it instantly-that stride was different, purposeful and closing fast. She didn’t slow, but her eyes narrowed. A beat later, Harry’s hand closed around her wrist.
“Hermione,” he said sharply. “What the hell is going on?”
She yanked her arm back, her voice cold and cut-glass. “Let go of me.”
“You’re spiraling,” Harry said, frustration thick in his voice. “You’ve been snapping at everyone, avoiding people, skipping meals-”
“Not your business,” she snapped.
“I’m your brother!”
Hermione’s voice rose as she spun to face him. “Then act like it! Stop trying to control me and start trusting that I know what I’m doing!”
“Trust you?” Harry barked. “You screamed yourself awake in the middle of the night, locked yourself in the library for hours, and now you’re treating your friends like dirt! Forgive me if I don’t think this is you being fine.”
Behind them, Ginny stepped forward, her voice careful but firm. “Harry, maybe back off a bit-”
“She’s clearly not fine!” Harry cut in. “Why is no one else saying anything?”
“Because you’re yelling at her like she’s five,” Pansy said, folding her arms.
“Because maybe she needs space, not more pressure,” Blaise added.
Harry ignored them all, eyes fixed on Hermione. “You’re pushing people away who love you.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Hermione said, her voice shaking now. “And if you think screaming at me in the middle of the corridor is helping, you don’t know me at all.”
“You’re hurting,” Harry said, quieter now. “And none of us know what to do-”
“Then don’t do anything!” she shouted. “Stop trying to fix me like I’m a broken clock that just needs winding!”
Behind them, Theo let out a quiet curse under his breath.
Draco turned to Blaise and Ginny, voice low. “This is a disaster.”
Theo nodded grimly. “We should’ve intercepted him sooner.”
But Hermione heard them. Her gaze snapped back to Draco and Theo like twin flashes of lightning.
“You two don’t get to talk about me like I’m not here,” she said furiously. “You don’t get to whisper behind my back or follow me down corridors like I’m going to shatter if I’m left alone for five minutes.”
Draco took a step forward, hands up. “Hermione-”
“No,” she said, eyes flashing. “You don’t get to smother me with care one minute and pity me the next. I’m not your responsibility. I’m not your project. I’m not a puzzle you need to solve.”
Theo tried to speak, but she cut him off.
“And I don’t need your guilt, either. Or your protectiveness. Or your whispering concerns behind my back like I can’t hear them.”
“Hermione-” Theo tried.
“Enough,” she said, backing away from all of them. Her eyes shone with something brittle and dangerous. “I am allowed to have a bad day. I am allowed to need space. And I am allowed to not explain myself every time I don’t want to be held like I’m something delicate.”
She turned sharply, her braid whipping behind her, and stormed away down the corridor, her footsteps echoing louder than anyone’s voice had.
The five of them stood in stunned silence as she disappeared around the bend.
Ginny broke it first. “Well,” she said softly, “that went about as well as a mandrake in a teacup.”
Chapter 17: The Price She Pays
Summary:
Hermione breaks and crashes. Hard.
Notes:
Here is the next chapter!! I hope you all enjoy!!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The library was quiet in that particular way it always became during lunch-half-abandoned, as most students took the chance to escape into the warmth and chatter of the Great Hall. Outside, the autumn sun streamed through the tall windows, gilding the worn wood tables and floating motes of dust with a soft golden haze.
Hermione sat alone at a far table near the window. Books were open in front of her-thick tomes on historical spell fusion and incantation genealogy-her parchment lined with carefully inked headings and half-finished diagrams. But her eyes weren’t moving.
Her gaze was fixed blankly on a single paragraph. Her quill rested uselessly in her hand, the feather drooping against the desk. She didn’t blink. She didn’t write. She didn’t move.
She had been like that for nearly half an hour.
Draco and Theo stood behind a shelf in the next row, angled where they could just see her through a gap in the books. Neither of them had spoken in several long minutes. The quiet was dense, weighted with frustration and helplessness.
Draco leaned one shoulder against the bookcase and exhaled. “She’s been staring at those notes for at least twenty minutes.”
“Thirty,” Theo murmured. “She hasn’t turned a page. Barely blinked.”
Draco rubbed a hand over his jaw. “She’s not reading. She’s just… stuck.”
Theo didn’t look away from her. “And she hasn’t eaten anything today. Not breakfast. Not even tea.”
“She’s going to burn herself out.” Draco’s voice was low, tight with concern. “She’s barely slept. I don’t think she’s even spoken to anyone since this morning.”
“She hasn’t,” Theo said. “Not really.”
A long pause passed between them, broken only by the soft rustle of distant pages being turned.
“I hate this,” Draco muttered. “I hate watching her do this to herself.”
Theo didn’t reply for a moment. His eyes were steady on Hermione’s unmoving form. “She’s not doing it to herself. She’s doing it because of what was done to her.”
Draco pressed his lips into a hard line. “Last night... that dream-”
“It was more than a dream,” Theo said quietly. “You saw how she woke up.”
Draco’s hand curled at his side. “Yeah. I saw.”
Theo shifted slightly. “We should talk to her. Just-check in.”
“Like that’s worked today,” Draco said, bitter. “She’s already iced us out half a dozen times.”
“We don’t have to fix it,” Theo said, echoing his own words from earlier. “But we can’t leave her sitting there like she’s made of glass either.”
Draco started to step forward-then Hermione’s voice sliced across the library before he could.
“If you’re going to hover like ghosts, at least do it somewhere else.”
Both boys froze.
Theo blinked. “Did she just-”
“Yep,” Draco muttered. “Right then.”
They stepped from behind the shelf and approached slowly.
“We’re not hovering,” Draco said, keeping his voice carefully even. “We were just… making sure you don’t pass out on the table from hunger and exhaustion.”
Hermione didn’t even look up. “How very noble of you.”
Theo reached into his bag and pulled out a bright red apple. “At least eat something. Please.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Draco said, more sharply than he meant to. “You haven’t eaten, haven’t slept properly, and you’ve been snapping at anyone who comes within six feet of you.”
Hermione looked up then. Her eyes were sharp and tired, the edges of a headache pinched at her brow. “You think I don’t know that?”
Theo stepped forward, voice quiet but firm. “We’re not trying to argue with you.”
“Then stop talking to me like I’m broken,” Hermione snapped. “I had a bad night. It’s over. I have things to do.”
Draco's jaw twitched. “We’re not talking to you like you’re broken. We're talking to you like we care.”
Hermione let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Oh, well, isn’t that lovely.”
Theo’s expression tightened. “Hermione-”
“If I eat the bloody apple,” she said, voice clipped and brittle, “will you leave me alone?”
Theo held it out again, slower this time. “Only if you actually eat it. Not if you just throw it in your bag and pretend.”
Hermione’s gaze lingered on the fruit like it had personally offended her. Then she yanked it from Theo’s hand and bit into it with sharp, deliberate irritation.
“There. Happy?”
“No,” Draco said simply. “But it’s a start.”
Hermione took another bite, slower, her gaze dropping back to her parchment-but her shoulders were rigid, tension humming in every line of her body. Her quill lay untouched.
Theo glanced at Draco, then back at her. “You haven’t written anything since we got here.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You’ve been thinking in the same direction for half an hour.”
“I don’t recall asking you to monitor my concentration levels.”
Theo’s mouth flattened into a thin line.
“We’re not trying to monitor you,” Draco said quietly. “We’re trying to help. You just won’t let us.”
Hermione slammed the apple down onto the table, juice spraying across the parchment. “Because you’re not helping! You’re hovering and badgering and trying to fix me, and you can’t!”
Draco flinched.
Theo opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Hermione stood abruptly, the chair scraping back with a sharp screech. “I need to finish this before class. If either of you tries to follow me again, I will hex you.”
She turned on her heel and stalked toward the far stacks, vanishing between rows of shelves.
Draco exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “That went well.”
Theo stared at the apple, its bite marks sharp in the soft skin. “She’s not just angry,” he said softly. “She’s afraid.”
“I know.”
“And she’s pushing us away because she knows we saw it. Last night.”
Draco nodded. “She’ll come back to us. She always does.”
Theo glanced toward the shelves she’d disappeared into. “But not today.”
“No,” Draco agreed. “Not today.”
They didn’t follow her.
They just… sat there, in the sun-dappled quiet, beside an apple that had been left behind.
Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, back against the headboard, knees curled up to her chest, a book cracked open across her thighs. The pages were full of complex legal theory-cross-examination spells and standard Ministry courtroom protocols-but she hadn’t turned a page in over an hour. The same sentence floated before her eyes like mist: “Objection is a necessary disruption of decorum, a challenge to structure in pursuit of truth.” She read it again. And again. It didn’t stick.
The thick curtains of her dorm bed were drawn halfway. Her wand sat idle on the nightstand. Her slippers-she didn’t even remember putting them on-were tucked beneath her crossed ankles. The dormitory was dim, cast in the quiet grey of early evening.
Her eyes burned. Her throat ached. Her shoulders were tight, stiff from holding everything in all day. She’d gone to class. She’d raised her hand. She’d snapped. She’d pushed them away.
They deserved it.
No, they didn’t.
Her lip trembled.
The door opened.
She didn’t need to look up. She knew the sound of their footsteps. One heavier, one lighter. They didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped into the room and closed the door behind them with quiet finality. She could feel their presence like heat against her skin-Draco’s steadiness, Theo’s watchfulness. She didn’t want it. She wanted it too much.
“I don’t need you here,” she snapped, voice rough and hoarse as she kept her gaze fixed hard on the page.
There was a pause.
Then Draco’s voice, calm and low. “We know.”
Theo came a step closer. “Doesn’t mean we’re leaving.”
“I didn’t ask you to come,” she said sharply, eyes still fixed forward, jaw tight.
“You didn’t have to,” Draco said.
Her hands tightened around the edges of the book. “I’m fine.”
Theo let out a breath-just one-but it was enough. Hermione’s lips parted, a retort forming, sharp and defensive, something cutting to drive them back.
But it didn’t come.
Her breath hitched. The words caught in her throat like glass, sharp and too big to swallow. Her lower lip quivered before she could stop it, and her vision swam. Her hands began to tremble.
She shook her head quickly, furious with herself.
“I don’t…” she rasped, trying again. “I don’t need-”
But the rest never came.
Theo moved first. Crawled up onto the bed and sat beside her gently, as if she were made of glass. Draco followed, settling on her other side, close but not touching. Yet.
Hermione turned her face away. “Don’t-just don’t-”
But she was already choking on a sob.
Draco’s arm slid around her back. Theo’s hand covered hers, warm and steady. And it was like the pressure shattered something she’d tried so hard to hold in.
She screamed.
A raw, wounded, tearing sound that echoed through the stone walls like something wild breaking loose. She hit Draco’s shoulder once, feebly, then Theo’s chest. Her fists balled and beat at them, not hard, but frantic. Desperate.
“Go away-go away-” she sobbed. “Just-stop pretending like you care! You can’t-you don’t-I can’t-”
Draco pulled her tighter, one hand cradling the back of her head, guiding her against his chest. “We do care,” he whispered fiercely. “More than anything.”
“We’re not leaving, Hermione,” Theo said, holding her arm as she struggled. “You can scream. You can cry. You can hate us. But we’re not going.”
She was shaking violently now. Tears poured down her cheeks. Her whole body trembled, wracked with every scream and gasping sob. Her fingers tangled in Draco’s jumper, clinging before she even realized she was holding on.
“You don’t understand-” she sobbed into his chest, fists-tightening. “I-I can’t-I’m so-so tired, and it hurts-I don’t know how to stop-”
“You don’t have to stop,” Theo murmured, pressing his forehead to the side of her hair. “You don’t have to be okay right now.”
Draco was rubbing slow circles into her back, his voice in her ear steady and grounding. “We’ve got you. You’re safe. Just let it out.”
“I hate feeling like this,” she whimpered. “I hate needing-needing anyone-”
“You don’t need to hate it,” Theo whispered. “Just let yourself be held.”
She kept crying.
For minutes. Maybe hours. Time dissolved. The sunlight faded completely. The dormitory dipped into twilight.
Her cries softened eventually-first from screams to shuddering sobs, then to breathless hiccups, small tremors that still wracked her chest. Her face was buried in Draco’s shoulder now, damp with tears. One of Theo’s hands was tangled in her braid, stroking the back of her head.
Neither of them had moved away.
“Breathe,” Theo whispered against her temple. “In and out. Nice and slow.”
“You’re okay,” Draco said gently. “We’ve got you. Just breathe.”
Hermione gasped softly. “I feel-like I’m going to be sick.”
Theo pulled back slightly. “You haven’t had water. Or food.”
“You’ve cried out half your body weight,” Draco murmured.
She made a weak noise, halfway between a laugh and a whimper, but didn’t lift her head.
“Is she asleep?” Theo whispered after a long while.
Draco shifted slightly, brushing a hand down Hermione’s back, feeling the way her breathing had evened, though she still trembled with each inhale. “Not yet.”
“Getting close.”
Theo gently lifted her wrist. Her fingers were lax. “We need to get her into pajamas. She’s going to overheat.”
Draco gave a faint nod. “I’ll hold her. You change her.”
“She’s not going to like it.”
“She’s already unconscious enough that she’s letting you manhandle her braid,” Draco said, voice dry.
With extreme gentleness, they moved.
Theo murmured apologies as he changed her into a soft, worn cotton sleep shirt and shorts from her dresser, careful not to jostle her too much. Draco cleared the bed, stacking books and scrolls silently to the side. When Theo finished, he helped pull back the covers.
Together, they laid her down on her side, tucking the sheets around her.
She shifted once-just a breath of movement-and mumbled, “Don’t go.”
Draco stilled. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Theo slid in behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist. Draco lay in front, brushing a tear track from her cheek. “Not now. Not ever.”
Hermione didn’t respond.
But she didn’t cry anymore, either.
Her breathing settled. Deepened. She was asleep.
Theo leaned in close, pressing a kiss to her crown. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”
Draco rested his forehead to hers. “Always.”
They lay beside her in the dark, the three of them wrapped in silence. Not broken.
Just resting.
Together.
Tuesday morning broke grey and quiet, filtered light brushing against the drawn curtains of Hermione’s dorm. The air in the room was still, heavy with the lingering scent of parchment and lavender. The only sound was the slow, even rhythm of breathing-three people tangled in a nest of blankets and quiet exhaustion.
But then-
Hermione bolted upright with a gasp, one hand clamped tightly over her mouth. The sudden movement jostled the bed and startled both boys awake.
Draco sat up at once, blinking blearily and reaching for her. “Hermione-?”
Theo rubbed at his eyes and pushed up on one elbow. “What’s wrong-?”
Hermione shook her head fiercely, eyes wide and glassy with panic, and didn’t answer. She kicked off the blankets and stumbled from the bed, still clutching her mouth, bolting across the room in a blur of motion.
They heard the bathroom door slam open.
Draco was already on his feet, heart thundering, and Theo scrambled after him without a word. The moment they pushed through the door, they found her on her knees in front of the toilet, her frame trembling with the force of dry heaves. Her curls were loose from the braid they'd taken out the night before, messy and tangled around her face.
Draco dropped to the tiled floor behind her, gently gathering her hair and holding it back, his fingers brushing lightly against the damp skin of her neck. “Breathe, love,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Theo crouched beside her, one hand already moving in long, steady strokes down her spine. “Easy, love. Just breath through it."
Hermione tried to say something, but before she could, her face twisted again and she doubled forward with another dry heave.
"This can't just be stress." Theo murmured. "It doesn't help that you didn't eat anything yesterday."
Hermione try to glare over her shoudler, but another dry heave racked her body.
Draco winced as he felt the heat radiating off her skin. He touched her forehead with the back of his hand. “She’s burning up.”
“I’m fine,” Hermione rasped out between gasps. She leaned back on her heels, one hand braced against the wall, her eyes closed. “I don’t have time to be sick.”
Her voice was hoarse and cracking, rough like gravel.
“I have to study,” she added, swallowing painfully.
Draco leaned closer, his hand still gently holding back her hair. “No. You don’t. You need to rest.”
“Draco’s right,” Theo said firmly. “You’re not doing anything until you’re better. This isn’t up for negotiation.”
Hermione shook her head, trying to push herself up, but her arms were shaking.
“I’m behind-”
“You are not,” Draco said sharply, then softened his tone. “You’re not behind. Even if you were, it doesn’t matter. Not like this.”
“I can’t fall behind,” she croaked.
“You’re going to fall flat on your face if you don’t stop,” Theo said gently, brushing a hand down her arm. “You’ll do yourself more harm than good.”
Hermione tried to rise again. “I need my notes-”
And that was enough.
Draco stood and scooped her into his arms before she could protest further. She let out a weak noise of surprise, hands pressing against his chest in protest as he carried her out of the bathroom.
“Draco-put me down-”
“You’re sick, Potter,” he said flatly. “You don’t get a vote.”
“I swear to Merlin-”
“I will restrain you if you keep fighting me,” he said calmly, striding across the room with purpose.
Hermione’s glare was furious, but her body betrayed her-too weak to push him away, too hot and aching to put up more than a token struggle. “You’re a menace,” she snapped, her voice little more than a rasp.
“You’re delirious,” he replied, placing her gently back in bed.
She immediately tried to sit up again, but Draco pushed her shoulder down with one hand and gave her a warning look. “Don’t make me use an Immobilising Charm. I’ll do it.”
“You wouldn’t dare-”
Theo returned from the bathroom then, a cool flannel in hand, and arched a brow at the scene. “He would, actually.”
Hermione looked between them with disbelief, red-faced and clearly furious, though it was unclear whether it was from fever or indignation.
Theo sat on the edge of the bed, carefully folding the wet cloth and pressing it to her forehead. “You’re not being punished,” he said softly. “We’re just worried. Let us take care of you.”
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, her breath stuttering slightly.
“We’re not going anywhere,” Draco added, brushing the hair off her cheek with a tenderness that made her throat tighten.
“Why are you always here?” she whispered, voice trembling.
“Because we love you,” Theo said simply.
The words hung in the quiet room, heavier than silence.
Hermione turned her face into the pillow and said nothing.
Theo exchanged a glance with Draco, then stood and walked to the fireplace. He pulled his wand and raised it, lips parting as silver mist swirled upward.
A tall, gracefull fox-elegant and composed-leapt from his wand and landed delicately on the carpet before darting into the wall and vanishing.
Draco watched the silver tail disappear, then turned back to Hermione. “You sent word to Dean Obelyn?”
Theo nodded. “She’ll know what to do.”
Draco glanced back at the bed, at the flushed face pressed to the pillow. Hermione had gone quiet again, but her shoulders weren’t trembling anymore.
“She won’t like that,” Draco said softly.
“She doesn’t have to,” Theo replied. “Her health isn’t optional.”
“Obelyn,” Draco murmured, shaking his head. “Her name even sounds like it disapproves of everything.”
“Lady Celestina Obelyn of the Twelfth House of Halberne,” Theo supplied dryly, arching a brow. “Head Dean of Magical Jurisprudence and Mistress of Academic Order.”
Draco blinked. “You memorised her full title?”
“I fear her,” Theo said simply.
From the bed, a weak croak of a laugh escaped Hermione’s throat.
Theo turned back toward her. “We’re still here, you know.”
She didn’t answer. But she didn’t try to get up again, either.
Hermione slept fitfully.
Her curls stuck to her damp forehead, her skin still flushed with fever, and her breathing shallow but steady. She was curled on her side, one hand loosely tangled in the blankets. The cool flannel Theo had brought earlier had slipped to the edge of the bed, half-dried and warm. Draco replaced it with a freshly dampened one every twenty minutes, but the heat clung stubbornly to her.
The mid-morning sun filtered in through the curtains, dappling soft golden light over the bed, the floor, the scattered books near her desk. The dorm room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of fabric and the rhythmic cadence of Draco’s fingers combing gently through her curls.
Theo sat cross-legged on her other side, leaning back on one arm, the fingers of his free hand gently rubbing circles over the inside of Hermione’s wrist. His touch was featherlight, more grounding for him than for her.
“She’s still too warm,” Draco murmured, glancing down at her.
Theo nodded, frowning. “I think she’s sweating out the worst of it.”
“She’s not getting worse, at least,” Draco added.
Theo gave a quiet hum of agreement, then tilted his head. “Do you think she knew she was sick before this morning?”
Draco looked over at him. “You mean... do I think she was pushing through it?”
“Yes.”
Draco sighed. “She’s Hermione. She could be running a fever of a hundred and four and still insist on finishing her essays.”
“She didn’t eat yesterday. Barely drank. Buried herself in her textbooks like she could outrun the whole world.”
“She has been since the nightmare the other night.”
Theo was quiet for a beat. “She’s unraveling.”
“She doesn’t want to be seen unraveling.”
Theo’s hand stilled at her wrist. “She doesn’t want to be seen needing anything.”
Draco glanced down at her again. “She wasn’t afraid of us last night, you know.”
Theo looked up, his mouth parting.
“She wasn’t afraid,” Draco repeated softly. “She was overwhelmed. The nightmare… whatever it stirred up… it broke something loose. She didn’t know how to hold it in anymore.”
“She screamed like she thought she’d shatter if we touched her.”
“She screamed because we wouldn’t let her fall apart in silence.”
Theo exhaled slowly. “She’s not used to people staying.”
“She kept fighting us because she didn’t believe we would.”
“She fought like she was trying to keep her pieces together by herself.”
“And we weren’t having it.”
A small, wry smile tugged at Theo’s mouth. “She’ll come back to herself.”
“She always does.”
They sat in silence for a while, just the gentle rhythm of their touches and the sound of her breathing.
A sharp knock at the dorm door broke the stillness.
Draco slipped from the bed and crossed the room swiftly, wand in hand. He opened the door only a crack, shielding the room behind him instinctively.
Outside stood a tall, formidable witch in slate-grey robes, her salt-and-pepper hair swept into an elegant twist. Her posture was perfectly straight, and a silver brooch shaped like a winged hourglass gleamed against her collar.
“Mr. Malfoy,” she said coolly. “Mr. Nott. I received your Patronus.”
“Dean Obelyn,” Draco said, stepping back to open the door fully.
Lady Celestina Obelyn swept into the room with the grace of someone who did not tolerate hesitation. She looked around once, noting the pile of damp flannels, the untouched tea tray, and finally Hermione curled in bed, still burning with fever.
“She hasn’t been moved to the Hospital Wing?”
"If we would have tried to move her," Theo started, rising from his spot on the bed, "she would have bolted."
Obelyn arched one sculpted brow. “Of course she would have.”
She crossed to the bed with quick steps, kneeling beside it with more agility than her sixty-something years suggested. She rested the back of her hand gently against Hermione’s cheek, then drew a wand from her sleeve and murmured a diagnostic charm.
The tip of her wand glowed violet.
“Severe dehydration. High fever. Physical exhaustion. Emotional strain. And signs of long-term magical depletion.”
Draco winced.
Theo stepped closer. “Can you treat her here?”
“I can stabilize her,” Obelyn said calmly, already conjuring a glass vial and a pitcher of water. “But she needs full rest. And supervision. If she pushes herself again-”
“She will,” Draco muttered.
Obelyn gave him a pointed look. “Then I’ll have her officially excused from classes until further notice.”
“She’s going to hate that.”
“She may. But she’ll do it from bed.”
She reached for Hermione’s wrist, casting another spell. This one made Hermione twitch, brow furrowing as she stirred.
Draco knelt back down at the edge of the bed, smoothing his hand over her curls again. “Hermione-easy. Just rest. You’re alright.”
Her eyes fluttered open, confused.
Theo leaned in quickly. “Hey, you’re safe. We’ve got you.”
Hermione blinked, then looked past them-right into Dean Obelyn’s eyes.
“Oh no,” she groaned hoarsely, struggling to sit up.
“Nope,” Draco said firmly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Lie back down.”
I’m fine,” she rasped.
“You are most certainly not,” Obelyn replied, unimpressed. “And you will remain in this bed under observation until you are.”
“I have work to do-”
“No, you don’t,” Theo said, catching her wrist gently. “You need to let yourself stop for once.”
“I can’t-” Hermione’s voice cracked. “I can’t fall behind. I can’t let everything fall apart.”
“You’re not,” Draco said, his voice softer now. “You’re sick. That’s all. You’re allowed to stop.”
Hermione’s throat worked as though she wanted to argue, but the words wouldn’t come.
Dean Obelyn conjured another cooling charm for the air around her and handed Draco a fever potion. “One dose now. Another in six hours.”
Hermione reached for it, but her hands shook. Draco guided it to her lips gently.
“Small sips,” Theo murmured.
Once the potion was down, Hermione slumped against the pillow again, exhausted.
Dean Obelyn turned toward the door. “You two-stay. Keep her warm. Hydrated. Quiet. If the fever hasn’t broken by tonight, summon me again.”
“Thank you,” Theo said quietly.
Obelyn gave one short nod. “Keep her here. Don’t let her run from you.”
“She wasn’t running from us,” Draco said softly. “She was running from herself.”
Obelyn paused at the door, then gave him a long look. “Then you know what to do.”
And with that, she swept out, her robes billowing behind her like storm clouds.
Draco sat down again beside Hermione and brushed her hair gently back from her forehead. Her eyes were already closing.
Theo dipped the flannel and laid it back across her brow, watching her silently for a long time.
“You think she’ll forgive us?” he asked eventually.
Draco looked down at her, her lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks. “Eventually.”
“And until then?”
Draco leaned forward, kissed the top of her head, and whispered, “We stay.”
The soft rustle of parchment and the occasional flick of a turning page were the only sounds in the quiet dorm room. Theo sat curled in a deep chair he'd transfigured from Hermione’s desk stool, long legs stretched out before him, ankles crossed, a thick book on defensive magical theory open across his lap. His brow was furrowed in thought, one finger tapping slowly against the page as he read.
Draco sat on the edge of Hermione’s bed, angled toward her. His fingers moved gently through her curls, weaving and untangling small knots, combing softly again and again with a rhythm that had long since become second nature. His other hand rested lightly on her waist, grounding her.
“She’s still too warm,” Draco murmured without looking up.
Theo turned a page, glancing over. “Fever’s being stubborn.”
“She twitched twice in her sleep. Like she was cold.”
Theo closed the book around one finger, frowning. “We could try another cooling charm.”
“We’ve done three.”
“Then we wait.” Theo’s eyes flicked to Hermione. “She’ll break it eventually.”
“She didn’t fight the potion this time.”
“She didn’t have the strength to.”
Draco sighed and looked down at her, brushing his fingers along her temple. Her skin was still hot to the touch, her cheeks pink from fever, her brow slightly damp.
“I hate seeing her like this.”
Theo nodded. “I know.”
“She’s always the strongest one in the room, you know?” Draco’s voice was quiet now. “And now she’s burning up and shaking in her sleep and there’s nothing I can do.”
Theo didn’t reply right away. He just watched Hermione for a moment, watching the way her breath hitched now and then, the tiny furrow in her brow even in unconsciousness.
“You are doing something,” Theo said finally. “You’re here. You’re staying. That’s more than anyone else has ever done for her when she’s like this.”
Draco glanced at him. “You’re here too.”
Theo smirked faintly. “Obviously.”
There was a knock at the door-firm, but not loud.
Both boys turned.
Draco rose swiftly, stepping around the bed with fluid grace. Theo marked the page in his book with a ribbon and stood too, wand in hand, just in case.
Draco opened the door a few inches.
Pansy stood on the other side, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Ginny stood beside her, looking worried. Astoria peered around both of them, holding a basket of what appeared to be muffins and a thermos of tea.
“How is she?” Pansy asked without preamble.
“Still feverish,” Draco said. “Sleeping.”
“Dean Obelyn said she’s been excused from classes,” Ginny added. “We just wanted to check on her.”
“She shouldn’t have to go through this alone,” Astoria said softly.
Draco hesitated, then opened the door wider. “Quietly.”
The girls slipped in without another word. Theo stepped back toward the bed just as Hermione shifted under the covers. Her brow furrowed deeper, and then suddenly-she sat bolt upright, hand flying over her mouth.
Draco was at her side in a flash, bracing her shoulders. “Hermione—hey, it’s alright. I’ve got you-”
But she was already scrambling to her feet with a soft moan, nearly tripping over the blankets as she bolted toward the bathroom. Draco followed instantly. Theo moved quickly after them, grabbing a flannel on the way.
The three girls stood frozen in the middle of the room, startled.
From the bathroom came the sound of retching-dry, sharp, miserable.
Theo sank to his knees beside her, one hand smoothing down her back in slow, steady passes. “Easy, love. Just breathe.”
Draco knelt on the other side, holding her hair back, murmuring softly near her ear. “It’s alright. You’re okay. Just let it pass.”
Hermione clutched the rim of the loo, her whole body trembling with the effort. It was mostly dry heaving now, nothing left to bring up, but still her stomach twisted with waves of pain and pressure. Her throat was raw, her eyes glassy.
Theo glanced up and saw the girls still hovering near the bed, unsure whether to retreat or come closer.
Hermione groaned and tried to sit back on her heels, gasping. “Why are they here?”
“Hermione-” Draco warned.
She turned toward the doorway with a fierce glare, though her face was pale and her voice came out hoarse and cracked. “Go away.”
Pansy blinked. “We just came to-”
“I said go!” Hermione snapped, then winced as another dry gag cut her off, doubling her over again.
Theo frowned and kept rubbing her back. “Hermione, that’s enough.”
Draco’s voice was firmer. “They’re worried about you. You don’t get to push them away just because you feel awful.”
Hermione tried to retort, but her breath hitched, and she looked like she might cry.
“Hey.” Theo cupped the back of her neck. “No one’s upset with you. We just want you to let people care about you.”
“I look disgusting,” Hermione whispered.
“You look ill,” Draco said. “Which you are. And they still came.”
“They brought muffins,” Theo added helpfully.
Hermione let out a weak, tear-choked laugh, then pressed her face into Draco’s chest. “Make them go.”
“No,” Draco said gently. “Not until you let them speak.”
He glanced up and nodded toward the girls. Ginny took a careful step forward, then crouched near the bathroom threshold, giving Hermione plenty of space.
“We just wanted to check on you,” she said softly. “That’s all. You don’t have to talk. We’ll leave muffins and go.”
“We didn’t mean to intrude,” Astoria added.
Hermione let out a long breath, then gave a faint nod without lifting her head.
Draco smoothed his hand down her back again. “You can go rest now, alright? We’ll take care of the rest.”
She didn’t speak, just sagged against him.
Pansy looked between Draco and Theo, eyes sharp. “You’ll call us if she gets worse.”
“We will,” Theo promised.
Ginny left the basket on Hermione’s desk, then the girls slipped out silently.
Once the door clicked shut, Draco shifted to lift Hermione in his arms again. “Come on, sweetheart. Back to bed.”
“I can walk,” she whispered faintly.
“I know. But I like carrying you,” Draco said.
Theo smiled and followed them back into the bedroom, damp flannel in hand.
Draco laid Hermione gently on the bed and tucked the blankets around her again. Theo placed the flannel over her brow and sat on the edge beside her, brushing his thumb along her wrist again.
Hermione blinked up at them, bleary-eyed. “I was awful.”
“You're sick,” Theo corrected.
“I yelled at my friends.”
“And they still brought you muffins,” Draco said with a half-smile. “So I think you’re alright.”
Hermione sniffled. “I hate this.”
“We know,” Theo murmured. “But you don’t have to go through it alone.”
She closed her eyes.
Draco leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Sleep.”
She was already slipping under again.
Theo stood, walked to her desk, and pulled out his wand. “I’m sending another Patronus to Dean Obelyn. She needs stronger potions.”
“Tell her we’ll be here.”
Theo nodded, flicked his wand, and whispered the incantation. The familiar fox burst from the tip and darted out the window.
Then he returned to the bed, sank into the chair again, and picked up his book.
Draco never stopped running his fingers through Hermione’s curls.
And Hermione, at last, rested.
The dorm room was quiet.
The moon hung high outside the windows, casting a silvery glow through the gauzy curtains. The lamp on the desk glowed low and soft, filling the space with amber light that flickered across the walls like the dying embers of a hearth. The books were still, the chair pulled close to the bed, and the teacup on the nightstand stood half-drunk and cooling.
Draco lay behind Hermione, one hand gently stroking the slope of her ribs under the oversized jumper she'd refused to change out of. She was curled tightly into Theo’s chest, legs tucked, her breath faint but steady as it brushed the curve of his throat. Theo had one hand cradling her head and the other curled protectively at her back, fingertips moving in slow, subconscious arcs against her spine.
“She’s finally sleeping properly,” Theo murmured, his voice quiet and careful not to stir her. “That potion worked.”
Draco shifted closer, brushing his knuckles just beneath the hem of her shirt, feeling the soft, overheated skin beneath. “She’s still warm. Fever hasn’t broken.”
Theo tilted his head, exhaling through his nose. “It’s been nearly twenty-four hours.”
“I know.”
Draco’s voice was tight. He’d been measuring time in the number of flannels wrung out over the basin, the murmured diagnostic charms he repeated every two hours, the tea that always went untouched, the way Hermione flinched every time she stirred. And he had noticed-every tremble in her fingers, every hoarse whisper of protest, every time she turned her face into Theo’s chest like she could hide from her own body betraying her.
Theo shifted slightly, enough to press a kiss to her curls. “She’s always like this, you know. Fights until she’s past the edge.”
Draco nodded. “She doesn’t know how to stop.”
“She nearly hexed us when we made her quit studying last week."
"She doesn't know her own limits." Draco replied.
Theo stilled, his hand pausing on her back.
“She knows how to be brilliant. Knows how to be strong. But needing? Depending on someone? That’s still terrifying to her.”
Theo’s brow creased as he stared at the crown of Hermione’s head, the mess of curls twisted between his fingers. “And she picked us.”
Draco huffed a soft, almost soundless laugh. “She has no idea what she’s in for.”
But before Theo could respond, Hermione jerked in his arms.
Her entire body spasmed, suddenly and violently.
“Draco-” Theo’s voice sharpened instantly, his grip tightening.
Hermione's limbs stiffened, her jaw clenched. Her back arched as another violent shudder rolled through her, and a choking sound caught in her throat.
“No-no no no-” Theo shifted fast, easing her flat onto the mattress. “She’s seizing.”
Draco was already moving. “Get her on her side. Now.”
Theo rolled her gently, arms locked around her torso as her body trembled uncontrollably. Her lips were tinged with blue, her fingers twitching erratically. Her head lolled back once, her eyes wide and unseeing.
Draco raised his wand, voice sharp and urgent: “Expecto Patronum!”
The silver dragon burst from his wand in a swirl of blinding light, scales gleaming, eyes burning. It hovered for only a moment before taking off through the wall, racing toward Dean Obelyn.
“Hold her steady-Theo-”
“I’ve got her!” Theo was sweating, one arm braced beneath Hermione’s head to keep it from striking the bedframe. “Come on, darling, come back—breathe—please-just breathe-”
Draco slid in beside them, one hand on her shoulder, the other pressing a cloth to her temple as her entire body shook in waves.
The moment snapped.
A blast of wind rippled through the room as Dean Celestina Obelyn apparated in with a crack of power and robes swirling like thunderclouds behind her. She dropped to her knees beside the bed without hesitation.
“Move.” Her voice cut like a blade.
Draco and Theo both shifted instantly.
Obelyn’s wand was already alight. “Neurostabilis. Cardiotempus. Abdo ventare.”
A wash of golden light shimmered over Hermione’s convulsing form. Her limbs twitched once more, then stilled with a strangled gasp of air as her lungs seized and released.
She fell limp in Theo’s arms.
Obelyn caught her chin, tipped her head back gently, and pressed her wand to Hermione’s temple.
“She’s crashing. Get ready to move.”
“Apparition?” Draco asked, voice clipped.
“No. Too risky in this state. She’s going on a stretcher.”
The dean swept her wand wide and conjured a floating cot with high rails and cushioning spells sewn into the fabric. She levitated Hermione onto it with terrifying efficiency and turned sharply toward the door. “Follow. Now.”
The hallway flew past them in a blur of stone and shadow. Obelyn moved like a storm at full tilt, her wand glowing brightly as she opened secret passageways with a flick, her lips muttering charms under her breath to keep Hermione’s vitals stabilized.
By the time they reached the hospital wing, the entrance was already open.
Inside, three figures were waiting.
At the front stood a tall, statuesque witch with dark brown skin and brilliant silver eyes behind half-moon glasses. Her robes were deep plum, embroidered with constellations.
“Headmistress Virelle,” Obelyn greeted without pause. “She’s seizing. Magical depletion, unchecked fever, and systemic burnout.”
To her right stood the Head Healer-a wiry, sharp-nosed wizard named Archibald Fenwick, with ink-stained fingers and the constant scent of thyme clinging to his robes.
Beside him, his assistant—a nervous, round-faced young man named Callen Mire-fumbled with a tray of potions.
“Bring her in,” Fenwick ordered, stepping back. “Isolation chamber three.”
The cot floated ahead, guided by Obelyn and the Healer, while Draco and Theo followed close behind.
The isolation room was round, lined with spell-insulated stone, and enchanted with climate control. The cot was lowered onto a plinth surrounded by glowing wards.
“We’ll need to drain the fever manually,” Fenwick said briskly, casting three overlapping charms in a tight circle around her. “And I want bloodwork, magical core readings, and a full cranial scan.”
Callen moved quickly, pulling out parchment and potion vials, his hands shaking.
Draco and Theo stood just inside the door, white-faced and silent as the professionals worked.
“She didn’t know it was this bad,” Theo said finally, voice flat with shock.
“She wouldn’t have stopped even if she had,” Draco whispered.
Obelyn turned to look at them, her expression unreadable. “She’s stable. For now. But this is the price she pays for burning herself at both ends.”
“Can we stay?” Draco asked.
Obelyn looked to the Headmistress, who nodded solemnly.
“She’ll wake eventually,” Virelle said, voice like velvet over steel. “But it will be days before she’s well again. She must not be allowed to push herself like this again. Ever.”
Draco nodded once. “She won’t.”
Theo’s jaw clenched. “We’ll make sure of it.”
Obelyn turned back to Hermione, her brow furrowed as she adjusted one of the cooling charms and laid a steadying hand over Hermione’s sternum.
“She’s stronger than most,” she murmured. “But strength is not infinite.”
They watched as the shaking slowed, as Hermione’s breathing evened, and the flush of fever began to ease from her cheeks-still faint, but there.
Still here.
Draco exhaled and slid into the chair beside her new bed.
Theo sat on the other side, reaching for her hand.
And they waited.
Notes:
Do not judge the name I picked out for the head Healer. Archibald is such a fun name to say 😂
Chapter 18: The Long Path To Healing
Summary:
Hermione slowy starts to accept that she is not alone and that she is aloud to be human.
Chapter Text
The morning light filtered through the frosted glass panes of the hospital wing, pale and diffuse, washing everything in soft grey hues. A low fire burned in the corner hearth, casting gentle flickers across the stone walls. Inside the secure isolation chamber, silence hung like mist.
Hermione lay in the center of the room, still and pale against the snowy white linens, her curls splayed across the pillows like spilled ink. A shimmering charm field arched above her bed, rippling faintly with protective wards. The quiet hum of diagnostic magic hovered in the air.
On one side of the bed sat Draco, elbows resting on his knees, his chin tilted down as he watched her breathe. He hadn’t moved in over an hour.
Theo sat on the other side, one ankle resting on his opposite knee, his wand balanced on his thigh. He just kept watching her hand - the one resting nearest him - like he was waiting for her to move it.
Head Healer Fenwick moved silently around the bed, muttering under his breath as he tapped a glowing orb above Hermione’s chest. “Core instability reduced by point-three since two hours ago. Fever remains elevated. Pulse irregular. Color still shallow.”
Assistant Healer Mire hovered just behind him, nervously scribbling notes on floating parchment, his fingers smudged with potion residue and ink. “Is that… expected, sir?”
“For a seizure of that magnitude? Yes.” Fenwick pressed his wand to Hermione’s temple, then moved it down to her sternum. “The fever’s still a concern, though. If it spikes again, we’ll have to intervene more aggressively.”
Callen paled and nodded rapidly.
“Potion saturation is holding,” Fenwick continued. “Keep the magical suppression charm at level three, no higher. We’re allowing her core to replenish slowly, not shock it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Theo leaned forward slightly, his hand brushing against the blanket near Hermione’s hip. “When will she wake up?”
Fenwick didn’t look up. “Soon. Her body needed the shutdown. Her mind did, too.”
Draco’s jaw tensed. “And when she does?”
“She won’t be happy about it,” Fenwick said dryly. “Which is precisely why you two will need to keep her in that bed. She’ll feel marginally better and decide she’s fine when she most certainly is not.”
Theo gave a humorless little snort. “Sounds like her.”
“Headstrong Gryffindor,” Fenwick muttered, tapping the orb once more. “Core strength just ticked up again.”
And then-
Hermione jolted.
Her whole body jerked upward with a sharp gasp, her chest heaving, eyes flying open wide and wild. Her hands gripped at the sheets as she coughed, wheezed, and tried to sit.
“Whoa-sunshine-hey-” Theo caught her shoulders, easing her back down gently. “You’re safe. You’re okay.”
“What-where-” Her voice was a scrape of air, barely audible.
“In the hospital wing,” Draco said quickly, leaning in as well. “You had a seizure. You’ve been asleep for nearly a full day.”
Hermione blinked rapidly, her eyes glassy with fever and confusion. “No. No-I can’t- I have class-I need-”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Theo said, voice firmer now.
“I have to-study, I need to-” Her breath hitched.
Draco reached up and brushed her curls back from her clammy forehead. “Sweetheart, you’re sick. You’re not going to class.”
Fenwick stepped up beside her bed, face neutral but stern. “Miss Potter, I’m Head Healer Fenwick. I’ve been overseeing your care since last night. You are to remain here under medical observation until your fever breaks and your magical core stabilizes.”
“I don’t need-” Hermione croaked, trying to push the blanket off her chest.
“Miss Potter.” Fenwick’s tone darkened. “Your condition is not up for debate.”
Hermione clenched her jaw and tried to sit again.
But the moment she moved-
A sudden, choking sound burst from her throat.
Draco grabbed her shoulder. “Hermione-?”
Her body seized forward again as dry heaving overtook her. She twisted away from Draco instinctively, clutching her stomach and leaning to the side over the bedrail. Nothing came up, but her whole frame wracked with the effort. Her skin flushed crimson from the exertion.
Theo had his arm around her waist in an instant, steadying her as she trembled. “Hey, hey-breathe, love-slow down-”
Callen darted forward, already summoning a bowl and a cool flannel, wide-eyed and fumbling. “Here-”
Draco took the cloth without a word and held Hermione’s curls back with one hand while gently dabbing her forehead with the other. “Stop fighting. You’re making it worse.”
Fenwick stood beside her, calmly running his wand in slow circles over her abdomen. “She’s reacting to movement and core turbulence. It’s not unexpected.”
Hermione sagged after the third retch, panting, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I hate this.”
“You should,” Draco muttered. “This is what happens when you skip meals, run on no sleep, and try to take the entire war on yourself again.”
She glared weakly at him.
Theo snorted under his breath and offered her a sip of water. “He’s not wrong, you know.”
“I had work to do,” she rasped.
“You always have work to do,” Theo said gently, helping her lean back against the pillows. “But you don’t get to kill yourself doing it.”
Fenwick stepped in again. “No more exertion. None. We’ll start you on broth and tonic drops by this afternoon if your vitals hold. Until then, you’re to stay horizontal and rest. That is a direct medical order.”
Hermione slumped, eyes half-closed.
“She won’t listen,” Draco muttered. “She never does.”
“Then make her,” Fenwick replied briskly. “That’s half the reason you two were approved to stay with her in here. Keep her in bed. Keep her calm. Keep her still.”
Callen peeked up. “We’re moving her to the secondary chamber with more insulation. Fever-induced seizures can reoccur in patients with magical sensitivity.”
Fenwick nodded, already turning toward the door. “Float her in ten minutes. Call if the nausea worsens. We’ll recalibrate the charm field again at noon.”
And with that, he swept from the room, robes flaring behind him like a thundercloud.
Callen hovered awkwardly for a beat. “Um. Right. I’ll-I’ll be back.”
Once they were gone, the room fell quiet again.
Draco exhaled slowly and turned to Hermione, who was staring at the ceiling, her eyes rimmed red, her jaw clenched.
He stroked her hair back again. “You don’t have to do everything yourself, you know.”
Theo reached over and took her hand. “Next time, just let us help.”
She closed her eyes, throat working around the lump that had formed there.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Theo kissed the back of her fingers.
Draco leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her temple.
“You’re forgiven,” Theo said with a sigh. “But you’re not allowed to scare us like that again.”
“Ever,” Draco added firmly.
And this time, Hermione didn’t argue.
The soft clink of a spoon against porcelain echoed faintly in the quiet chamber. Afternoon light filtered through enchanted windows, painting dappled golden shapes across the polished floor. The secondary recovery ward was not as private as the secure wing but it was still quiet, comfortably warm, and shielded with enough Warding Charms to protect the Minister himself.
Hermione sat propped against a mound of pillows, her face pale and drawn, curls pushed back in a loose braid that Theo had done for her after her last bout of nausea. She looked tired. Not just physically tired, but soul-deep, haunted-tired.
A small bowl of restorative broth rested untouched in her lap.
Theo sat on the edge of her bed, holding the spoon like a peace offering, his voice low and coaxing.
“Come on, sweetheart. Just a few spoonfuls.”
Hermione turned her face away. “I’m not hungry.”
Draco, leaning against the wall nearby with his arms folded across his chest, scoffed. “You haven’t been hungry in two days, and that hasn’t exactly worked in your favour, has it?”
She glared at him, though the effort was half-hearted. “My stomach’s still a mess.”
“And it’s going to stay that way if you don’t put something in it,” Theo said, gently trying to guide the spoon closer.
“I’ll throw it up.”
“Then we’ll try again,” Theo said with infuriating calm. “But you have to stop treating your body like it’s a bloody enemy.”
Hermione clenched her jaw. “It feels like one.”
Draco sighed and pushed off the wall, moving to her other side. He sat on the bed beside her, fingers brushing her wrist lightly before slipping into her hand.
“You scared the absolute hell out of us last night,” he said, voice quiet.
Hermione looked away, her throat working as she swallowed hard.
“I mean it,” he said. “I thought-when you started seizing-I thought we were going to lose you.”
Theo didn’t speak, but his fingers tightened slightly around the spoon.
“I’m sorry,” Hermione whispered.
“Don’t be sorry,” Draco murmured. “Just try. Please.”
Before she could respond, a knock came at the door, followed a moment later by it swinging open-Ginny, looking determined and brisk, stepped inside, followed by Harry and Pansy. The three of them paused just inside the chamber, eyes falling instantly to the bed.
“Oh, Hermione…” Ginny’s voice was soft, but heavy with concern.
Hermione blinked in surprise. “You didn’t have to come.”
Harry strode forward immediately, the lines of worry etched deep into his face. “Of course we did.”
Pansy gave a delicate snort. “You think we’d let you hide away in here alone? Not a chance.”
“We’re not hiding her,” Theo said evenly, eyes flicking toward Pansy. “We’re trying to keep her alive.”
Harry reached the edge of the bed and looked down at her, his arms crossed in a familiar big-brother pose. “When were you going to tell us you collapsed from exhaustion and dehydration?”
Hermione rolled her eyes and tried to shift under the blankets. “Harry-”
“No, I’m serious.” His voice rose slightly. “You didn’t say anything. You were pushing through classes, snapping at everyone, not eating-”
“I said I’m fine!” Hermione snapped, the words harsher than she intended.
The room went still.
Theo’s shoulders stiffened. Draco’s fingers curled tighter around hers.
Harry’s face darkened with frustration. “You’re not fine. You had a seizure, Hermione.”
Ginny stepped forward, her voice gentler. “He’s not angry. We’re just worried. We love you, and you scared the hell out of us.”
Hermione’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”
“You did,” Pansy said bluntly, folding her arms. “And you’re being a complete twit if you think pushing people away is helping.”
“Pansy-” Draco warned.
“No. I’m saying it,” she said, moving to the foot of the bed. “You’re allowed to be miserable. You’re allowed to fall apart. But pushing them away? Pushing us away? That’s not strength, Hermione. That’s fear.”
Hermione blinked rapidly, the burn of tears sudden and sharp behind her eyes. “I didn’t want anyone to see me like this.”
“Well, tough,” said Ginny, sitting at the foot of the bed. “We see you. You’re not invisible. You’re just stubborn.”
Hermione huffed. “I don’t even know how to be taken care of.”
“You don’t need to know how,” Theo said softly, his hand still wrapped around the spoon. “You just have to let us.”
Hermione looked at them-at Harry’s tense shoulders, Ginny’s kind eyes, Pansy’s fire, Draco’s quiet protectiveness, and Theo’s gentle resolve-and felt something inside her chest shift.
“I feel broken,” she whispered.
“You’re not,” Draco said immediately.
“You’re healing,” Ginny said firmly.
Hermione looked down at the broth and then-without a word-opened her mouth slightly. Theo blinked in surprise, then quickly brought the spoon up and helped her take a small sip.
She winced but swallowed.
Pansy raised her eyebrows. “Look at that. Progress.”
Draco smirked faintly and leaned in to kiss Hermione’s temple. “Good girl.”
“Don’t patronise me,” she muttered.
Theo grinned. “There she is.”
Theo fed her another spoonful, then another, and though she only managed a few, she didn’t throw up-and for the first time in days, she looked a little less like she was on the verge of breaking.
Harry reached down and smoothed a hand over her blanket-covered ankle. “Next time you’re feeling like the world’s too much, maybe try talking to someone.”
“I’ll try,” she said hoarsely.
“You’re not alone, Hermione,” Ginny said softly. “We’re all here. And we’re not going anywhere.”
Hermione didn’t answer right away.
Then, quietly, she whispered, “Thank you.”
The late afternoon light cast a honeyed glow across the secondary chamber of the hospital wing. Shadows moved lazily along the ward walls, and the ward’s many enchantments made the space feel more like a serene lounge than a place of convalescence. The gentle hum of magic pulsed faintly under everything, like a quiet promise of safety.
Hermione lay curled into Draco’s chest atop the wide hospital bed. Her head rested just over his heart, her brow furrowed even in sleep, her breathing shallow and uneven. His arms encircled her protectively, one hand resting lightly on the dip of her waist, the other absently combing through the curls that fanned across his chest and shoulder like spun silk. Her fever had spiked again an hour earlier, but it had come back down-enough to let her drift again.
Theo sat nearby in the oversized chair he'd half claimed as his own, one ankle resting on his opposite knee, a book open but forgotten in his lap.
“She always sleeps like that when she’s sick,” Theo murmured, watching them from the chair. “Curled up like she’s trying to disappear.”
Draco didn’t glance up from her. “She’s always tense. Even in her sleep.”
“She was like that after the war,” Theo added. “Didn’t talk about it much. But I saw it. The way she used to sit in the library, surrounded by a fortress of books like they were shields.”
Draco’s fingers stilled in her hair for a moment. “And now she’s surrounded by us.”
Theo raised a brow. “Better than books?”
Draco huffed. “I’d bloody well hope so.”
Theo chuckled quietly, then leaned forward and reached for the damp flannel on the bedside table, wringing it out before folding it neatly and setting it back. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this bad. Even during the worst of eighth year.”
“She could've died,” Draco said, the words low, grim.
They were both silent for a long beat.
Then a gentle knock tapped against the chamber door before it cracked open. Pansy’s sharp, knowing gaze peeked through first, and she stepped inside without waiting for permission. Astoria followed just behind her, delicate and quiet, her presence like a cooling breeze.
“Still alive in here?” Pansy asked softly.
“Barely,” Theo murmured, standing to greet them.
Astoria moved to the foot of the bed and gave Draco a small, sad smile. “How is she?”
Draco’s thumb brushed gently across Hermione’s back, where her hospital gown dipped into the hollow between her shoulder blades. “Resting. Not well, but better than this morning.”
“She looks tiny,” Astoria murmured, her voice tinged with quiet heartbreak.
“She hasn’t eaten properly in days,” Theo said. “Between the fever and the stress-”
“Self-inflicted stress,” Pansy interrupted, pulling the other chair beside Theo and sitting down. “You’d think for the brightest witch of our generation she’d have figured out ‘food equals life’ by now.”
“She’s stubborn,” Draco said simply.
“She’s Hermione,” Astoria amended, with a fond shake of her head. “What do you expect?”
Hermione shifted slightly against Draco’s chest, but didn’t wake. She curled tighter into him, fingers twitching as if trying to grasp something she couldn’t reach. Her breathing hitched faintly.
Theo watched her with narrowed eyes. “She’s shivering.”
Draco moved instantly, drawing the blanket higher around her shoulders and pressing his palm to the back of her neck. “She’s still warm. Not burning up again, but the fever hasn’t fully broken.”
“Should we call Fenwick?” Astoria asked gently.
Theo shook his head. “He said minor chills would happen off and on. But if she spikes again, he’ll need to be told immediately.”
Pansy folded her arms and stared at the delicate arch of Hermione’s brow. “This is what happens when she carries everything by herself.”
“She wasn’t trying to be reckless,” Draco said.
“She wasn’t trying not to be, either,” Pansy snapped, though the anger in her voice was mostly worry.
“Pans,” Theo warned lightly.
“No, I’m serious.” She leaned forward. “She works herself raw, emotionally isolates, pushes until her body breaks down-and then what? She’s supposed to be this brilliant mind, but she doesn’t see the toll it takes?”
“She sees it,” Astoria said, voice soft. “She just doesn’t think she’s allowed to stop.”
Theo ran a hand down his face. “It’s like she thinks the only way to keep everything together is to keep herself from falling apart. Like if she lets go, everything else will crumble.”
“She doesn't trust rest, doesn't trust asking for help.” Draco murmured, looking down at Hermione’s drawn face. “She doesn’t think she deserves it.”
Astoria looked at him sadly. “Then it’s a good thing she has the two of you.”
Hermione shivered again, harder this time, a small involuntary whimper catching in her throat as her body curled tighter still. Draco adjusted his hold, tucking her head beneath his chin and murmuring softly, “Easy, love… you’re alright.”
Theo reached for the potion vial on the bedside tray, checking the dosage. “She can have another Calming Draught in an hour. Nothing stronger until she eats.”
Pansy’s lips thinned. “We’ll get her through this. Even if we have to pin her down and spoon-feed her like a baby.”
Draco arched a brow. “You can try that, but she’ll hex your eyebrows off.”
Pansy smirked. “She wouldn’t dare. I’m too pretty.”
Astoria laughed gently, leaning her head on Theo’s shoulder for a moment. “She’s lucky to have you all.”
“She’s ours,” Theo said simply. “She doesn’t get to pretend she’s alone anymore.”
There was another long pause, the quiet room filled only by the sounds of Hermione’s soft breathing and the faint crackle of the ward’s warming enchantments.
“Should we let her sleep?” Astoria asked, almost whispering.
“She’s not waking up for a bit,” Theo murmured. “Not until she stops shaking. Her body’s still trying to reset.”
Draco pressed a kiss to Hermione’s hair. “She’s safe. That’s what matters.”
And so they stayed, the four of them settled around her-watching, waiting, guarding her with the kind of quiet fierceness born of love. The room, thick with unspoken loyalty and aching care, stood still around them, as if the magic itself held its breath for her recovery.
Night fell gently over the hospital wing’s secondary chamber. The enchanted sconces cast warm amber light across the room, flickering like candlelight and painting soft shadows across the walls. Outside the tall window, the stars had begun their slow crawl across a velvet sky, untouched by the bustle of the castle beyond.
Inside the room, quiet reigned.
Hermione lay nestled against Theo’s chest on the hospital bed, her head resting just below his chin, her curls tucked against his throat like ivy. She was awake now-barely-but silent, her eyes half-lidded and unfocused, her breathing soft and shallow. She hadn’t spoken since waking half an hour ago, just blinked slowly when addressed, and nodded faintly when Theo or Draco tried to coax her to eat more of the broth waiting on the nightstand.
She hadn’t taken more than two spoonfuls.
Draco paced slowly at the foot of the bed, arms folded, brows drawn into a frustrated frown as he watched her.
“She’s not even trying,” he muttered.
“She’s tired,” Theo murmured in reply, his voice low as he carefully adjusted the blankets around her shoulders. “And sick.”
Draco shot him a look. “That didn’t stop her from writing four feet of notes while sleep deprived a few weeks ago."
Hermione blinked slowly. Theo felt her fingers twitch against his side.
“I know you’re awake,” he whispered into her hair. “And I know you heard that.”
Hermione didn’t answer. Her mouth twitched faintly-perhaps a ghost of a frown, or maybe guilt. Her silence pressed like weight against them.
Draco stepped closer, picked up the still-warm bowl of broth from the tray table, and held it out. “Come on, sweetheart. Just a few more bites.”
She turned her face into Theo’s shirt.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” Draco muttered under his breath.
Theo rubbed her back in slow, steady circles. “You need something in your system. You’re going to make yourself worse.”
Still no reply.
Draco exhaled sharply, just as a firm knock came from the door. He straightened and turned as the heavy oak swung open.
Head Healer Archibald Fenwick swept into the room with the swish of his emerald-green robes, tall and broad-shouldered, with greying hair swept back from a lined, expressive face. His presence brought with it the scent of fresh herbs and something sterile and sharp beneath.
Behind him, Assistant Healer Callen followed silently, his short-cropped hair brushing his ears slightly as he walked, a clipboard clutched against his chest.
Fenwick stopped at the foot of the bed and peered over his spectacles.
“She’s awake, then?”
“She is,” Theo said. “Just… quiet.”
Fenwick moved to Hermione’s side, eyes flicking between her pale face and the untouched broth on the table.
“Miss Potter.” His voice was firm but not unkind. “You’ve eaten, I presume?”
Hermione didn’t look at him. Her fingers curled in Theo’s shirt.
Fenwick arched a thick brow. “That would be a ‘no,’ I take it.”
Draco set the bowl back on the table and crossed his arms. “She’s refusing.”
“I’m not refusing,” Hermione rasped, her voice barely audible and hoarse from disuse.
Theo looked down at her, startled. “There she is.”
“Refusing, unable, disinterested-it doesn’t matter the terminology,” Fenwick said sharply, moving his wand in a quick diagnostic sweep over her body. “The fact remains that you are dangerously undernourished, dehydrated, and your immune system is holding on by a thread.”
Hermione flinched at the tone, her eyes slipping closed.
Theo tightened his arm around her protectively. “She’s not being difficult. She’s just… done. She doesn’t have anything left.”
“Well, she’d better find something left,” Fenwick snapped, and Callen flinched beside him. “Or we’re moving to nutrient potions and stomach charms, which will not be pleasant.”
“I’ve already suggested it,” Draco muttered, though his voice lacked heat.
Fenwick narrowed his eyes at Hermione’s still form. “You’re one of the brightest minds of your generation, Miss Potter. Surely it doesn’t escape you that letting your body fall into collapse benefits no one-including yourself.”
Hermione’s eyes fluttered open. She stared at the wall across the room, voice faint and gravel-edged. “I’m… trying.”
Callen stepped forward gently. “May I… check your temperature?”
Hermione gave the tiniest nod.
Callen murmured a spell, his wand glowing soft blue as he passed it over Hermione’s forehead. His brows creased. “Still running high. Not dangerously, but not low enough to be comfortable.”
“She started shivering again a few hours ago,” Theo added.
Fenwick conjured a notepad midair, muttering as he took notes. “It’s been almost two days. If her fever doesn’t break properly by morning, we may need to reassess.”
“I don’t want potions,” Hermione croaked, closing her eyes again.
Fenwick folded his arms. “Then eat.”
There was a long pause. Hermione didn’t respond.
“I’m not being cruel,” Fenwick added, voice softening slightly. “But this is not a battle of will, Miss Potter. Your body is in charge now. And you must listen to it, whether you like it or not.”
Theo brushed her curls away from her face and whispered, “We’re not asking you to eat a whole meal. Just try. One or two more spoonfuls.”
“I’ll do it myself,” Hermione whispered. “Just… give me a minute.”
Callen handed the bowl to Theo, then gave Draco a nod and stepped back.
Fenwick sighed. “I’ll return in an hour. If she hasn’t eaten by then, we’ll proceed with the supplement.”
He turned without waiting for agreement, robes sweeping behind him as he strode for the door. Callen lingered a moment longer.
“I know it’s hard,” he said gently, his brown eyes meeting Hermione’s. “But letting others help… doesn’t make you weak.”
Then he followed the Head Healer out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Silence settled again.
Theo shifted the bowl into his lap and looked down at Hermione. “You want to try now?”
Hermione didn’t look up, but she gave a tiny nod.
Draco stepped forward, grabbing a spoon and scooping a bit of the broth, then passing it to Theo, who held it in front of her patiently. Slowly-like she had to will her body to move-Hermione pushed herself upright against Theo’s chest, eyes fluttering open.
Theo raised the spoon, and after a brief hesitation, she took it.
She grimaced as she swallowed, voice rough. “Tastes like… overcooked carrots and despair.”
Draco’s lips twitched. “Told you it was better with a bit of pepper.”
Theo offered another spoonful. “Come on, one more.”
Hermione hesitated again, then nodded.
She managed three spoonfuls before turning her face back into Theo’s chest, trembling faintly.
Draco set the bowl aside and sat on the edge of the bed, his hand stroking down her spine. “Good. That’s good, love.”
“You’re not disappointed?” she mumbled, barely audible.
Theo leaned his cheek against the top of her head. “Only that you didn’t insult the carrots sooner.”
Draco huffed. “We’ll save the disappointment for when you hex Fenwick tomorrow.”
Hermione let out a tiny, raspy breath. It might have been a laugh.
Soft light poured through the high arched windows of the hospital wing’s secondary chamber. It wasn’t full daylight yet-just that quiet, silvery-blue glow that seeped in during the very earliest hours, before the sun dared show its face. The enchanted sconces had dimmed to a gentle flicker, casting the room in warm hues of gold and shadow.
The stillness was thick. Sacred.
Hermione lay curled against Draco’s chest in the wide bed, one of his arms wrapped around her shoulders, the other weaving lazily through her curls. His long fingers traced through them again and again, slow and careful, like he could smooth the fever out of her if he just kept going. Her skin was still warm-too warm-but the violent heat of the past two days had finally eased to something less volatile. She dozed without thrashing, and her breath came steadily now, soft against the cotton of Draco’s borrowed Henley shirt.
He hadn’t slept. Not really. Not since the seizure. Not since the moment she stopped speaking.
Theo sat on a chair beside the bed, his head resting on the edge of the mattress, one arm draped across Hermione’s legs. His breathing was even, though he wasn’t fully asleep-just suspended, eyes closed, his fingers twitching now and then as if they longed to touch her but didn’t want to wake her.
In the corner of the room, Ron snored gently in an armchair, head tipped back, arms crossed awkwardly over his chest. His trainers were kicked off beside him and one sock was falling off. His freckled face was flushed and slack with exhaustion.
The others were awake.
Ginny sat cross-legged on the next bed over, still in yesterday’s jumper, her fiery hair tied up in a messy knot. Pansy lounged beside her, legs tucked under her neatly, a warm blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl. Astoria sat on the floor near Theo, knees drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them.
Blaise stood leaning against the window frame, arms folded, the faint breeze ruffling his curls. His gaze kept drifting to Hermione.
And just beside him, leaning on the windowsill with his back to the glass, was Harry . His glasses were smudged, hair a disaster, eyes rimmed in red. But he was awake-awake and silent, watching his sister sleep with that particular look he only ever wore when something had rattled him to his core.
“She looks better,” Ginny said softly. Her voice broke the silence gently, like a pebble tossed into still water. “Still pale. Still too thin. But… better.”
“She is better,” Draco said, his voice low and even. “Still not great. But… stable.”
“She ate,” Theo mumbled without lifting his head. “Only a few bites, but… she did.”
There was a pause.
“She never should’ve gotten this bad,” Ginny said, looking around the room at each of them. Her eyes were tired. Sharp. “This all started because she had a nightmare. And she didn’t know how to ask for help. So she pushed us all away. And threw herself into schoolwork until her body gave out.”
Silence stretched.
“It’s more than just a nightmare,” Blaise said quietly from the window. “It’s what came with it. The memories. The guilt. The pressure she puts on herself. You all know how she works.”
“She thinks if she stops moving, she’ll fall apart,” Pansy added, not unkindly. “And if she falls apart, she thinks she’s a burden.”
Astoria nodded, voice faint. “She’s terrified of being weak.”
“She’s not weak,” Theo murmured without opening his eyes.
“No,” Ginny agreed. “She’s not. But she thinks needing help makes her weak. That not having the answers makes her broken. And she doesn’t know how to trust people with that.”
Draco exhaled slowly and kept brushing his fingers through Hermione’s curls. “She trusted us. Before this.”
“She wants to,” Blaise corrected. “But wanting and doing aren’t the same.”
“She doesn’t know how to rest,” Ginny said, looking down at her hands. “Not really. It’s like she never learned how to stop without guilt eating her alive.”
“Maybe because every time she stopped, something bad happened,” Astoria said. “First year? Troll. Second year? Basilisk. Third year? Time-turner. And that’s before the war.”
“She’s been in survival mode since she was eleven,” Blaise said. “And no one ever told her she could stop.”
They all looked at her then, curled up like something fragile against Draco’s chest. Her fingers were tangled in the fabric of his shirt, her brow furrowed even in sleep.
“She nearly died,” Theo said quietly. “Because she wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t let herself stop.”
Harry shifted by the window. He didn’t speak right away. His jaw tightened, and he looked down, brow furrowed.
“I keep thinking about that,” he said at last. “That she nearly died. That we could’ve lost her.”
His voice cracked. He scrubbed a hand over his face and then shook his head.
“I’m supposed to be her brother. I am her brother. I didn’t do anything. I just let her pull away. I let her drown in it.”
No one interrupted. Ginny blinked fast and reached over to rest a hand on Harry’s knee.
“You’re not the only one who missed it,” she whispered. “We all did.”
“I should’ve known,” Harry said, voice low and raw. “I lived with her. I know how she hides things. I should’ve noticed when she started skipping meals. When she didn’t want to talk. When she stopped arguing back.”
“You noticed,” Theo said, finally lifting his head again. “You just didn’t know what to do with it. None of us did.”
“But we should’ve tried harder,” Harry said. “She’s always been the one holding everyone together. And we let her fall apart.”
“She doesn’t let people see her fall apart,” Draco said, still stroking her curls. “She broke and still didn’t tell anyone. You’re not the reason she ended up here.”
“No,” Blaise agreed. “But we’re all the reason she won’t be alone next time.”
“She might try to be,” Pansy warned.
“Then we try harder,” Ginny said firmly. “We keep showing up. We push when it matters.”
Theo reached across and brushed his knuckles against Hermione’s cheek. “We remind her she doesn’t have to be perfect. That she doesn’t have to carry everything alone.”
“She won’t believe that right away,” Astoria said.
“Then we show her,” Harry murmured. “Every day. Over and over. Until it gets through.”
There was a long moment of silence.
Hermione stirred faintly against Draco’s chest, shifting her head slightly. Her breath hitched, but then settled again.
“She’s going to hate being in here,” Draco said quietly. “She’ll want to be back in her dorm before she can walk on her own.”
“She’ll pretend she’s fine the second she’s conscious enough to argue,” Theo added dryly.
“I’ll help tie her to the bed if she tries to leave,” Pansy said, sipping tea from a conjured cup. “With silk scarves, obviously. I’m not a savage.”
That earned a few weak chuckles.
“Maybe we all just take turns being annoying,” Ginny said with a soft smile. “Until she gets better or snaps and hexes us.”
“She’s going to hex someone,” Astoria muttered.
“As long as it’s not me,” Blaise added, finally pulling away from the window.
A murmur of warm laughter drifted through the room.
Hermione stirred again.
Theo was already moving. He shifted carefully onto the bed beside her, curling up at her back, one arm sliding gently across her waist.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “You’re safe. Sleep, love.”
She let out a faint, fragile sigh, the barest sound, and the tension in her shoulders eased. She didn’t wake—but she settled.
Draco pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and murmured into her curls, “We’ve got you.”
They all watched her. Still and quiet.
They had let her fall too far once.
They wouldn’t let it happen again.
Not ever.
The late morning sun warmed the chamber in gentle golds and ambers, soft beams falling across the end of the bed like spilled honey. The secondary hospital wing was still quiet, hushed in that way all recovery spaces tend to be-like even the stone walls knew rest was sacred here.
Hermione was upright for the first time in days.
She sat nestled against Draco’s chest, one of his arms looped firmly around her waist, the other holding a small plate steady on her lap as she picked at a piece of toast. Her curls were a wild mess down her back, half brushed and slightly damp from the careful sponge bath Theo had insisted on earlier, but her cheeks had the faintest whisper of color again. Her eyes were no longer dull, though they were still rimmed in shadow.
Theo lounged on the bed beside her, ankles crossed, his elbow propped on the mattress so he could rest his chin in his hand and watch her try to take a bite.
“You're not fooling anyone, sunshine,” he said, voice low and dry. “That’s the tiniest nibble I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen Pansy eat when she’s pretending she doesn’t want dessert.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, a crumb still perched on her lip. “I’m eating, aren’t I?”
“Barely,” Draco muttered against her temple. “Toast isn't optional. You need more than one bite every ten minutes.”
Hermione sighed and took another, slightly larger bite out of sheer stubbornness. Her wince was subtle, but not subtle enough.
Both boys stiffened.
Draco’s grip on the plate tightened.
Theo leaned in. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Hermione said, far too quickly, chewing and avoiding both their eyes.
“You winced,” Draco said flatly.
“No, I didn’t.”
Theo arched an eyebrow. “You’re an appalling liar. Was it your ribs?”
Hermione looked down at her lap, then muttered, “They’re just a bit sore. That’s all.”
Draco snorted, thoroughly unimpressed. “Your ‘just sore’ ribs nearly cracked from fevered shivering two nights ago, love. You think we’re letting that slide?”
“I’m fine now.”
“No,” Theo said with the quiet, biting precision only he could manage. “You’re better. That’s not the same thing.”
Hermione gave them both a withering look and tried to shift again, only to hiss and press a hand to her side. Draco immediately caught her wrist and stilled her.
“Stop.” His voice was firm, low and protective. “Don’t move like that. You’ll pull something.”
“I hate being fussed over.”
“Tough,” Theo said, eyes sharp. “You nearly died, Hermione. You don’t get to roll your eyes at us for being worried.”
She opened her mouth to argue-but the door creaked open before she could speak, and Head Healer Fenwick stepped into the chamber, followed as always by his assistant, Callen.
The healer looked less tired this morning, though he still bore the heavy-eyed weariness of someone who hadn’t trusted the situation enough to sleep for more than an hour at a time. He carried a small clipboard and had a wand tucked into the cuff of his sleeves, his robes immaculate as ever.
“Miss Potter,” Fenwick said, nodding to her with a warm smile. “Upright, eating toast. That’s progress.”
“I told you I was fine,” Hermione said with a touch too much self-satisfaction.
Fenwick gave a low chuckle. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
He stepped closer and cast a diagnostic charm, his wand glowing pale blue as it scanned over her chest and ribcage. The light flickered slightly as it passed over her side.
“Still inflamed here,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “Tender to the touch. You’re lucky you didn’t crack anything during the seizure.”
Hermione tensed.
“Any pain when you inhale?”
“Only a little,” she said.
Theo and Draco both rolled their eyes in unison.
Callen, the quiet healer with the permanently ink-stained fingers, moved around to jot notes behind Fenwick. His brow furrowed slightly as he looked over her chart.
“She’s still malnourished,” Callen said quietly.
Fenwick nodded. “Yes. But the fever’s broken, and her vitals are stable. That’s a major improvement.”
Hermione perked up slightly. “So I can go back to my dorm-?”
“No,” all three men said at once.
Her face fell.
“You’re not leaving this chamber until you’ve regained weight, your ribs have fully healed, and you can walk across the room without clutching the walls,” Fenwick said briskly. “Minimum three more days. Possibly five.”
Hermione opened her mouth, indignant.
“I’m not negotiating, Miss Potter."
“But-"
“No.”
Draco tightened his arm around her before she could try to sit up more forcefully. “You heard him.”
“I can study from here-”
“You’ll rest from here,” Theo cut in. “We’re not going back to you not eating and a blazing fever, thanks.”
Hermione scowled. “I feel like I’m in a prison.”
Draco lowered his mouth to her ear. “Then consider us your jailors. And we’re very attentive.”
“You’re the worst,” she muttered.
He kissed her temple. “You say that like I didn’t carry you through a fever dream and help you throw up in a bowl shaped like a badger.”
Callen snorted.
Fenwick stepped back and murmured, “Try the broth again later. And water. Plenty of it. Keep her sitting up if she’ll tolerate it.”
“She’s tolerating it,” Theo said, stealing the last piece of her toast from the plate and popping it in his mouth.
Hermione swatted him weakly.
Fenwick’s eyes crinkled with dry amusement, then turned more serious. “She’s through the worst. But this next part? The slow part? It’s the hardest.”
“I’ll be good,” Hermione muttered.
“Will you?” Draco murmured, brushing her hair from her cheek.
She hesitated. “I’ll try.”
Fenwick patted her ankle gently through the blanket. “That’s enough for today.”
He and Callen left quietly, letting the soft hush settle once more over the room.
Theo shifted onto his side, resting on his elbow. “How’s your head?”
“Tired,” Hermione admitted. “But not dizzy. Just… heavy.”
“Good,” Draco said softly. “You should sleep again soon.”
“I want to finish my toast.”
“You can’t. I ate it,” Theo said, smirking.
“You’re horrible.”
“You’re alive,” he said, smile fading into something gentler. “That’s all I care about.”
Hermione leaned her head back against Draco’s shoulder and closed her eyes, letting the warmth of their presence soak in, safe and steady.
Outside, bells chimed in the Great Hall for the second breakfast call.
But inside the hospital chamber, time moved slower. Gentler.
And she-finally-was beginning to let it.
The early afternoon light poured in through the enchanted windows, casting soft patterns across the polished stone floor of the hospital wing. The air smelled faintly of potions and lavender disinfectant, but it was warm, quiet, and calm.
Hermione’s feet were bare against the cool floor, her weight uneven as she stood between Draco and Theo, her arms looped around their shoulders. She was wrapped in a thick-knit blanket, her hospital robe slightly too large, sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Her curls, still damp at the roots, were tucked behind her ears.
“This is humiliating,” she muttered.
“You nearly died three days ago, love,” Draco said smoothly. “If you can walk from here to the bed and back, it’s a bloody triumph.”
“I could probably do it faster without you two acting like I’m about to collapse.”
Theo let out a quiet laugh. “You are about to collapse.”
“I am not.”
“You’re shaking.”
Hermione glared at him. “That’s from the draft.”
“There’s no draft,” Draco said, deadpan. “That’s you being weak as a kitten pretending you’re not.”
“Kitten,” Theo repeated, smirking. “That’s new. Usually you go with lioness or dragon girl or something more poetic.”
“She’s barely holding herself up,” Draco replied, tightening his arm around Hermione’s waist. “She’s a kitten today.”
Hermione groaned under her breath but didn’t protest further.
Several steps ahead of them, the long stretch of the hospital wing’s main chamber opened into the familiar row of beds, chairs, and monitoring stations. Clustered near the end of the ward were their friends-Pansy sitting cross-legged on a chair with her chin on her hand, Astoria perched beside her, Daphne and Blaise standing just behind. Neville leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and Harry stood with his thumbs hooked in his pockets, watching them quietly.
As Hermione, Draco, and Theo slowly made their way down the corridor, their group straightened.
“She walks!” Pansy called with mock grandeur.
“Praise Merlin,” Blaise muttered.
“Careful, careful,” Astoria said, shifting to the edge of her seat.
“Stop staring,” Hermione grumbled as they reached the halfway point. “This is not a parade.”
“You’re limping like it is,” Daphne called cheerfully.
Theo smirked. “That’s her dramatic flair.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, focusing on her breathing, on keeping her back straight. Each step tugged at the sore places-her ribs, her hips, her legs like aching sticks of charcoal.
“I’m fine,” she insisted quietly.
Draco shot her a look, brow furrowing.
“You’re clenching your jaw,” he said.
“I am not.”
“She always does when she’s trying not to make noise,” Theo added, his grip adjusting slightly under her arm. “She used to do it in the library when she had cramps and didn’t want to go back to the dorm for a potion.”
“I hate both of you,” Hermione said through her teeth.
“Good. Stay angry. That’s what’s keeping you upright.”
They reached the end of the main corridor, where the others were now all gathered loosely around. Ginny appeared from the other side of a curtain, a mug of tea in one hand, and did a double take.
“You’re walking!” she beamed. “Hermione, that’s amazing!”
“It’s slow and miserable, but it’s progress,” Draco muttered.
“I don’t want tea,” Hermione said flatly as Ginny offered her the mug.
“Good thing it’s not yours,” Ginny replied, taking a sip and winking.
“She’s still being a nightmare patient,” Theo said, almost fondly.
“She’d hex me if she could sit up straight long enough to aim her wand,” Draco added.
“She’s just trying to prove she’s fine,” Neville offered gently, still watching her with quiet concern. “Which is very on-brand.”
“I am fine,” Hermione snapped.
All six of them looked at her.
“No, you’re not,” Blaise said bluntly.
“Absolutely not,” Pansy agreed, arms crossed.
“You’re leaning into Theo so hard he’s going to need his spine re-aligned,” Astoria added, eyeing the way Hermione was trying to shift her weight.
“Okay, enough,” Hermione muttered, trying to straighten.
Her body immediately betrayed her-pain seared through her ribs, her knees nearly buckled, and Theo cursed under his breath as he tightened his hold.
“Stop,” Draco said sharply. “You’re hurting.”
Hermione stiffened.
“I said I’m-”
“Don’t,” Theo interrupted. “You’ve said that too many times. You’re not fine. You’re pale, you’re sweating, and your fingers are shaking. You’re clearly in pain.”
“Then let’s just go back,” she muttered, ashamed, her voice wobbling on the edge of something more fragile. “I’m clearly useless.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “Don’t start.”
“Everyone’s here,” she whispered. “Watching me. I can barely walk twenty bloody feet. I hate this.”
The words cracked mid-sentence, shame curling around her voice like smoke. She pressed her forehead against Theo’s shoulder for a moment, breathing shakily, trying to push it all down-the burn of her pride, the sting of her body failing her, the helpless frustration.
The silence around them stretched awkwardly, and then-
“You’re not useless, Hermione,” Harry said.
His voice was quiet. Steady.
She lifted her head, blinking at him.
Harry stepped forward, gaze firm but soft, his hand resting loosely in his pocket. “You pushed all of us away. Because you didn’t know how to ask for help. Because you thought if you just worked hard enough, it would all get better. And it didn’t. You got sick.”
Hermione flinched slightly.
“But you’re not useless,” he repeated. “You’re human. You messed up. That’s allowed. It doesn’t make you weak.”
Theo’s hand gently brushed over her wrist.
Draco didn’t speak-but the way he kept her tucked against his side said enough.
Hermione swallowed thickly.
“I don’t like being seen like this,” she said quietly.
“We’ve seen you angry,” Pansy offered.
“We’ve seen you cry,” Ginny added.
“We’ve seen you hex people with your eyes closed while quoting Arithmancy theory,” Blaise said with a shrug. “This is new, sure. But it doesn’t change anything.”
Astoria nodded. “You’re still Hermione.”
“You’re still our Hermione,” Neville said.
Hermione’s eyes shimmered.
She didn’t argue this time.
“Come on,” Draco murmured, brushing his fingers lightly against the side of her neck. “Let’s get you back to bed, yeah?”
She nodded.
The walk back was slower-her body trembling more now from the effort, and the adrenaline that had fueled her embarrassment having fizzled out. Each step took careful coordination, Draco and Theo murmuring quietly to her as they went.
When they reached the secondary chamber again, Draco helped her into bed, piling pillows behind her, adjusting the blankets.
Theo handed her a cup of water and didn’t let go until she took a sip.
They didn’t say anything for a while. Neither did she.
But as the warmth of the bed settled around her and the pain dulled to a manageable ache, Hermione let out a soft, tired sigh.
“I really thought I could handle everything alone,” she whispered.
Draco leaned over and kissed her forehead.
“Well, that was stupid.”
Theo chuckled. “But very Hermione.”
She huffed a weak laugh and closed her eyes.
From the hall, she could still hear the others laughing-muffled and low, the kind of comfort that only came from knowing you were surrounded by people who’d stay.
She wasn’t alone.
Not anymore.
Chapter 19: This Is What Surviving Looks Like
Summary:
Hermione gets to go back to her dorm room. She learns to let herself be take care of
Notes:
Here is the next chapter!!! I hope you all enjoy!!
Chapter Text
Two days later, late morning sunlight slanted through the enchanted windows of the hospital wing’s secondary chamber, bathing the room in gentle warmth. The once-quiet stillness had softened into something more familiar: the hum of care, soft breathing, and the tick of the clock on the wall from the common area outside.
Hermione sat propped with pillows, leaning back into Theo’s chest. He wrapped an arm around her waist, steadying her as Draco stood beside the bed with a bowl of broth. He held a silver spoon at Hermione’s lips, gently coaxing her to eat again.
“I told you I’m fine,” Hermione grumbled, voice hoarse yet sharp.
“Fine is going from no food to tiny sips of broth,” Draco responded, tone dry. “Let’s not act like you’re thriving.”
Hermione took another reluctant sip as Draco carefully lifted the spoon. She winced very slightly when she lifted her arm, but immediately forced a small smile.
“I’m okay.”
Theo’s eyes flickered. “People who are ‘okay’ don’t grimace when they move.”
She stiffened but didn’t argue, taking the broth but resisting further sips.
In the corner of the large chamber, Pansy sat curled in a plush armchair. Astoria perched on the bed’s edge on the opposite side. Daphne and Ginny hovered near the foot, arms crossed, their faces etched with worry and compassion.
Pansy sighed. “You know Hermione's stubborn, but this is painful to watch.”
Astoria nodded, voice soft. “She lifts her arm like it’s a hoop. Those ribs are healing slower than the rest of her.”
Daphne leaned forward, biting her lip. “Should we interrupt? We’re supposed to be here to support her… including when she’s pretending she’s not in pain.”
Ginny rubbed Hermione’s foot beneath the blanket. “What they need you to do is stop treating pain like weakness.”
Hermione opened her mouth to snap back-but paused as a sharper pang flared through her ribs, and she swallowed roughly.
Theo’s hand flew down to steady her. “Stop.”
Draco set the spoon down without comment. Hermione closed her eyes and sighed softly, leaning into Theo’s shoulder.
“But I’m fine,” she hissed.
“You’re brave,” Draco murmured, voice hushed. “But bravery doesn’t come with broken bones.”
The women exchanged quiet but knowing glances. Daphne spoke up, gentle: “You’ve pushed through more than any of us could endure. But you don’t have to anymore.”
Hermione closed her eyes, breathing through pain in silence.
A crisp knock sounded at the door. Head Healer Archibald Fenwick entered, clipboard in hand, followed by Callen. They moved with practiced ease, covering their quiet entrance.
“Good morning,” Fenwick said, voice neutral but kind. “How are we today?”
Draco met his eyes. “Better. She’s sipping again.”
“She’s awake,” Hermione managed, voice softer.
Fenwick approached slowly and placed his wand-tip at Hermione’s temple and ribs in succession, glowing gently. “Your vitals remain stable. Broth intake is consistent. Fever stayed down overnight. Infection has cleared from your lungs.”
He tapped notes on his clipboard. Then asked Hermione quietly: “How are you feeling?”
Hermione straightened, voice brittle. “I feel well enough to go back to my dorm.”
Her words snagged in Draco’s throat. Theo shifted protectively beside her.
Fenwick looked at them, expression firm. “Your condition has improved enough that you may return to the dormitory. But you will remain on strict bed rest until Tuesday. No exceptions.”
Hermione’s eyes widened.
“You cannot study, or engage in any strenuous movement, and no over doing it on the walking,” Callen added softly. “This is your healing window.”
Astoria spoke up gently: “That means literally staying in bed-even if we tempt you.”
Ginny added: “If you smuggle anything into your robes, I'll hex the guilt into you myself."
Pansy smiled faintly. “That includes wands, books, and suspiciously warm teacups.”
Hermione closed her eyes, defeated. “Fine.”
“We’ll carry you if we have to,” Draco promised softly.
“You don’t have to threaten her,” Theo said, brushing her hair back gently. “She’ll stay if we stay.”
Fenwick nodded. “And if you feel any new pain, peak in temperature, or chest tightness-most particularly-call for me immediately.”
She ducked her eyes to Draco. “Tell. Us. Not just if it’s ‘serious.’ Whatever hurts.”
Hermione swallowed.
Fenwick closed his notebook. “I’ll check again later this afternoon. Keep encouraging her to eat. Nutrients will help fragile bones knit.”
He exited. Callen closed the door behind him.
As quiet returned, the four friends and two guardians drifted closer around the bed.
Ginny lifted Hermione’s hand gently. “We’ll bring everything you need. We’ll rotate shifts.”
Daphne placed a blanket over her knees. “We can study silently beside your bed-shush reading, if you like.”
Astoria’s eyes glowed: “I make boiled mint tea that’s good for healing. I’ll brew it bedside.”
Pansy scoffed. “And I’ll smuggle in chocolate cake-just tiny bites.”
Hermione cracked one wicked smile. “You’re all insane.”
“She’s allowed to smile,” Draco said, brushing her hair from her forehead and pressing a kiss to her temple. “Look at you-you’re halfway through broth and smiling. Improvement.”
Hermione sighed but didn’t argue.
Theo leaned in and kissed her temple too. “We love you.”
She squeezed their hands.
“They won’t let me slip back into perfectionism—not as long as I’m in bed,” Hermione whispered, voice small.
Ginny squeezed her other hand. “That’s the plan.”
Astoria nodded. “You’re healing. That’s enough.”
Daphne smiled softly. “Your body’s allowed to pause.”
Pansy pretended to gag. “See? She’s practicing.”
“The worst kind of patient,” Draco said with mock regret.
“You’re not allowed to be nice,” Hermione murmured.
They all laughed quietly. The warmth of companionship, dedication, and love filled the room like a healing potion.
She still hurt-but she no longer had to fight alone.
The late afternoon light filtered in through the high windows of the secondary recovery chamber, casting soft golden shapes across the stone floor. Hermione sat on the edge of the hospital bed, her legs dangling a few inches above the floor, her expression twisted in irritation.
Draco held up a pair of clean black leggings. “You know, if you let us help, this will go a lot faster.”
“I don’t need help getting dressed,” Hermione muttered, reaching for the leggings. “I’m not made of glass.”
“Mm,” Theo murmured as he handed her the oversized heathered jumper she’d asked for. “Just a bit of cracked porcelain, then?”
Hermione shot him a glare but didn’t argue, tugging the leggings over her feet slowly. Even the soft fabric brushing the bottom of her sore ribs sent a hot jolt through her side. She tried not to let it show, gritting her teeth and pulling the jumper over her head with a slight wince.
Draco raised an eyebrow as he caught the movement. “You’re not fooling anyone, kitten.”
“I’m fine,” she said, the word sharp and unconvincing.
Theo snorted as he bent to straighten the hem of her jumper. “You keep using that word.”
Hermione didn’t respond, instead running her hands down the sleeves of her jumper with a small sigh. “I’m just happy to be back in regular clothes. I feel more human already.”
Draco crossed his arms and leaned against the bedpost. “You still look like you’ve been steamrolled by a library cart.”
Before Hermione could fire back, the door creaked open and Head Healer Fenwick entered, Callen just behind. The older man’s sharp blue eyes did a full sweep of her appearance, noting the color in her cheeks and the small tension in her shoulders.
“You’re upright,” Fenwick noted dryly, flipping through the parchment in his folder. “Clothed. No visible signs of collapse. A miracle.”
“I’m ready to go back to my dorm,” Hermione said immediately, chin lifted.
“I’m know you are,” Fenwick replied. “And I’m still permitting it-but I would like to reiderate the conditions on which I am letting you return to your dorm."
Hermione's shoulders tightened slightly.
“You remain on full bed rest until Tuesday,” Fenwick said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “No classes. No library visits. No tutoring sessions. No sneaking off to decode ancient runes under your bed. You may be technically stable, but your ribs are still tender, your muscles are dangerously atrophied, and your nutritional recovery is shallow. Another fever spike, and you’re back here without negotiation
Hermione groaned. “I’m-”
“-fine,” Theo finished for her, raising his eyebrows. “Yes, we know. You said that.”
Draco stepped forward, expression serious for once. “We’ll make sure she follows it.”
Fenwick gave him a nod. “See that you do. And Miss Potter-if anything changes, anything, you contact me immediately. Don’t try to push through it. I’d rather you come in for no reason than not come in when it matters.”
Hermione gave a grudging nod. “Yes, Healer Fenwick.”
Callen passed Draco a small phial of blue potion. “For pain, if needed. One drop only. She should feel steady by tomorrow afternoon if she follows instructions.”
With that, the two healers left, and Hermione gave an exaggerated sigh of relief.
Theo moved to her side. “Alright. Let’s get you home.”
“I’m walking,” Hermione said firmly, swinging her legs around and planting her feet on the ground. “All the way.”
Draco looked at her skeptically. “You can barely lift a spoon without wincing.”
“I walked around the ward the other day,” she said, straightening her spine. “I can walk to my dorm.”
“Which is several corridors and one big staircase away,” Theo reminded her.
Hermione lifted her chin. “I’m walking.”
Draco and Theo exchanged a look—but didn’t argue. Instead, they took their places beside her as she took her first step out of the hospital wing, her hands lightly touching their arms for balance.
The corridors were mostly empty, their footsteps echoing off the stone. Hermione moved carefully, jaw set, each step slow and deliberate.
“This feels weird,” she muttered after a few minutes. “Walking freely. Like I might float away.”
“You’re not floating,” Draco muttered. “You’re shuffling.”
Theo smirked. “It’s a very determined shuffle.”
Hermione jabbed him in the ribs with a finger. “Hush, both of you.”
They were nearly halfway back to the west wing when they reached the wide, winding staircase leading up to the dormitory corridor.
Hermione stopped.
She stared up at the stairs like they’d personally insulted her.
“Bloody hell,” she whispered.
Theo watched her jaw lock.
“Nope,” he said flatly. “You’ve proved your point. You walked half the castle. You’re done.”
“I can-”
Before she could finish, Theo swept her effortlessly off the floor, cradling her against his chest as if she weighed nothing.
“Don’t,” he warned softly. “Don’t argue. You’re exhausted.”
Hermione groaned and buried her face in his shoulder. “This is so undignified.”
Draco walked beside them, smug. “And yet, still less dramatic than the last time we carried you.”
“Shut up,” Hermione muttered into Theo’s jumper.
By the time they reached the corridor outside her dorm, the door was already cracked open, and inside, her friends had clearly made themselves at home. Pansy, Ginny, Daphne, Astoria, Blaise, and Neville had gathered with cushions and blankets. Ron was sprawled in the far corner snoring against a beanbag. Harry stood against the bookshelf with his arms crossed.
As Theo stepped inside carrying her, Pansy rose from the bed with a satisfied little clap. “About time.”
“Oh, thank Merlin,” Ginny said, hurrying over. “We were about to storm the hospital wing.”
Astoria plumped the pillows behind the headboard. “Everything’s ready-tea, snacks, no broth.”
“Thank God,” Hermione muttered as Theo laid her gently onto the bed and Draco quickly arranged the covers.
Hermione exhaled, closing her eyes for a moment, her ribs aching but her chest lighter.
Draco perched on the edge of the bed. “See? Back where you belong.”
Hermione opened one eye, then the other.
Her room. Her bed. Her books on the shelf. Her friends chattering around her.
Her people.
She let her head tip against Theo’s chest, one hand curling lightly around Draco’s. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Finally.”
The soft amber glow of enchanted sconces bathed Hermione’s dorm room in golden light, shadows flickering gently against the stone walls. A warm fire crackled in the hearth. The hour was late, though no one seemed particularly eager to leave.
Hermione sat propped up against a fortress of pillows in her bed, arms crossed loosely over the light blanket pulled over her legs. She was tucked comfortably between Draco on her right and Theo on her left. Theo had a thick law textbook open on his lap and was scribbling notes with his usual neat script, while Draco was reading something decidedly less academic-some classic Quidditch memoir Blaise had shoved at him earlier. His long legs were stretched out on top of the duvet, crossed at the ankle, and he occasionally reached over to run his fingers lightly along Hermione’s arm as he read.
She, however, wasn’t doing much of anything-except fiddling with the edge of her jumper sleeve and letting her eyes drift, over and over again, toward her bookshelf.
The fourth time she glanced at it in less than five minutes, Draco didn’t look up from his page.
“No.”
Hermione blinked innocently. “What?”
“No,” Theo echoed calmly, flipping a page without looking at her. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I wasn’t,” Hermione said, a touch too quickly. Her hand stilled on her jumper.
“You absolutely were,” Draco said, glancing at her now, his eyes narrowed with amusement. “That look you get when you’re mentally cataloguing the Dewey Decimal System is unmistakable.”
“I wasn’t doing anything,” Hermione said defensively, folding her arms and looking anywhere but at the shelf now.
Harry snorted from where he was seated on the rug, leaning back on his hands. “That’s what she said right before she snuck out of the hospital wing to do Arithmancy homework third year.”
“She also said that before dragging me through the restricted section at midnight sixth year,” Theo added without looking up.
“And when she memorised half the footnotes in Goblin Legal Frameworks because she was ‘just skimming,’” Blaise put in from his spot in the armchair by the fire.
Neville, who was helping himself to one of the biscuits Astoria had brought up earlier, raised a hand. “She said that when she insisted she wasn’t going to reorganise my Herbology notes, and then colour-coded them for growth seasons.”
“And interplanted companion species by genus,” Ginny chimed in from the couch.
Hermione let out an exaggerated huff and slumped against the pillows.
“Fine. You’re all completely insufferable.”
“We’re delightful,” Pansy said sweetly, brushing imaginary lint from her silk pyjamas. “You’re the one who’s recovering from a full collapse and already plotting your literary coup.”
“I’m just… restless,” Hermione muttered. “I hate lying here. I feel like a loaf of bread. A useless loaf of bread.”
Bread doesn’t glare at bookshelves like it wants to start a duel,” Draco said with a smirk.
“You could try relaxing for one evening,” Theo suggested mildly.
Hermione grumbled something unintelligible and picked at the edge of the blanket.
Pansy studied her for a moment, then straightened. “You know what you need?”
“Oh no,” Hermione said immediately.
“A bubble bath.” Pansy smiled sweetly.
“I am not-”
“You are,” Pansy interrupted, already rising. “Something relaxing. Lavender oil. Floating candles. Music. You need to let your brain unwind before you combust.”
“I don’t combust,” Hermione muttered.
“You literally combusted with fever and magical exhaustion four days ago,” Draco pointed out.
Hermione gave another huff, this one slightly less convincing. “I don’t want to be fussed over.”
“We’re past that,” Ginny said dryly, standing to join Pansy. “You’re getting fussed. Accept it with grace.”
Hermione groaned dramatically and buried her face in Draco’s shoulder.
“You two start getting things ready,” Draco said, kissing her hair lightly.
“We’ll bring her.”
Theo rolled his eyes but closed his book and stretched. “Can’t believe she gets carried to baths like a queen and still complains.”
“I’m right here,” Hermione muttered into Draco's shoulder.
Pansy and Ginny disappeared into the bathroom with a rustle of silk and laughter, and a moment later, the faint sound of water running echoed back into the dorm room, mingling with the soft strains of some soothing instrumental tune.
Draco glanced at Theo. “You take her legs.”
Hermione sat up abruptly. “I can walk.”
Theo raised a brow. “You groaned walking from your bed to the sofa earlier.”
“I am not being carried again,” Hermione said with firm resolve.
She threw back the blanket and pushed herself to the edge of the bed. With both boys ready on either side, she managed to stand, only swaying slightly.
“See?” she said proudly, chin up.
Draco kept one hand at her back, just in case. “Very impressive.”
She made it all of six paces before her ribs flared with sharp heat. She paused, trying to mask the wince.
Theo’s hand was on her arm instantly. “Don’t even try to lie about that.”
“It’s just-”
And then they reached the threshold to the bathroom-and the wide marble step that led down into it.
Hermione stared.
"Bloody hell," she whispered.
Without a word, Theo slipped his arm under her knees and swept her up before she could finish forming a protest.
"Theo!"
"You walked," he said calmly. "You proved your point. The last three ffet are mine."
"I hate you."
"You'll get over it."
The warm, perfumed air of the bathroom enveloped them instantly. Candles floated above the enormous claw-footed tub, which shimmered with iridescent bubbles. The water steamed gently, scented with lavender and sweet vanilla. Ginny was adjusting a towel near the tub, and Pansy was adding something to the water that made it shimmer faintly gold.
Theo carefully set Hermione down beside the bath, and Draco moved beside her immediately.
“I’ve got her,” he said, voice quiet.
Hermione blushed faintly but nodded. She kept her gaze somewhere near Draco’s collar as his fingers went to the hem of her oversized jumper.
“Just let us help,” he murmured. “Slowly. No tugging.”
Theo steadied her from behind as Draco gently peeled the jumper upward, careful of her ribs. She sucked in a sharp breath as the fabric brushed her side, but said nothing. The jumper was folded and set neatly aside.
“Leggings next,” Theo murmured, crouching slightly. “I’ll help, yeah?”
Hermione nodded tightly. She placed her hands on Theo’s shoulders as he slowly guided the waistband down over her hips and legs, pausing when she flinched. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
“You’re alright,” he said gently. “We’ve got you.”
Once the leggings and socks were off and set with the jumper, Draco stepped in again, curling his arms beneath her knees and back.
“No slipping,” he murmured.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” Hermione mumbled, hiding her face in his shoulder.
He stepped up beside the tub and slowly dipped her feet into the water, letting the warmth soak up her legs. She sighed-despite herself-and let him lower her fully into the bath.
The moment she settled back against the sloped edge, a long breath left her. Her shoulders dropped.
“Alright?” Draco asked, crouched beside her.
“…Maybe.”
He raised a brow.
Hermione relented. “Yes. It feels good.”
“There we go,” Ginny said, pleased. “Mission accomplished.”
The soft splash of water was the only sound in the candlelit bathroom. The bubbles had mostly dissolved, leaving faint rings of shimmering lavender oil floating on the surface of the gently steaming water. Hermione’s head rested against the curved porcelain edge of the clawfoot tub, curls damp with steam, her arms folded loosely over her stomach. Her breathing was slow and even, her lips parted slightly. She’d drifted off.
Half an hour had passed since Ginny and Pansy had left her to soak, and now the door creaked open slowly.
Draco entered first, his sleeves rolled up, carrying her dressing gown. Theo followed behind him, holding her wand and the bottle of pain-relief salve Healer Fenwick had insisted she use tonight. The moment Draco spotted her, a smile tugged at his mouth.
“She’s asleep,” he murmured.
Theo chuckled under his breath. “She would fall asleep in a bath.”
Draco crouched down beside the tub, balancing carefully on the tiled floor. His fingers, ever gentle, reached out to brush his knuckles along the side of her face, trailing from the crest of her cheekbone to the soft curve of her jaw.
Hermione stirred faintly, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked blearily up at him.
“You came back,” she mumbled.
Theo grinned as he leaned against the bathroom wall. “We live here, sunshine. Where exactly would we go?”
Draco brushed a damp strand of hair off her forehead. “Are you ready to get out?”
Hermione let her eyes fall shut again and gave her head the smallest shake. “M’not moving.”
Draco’s chuckle was low and fond. “Of course not.”
“She’s melting into the bath like a particularly well-read biscuit,” Theo said, grabbing a thick towel off the warming rack. “C’mon, let’s get her out before she dissolves completely.”
Draco carefully slipped his hands beneath Hermione’s arms, mindful of the sore ribs Fenwick was still monitoring. She let out a soft, sleepy protest as he lifted her.
“Nooo-Draco, I-I’m still soaking,” she muttered, struggling to pry open her eyes.
“You’re pruney,” Theo countered. “We’re saving you from raisin fingers.”
Hermione let her head fall against Draco’s shoulder with a pitiful sigh. “You’re both tyrants.”
“We love you too,” Draco murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.
Theo held the towel wide open, and Draco stepped straight into it with Hermione cradled in his arms. She squirmed halfheartedly but didn’t protest much further as Theo wrapped her snugly and began drying her off with careful, brisk strokes.
“I can do it-” she mumbled, trying to pull the towel up around her own shoulders.
“Nope,” Theo said cheerfully, unbothered. “You’re floppy. I don’t trust you not to fall on your face.”
“I resent that.”
“I can live with that.”
Between the two of them, they dried her thoroughly and quickly, careful with her sides and ribs. Once she was towel-dried and her curls were squeezed out as gently as possible, Theo handed Draco her pyjamas-soft navy cotton with a faded Gryffindor crest on the top-and took a step back to let him help her dress.
“Arms up,” Draco instructed softly.
Hermione sighed, her cheeks slightly pink, and raised her arms. Draco slipped the top over her head and tugged it down over her torso with practiced care. Theo kneeled to help with the pyjama bottoms, balancing her with one hand while gently guiding her legs in. It was the kind of teamwork born of days spent caring for her-wordless, fluid, patient.
“You’re never living this down, you know,” Hermione mumbled, looking up at both of them with heavy-lidded eyes. “You’ve seen me in more states of undress than I think I’m emotionally prepared to process.”
Draco smirked, reaching up to tuck a curl behind her ear. “Please. We’ve already picked out the rocking chairs for when we’re old and grey.”
Late Sunday morning in Hermione’s dorm room was unusually peaceful — for now.
The sun filtered in through the windows, casting dappled light across the mess of cushions, blankets, and half-empty cocoa mugs scattered around the common space. The fire had long since died down to glowing embers, and the air smelled faintly of cinnamon and lavender oil.
Hermione stood in front of the hearth in her soft pyjamas - a baggy jumper over a pair of leggings and thick socks - arms crossed firmly over her chest, a fierce little line between her brows.
She was glaring.
Draco and Theo stood a few feet away, shoulder to shoulder like a united front, and while they were both attempting calm expressions, they were absolutely bracing for battle.
Ginny sat curled in one of the oversized chairs with her legs tucked under her, idly peeling a clementine, clearly trying not to laugh.
Ron was stretched out on his stomach across a pile of pillows, chin propped on his fists, grinning like a cat watching two birds squabble.
Blaise had taken the window seat and was sipping slowly from a steaming mug, amused as ever, while Harry leaned against the wall by the door, arms crossed like Hermione but with a faint look of big-brother disapproval tightening his jaw.
Pansy was sprawled across the sofa with a charm magazine in her lap, eyes flicking between the participants like she was watching a particularly juicy scene in a play.
Hermione, in all her unyielding Gryffindor determination, stood like a queen defending her kingdom.
“It’s reading,” she said again, slowly, as though explaining to a room of dense toddlers. “Reading. Not dueling. Not dragon wrangling. Not even dueling dragons while on fire. Just reading.”
“And yet,” Draco said, voice calm but firm, “it’s not happening.”
Theo nodded in solidarity. “Not until you’re completely healed. Not when just sitting upright for too long makes you wince.”
“I didn’t wince!” Hermione snapped, even though she had. Earlier. Several times.
“Oh, you definitely winced,” Ginny muttered through a smirk.
“I have seen you wince twice this morning and you’ve barely moved from that corner of the sofa,” Harry added, frowning.
“You are all ridiculous.” Hermione’s glare swept across them like a scythe. “It’s a book. I just want to read. I’m not asking to run laps around the Quidditch pitch. I’m not scaling the Astronomy Tower.”
“I wouldn’t put that past you either,” Theo said dryly.
Hermione’s mouth opened in outrage. “You-! You know I’m not even doing anything strenuous-”
“She says,” Draco cut in, “while her arms are crossed in exactly the way that makes her ribs hurt and she knows it.”
Hermione looked down, realized her posture was betraying her, and immediately uncrossed her arms.
Blaise snorted behind the rim of his mug.
“I just want to sit up in bed and read,” she said, a little less sharply now. “One chapter. Two, maybe. That’s it.”
“That’s what you said yesterday night,” Theo reminded her. “And then we found you trying to sneak off the bed to reach Hogwarts: A Modern History like it was a bar of chocolate hidden in the pantry.”
“I have no memory of that,” Hermione muttered.
“You told the book it was being unreasonable,” Draco said blandly. “Then fell asleep holding it.”
Pansy burst out laughing. “Oh Merlin, I wish I’d seen that.”
“You were there,” Blaise pointed out.
“I know, but I wish I’d been awake,” Pansy said, dramatically clutching a pillow.
Hermione huffed and dropped heavily onto the edge of the sofa. “So what am I supposed to do? Sit here and stare at the wall?”
“Yes,” Draco said.
“No,” Hermione snapped at the same time.
“Sleep,” Theo added.
“Rest,” Harry echoed, now stepping forward with a deep frown of brotherly disapproval. “You’re still pale. You haven’t made it through a morning without a pain potion, and Healer Fenwick said-emphatically-that pushing yourself too early could set you back.”
“You’re all exaggerating,” Hermione mumbled. “I feel fine.”
“I love how she says that every time she’s about to do something wildly irresponsible,” Blaise drawled.
Ginny nodded. “Usually right before she gets hexed or faints.”
“You’re being dramatic,” Hermione snapped.
Pansy waved a hand. “No, love, you’re being dramatic. Just let yourself rest. It’s one day. You can read tomorrow.”
Hermione crossed her arms again, thought better of it, and instead folded them stiffly in her lap.
Ron finally joined the conversation. “What’s the book, anyway? If it’s ‘Hogwarts: A Modern History’ again, you deserve to be banned from reading.”
“It’s not, thank you,” Hermione grumbled. “It’s Contemporary Magical Theory: Volume III. Professor Greaves assigned it and-”
“Of course it’s a Greaves book,” Draco muttered under his breath.
Theo groaned. “That man is the human embodiment of overwork. You’re not even back to classes yet, Hermione. He’ll survive if you’re a few days behind.”
“I won’t,” Hermione said firmly. “And I like being ahead. It makes me feel normal.”
Harry’s expression softened slightly at that. “We know. But pushing yourself now isn’t going to help you get back to normal faster. It’ll just make things worse.”
Hermione looked away. For a moment, the fire popped softly, and no one said anything.
“I hate feeling useless,” she said at last, voice low.
“You’re not useless,” Draco said immediately, crossing to kneel in front of her. “You’re healing. That’s a different thing.”
“Yeah,” Theo agreed, sitting beside her on the sofa and gently taking her hand. “You’re the farthest thing from useless I’ve ever met. But you don’t get a prize for pretending you’re okay when you’re not.”
Hermione looked down at their joined hands. “I’m just tired of being stuck. Of not doing anything. Everyone else is moving forward and I’m just here.”
“You’re alive,” Ginny said gently. “We almost lost you, ‘Mione. You think we care about chapters or assignments or how many books you’ve read this week?”
“We care about you,” Pansy said. “And you getting better. And if that means you have to lay here and do absolutely nothing for a few more days? Then we’re going to make damn sure that happens.”
Hermione sighed. Deeply.
“And what if I read just one chapter?” she asked weakly.
Draco arched a brow. “What if I charm the bookshelf to vanish until Fenwick clears you for activity?”
“You wouldn’t,” she gasped.
“Try me.”
“Violence,” Blaise muttered into his cup. “Every time.”
Theo smirked. “One chapter tomorrow. If and only if you go the entire day today without trying to sneak one.”
Hermione scowled.
Harry gave her a wry look. “I will personally tell Professor Greaves that I’ve confiscated your textbooks for medical reasons.”
“Oh come on-”
“He’ll write you a get-well essay prompt,” Ron added with a grin.
“Three feet of parchment on the value of compliance in recovery,” Blaise added.
“I hate all of you,” Hermione grumbled, crossing her arms again and immediately wincing.
Draco reached out and carefully unfolded her posture again, massaging her side gently.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “You behave for the rest of the day. No books. No sneaking off the bed. And tonight, you can pick what we read to you.”
Hermione blinked. “You’ll read to me?”
Theo grinned. “We’ll take turns. Draco does an excellent Professor Binns impression.”
“I do not,” Draco said, affronted.
“You sound exactly like him when you’re bored.”
Draco sniffed. “I sound distinguished.”
Hermione looked between the two of them, exasperated, fond, and just a little bit defeated.
“One chapter,” she said.
“Tomorrow,” Theo and Draco said in perfect unison.
She groaned and fell back against the sofa dramatically. “This is oppression.”
Ginny tossed a pillow at her. “This is love, you menace.”
And despite herself - despite the ache in her ribs and the pull in her lungs and the itchy desire to reach for a book - Hermione smiled.
Because it was.
Soft light spilled through the windows of Hermione’s dorm room, filtering through gauzy curtains enchanted to shimmer like sunrise, though the sun had long since risen. The room smelled faintly of mint, lilac, and something citrusy - a mixture of spell-cleansed air and the fruit-infused oils Pansy insisted on using during “recovery spa day,” as she’d so firmly declared this would be.
Hermione was propped up in bed against a fortress of pillows, hair loose and a little wild after days of neglect. Pansy sat behind her on the mattress, gently pulling strands through her fingers, occasionally murmuring little spells under her breath to smooth the curls as she wove them into a thick braid down Hermione’s back. Ginny sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, carefully painting Hermione’s toenails in a delicate dusty mauve that matched her pyjamas.
Astoria was curled in the corner armchair, one leg tucked under her, flipping through a sleek beauty magazine with barely-concealed judgment.
Padma and Parvati sat together on the rug, heads bent over the newest Witch Weekly horoscope edition, occasionally gasping and elbowing one another.
Cho and Luna shared the long window seat. Cho was braiding Luna’s hair with careful precision, while Luna stared dreamily out at the enchanted sky overhead, her fingers twitching in time with a tune only she could hear.
Hermione sighed softly, her eyes drifting closed as Pansy’s fingertips skimmed lightly over her scalp. It felt so good - a strange blend of intimacy and care that made her chest ache in the best way. Her body still felt bruised and heavy from her recent collapse, but the presence of the girls around her, the gentle hum of chatter and laughter, felt like the kind of healing potions couldn’t quite offer.
“She’s purring,” Pansy said smugly, fingers dancing through another section of curls.
“I am not,” Hermione mumbled, eyes still closed.
Ginny snorted. “You literally just sighed like Crookshanks when he finds a sunbeam.”
“You love it,” Pansy said with a smirk, tugging gently as she pulled the braid tighter. “Admit it. You’ve been touch-starved since September.”
“I’m always touched,” Hermione protested weakly. “Draco and Theo are like overly affectionate dogs-”
“Golden retrievers in expensive trousers,” Astoria quipped.
Parvati snorted.
“Have you seen the way Theo looks at you?” Padma added, glancing up from the magazine. “It’s practically a crime.”
“He looks at you like he’s constantly about to write a sonnet,” Cho added, smiling.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he has,” Luna said dreamily, “but in Greek.”
Hermione opened her eyes long enough to glance down the bed at them, her face going pink. “Can we not turn my relationship into an epic poem?”
“It already is,” Pansy said breezily. “Three tragic heroes, one harrowing journey, a few noble sacrifices, plenty of longing-”
“And at least one bath scene,” Ginny cut in.
Hermione groaned and pulled the blanket up over her face.
“Was it romantic?” Parvati asked, grinning wickedly.
“I’m not answering that.”
“It was romantic,” Luna said quietly. “I felt it when they carried you back.”
The girls paused.
Cho looked up from Luna’s hair. “You felt it?”
Luna nodded solemnly. “Their magic. It was… holding her. Even when they weren’t touching her.”
That made the room go still for a beat.
Hermione slowly lowered the blanket, eyes wide.
“You saw that?” she asked, voice soft.
“I didn’t see it. I felt it. It was beautiful. Like starlight and thunder.”
Pansy blinked. “Okay, well, now I’m jealous.”
“Same,” Ginny murmured.
Hermione looked down at her lap. Her fingers curled slightly into the blanket.
“It’s terrifying sometimes,” she admitted. “How much I feel. How much they care. Like it might crush me.”
“But it hasn’t,” Astoria said. “And it won’t. That’s the difference between what you had with Ron before and what you have now.”
Hermione glanced at Ginny, who nodded gently.
“He’s not who he was back then,” she said. “And you’re not either. None of us are. But Draco and Theo… they love you exactly how you are. Not just the parts that are easy.”
“You deserve that,” Pansy added. “All of it. Even the epic poetry.”
Before Hermione could answer, the door creaked open and six voices rang out all at once.
“Back with the loot!” Theo called, carrying a large tray of warm croissants, pastries, and what looked like fresh-pressed juice.
“And updates from Sirius and the Weasley's, my mother even checked in on you,” Draco added, striding in behind him with a neatly rolled stack of letters.
"That was nice of her," Hermione stated.
Harry, Ron, Neville, and Blaise followed in a line, each carrying something - more tea, a pitcher of pumpkin juice, a box of Honeydukes chocolate, and what appeared to be a hand-knitted blanket with Hermione’s name stitched across the hem.
“That one’s from Sirius,” Harry said, setting it gently at the foot of the bed. “And the Weasleys all send love. Even Percy.”
Ron held up a note. “He actually handwrote it. With a quill.”
“I’m shocked he didn’t submit it on Ministry parchment,” Blaise muttered.
“Oh, he did,” Harry said, deadpan. “It was just attached to this one.”
Laughter rippled through the room.
Theo leaned over and kissed Hermione’s forehead, setting the tray on the bedside table. “How’s my girl?”
“She’s been spoiled,” Pansy said. “And captive. We haven’t let her move an inch.”
Hermione looked up at him, pink-cheeked. “They’ve been very thorough.”
Draco leaned down to brush a curl away from her face. “Good. You deserve it.”
“She purred,” Ginny tattled.
“I did not-”
“Oh, she definitely did,” Pansy said, triumphant.
Theo gave a soft laugh. “That’s it, we’re keeping all of you.”
Cho raised an eyebrow. “All of us?”
Theo winked. “Rotation system. Weekly scalp massage schedule. It’s only fair.”
Blaise leaned over Hermione’s bed to grab a croissant. “I’ll sign up for the Tuesday shift.”
“Absolutely not,” Theo and Draco said in unison.
Ginny snorted juice through her nose. Parvati started coughing from laughter. Padma shook her head, muttering something about territorial purebloods.
Neville flopped onto the rug beside Luna. “You lot are chaotic. This is soothing.”
Ron plopped beside him. “You should’ve seen Blaise charming the baker into giving us extra raspberry tarts. He flirted.”
“I negotiated,” Blaise said primly.
“You promised to write her poetry.”
“Which is a form of negotiation.”
Theo looked at Hermione. “Want a raspberry tart?”
“Desperately,” she whispered.
He smiled and reached for the tray. Draco handed her a glass of juice.
Ginny finished Hermione’s last toe and blew on it theatrically. “Voilà. You are officially pampered.”
“I feel like a queen,” Hermione murmured, gaze flicking over the crowded room, full of friends, warmth, and laughter.
Draco pressed a kiss to her hair. “That’s because you are.”
And for the first time in what felt like weeks, Hermione felt completely at ease - held by the love around her, protected by the people who’d fought to keep her here, and cradled by the simple, quiet magic of being known.
Chapter 20: Not Alone In This
Summary:
Hermione hits a wall in healing.
Notes:
I hope you all enjoy this chapter! It almost made me cry!
Chapter Text
Morning crept into Hermione’s dorm like a polite guest - soft and hesitant, filtered through enchanted curtains that glowed a gentle rose gold. The warmth of sunlight on her face was what finally pulled her from the murky edges of sleep. That, and the unbearable weight crushing her chest.
Hermione blinked, immediately aware that something was… off. She couldn’t move.
Her brow furrowed as she wriggled her fingers experimentally. They worked fine. Toes too.
But her torso? Trapped. Compressed. Pinned between two very solid, very warm, very deadweight bodies.
With an exhausted sigh, she shifted her head slightly to the left.
There was Draco, sprawled against her side, one arm flung protectively across her stomach, his legs tangled in hers. His mouth was slightly open, his hair a tousled silver mess across his brow. He was dead asleep.
On her other side, Theo’s face was buried against her shoulder, his entire torso draped over her like a massive human blanket. His breath tickled her collarbone, and his arm was hooked tightly around her waist. His knees were practically tucked under her.
She was the filling in a very affectionate Slytherin sandwich.
“Merlin,” she muttered under her breath, trying to wriggle without waking them. “I can’t feel my lungs.”
She pushed gently against Theo’s chest - and regretted it immediately.
A sharp, lancing pain shot through her ribs, and she gasped. A whimper slipped past her lips before she could stop it. The burning ache bloomed under her skin like fire.
That did it.
Theo jerked awake violently, elbowing her right in the side as he bolted upright.
Hermione yelped, curling instinctively as her body spasmed.
Draco’s eyes flew open. “What-what happened?!”
“‘Mione?” Theo blinked, disoriented. “Did I hit you?”
She was trying to hold it together - she really was - but her hands trembled where they clutched the blanket. Her jaw was clenched so tight it ached.
“Oh-hell-Hermione,” Theo said, instantly fully awake now, his hand hovering uselessly over where he'd elbowed her. “Bloody hell, I didn’t mean-are you okay?”
“No,” she rasped, then shook her head and tried to laugh through it. “Well, yes, just-ow.”
Draco scrambled to sit up, his arm still half around her. “Where? Where does it hurt?”
“Ribs,” she muttered, breath shallow. “Just sore. You were both-heavy.”
Around the room, rustling and groaning noises filled the air as the rest of their friends stirred awake. Ginny sat up first, blinking blearily from her nest of blankets near the window.
“What’s going on?” she asked, yawning.
“Did someone scream?” Ron mumbled from the floor, rubbing at his eyes.
“Is she okay?” Luna’s voice drifted up dreamily as she pushed herself upright beside a pile of old spellbooks and pillows.
“‘Mione’s hurt,” Theo said quickly. “I elbowed her.”
“You what?” Blaise snapped from his curled position near the desk. “Mate, you’re built like a bloody troll.”
“It was an accident,” Theo muttered, still looking completely wrecked with guilt.
Hermione waved a hand weakly. “It’s fine. I was trying to escape.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Escape what, exactly?”
“Being crushed,” she snapped, trying not to wince.
“We were crushing you?” Theo asked, hand hovering again over her side. “You didn’t say anything.”
“I was asleep, you absolute lummox!”
Harry had scrambled upright and was staring now, wide-eyed. “Do we need to call Healer Fenwick?”
“No,” Hermione groaned. “I just need-less weight. And possibly a rib cage that isn’t bruised to high hell.”
Pansy sat up, hair in a glorious mess of braids and curls. “You’ve got to stop waking us all up with injury trauma. It’s becoming a habit.”
“I tried to sneak out from under them,” Hermione said, still slightly breathless, “and then he-” she pointed accusingly at Theo “-nearly punctured my lung.”
Theo looked devastated. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. Do you want an ice pack? Tea? My eternal servitude?”
“Your pillow,” she muttered. “Give me your pillow. And move.”
Draco helped slide her gently higher into a sitting position, his hands so careful it made her want to cry again - but for a different reason.
Harry hovered awkwardly nearby. “You sure we shouldn’t call Healer Fenwick?”
“I’ll be fine,” Hermione murmured. “I just need a minute.”
“I’ll get the pain draught,” Ginny said, standing up and rifling through the side drawer where they’d stashed her emergency supplies.
Ron frowned. “Wait, that’s the really bitter one, right?”
“Why are you asking?” Blaise asked him with a smirk. “Planning to drink it in solidarity?”
“I might,” Ron muttered. “She looks miserable.”
Theo exhaled and gently pressed the pillow behind her back. “Here, lean into this. Is that better?”
Hermione nodded slightly.
“Are you-” he hesitated “-angry with me?”
She opened her eyes and fixed him with a glare. “You attacked me in your sleep.”
He looked appropriately horrified.
She snorted. “I’m not angry. I’m in pain. But not angry.”
“Even though I nearly broke your ribs?”
“Nearly is the important part.”
Draco gave Theo a look. “You’ve been upgraded from ‘golden retriever’ to ‘overgrown mastiff.’”
“I’d take offense if it weren’t accurate.”
“Honestly,” Pansy muttered, yawning again, “if we just got Hermione a bell collar and trained you two to notice when she moves-”
“Pansy,” Hermione groaned, cheeks pinking.
Harry, of all people, chuckled. “She’s not wrong.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes at her brother. “You were supposed to be on my side.”
Harry held up his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying - you try getting pinned between two overprotective blokes for eight hours and not wake up cranky.”
Ginny returned with the potion. “Here. Drink. It tastes like poison, but it works.”
Hermione accepted it grimly. “Thanks.”
She took a sip and gagged.
Ron immediately handed her a chocolate frog. “Chaser.”
She bit off the head and sighed dramatically. “You all act like I’m made of glass.”
“You kind of are right now,” Draco said softly, brushing her curls back from her face.
“You’re healing,” Luna added. “It’s delicate magic. Like growing back wings.”
Everyone was quiet for a moment.
Hermione’s shoulders sagged, and she leaned her head against Draco’s shoulder. “I hate feeling fragile.”
“You’re not,” Theo said firmly, kneeling beside the bed again. “You’re just mending. That’s different.”
Hermione sighed. “Fine. But from now on, I get the outside of the bed. No more Draco-Theo burrito wraps.”
“We were protecting you,” Draco protested.
“You were smothering me.”
“Lovingly,” Theo offered.
“I’m going to lovingly hex both of you,” she muttered, but the edge was gone from her voice.
Ginny grinned. “Well, I guess we’re awake now.”
“Who wants breakfast?” Ron asked, yawning and stretching. “I’m starving.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You were always starving.”
“And you’re always bossy.”
“You’ve missed me being bossy.”
Ron grinned. “Yeah. I really have.”
Hermione smiled softly - and despite the ache in her ribs, the sting in her muscles, and the groggy discomfort of being awake too early, she felt it again.
That warmth. That safety.
That love.
Even if it came with bruised ribs and elbow trauma.
She sighed.
“Alright,” she said finally. “Someone help me up. But carefully. I swear if anyone elbows me again-”
Theo immediately put his hands up. “No sudden movements. I’ve learned my lesson.”
Draco leaned in, voice dry. “You say that now.”
Blaise grinned. “Ten galleons says he does it again by Wednesday.”
“Deal,” Pansy muttered.
And as the room filled with chatter and movement and warmth once again, Hermione allowed herself to be helped upright - surrounded by her chaotic, maddening, wonderful people.
The dorm room was unusually quiet, lit by soft afternoon light filtering through the enchanted windows. The fireplace crackled low in the hearth, casting golden reflections across the glossy wood floors and scattered cushions. Everyone else was in class - even Blaise and Pansy had been dragged off to Spell Lab.
Which left Hermione curled in the armchair by the window, propped up with two pillows behind her back, a thick blanket across her lap, and a stack of books beside her that nearly rivaled the height of her nightstand.
Her hair was still damp from her bath earlier that morning, tied in a loose plait down her back. She was half-buried in a heavy transfiguration text, her brow furrowed, lips slightly parted, eyes flitting quickly across the lines of text as her quill scratched quick notes into the margin of a notebook.
Draco leaned against the wall across from her, arms crossed, one brow raised as he watched her read.
He cleared his throat. “You said one chapter, Hermione.”
Nothing. Not even a blink.
Draco stepped forward. “You’re on your third.”
Still nothing.
“Potter,” he said again, his voice more pointed. “It’s been two hours. You need to eat something.”
Hermione turned a page.
Theo, stretched out on the sofa with one leg over the back and a piece of parchment fluttering against his chest, peeked open one eye and smirked. “Is she ignoring you?”
Draco didn’t look away from her. “She’s pretending I don’t exist.”
Theo gave a lazy nod. “Brave.”
“She’s going to regret it.”
Hermione shifted slightly in her chair, adjusted her notebook, and began furiously underlining a passage.
“Unbelievable,” Draco muttered. He stepped closer. “Hermione.”
Still no reaction.
Theo sat up. “Hermione.”
Not even a twitch.
Draco narrowed his eyes and leaned down, watching her lips silently mouth something from the page. Her brow was pinched in concentration. Her hand flew across the parchment, scratching out a long annotation.
Draco glanced at Theo, who shrugged as if to say, go ahead.
And then - without warning - Draco snatched the book right out of her hands.
Hermione let out an indignant gasp. “Draco!”
He held the book aloft with one hand and took a step back.
“Give. That. Back,” she snapped, glaring up at him with fire in her eyes.
Draco, utterly unfazed, raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been reading since breakfast.”
“I’m fine-”
“You didn’t eat breakfast.”
“I said I was fine.”
Theo made a soft noise of amusement and flopped back down, muttering just loudly enough to be heard, “She’s definitely feeling better.”
Hermione stood abruptly, the blanket falling to the floor around her ankles. “I’m not some porcelain doll, Draco! I don’t need constant monitoring!”
Draco held the book behind his back. “You nearly passed out again yesterday. And today, you winced putting your hair up.”
“I’m healing. That’s what my body is supposed to do. If I want to read-”
“Not if it means skipping food. Or pretending you’re not still sore. Or-Merlin help me-lying to our faces about how you feel.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You didn’t answer,” he shot back, “which is the same thing.”
Hermione’s fists clenched. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you,” Draco snapped, stepping closer, “are infuriating.”
She glared up at him, eyes bright with frustration. “I’m trying to get back to normal. That doesn’t mean hovering over me like I’m going to shatter if I read a bloody paragraph.”
Theo raised a finger from the sofa. “To be fair, you read entire chapters. Plural.”
Hermione ignored him. “If I want to study, I will study. If I want to skip a meal, I’ll skip a meal-”
Draco’s voice dropped to a low, warning growl. “No, you won’t.”
“Excuse me?” she asked, crossing her arms.
“You’re not skipping meals. Not after everything you’ve just been through.”
“I wasn’t hungry!”
“You’ve never not been hungry when you’re reading. You just forget!”
Hermione threw her hands up. “So what?! So I forget. So I’m distracted. That doesn’t mean I need you two playing nursemaids-”
“Oh, now we’re nursemaids,” Theo said cheerfully, still lounging. “I’m telling Pansy.”
“You’re impossible,” Hermione snapped, rounding back on Draco. “Both of you.”
“We’re trying to take care of you, Hermione.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“You don’t have to.”
Their eyes locked, stubbornness crashing into stubbornness. The room pulsed with it, their anger feeding the magic that hung heavy in the air. A book on the side table gave a faint shudder.
Hermione crossed her arms again, jaw tight. “Give me my book.”
Draco hesitated. And then, slowly, he extended it toward her - but didn’t let go when she reached for it.
Their hands overlapped on the spine. She looked up.
“You have to eat,” he said softly.
Hermione swallowed hard. “You can’t control everything I do.”
“No,” he agreed. “But I’m not going to stand here and watch you ignore your own needs either. Not after everything. Not when you’re still hurting, no matter how much you pretend otherwise.”
Her shoulders sagged just slightly, and her fingers slipped from the book.
“I hate feeling like this,” she whispered.
“I know.”
Theo stood and crossed the room, brushing his hand gently against her arm. “But you don’t have to rush back into battle mode. No one’s asking you to fight anything.”
“I don’t want to be the broken one.”
“You’re not,” Draco said. “You’re Hermione. You’re just a little bruised.”
Hermione sighed, voice barely audible. “I was reading to feel normal.”
“We get that,” Theo murmured. “But even war generals need soup and naps.”
Hermione let out a reluctant laugh, the tension finally bleeding from her shoulders.
Draco gently handed her back the book.
“Let’s compromise,” he said. “You eat something and you finish your chapter.”
She eyed him. “Fine.”
Theo grinned. “We’ll even bring you something from the kitchens. What’s the bribe of choice today?”
She hesitated, then glanced between them.
“Hot cocoa. With cinnamon. And at least three biscuits.”
“Done,” Draco said, already heading for the door.
“And none of those weird cardamom ones Theo likes.”
“They’re elegant,” Theo protested.
“They taste like soap.”
“I’m personally offended.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “You’ll live.”
Theo smirked. “Only if you promise to eat all three.”
“I’ll try.”
“Good,” he said, moving to follow Draco. “Because if you don’t, I’m calling Kreacher to bring you stew and giving him full permission to lecture you.”
“Absolutely not!”
Draco laughed from the doorway. “She’s definitely feeling better.”
Theo grinned. “Yup.”
And as they disappeared down the hallway - arguing now over biscuits versus scones - Hermione sat slowly back in her chair, the book in her lap, and a tiny smile still tugging at her lips.
She wasn’t back to normal yet.
But she was getting there.
One chapter - and one fight - at a time.
The bathroom was quiet, lit only by the late morning light streaming through the narrow, arched window and the warm flicker of a hovering candle Hermione had conjured. The remnants of her earlier bath still fogged the corners of the mirror, curling in wisps around the reflection of her face.
She stood at the basin, Ginny’s oversized jumper lifted with one hand, revealing the wreckage along her left side.
The bruise was monstrous.
A storm of deep indigo, violet, and darkened blue swept from just under her ribs all the way down to the crest of her hip. It was dark and swollen at the center, angry and throbbing with heat, the edges fringing out into bruised yellows and sickly greens as it spread.
Hermione’s breath trembled. She hadn’t expected it to be this bad. It hadn’t looked like this when she checked last night-then again, the swelling always bloomed worse the next day.
She dipped her fingers into the little jar of bruise balm, the soft clink of glass the only sound. The salve was cool, almost painfully so, and the scent of mint and lavender hit her as she dabbed it gently onto her skin. She winced as she worked it across the deepest part of the bruise, her jaw tightening.
She blinked quickly, fighting the hot sting rising in her eyes.
It wasn’t Theo’s fault.
He’d been half-asleep when it happened, barely conscious. They’d all stirred too quickly when Hermione shifted beneath the covers, and his elbow had caught her side hard, jamming straight into her ribs. Theo hadn’t realized until she’d gasped and curled in on herself. He’d been horrified when she cried out. She’d brushed it off.
She didn’t blame him. She wouldn’t.
But it hurt. It hurt like hell. And it looked terrifying.
She breathed out through her nose, slow and shaking. Her fingers moved carefully, smoothing the balm as gently as she could. The thought of letting them see this…
No. They’d lose it. Theo would spiral. Draco would go rigid and quiet and furious. They’d smother her with concern and guilt and frantic hovering, and she just-couldn’t. Not right now.
“They can’t know,” she whispered aloud, as if saying it would make it real. “It’s fine. It’s healing.”
She tugged the jumper lower and reached to screw the lid back onto the jar—
A sudden thump from outside the dorm room made her jump.
The jar slipped from her fingers and shattered against the tiled floor, splattering balm and shards of glass across her bare feet.
“Shit-” she whispered, heart hammering as voices echoed just beyond the door.
Theo’s soft laugh. Draco’s lower murmur in response. Their footsteps.
She crouched quickly, panic rising. Her breath came shallow and fast as she grabbed the nearest cloth and tried to mop up the mess. She Vanished the rest with shaking fingers, then stood and yanked the jumper back into place, tugging it low over her hips.
The door creaked open.
“Hermione?” Draco’s voice, cautious but close.
She cleared her throat. “Here! Just-just freshening up!”
A final glance at the mirror. No tears. No redness. Jumper down. Her face pale but composed.
She opened the door and stepped out into the room.
Draco was halfway to the bathroom, coat still on one shoulder. Theo stood near the fireplace, holding a wrapped bundle and a steaming mug in each hand.
Both of them looked up instantly.
Draco’s eyes swept over her in a second, cataloguing everything - the pink flush on her cheeks, the tightness in her jaw, the slight hitch in her walk. His brow creased.
“You alright?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said, bright and quick. “Just needed a minute.”
Theo’s gaze narrowed. “You sure?”
“Positive,” she said, forcing a smile. “Is that cocoa?”
Theo hesitated for a beat, then handed her the mug. “Cinnamon. Extra marshmallows.”
“And raspberry tart biscuits,” Draco added, his voice still low, still watching her.
She took the mug and offered a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Perfect.”
Theo crouched to unroll the biscuit bundle onto the low table. “We bribed the elf in the faculty kitchens for the last batch.”
“Don’t tell her that,” Draco muttered.
“I bribed with compliments, Draco. He said my hair was rakish.”
“That’s because he’s blind.”
Hermione gave a weak laugh and moved toward the bed. She sat carefully — far too carefully - with her left arm braced against her side. The cocoa smelled warm and sweet, but her hands trembled around the cup.
Theo joined her on the rug, cross-legged, still watching her too closely.
Draco sat on her other side, but not quite touching her.
For a moment, it was almost normal.
Then Theo tilted his head. “You’re sitting funny.”
Hermione stiffened. “I’m not.”
“You’re favoring your left,” Draco said.
“I’m cold.”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying.”
“I am not-”
“You always scratch your left wrist when you lie,” Theo pointed out.
Hermione scowled. “That’s ridiculous-”
“You’re doing it right now,” Draco said, nodding at her hand.
Hermione yanked it away.
Draco leaned in, voice low and sharp now. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Hermione-”
She set the cocoa down and stood up. Too fast. Her balance shifted, and her knees nearly gave, but she caught herself on the edge of the table.
Theo stood immediately. “Hey-”
“I’m fine,” she said, breathless.
Draco stood too. “You’re not.”
“I just-dropped the balm. That’s all.”
“What balm?” Theo asked, voice tense.
Hermione looked between them, cornered.
“For bruises,” she muttered. “From yesterday.”
“Where?” Draco’s voice went quiet, dangerous.
She didn’t answer.
Draco took a step forward. “Where, Hermione?”
Hermione hesitated - then slowly, carefully, lifted the hem of her jumper.
Both boys stared.
The silence shattered something in her. The bruise was even more vivid in this light - massive, cruel, like she’d taken a Bludger to the ribs.
Theo went white.
Draco swore, a hard, vicious sound.
Hermione dropped the jumper. “It looks worse than it is.”
“Don’t lie,” Draco snapped. “That’s massive. That’s-bloody hell, sweetheart, why didn’t you tell us?”
Her throat worked, but she couldn’t speak. The tears she’d held back spilled over, sudden and hot.
“I didn’t want you to feel guilty,” she whispered.
Theo took a step forward, but Hermione swayed, her knees finally buckling.
Draco caught her before she hit the floor, arms sliding beneath hers with terrifying ease.
“Hermione-hey—breathe-”
“I’m sorry,” she choked. “I didn’t want-didn’t mean-”
Theo knelt at her other side, eyes wild. “You thought we’d be mad at you?”
“I thought you’d blame yourselves.”
“We do!” Theo’s voice cracked. “I elbowed you-!”
“You were half asleep-!”
“It doesn’t matter,” Draco ground out. “That bruise is huge, and you’re clearly in pain. You should have told us the second you woke up with it.”
“I thought I could deal with it-”
Draco shifted her gently against his chest, his palm moving over her back. “You’re not alone. You don’t deal with this alone anymore.”
Hermione sobbed into his shoulder, trembling.
Theo sat beside them both, hand resting lightly against her knee. “We love you. We’d never be angry at you for getting hurt.”
“I was scared,” she whispered.
“I know.”
Draco kissed her hair, jaw tight with fury she knew wasn’t directed at her. “After you eat, I’m contacting Healer Fenwick.”
“No-Draco-”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “That bruise is too deep. We’re not guessing. We’re getting an actual diagnosis and proper treatment.”
“I already used the balm-”
“And it clearly wasn’t enough.” He pulled back just enough to look at her. “You didn’t do anything wrong. But this-this is not fine, and we’re not pretending it is.”
Theo nodded, silent but fierce. “You don’t hide pain from us.”
Hermione pressed her hand over her eyes. “I didn’t want to ruin anything.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” Draco said. “You scared us. That’s all.”
Theo reached for the cocoa, still warm on the table. “Drink. Eat. Then Fenwick.”
Hermione looked at them both - her idiots, her protectors, her pain-in-the-arse sweethearts - and managed a small, wobbly smile.
“Okay.”
Draco exhaled slowly, still holding her close. “Thank you.”
Theo handed her a biscuit. “Next time, tell us before you try to self-medicate with salve and silence.”
“I will.”
“Good,” Draco murmured, brushing a kiss to her temple. “Because next time, I’m locking the bloody bathroom.”
Hermione laughed weakly. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re ours,” Theo said quietly.
She leaned into both of them and took a bite of biscuit. “Yours,” she whispered.
They wouldn’t let her forget it.
An hour later, Hermione was nestled deep into her bed, propped up by a fortress of pillows that surrounded her like the battlements of a castle. Her knees were tented beneath the duvet, a thick book resting on a firm cushion balanced across them. She was reading-or at least pretending to-her eyes trailing across the page with forced indifference, but her awareness was very much on the two figures staring at her from either side of the bed.
Draco lounged in a nearby armchair, arms folded over his chest, his grey eyes unreadable but unwavering. Theo sat sideways at the foot of the bed, legs stretched out, one hand tucked under his head as he watched her with quiet scrutiny.
After the fourth exaggerated sigh, Hermione didn’t even glance up from her book. “You know,” she said dryly, “if you two are going to sit there staring at me like I’m about to combust, the least you could do is bring me biscuits.”
Draco arched a brow. “You flinched three times during that last paragraph.”
“I did not.”
Theo hummed. “You absolutely did.”
Hermione snapped the book shut. “Fine, then why don’t you write it down. Keep a log. Maybe make a chart. Plot my suffering out in colour-coded ink.”
“I could,” Theo said thoughtfully, tapping his fingers on his chin. “Red for pain, blue for irritation, green for barely restrained threats of violence.”
“That would be a very full page,” Draco murmured.
“I hate both of you,” Hermione muttered.
“You love us.”
“Not at this moment.”
There was a sudden knock at the door.
All three of them froze. Hermione instinctively looked toward the clock-it was nearly six.
Theo stood slowly as Draco rose from the chair. Hermione didn’t move.
Draco crossed the room and opened the door just as Healer Fenwick stepped inside with his bag in hand.
“I got Mr Malfoy’s notice,” the Healer said without preamble, striding toward the bed. “You said she collapsed earlier? And there was mention of brusing?"
Hermione groaned under her breath and immediately shoved the book to the side. “You actually wrote to him?” she snapped at Draco, eyes flashing.
“I said I was going to. You nearly collapsed again trying to put on socks,” Draco replied coolly, already at her side to help ease her into a better sitting position.
“I was fine-”
“You were dizzy and pale,” Theo said, standing behind her now, reaching for the hem of her jumper. “He’s here to help.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Hermione barked, slapping at both their hands as they tried to help her adjust her jumper. “You are not undressing me in front of a Healer.”
Theo frowned. “We’ve seen-”
“Not the point.”
She shifted abruptly, trying to bat their hands away again-and immediately sucked in a breath through her teeth, her face crumpling in pain as her hand clutched her side.
Both Draco and Theo stilled.
“I’m fine,” she tried, but her voice was tight and high.
Healer Fenwick moved forward calmly and set his bag on the edge of the bed. “Miss Granger, I’ll be as quick as I can. Just lift the jumper to your ribcage, if you can.”
Hermione exhaled sharply but obeyed, revealing the deep purple and blue bruise that bloomed across her side. It looked far more swollen than it had earlier.
The Healer frowned, touched her gently with his wand, and murmured a diagnostic spell. A soft glow swept over her ribs and abdomen. Everyone held their breath.
“Well,” Fenwick said after a moment, “you have three cracked ribs-nothing fully fractured, thankfully. But you’ll need a wrap to hold them in place and support your side while they heal. And your iron levels are significantly low.”
Draco and Theo shared a glance. Theo was the one to say it first.
“That explains the fainting.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “I fainted once-”
“Twice,” Draco and Theo said together.
The Healer ignored the commentary and pulled two vials from his bag. “This first one is for pain. The second is a slow-releasing iron infusion in potion form. It’ll build you back up over the next few days.”
Hermione took the vials begrudgingly, downing them without argument. The taste made her grimace.
Fenwick reached into his bag again and drew out a roll of enchanted wrap bandage. “I’ll need to bind your ribs next. Hold still.”
She sat rigid as he wrapped the thick cloth tightly around her torso, anchoring it beneath her arms and around her ribs. It adjusted itself to apply steady pressure-supportive but not painful.
Hermione hissed as he tucked the final piece in. “That hurts.”
“That’s because you’re not supposed to be upright yet,” the Healer said evenly. “You’ll feel sore for a few days still, but the wrap will help protect the area while the magic works.”
She dropped her head back against the pillows with a groan. “This is ridiculous. I’m behind in everything-”
“You’re not going back to class yet,” the Healer interrupted. “You’ll need to remain in your dorm for the next few days until the bruising begins to fade and your strength returns. Bed rest is non-negotiable, Miss Granger.”
“But-!”
“No.”
Draco’s voice was sharp, firm. He stepped in front of the bed, arms folded. “You’re not arguing about this.”
“I need to catch up on-”
“You’re not falling behind,” Theo said. “Obelyn’s already given us your notes and assignments and she had already talked to all of your Professors. You’re covered.”
Hermione scowled. “You what?”
Draco didn’t even flinch. “You were passed out and muttering about essays. I owled her.”
“I hate you both.”
“We definitely love you,” Theo said lightly.
Healer Fenwick packed his bag. “I’ll return tomorrow to check your progress. If anything changes-if the pain worsens, if you feel short of breath—call for me immediately. Understood?”
Hermione slumped against the pillows, arms folded across her chest, sulking. “Fine.”
Draco and Theo both nodded at the Healer. “Understood.”
As the door shut behind him, Hermione exhaled loudly.
“Don’t say it,” she said flatly.
Draco smirked. “Say what?”
“Anything smug. Anything victorious. Anything at all.”
Theo plucked the pillow from her lap. “She’s definitely feeling better. The sass is back.”
Hermione threw a biscuit at his head.
He caught it one-handed, grinning. “You missed.”
Draco moved to sit beside her on the bed again. “You’re not alone in this, Hermione. Stop acting like you have to handle it all by yourself.”
“I’m not-”
“You are.”
She looked between them, suddenly looking small against the pillows, the wrap tight around her ribs.
Then, softly: “I hate being taken care of.”
Theo’s expression softened. “Then we’ll do it quietly.”
Draco took her hand. “But we’ll still do it.”
Hermione stared down at their joined fingers. She didn’t speak. But she didn’t pull away either.
And slowly, very slowly, her hand curled around his in return.
The room had long since gone quiet, the only sound the gentle creak of wood as the castle settled around them and the rhythmic breaths of the bodies scattered across the floor.
Hermione lay on her side, propped on a soft stack of pillows. Her back was warmed by the steady heat of Draco and Theo, pressed close behind her on the mattress. Draco’s arm was draped heavily over them both, his fingers curled loosely against Theo’s chest. Theo’s hand rested at her hip, his breathing even and deep, his face buried in her curls. Their combined warmth and weight formed a cocoon of safety around her.
Across the dormitory, friends were curled together in soft heaps of blankets and conjured cushions, scattered like drowsy constellations across the floor.
Neville and Pansy lay near the hearth, wrapped in each other’s arms. Ginny and Harry were near the wardrobe, tangled and warm beneath a shared throw. Blaise and Luna were splayed in a half-lazy sprawl beneath the windows, all long limbs and soft exhales. Seamus and Dean snored lightly, shoulders touching, legs askew. Cho and Padma were tucked back-to-back near Hermione’s trunk, their breathing in sync.
It should have felt peaceful. Safe.
But the moment shattered without warning.
Hermione jolted upright with a strangled scream.
The noise tore through the stillness like a spell gone wrong. Her hands clutched at her chest, her eyes wide and glassy with panic, her breath short and ragged. Pain blazed across her ribs, her head pounded so violently she couldn’t think-couldn’t breathe.
Theo startled first, eyes snapping open. “Hermione-? Hermione!”
His arms were around her instantly, trying to steady her trembling body.
Draco was next, bolting upright with sleep-mussed hair and wild eyes. “What-? What happened?!”
“I-can’t-” Hermione gasped, her voice thin and wheezing. “Draco-I can’t-breathe-!”
Across the room, the floor exploded into motion.
Pansy shoved off her blanket and practically leapt toward the bed. “What’s wrong?!”
“She’s in pain!” Theo barked. “Someone get Fenwick-now!”
“I’ll go!” Blaise vanished with a sharp crack, the sound of his Apparition echoing like thunder.
“Hermione-look at me,” Theo said, trying to keep her upright. “You’re okay. We’ve got you.”
But Hermione was barely hearing him. Her whole body was trembling, skin pale and cold, breath hiccuping in shallow gasps. Her ribs heaved against the pressure, and her face twisted in agony.
Draco moved behind her, steadying her shoulders. “Try to breathe through it, sweetheart. Deep breath-just one. Come on.”
She tried. Failed. Panic rose again.
Then-another sharp crack-
Blaise reappeared with Healer Fenwick already at his side, a leather satchel in one hand and wand in the other.
“Move aside,” Fenwick ordered, brushing past them all to reach the bed. “Get her upright-there, yes, like that. Hold her steady.”
Theo wrapped his arms around her again, anchoring her against his chest. “You’re okay, love. You’re safe.”
“She’s reacting to something,” Draco said, voice clipped and frantic. “She said she couldn’t breathe.”
“I’m seeing it,” Fenwick muttered, already casting diagnostic spells. “Damn it. The iron infusion potion-her body’s rejecting it. Rare, but not unheard of.”
“Fix it!” Theo said, voice high and tight. “She’s shaking, she can’t breathe-”
“I am fixing it,” Fenwick snapped, yanking a shimmering blue vial from his satchel. “This’ll stop the reaction-muscle relaxant, antiallergic base. Draco-tilt her head. Theo-support her back.”
Draco obeyed, one hand cupping her chin. Theo cradled her ribs. Fenwick pressed the vial to her lips and poured carefully.
Hermione coughed, but the liquid went down. Within seconds, the spasms in her chest started to ease. Her breathing lengthened, still shallow but no longer gasping. The tremors slowed.
Everyone exhaled at once.
“She’s stabilizing,” Fenwick said after a beat, but his frown deepened. “But the bruising… it’s worse.”
“What do you mean worse?” Draco’s voice was sharp, defensive.
Fenwick cast another charm, wand glowing faint blue over her side. The image of her ribs flared-black, purple, angry. “The magical healing we applied earlier isn’t taking. Her system’s resisting it-likely due to magical fatigue and trauma.”
Theo looked stricken. “So what does that mean?”
“It means,” Fenwick said grimly, “we switch to non-magical support. No more potions. No charms. Wraps, warmth, food. Time.”
“But she’s in pain,” Draco argued. “You can’t just-”
“I’ll give her a pain draught. But this isn't optional. Magic will only worsen it for now.”
Hermione whimpered, her voice barely audible. “I don’t have time to lie around…”
“You don’t have a choice,” Fenwick retorted, reaching for another vial—this one dull orange. “Here. Pain relief. You’ll feel better in a few minutes. No more iron supplements. We’ll manage it through diet-spinach, pumpkin seeds, red meat, anything high in iron.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Draco said instantly. “We’ll sort meals.”
“I’ll help,” said Luna quietly from the window.
“Me too,” Ginny added, kneeling beside the bed.
Neville stepped forward, face solemn. “We all will.”
Fenwick nodded. “She needs to be monitored-constantly-for the next forty-eight hours. No spells. No stress. And no more hiding things.”
Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed. “This is mortifying…”
Theo kissed the side of her head. “No, this is love, darling.”
Fenwick stood. “I’ll return in the morning. If the bruising hasn’t started fading by then, we’ll need to look into Muggle-style healing methods-binding therapy, physical rehab. Until then-rest. No exceptions.”
And just like that, he turned on his heel and left.
The room was quiet in his wake.
Hermione was curled half against Theo’s chest, one hand tangled in Draco’s shirt. Her expression was pinched with pain, but her breathing was steady now.
Theo’s voice cracked. “I didn’t mean to hurt her…”
“I know,” Draco murmured. “She knows too.”
“She tried to hide it.”
“She always does.”
Pansy gently climbed onto the bed and reached for Hermione’s curls. “We’ll take turns tonight. She doesn’t get to be alone.”
“I’ll go first,” Ginny said, already settling near the foot of the bed.
“Harry and I can take over at midnight,” Luna offered.
Neville moved to conjure more blankets, eyes on Hermione’s still form. “She’s got us. All of us.”
Draco brushed a strand of hair from Hermione’s cheek. “We’ll wake her in shifts. Feed her. Hold her. Watch her.”
“Because we’re family,” Blaise said softly, dropping down beside Luna again.
Hermione stirred, her voice a hoarse whisper. “I still hate being fussed over…”
“Then stop collapsing and terrifying us,” Pansy replied tartly. “Easy fix.”
A tiny smile ghosted across Hermione’s lips.
Not because the pain had gone. But because the weight of being alone had finally lifted.
And as the fire crackled low and soft around them, her friends settled back into sleep, keeping quiet vigil. A chosen family in every way that mattered.
And Hermione, held between the people who loved her most, let herself rest.
The sun was just beginning to peek over the edge of the horizon, sending pale, golden light through the tall windows of Hermione’s dorm room. It caught in the frost that edged the glass and made the worn wood of the floor glow gently, casting soft shadows across the space. The fireplace had burned down to warm embers, and the entire room smelled faintly of lavender, eucalyptus, and the remnants of cocoa from hours before.
Hermione was still asleep, curled up on her side in the center of her bed. Her cheek was pillowed against Pansy’s shoulder, her curls spilling across the Slytherin girl’s chest, and one hand tucked under her chin. Ginny lay on her other side, her legs tangled gently with Hermione’s, her fingers still loosely curled around the edge of the quilt they'd tucked up to Hermione’s chin sometime around three in the morning.
The rest of their little group was scattered around the dorm, all in various states of bleary-eyed exhaustion. Luna was perched on a windowsill wrapped in a thick patchwork shawl, humming quietly to herself. Neville sat cross-legged on the rug near the fire, head tipped back against the stone hearth. Blaise had taken up a spot in one of the big reading chairs and was snoring softly, his arm dangling over the side. Dean and Seamus were curled together on a conjured mattress near the foot of the bed, and Cho and Padma shared a conjured loveseat with a blanket pulled over both their heads. Harry had drifted off beside Ginny earlier, one arm flopped over his face to block the light.
It was peaceful. Tired. Still.
Until the soft creak of the door broke the quiet.
Draco stepped in first, damp blond hair curling faintly at the edges, the sleeves of his black jumper pushed up to his elbows. He looked refreshed but tense, as if even the hot shower hadn’t been enough to ease the weight pressing down on him. Theo followed close behind, rubbing a towel through his damp curls, barefoot and shirtless save for a towel slung around his neck.
Both of them froze as their eyes landed on Hermione, still asleep between Ginny and Pansy.
Draco’s voice was low. “How is she?”
Pansy didn’t look away from Hermione’s face. She shifted slightly beneath her, brushing a curl back from Hermione’s cheek with a tenderness that made Draco’s chest ache.
“She hasn’t stirred,” Pansy said softly. “Not once since three. Her breathing’s been steady, but the bruising on her side still looks… dark.”
“She made a few sounds,” Ginny murmured, her voice thick with sleep. “Might’ve been dreaming. But no nightmares. No screaming.”
“Bloody hell,” Theo said under his breath, crossing to the bed and crouching beside it. “It’s like she’s been holding herself tense for days and only now let go.”
Draco reached for one of the spare pillows on the floor and tossed it behind Theo. “Is it time to wake her up?”
“Not yet,” Pansy replied. “But soon. She hasn’t eaten since yesterday.”
Theo rubbed a hand over his face. “Right. Food.”
“I can make her a smoothie,” Luna offered suddenly from the windowsill. “Spinach, banana, oat milk, maybe a spoonful of almond butter. Iron, magnesium, potassium. Gentle on the stomach.”
Theo turned to her with genuine gratitude in his eyes. “That sounds perfect.”
“I have fresh bananas in my satchel,” Luna said as she slid gracefully off the sill. “I keep them charmed to ripen slowly.”
“I’ve got protein powder in my bag,” Neville added. “Muggle stuff. Chocolate. She might like it.”
“I can warm up the leftover biscuits,” Ginny offered, carefully easing away from Hermione so she wouldn’t wake her. “Raspberry tart ones. She didn’t get to try them last night.”
“And I’ll make tea,” Padma said, stretching her arms high over her head with a groan. “Something calming. Chamomile and rose?”
“I’ll charm the tea to cool her system a bit,” Blaise said, sitting up and raking a hand through his messy hair. “That pain draught makes people run warm.”
“Harry and I can set up the food on the desk,” Cho offered. “Someplace she can sit without needing to move too much.”
Hermione stirred faintly, mumbling something incomprehensible, but didn’t wake.
Draco moved toward the bed and looked down at her for a long moment. “She looks better.”
“She is better,” Pansy said quietly. “Just not all the way yet.”
Theo stood again and crossed to the window to look out. The lake gleamed silver in the early light, the grounds still empty.
“She’s going to hate being coddled,” he said after a moment.
Draco snorted softly. “Good. I’m going to enjoy every second of it.”
Neville gave a half-smile. “Same.”
“She’ll last two days, max,” said Ginny as she moved to conjure a tray. “And then she’ll pretend she’s completely fine and try to write three essays at once.”
“And we’ll tie her to the bed if we have to,” Pansy replied flatly.
There was a soft groan behind them.
Hermione stirred again, this time shifting fully, her brows knitting in confusion as she tried to sit up.
Theo was at her side instantly. “Hey-hey, easy, love. Don’t move too fast.”
“Wh’ time is it…?” she murmured, blinking blearily up at him. Her voice was rough, sleep-worn.
“Early,” Draco said gently. “We’re just about to wake you. You’ve been asleep almost eight hours.”
Hermione’s eyes landed on the crowd. Her brows furrowed. “Why are you all… watching me?”
“We were taking shifts,” Luna said dreamily, kneeling beside the bed. “You needed protecting.”
Hermione groaned and dropped back against her pillows. “Please tell me no one documented this.”
“I did,” Blaise said cheerfully, holding up a small camera. “But only from your good side.”
She scowled weakly, then winced and touched her ribs.
“You okay?” Theo asked, immediately concerned.
“Hurts,” she admitted. “But not as bad as last night.”
“That’s the pain draught working,” Draco said. “It should hold you for a few more hours.”
“And then we dose you again,” Pansy added, passing her a glass of water. “But for now-you eat.”
Hermione groaned again. “Do I have to?”
“Yes,” said eight people at once.
Luna set the smoothie gently beside her on the bedside table, the pale green drink in a charmed cup with a curly pink straw. “Start with this. It’s full of good things.”
Hermione eyed the straw with suspicion. “Is this whimsical coercion?”
“It’s care,” Luna corrected. “Drink.”
Hermione took a sip, wrinkled her nose at first—then blinked. “...Actually, that’s not terrible.”
“She’ll live,” Theo whispered to Draco. “She complained. That’s a good sign.”
Draco smirked and sat at the edge of the bed. “We’ll do this slowly. Small meals, frequent breaks, no stress.”
“No arguments,” Theo said pointedly.
Hermione looked at him, then at Draco, then at everyone in the room, each of them with expectant, worried, exhausted faces-and she sighed.
“Fine,” she muttered. “But if someone braids my hair while I’m asleep again, I will hex them.”
Ginny snorted. “Then maybe don’t look so bloody adorable while you sleep.”
Draco leaned in, brushing a kiss to Hermione’s temple. “You scared the hell out of us, Hermione.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, leaning against his shoulder.
“Don’t be,” Theo said as he curled behind her, carefully wrapping an arm around her waist. “Just get better.”
And as Hermione slowly sipped her smoothie, surrounded by warmth and worry and weary affection, the sun finally broke over the horizon-soft and golden, like a promise that the worst had passed, and the healing had begun.
Chapter 21: Between Breaths and Bruised Ribs
Summary:
Hermione's healing contiunes. And unexpected visitor stops by.
Chapter Text
The afternoon light filtered golden through the high windows, casting soft shadows over the dorm room floor. The space still held the lived-in scent of peppermint tea and spelled parchment, mingled with the faintest hint of Luna’s beeswax lip balm and the herbal salve Healer Fenwick had left behind.
Hermione was curled up in the wide window seat, tucked beneath a pale green throw blanket that someone-probably Pansy-had wrapped around her like a cocoon. A battered copy of A History of Magical Political Reforms: 1653–1712 lay open and forgotten on her stomach, rising and falling gently with each slow breath she took. One of her hands was half-curled beneath her chin; the other was pressed flat to her ribs under the blanket, as if her body remembered the pain even in rest.
The room around her hummed with low, domestic energy. Comfortable. Steady.
Theo, Ginny, Astoria, and Daphne were spread across the plush rug in the center of the room, parchment scrolls rolled out, quills scribbling notes for Comparative Spellcasting. The four of them murmured quietly over spell sequence diagrams assigned by Professor Greaves, their books open to annotated wand paths and theoretical variant incantations.
Astoria’s handwriting was precise and elegant; Ginny’s was a mess of ink smudges and crossed-out translations. Daphne and Theo were locked in a hushed but fervent argument over whether Greaves would count the alternate Delphic interpretation of the Disarming Spiral as valid theory.
Theo ran a hand through his curls in frustration, muttering, “He literally said interpretation was encouraged unless it broke first principles.”
Daphne rolled her eyes. “Which this does.”
“Barely,” Theo shot back.
“Barely is breaking,” Daphne replied.
Near the hearth, Blaise, Neville, and Luna sat in a loose circle, talking in murmured tones. Luna twirled a butterbeer cork necklace between her fingers, her dreamy voice threading through the conversation with odd but startling insight as she and Neville discussed enchanted plant behaviors. Blaise looked like he was only half-listening, but occasionally he added something sharp and clever that made Luna beam and Neville nod with begrudging admiration.
Dean and Seamus were playing wizard’s chess with the Patil twins on conjured stools near the foot of Hermione’s bed. The pieces were particularly violent-Seamus’s rook kept trying to leap onto Dean’s queen-and Dean had ducked more than once to avoid flying splinters. Seamus narrated each move in a booming faux-announcer voice, delighting Parvati and deeply annoying Padma.
On the bed, Pansy lounged with a floating mirror compact before her, painting her nails a rich plum shade. She paused every now and then to glance at Hermione, eyes flickering toward the still figure in the window seat, then returning to her task with a tight press of her lips, as if needing the rhythm of painting to keep her own worry at bay.
Draco sat alone in the armchair angled just slightly toward the window. His elbows rested on his knees, hands clasped loosely, head bowed as he watched Hermione sleep. He hadn’t looked away in nearly half an hour. His expression was unreadable-something softer than worry, heavier than concern. Reverent, almost.
Harry watched him.
He leaned against Hermione's desk, one ankle crossed over the other, arms folded. He hadn’t said much in the last hour, mostly just observed. Everyone was here because they loved Hermione, but Harry… Harry had bled for her. Grown up with her. Survived the world with her.
Eventually, he pushed off the desk and crossed the room to the armchair, sliding down onto the armrest without asking.
“You’ve been staring at her like that for a while.”
Draco didn’t look away. “She’s finally sleeping.”
“She’s been sleeping a lot today,” Harry said, keeping his voice even.
“Not well,” Draco murmured. “But this? This is the first time it’s been peaceful.”
Harry followed his gaze. Hermione’s hair had fallen across her cheek, soft curls brushing the blanket. Her brow was smooth for once. “She looks better,” he said. “Not good. But better.”
“She’s still hurting,” Draco said. “Flinched when she shifted earlier. Didn’t say anything, of course. She thinks if she pretends hard enough, it’ll disappear.”
Harry studied her for a moment, then glanced sideways at Draco. “You always this observant?”
Draco turned to him. “When it comes to her? Yeah. Always.”
There was a beat of quiet between them.
“You love her,” Harry said finally. Not a question. A simple statement.
“I do,” Draco said without hesitation.
Harry nodded, looking away again. “Theo does too.”
Draco’s mouth quirked slightly. “Yeah. He does.”
“You’re not… worried?”
Draco shook his head. “Only about her. Never about us.”
Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I didn’t think I’d ever say this to you, but… I think she’s okay with you. With both of you.”
Draco tilted his head. “That sounds less like approval and more like… I don’t know, a ceasefire?”
Harry gave him a small grin. “It’s not approval. It’s a warning.”
Draco arched a brow. “A warning?”
“You hurt her—really hurt her—I don’t care what kind of reform your family’s gone through. I don’t care how in love she is. I’ll come for you.”
Draco studied him, then gave a quiet laugh. “You’re her brother.”
“Yeah.” Harry looked over at Hermione again. “And I would do anything for her."
“She’s lucky to have you.”
“No,” Harry said. “She’s unlucky enough to need us. That’s the part that matters.”
Draco nodded. “We won’t let her down.”
“I know you believe that.” Harry’s voice dropped. “But she’s not always good at asking for help. She won’t say she’s in pain. Won’t admit she’s scared. You have to see it anyway.”
“I do,” Draco said softly.
“Good.” Harry stood, clapping a hand on Draco’s shoulder as he passed. “Because she deserves to be someone’s first priority. Not a footnote.”
“She is our priority,” Draco said. “Both of us. She always has been.”
“Then you’re doing better than most.”
Draco looked back at Hermione, his eyes softening. “She’s worth everything.”
Harry’s voice came from over his shoulder, already halfway back to Ginny and the study group. “Just remember-if you ever forget that, I won’t.”
Theo looked up from his notes as Harry rejoined the others. He caught Draco’s eye and gave a small nod, the kind that didn’t need words.
The afternoon light slanted deeper across the room, wrapping the scene in warm honeyed gold. Hermione stirred in the window seat, shifting slightly under the blanket, but didn’t wake.
Not yet.
But when she did, they’d all be here. Every last one of them.
Waiting.
The light outside had turned dusky and soft, the windows glowing faintly with the reflection of the torches flickering along the castle walls. The dorm room was still warm from the earlier fire, the air thick with the faint scent of Pansy’s plum nail varnish and the sharper note of fresh ink from the stack of Comparative Spell Casting essays lying abandoned on the low table.
Hermione was propped up in her bed against a mound of pillows, a soft blanket folded over her lap. Her hair spilled loose over her shoulders, curls catching the dim light as she bent over the book in her hands. She’d been silent for nearly an hour, turning pages at a steady pace, occasionally making a small noise under her breath when she came across something interesting.
It wasn’t until she paused mid-sentence and shifted her weight that the tension in the room changed. She moved the blanket aside and began to scoot toward the edge of the bed-only to notice, with an inward groan, that Draco, Theo, Harry, Pansy, and Blaise all stood at once.
She stilled halfway through her movement and gave them a pointed look.
“Honestly, it’s just the loo,” she said flatly.
Draco, who had been leaning against the footboard, folded his arms. “Yes, and last time you insisted it was ‘just the loo’ you nearly fell over.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, swinging one leg toward the floor. “I am perfectly capable of-”
She cut herself off with a sharp inhale as pain lanced through her ribs, her hand instinctively going to her side.
Theo was already stepping closer, eyes narrowing. “That looked like more than ‘perfectly capable.’”
“It’s fine,” Hermione muttered, forcing her expression into something that wasn’t a grimace.
“Fine?” Pansy’s brows shot up. “You winced so hard I thought you were hexed.”
Hermione snapped before she could stop herself. “Merlin’s sake, I don’t need a commentary every time I breathe!”
Pansy’s eyes went flinty, but she stayed perched at the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other.
Hermione turned away, setting her jaw, and went to push herself up again—
-only for her breath to catch on a gasp this time, the pain sharp enough to make her eyes water.
“Right, that’s it.” Draco’s voice cracked like a whip.
“Draco-” she started, but she didn’t get any further before he closed the last bit of distance, slid one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, and lifted her cleanly from the bed.
“Put me down!” Hermione’s voice was half outrage, half embarrassment, but her arms had automatically looped around his shoulders when the movement jarred her side.
“Not happening,” Draco said tightly, already turning toward the bathroom door.
Theo was pacing along behind them, muttering under his breath. “You could’ve just said something. But no, you had to-”
“I was saying something!” Hermione snapped, twisting slightly in Draco’s arms before hissing and going still again. “I was saying I could walk.”
“You were saying nonsense,” Draco replied, pushing the bathroom door open with his foot. “If you want to read in bed until the end of term, fine. But if you want to move around without aggravating your ribs, you’ll let one of us help.”
Behind them, Harry’s voice floated over. “Just so you know, I’m fully on their side right now.”
Hermione shot him a glare over Draco’s shoulder. “Traitor.”
Harry shrugged from where he was standing with Blaise. “Better a traitor than picking you up off the floor again.”
Blaise smirked faintly. “I, for one, am enjoying the entertainment.”
Theo shot him a sharp look. “You won’t be when she decides to hex us all.”
Hermione’s head tipped back with a groan. “Oh, I am making a list.”
Draco set her down gently just inside the bathroom, making sure she was balanced before stepping back-but not far enough for her to slam the door in his face.
“Privacy, Malfoy,” she said dryly, pointing toward the doorway.
Draco’s brow arched. “Five minutes.”
“Ten.”
“Six.”
She narrowed her eyes but didn’t push it. “Fine. Now go.”
He stepped back, and Theo leaned on the doorframe, smirking. “Don’t think for a second we’re not counting.”
Hermione muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “overbearing idiots” as she shut the door.
Back in the room, Pansy was shaking her head, still holding her nail varnish brush in one hand. “You two really are ridiculous.”
Theo gave a humorless laugh. “She’d run herself into the ground if we let her.”
Harry, settling back into his spot against the wall, said quietly, “Yeah. That’s why you don’t let her.”
Draco was still watching the closed bathroom door. “Exactly.”
And when Hermione emerged six minutes later-not a second more-her cheeks were a touch pink, her hair a little mussed, and her glare aimed squarely at both Draco and Theo… but she didn’t argue when Draco took her elbow and guided her back toward the bed.
The dorm was bathed in the dim silver wash of moonlight, the kind that softened edges and turned the sleeping figures scattered across the floor into something out of a dream. Pillows and blankets were piled haphazardly, the faint sound of steady breathing the only movement in the stillness. The fire in the hearth had burned low, leaving just a faint orange glow that barely reached the far corners of the room.
Ginny was curled under Harry’s arm near the foot of Hermione’s bed, his face buried in her hair. Luna was asleep on her back between Blaise and Seamus, her head tilted toward the ceiling, mouth slightly open in the kind of deep rest only she could manage in a crowded room. Dean and Cho were back-to-back near the door; Padma was curled beside Lavender, and Parvati had draped an arm lazily over both of them. Pansy had claimed the chaise near the window, blanket tucked around her, while Neville was on the rug just beneath, one arm flung over his eyes. Ron was sprawled in a half-sitting position against the wall, snoring faintly.
And at the center of it all, in the narrow space between her two Slytherins, Hermione lay perfectly still.
Or at least, she was trying to.
Pain was blooming along her ribs in a slow, deliberate wave, making every breath sharp around the edges. She’d woken to it, though she wasn’t sure when-it might’ve been minutes ago or an hour-and had been lying there in silence, counting each inhale, each exhale, telling herself it would fade. But the throb wasn’t fading. It was curling inward, gripping deeper.
She shifted just slightly, bracing one hand on the mattress, trying to push herself up-
A whimper slipped from her before she could stop it.
She froze, eyes darting toward the nearest sleeping figures, but no one stirred.
Her head pounded in time with her pulse, the pressure behind her eyes tightening as she pushed up again. Pain lanced across her skull so suddenly that she gasped, sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth.
Not enough to wake them, she told herself. Just a little more-
Her lip was caught between her teeth before she even thought about it, biting down hard, so hard she tasted the sharp copper tang of blood.
She eased her legs over the side of the bed, one at a time, biting harder against the flare in her ribs-
And then the mattress shifted behind her.
Draco’s low, sleep-rough voice broke the stillness. “Potter.”
She stilled instantly. “Go back to sleep,” she whispered, not turning around.
Theo’s voice followed, thick with drowsiness but already laced with suspicion. “Why are you sitting up?”
“I’m fine,” she said too quickly, which was answer enough.
The sound of rustling sheets, then the subtle thump of bare feet on the rug. Draco moved first, coming around the bed to crouch in front of her. The moonlight caught in his pale hair, the lines of his face sharpened by concern.
“Fine?” he repeated softly, eyes narrowing. “You’re bleeding.”
Hermione blinked at him in confusion until his gaze dropped to her mouth. She reached up instinctively and her fingers came away smeared with red.
Theo’s shadow loomed just behind Draco, his voice lower now. “How bad?”
“I said I’m fine,” Hermione muttered again, though she knew from their expressions it was useless.
Draco’s hand came up, brushing lightly at her jaw. “You bit through your lip trying not to make a sound.”
She looked away. “I didn’t want to wake anyone.”
Theo let out a breath that was half disbelief, half frustration, and came around to her other side. “You’re in pain now, and if you’d kept trying to stand-”
“I wasn’t-”
“Yes, you were,” Draco cut in, sharper than before. “You’ve been doing this all day. Pretending you’re fine, waiting until we’re not looking to move.”
Hermione bristled, her voice low so it wouldn’t carry to the rest of the room. “Because I don’t need you both hovering every second-”
“You do,” Theo interrupted, the steel in his tone unusual for him. “Until you can stand without gasping like that, you do.”
Draco glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping forms scattered across the floor. “Let’s get her back in bed before anyone else wakes up.”
Theo didn’t wait for permission. He slid an arm behind her back, careful but firm, while Draco steadied her legs.
“Don’t-” she began, but Theo was already easing her upward and Draco was guiding her back toward the pillows. The movement sent another jolt through her ribs, and this time she couldn’t stop the quiet cry that escaped her.
Pansy stirred on the chaise, blinking sleepily. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Hermione said quickly.
“She’s hurting,” Draco said at the same time, his tone making it clear he wasn’t sugarcoating it.
Neville pushed himself up on his elbows, bleary-eyed. “Do you need Fenwick?”
“No,” Hermione said, a little too fast.
“Yes,” Draco countered at the same time, his gaze not leaving her.
Theo adjusted the blanket over her legs. “If it gets worse, we wake him.”
The tension in the air lingered for a moment, but gradually the others settled back down, most of them too tired to argue.
Hermione leaned back against the pillows, jaw tight. “You two are impossible.”
Draco sank onto the edge of the bed, one hand braced on the mattress beside her hip. “Good thing for you we are.”
Theo sat on her other side, his arm brushing hers. “Next time, just wake us. We don’t care what time it is.”
She let out a long, reluctant breath. “Fine.”
But when she glanced at Draco again, his expression told her plainly he didn’t believe her for a second.
A few minute later, Hermione had gone quiet, but her shoulders were still tense beneath the blanket. The room around them had settled back into slow, even breathing; moonlight pooled against the floorboards in silver patches.
Theo leaned in slightly, his voice pitched low so it wouldn’t carry. “Breathe, Hermione. Properly. Not those shallow little gasps you’re doing.”
“I’m breathing,” she muttered, though she obeyed, pulling in a fuller breath. It hitched faintly on the exhale.
Draco’s gaze never left her face. “You’re wound tighter than a bowstring. Talk to us.”
She gave him a tired look. “About what?”
“Anything,” Theo said easily, shifting so his knee brushed hers. “Tell me what book you’re reading. Tell Draco why you think you can out-stubborn him. Tell me about the last thing you dreamed.”
Her mouth twitched like she wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy. “You two don’t really let people hide, do you?”
“Not when it’s you,” Draco replied, his tone blunt but warm.
Theo smiled faintly. “Besides, you’re terrible at it. Every time you try, you just look like you’re plotting.”
That earned the smallest huff of a laugh from her, though she quickly ducked her gaze.
Draco shifted, moving just enough to hook a hand behind her shoulder and guide her gently toward him. “Come here.”
“Draco-” she started, but the protest died when he drew her against his chest, careful to avoid pressing on her ribs. His arms were solid around her, one palm settling lightly between her shoulder blades.
“You’re safe,” he murmured against her hair, like it was an unshakable fact. “And you’re not doing this alone.”
Theo leaned in from the other side, his hand slipping into her curls. He combed his fingers through them slowly, untangling a few stubborn knots without tugging. “You forget, sweetheart-we’re very stubborn too. Stubborn enough to sit here all night if we have to.”
She relaxed fractionally, her breathing evening out under their touch. Her voice, when it came, was quiet enough that it was almost lost to the night. “You don’t fight fair.”
“No,” Draco agreed, brushing a kiss to the top of her head. “We fight to win.”
Theo’s thumb traced a lazy circle against her temple. “And winning, in this case, means you sleeping without pain and waking up without biting through your lip again.”
“That’s not really winning,” she murmured, though there was no real heat in it.
“It is,” Draco said, tightening his arm slightly, “when it’s you.”
For a moment she didn’t answer, but the stubborn tightness in her shoulders melted another inch. The rhythm of Theo’s fingers in her hair was hypnotic, the steady thud of Draco’s heartbeat under her ear grounding her in a way she hadn’t realised she needed.
“I hate being fussed over,” she muttered finally.
Theo smiled into her curls. “Good thing we’re not fussing.”
Draco’s lips quirked. “We’re strategising.”
Hermione let out a tiny, reluctant laugh, and the last of her resistance seemed to slip away. She settled against Draco fully, eyes drifting shut, the sound of their breathing and the low murmur of their voices lulling her.
Late morning sunlight slanted in through the high windows, spilling across the duvet in warm, golden stripes. The air was slow and warm-the kind of day where nothing urgent could possibly happen. Hermione was propped against the headboard, pillows stacked high behind her, a book balanced on her lap. Her curls were in gentle disarray-more halo than hairstyle-but she hadn’t bothered to tame them.
Draco lounged in the chair beside her bed, long legs stretched out, fingers drumming idly against the armrest. Theo leaned against the wall near the foot of the bed, arms folded, watching her with the mild amusement of gvsomeone observing a small but unpredictable animal.
A knock came at the door-soft but decisive. Hermione looked up, but before she could answer, Healer Fenwick stepped inside, his leather satchel swinging lightly at his side.
“How is she this morning?” he asked, setting his bag on the bedside table and pulling out his wand.
“She woke about an hour ago,” Draco said smoothly, straightening in his seat. “Read for a bit. Hasn’t eaten anything yet-”
“I was going to,” Hermione cut in quickly, frowning down at her page.
Theo’s mouth curved in a knowing half-smile. “Eventually.”
Draco ignored her and continued, “-and last night she woke in the middle of the night. In pain. Bad headache. Tried getting out of bed like she was going to walk it off.”
Hermione groaned, tipping her head back against the pillows. “Draco-”
“What?” His voice was pure innocence, but his eyes held that glint that meant he’d do it all again. “You think I’m going to leave that out?”
“You make it sound like I was on my deathbed,” she muttered.
Theo tilted his head. “Weren’t you?”
She shot him a glare, but Fenwick had already begun his work, moving his wand in slow, deliberate arcs over her ribs and collarbone, murmuring diagnostic charms under his breath.
Another knock sounded-quieter this time-and the door opened to reveal Narcissa Malfoy, elegant as ever in pale dove-grey robes, her hair swept back into a smooth twist.
Hermione’s stomach gave a small, irrational swoop. She became instantly aware of her messy hair, her pale skin, and the fact she was still in yesterday’s soft jumper. She tried to straighten, but the movement tugged sharply at her side, drawing a wince.
Narcissa’s eyes softened at once. “Don’t strain yourself, dear. You’re fine just as you are.”
Hermione felt heat rise in her cheeks. “I wasn’t-” She gave up on the protest halfway through and fiddled with the hem of her sleeve instead.
“I thought I’d check in,” Narcissa said, stepping further into the room with that unhurried grace that made every movement seem intentional. “And perhaps to ask what your holiday plans are.”
Hermione hesitated, acutely aware of Fenwick’s wand still hovering over her as a pale shimmer of magic rippled against her skin. “Oh-well-Harry and I were planning on going home. Spending it with Sirius. And the Weasleys, probably.”
Narcissa nodded thoughtfully, pausing just long enough for Fenwick to adjust his angle and run another charm over Hermione’s side. “I see. You know… Draco, Theo, and I often spend the holidays at one of our cottages. By the sea, or sometimes in the country. You’d be welcome to join us this year.”
Hermione blinked, startled by the unexpected offer. “That’s… very kind of you.” Her fingers worried the edge of her blanket. “But I wouldn’t want to impose-”
“You wouldn’t be,” Narcissa replied smoothly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “We always have room for more.”
It was only then-when Hermione’s reply faltered and she began to lean toward a polite refusal-that she caught it: the almost imperceptible stillness from Draco and Theo. They didn’t speak, but there was something faint and watchful in their silence now.
Fenwick cleared his throat softly, lowering his wand. “Breathing’s improved. Still some tenderness along the ribs-don’t overexert yourself. I’ll leave a restorative; take it after you’ve eaten.”
“I’m fine,” Hermione said automatically.
Both Draco and Theo snorted in perfect unison.
Narcissa’s lips curved faintly. “I’m not sure you have the right audience for that line, my dear.”
Hermione huffed, but didn’t argue.
Fenwick, still making a few more passes with his wand, nodded to himself. “Healing is steady but slower than I’d like. I’ll check in again in two days. Try-truly try-not to overdo anything.”
“Yes, yes,” Hermione murmured, glancing sidelong at Draco when he smirked at her.
As Fenwick packed his satchel, Narcissa settled gracefully into the empty chair opposite Draco. “How has school been for you this term, Hermione? Aside from… well, this.”
Hermione adjusted her blanket. “Busy. But good. My coursework load is heavy, but I like the challenge.”
Theo muttered something about her definition of “like” that made Draco snort quietly.
Narcissa smiled faintly. “I hear you’ve been doing particularly well in your Magical Law modules.”
Hermione’s cheeks warmed. “I’ve enjoyed them. They’re… different. Analytical in a way that suits me.”
“And the healing?” Narcissa’s tone shifted, gentle but direct. “You’ve been careful?”
“I’ve been-”
Draco’s voice cut in without looking away from her. “No.”
Theo backed him up without missing a beat. “Absolutely not.”
Hermione made a face at both of them. “I have been careful.”
“You’ve been stubborn,” Draco corrected.
“I’ll take stubborn over helpless,” Hermione replied, lifting her chin.
Narcissa’s gaze moved between the three of them, the faintest hint of amusement softening her otherwise composed expression. “Some things never change. Still-Hermione, if you ever need somewhere quieter to recover, the invitation stands. You’d be looked after properly.”
Hermione hesitated again, eyes darting briefly to Draco and Theo before she nodded. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”
Draco leaned back, smirking. “That’s Hermione-speak for ‘I’ll overthink it for three weeks and decide the night before.’”
Theo’s grin was unrepentant. “Which is why we’ll just decide for her.”
“You will not,” Hermione said firmly. But there was no real bite in her voice, and they all knew it.
The late afternoon sun was throwing warm streaks of amber across the room, catching in the strands of Hermione’s curls as she sat bolt upright in bed, arms crossed tight over her chest. Her eyes were narrowed into a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
Directly beside the bed, Draco mirrored her posture-arms folded, jaw tight, silver-grey eyes locked on hers in a battle neither of them looked ready to concede.
At the far wall, Theo leaned lazily against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other, arms folded loosely. His expression was faintly amused, though his eyes followed the volley of looks between the other two with the detached interest of someone watching a slow-moving Quidditch match.
“I am perfectly capable of walking myself to the bathroom,” Hermione announced, her voice crisp and clipped, as if she were stating a fact in class. “And taking a bath. By myself.”
“You are not,” Draco returned immediately, in that maddeningly calm tone that carried more finality than any raised voice.
Her glare deepened. “Draco Malfoy, I-”
“No,” he cut her off smoothly, his own stance rigid. “You nearly fell trying to get up last night. You’re still in pain, and Fenwick said no overexertion. A bath is not essential.”
“I disagree.”
“Noted,” Draco said without even blinking. “Denied.”
Hermione’s fingers clenched around her elbows. “Theo,” she said sharply, turning her gaze on him.
Theo didn’t move from his position against the wall, though the faint curve at the corner of his mouth grew. “He’s right, love.”
Hermione stared at him as though he’d just betrayed her to the Inquisition. “Seriously, Theo?”
Theo’s smirk widened for just a second. “I’ll always be on your side when you’re right. This time, you’re not sunshine."
“That’s not-” She broke off with an aggravated huff, tossing her head in disbelief. “I have let you both fuss over me all day. And the day before. I have eaten when you’ve told me to eat. I’ve stayed in bed when you’ve told me to stay in bed. All I want is one hour where no one is touching me, hovering over me, or demanding I eat something. One hour. That’s all.”
Draco’s eyes flashed, his jaw tightening. “And that one hour will end with you slipping in the bath and re-flaring half your injuries if not causing more, so forgive me if I don't feel inclined to grant it."
Theo's smirk faded, his voice quiet but cutting as he looked between them. "Draco-"
“What?” Draco snapped, turning sharply toward him. “She’s impossible. And overly stubborn. You try reasoning with her.”
“I am right here, you know,” Hermione bit out, her voice rising as her hands clenched into fists in the folds of the blanket. “And all of this-this hovering, this arguing over me like I’m not in the room-do you know how it’s making me feel?”
Draco’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “I know exactly how you feel-you think you’re fine when you’re not. And if you’d stop fighting us for five minutes, you might actually get better sooner.”
Her breath caught at the sharper edge in his voice. “You don’t get it. It’s making me feel overwhelmed,” she said, the words coming out tighter now, “and touched out. I can’t breathe without one of you hovering, and I can’t move without it being a battle-”
Draco’s anger evaporated instantly. In a heartbeat, he was leaning over her, the glare gone, replaced by tight concern. “Don’t move-”
“That’s-” She tried to wave him off, but the motion made the pain flare again, her breath catching audibly.
Theo pushed off from the wall and crossed the room in two strides, his earlier amusement gone entirely. He crouched on the other side of the bed, eyes scanning her face. “Love, breathe slow. Don’t fight it. You’ll make it worse.”
Hermione shook her head, her breath coming in shallow, careful pulls. “I’m fine-”
“No, you’re not,” Draco said sharply, though his voice was lower now, steadier. “You’re hurting, and you’re angry, and you’re not thinking clearly. We’re not doing this because we like arguing with you. We’re doing it because you’re not ready to be on your own yet.”
Theo’s tone softened as he brushed a curl gently back from her temple. “We know it’s hard, and we know you hate feeling caged in. But you’ve got to let us help, even when it annoys you. Especially then.”
Hermione blinked rapidly, the tears that had threatened earlier now welling stubbornly at the edges of her lashes. “I just-” She broke off, her throat tight. “I just want to feel normal again. Not… fragile. Not like every move I make is going to hurt or set off alarms.”
“You’re not fragile,” Draco said, his voice quieter now but firm. “You’re healing. And until you are healed, I’m not letting you pretend you’re fine when you’re not.”
Theo nodded in quiet agreement. “One day soon, you’ll get that hour alone. But today isn’t that day.”
She closed her eyes, the tension in her shoulders slowly easing under their combined insistence. Draco straightened but didn’t step back, and Theo rested his forearms lightly on the mattress beside her.
“I hate you both,” she muttered after a long silence.
Draco’s mouth twitched. “No, you don’t.”
Theo’s smirk returned, just faintly. “And even if you did, we’d still win this one.”
Hermione groaned, letting her head tip back against the pillows. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re stuck with us,” Draco said simply.
Theo leaned back slightly, catching Draco’s eye over her head with a look that said more than words could-protective, unyielding, but edged with fondness.
Hermione exhaled slowly, letting the last of her fight drain out. “Fine. No bath.”
Draco sighed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “I shouldn’t have snapped.” His voice was low, the apology not begrudging. “You’ve been through enough without me adding to it.”
Her gaze softened, just barely. “I shouldn’t have either.”
“Truce, then,” Theo said lightly, but his tone carried the weight of it.
Draco reached for the spare blanket at the foot of the bed, adjusting it over her legs with careful hands before passing her a warm cup of tea Theo had Summoned from the tray. “Drink. And no arguing this time.”
Hermione arched a brow but took it, the steam curling up into the late afternoon light. A moment later, Draco placed a book in her lap-the one she’d been trying to get to earlier.
She blinked at him, a faint, tired smile pulling at her lips. “Bribery?”
“Appeasement,” Draco corrected. “And maybe an apology.”
Theo smirked faintly. “We’ll call it even when you finish the tea.”
Hermione was propped up in the deep window seat, feet curled under her and a fortress of books and parchment spread around her. The early evening light slanted in gold through the neat lines of notes she's been scribbling in her small, precise hand. The faint scent of cooling tea drifted from the half-empty cup on the ledge beside her, long forgotten.
Her friends were scattered around the room as usual. Blaise and take over her armchair like it has been placed there for him alone, boots crossed at the ankles and one hand draped lazily over the armrest. Luna sat on the rug beside him, serenely threading a tangle of butterbeer corks on a string. Harry leaned against her desk, arms folded, while Ginny perched on the edge beside him, swinging one foot idly.
Ron was sprawled on the rug with Neville, the two of them tossing a small Quaffle back and forth in a lazy, almost meditative rhythm. Daphne and Astoria were tucked onto the sofa, knees almost touching as they chatted quietly. Pansy stood at the foot of Hermione’s bed, arms folded, watching her work with the expression of someone torn between admiration and the urge to forcibly intervene.
Draco was leaning against the wall near the window, arms crossed, his eyes flicking between the clock and the girl tucked in the seat. His tone, when he finally spoke, was soft but carried the kind of authority that brooked little argument.
“You’ve got twenty minutes left, Hermione.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, her quill still scratching along the parchment. “I know Draco. I'll stop in twenty. Promise."
That earned a small, approving nod from him. “Good.”
Pansy arched a brow. “Since when do you make promises about stopping work early?”
"Since my brother and my firends decided to turm my dorm into a convalescent ward," Hermione said, her voice level.
“You’re still mending,” Harry reminded her quietly, his eyes flicking to the blanket tucked at her side. “Bruised ribs and recovering lungs aren’t something you push through. I should know.”
Ginny nudged him lightly. “You’ve definitely tried, though.”
“That’s not the point,” Blaise drawled. “The point is, she’s been sitting there for hours and if she doesn’t move soon, Draco and Theo will have to pry her out themselves.”
"They can try," Hermione said, amusement lacing her voice but challenge flashing in her eyes.
Luna tilted her head thoughtfully. “You’re also a human being, Hermione. Even mooncalves take time to rest in the moonlight before they start grazing again.”
Ron caught the Quaffle and shrugged. “She’s not wrong. Even Mum would’ve told you to put the book down by now.”
“And you know Mum can out-stubborn you any day,” Ginny added with a grin.
Neville’s voice was quieter but sincere. “It’s not about the work. You just… look tired. More than you think.”
Daphne smoothed the cuff of her sleeve and said evenly, “And frankly, the rest of us would like to talk to you without shouting over parchment towers.”
Hermione let out a slow breath, the sound half-sigh and half-laugh, before she rolled her eyes in exaggerated surrender. She closed her book with a soft thump and set it neatly atop the pile beside her. “All right. Ginny, Astoria, Pansy-help me to the shower before the rest of you decide to carry me there yourselves.”
Draco straightened, mouth parting as if to speak. “Hermione-”
She held up a hand before he could continue. “I'll be fine, Draco. No need for another speech."
Theo, who had been leaning in the doorway until now, raised his brows. “At least use the shower chair. Humor me.”
She gave him a small smile over her shoulder. “I’ll think about it.” Which, in Hermione language, usually meant yes.
Astoria arose from the sofa just as Pansy pushed off the edge of the bed, Ginny grabbing her dressing gown from the bed before the three of them moved to either side of Hermione, helping her ease down from the window seat. She still moved stiffly and winced slightly-but she accepted their steadying hands without argument.
The bathroom door closed behind them, leaving the remaining group to relax slightly, the air shifting from careful watchfulness to something looser.
Blaise tipped his head toward the closed door. “Place your bets. Will she actually use the chair?”
“Not a chance,” Ron said immediately, tossing the Quaffle to Neville.
“I give it fifty-fifty,” Neville countered. “If Astoria explains it like it’s a perfectly sensible choice, she might.”
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not about sense. It’s about her not wanting to feel like she’s fragile.”
Daphne gave him a pointed look. “And constantly reminding her to take breaks? That’s exactly what reinforces it.”
Theo shrugged. “And ignoring when she pushes herself to far has never ended well."
"No, not ignoring," Luna said serenely, still threading corks. “Just… be there without telling her she needs you. Like a mooncalf who doesn’t notice it’s being watched.”
Blaise smirked. “So, quiet hovering instead of obvious hovering?”
Draco exhaled slowly. “I can do quiet hovering.”
Ron shot him a sideways look. “Sure you can, Malfoy. You’ve been counting down her time like you’re her personal Quidditch clock.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed faintly, but he didn’t take the bait, and the conversation drifted into low, companionable murmurs as they waited for the girls to return.
Steam was already curling in the air when Ginny swung the bathroom door shut behind them, muting the voices from the dorm. The warm, tiled space was filled with the soft rush of water from the enchanted showerhead, the light golden from the sconces along the wall. Hermione stood by the counter, her dressing gown loosely tied, cheeks faintly flushed from the warmth but pale beneath it.
Pansy was the first to notice as Ginny helped Hermione lower the gown from her shoulders-the bruise along her side was still an angry, mottled purple, the swelling not as severe as last week but still unmistakable.
“That still looks brutal,” Astoria said quietly, her brow furrowing. “But… not as bad as before. At least the swelling’s gone down a bit.”
Hermione gave a small, humorless smile. “I’ll take progress where I can get it.” She sucked in a breath when Ginny eased the fabric past her ribs, the movement pulling at tender muscles.
“Careful,” Ginny murmured. “Sorry, ‘Mione.”
“It’s fine,” Hermione said, though her voice was tight.
Once she was down to her camisole and shorts, Pansy stepped in. “Alright, I’m going to say it, because if I don’t, you know they will.” She tipped her head toward the door. “Use the chair. Unless you want Draco and Theo storming in here like overprotective banshees when you inevitably slip or your knees give out.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched despite herself. “Merlin, you all think so little of my balance.”
“We’ve seen your balance,” Ginny teased, already unfolding the shower chair and setting it beneath the steady stream.
Hermione muttered something under her breath about conspiracies but let them guide her toward the water. The moment she eased down into the chair, the warm spray hit her ribs, and she gasped sharply.
“That bad?” Astoria asked, crouching to adjust the water temperature.
Hermione exhaled slowly. “It’s just… tender. Like the bruise is reminding me it’s still here.”
“You should probably listen to it,” Pansy said. “It’s not just going to disappear because you will it away.”
Ginny handed her a washcloth, eyes softening. “We’re not saying you’re fragile, ‘Mione. We just want you to heal.”
Hermione gave a slow nod, then wrinkled her nose a little. “I… might need help washing my hair. Reaching up isn’t exactly comfortable right now.”
“Not a problem,” Ginny said immediately, already rolling up her sleeves.
“I’ll get the shampoo,” Astoria offered, moving to the shelf in the corner. “And I’ll be gentle-promise.”
“You’d better be,” Hermione said, though the warmth in her voice softened the words.
Pansy stepped behind her, gathering Hermione’s curls in careful hands. “You know, Malfoy’s going to notice the second you come out smelling like my shampoo instead of yours.”
“Then I’ll tell him you staged a coup in here,” Hermione replied, tilting her head back as Astoria poured the shampoo into Pansy’s waiting hands.
The three girls worked in easy rhythm-Ginny keeping the water from splashing Hermione’s face, Astoria ready with the rinse, Pansy massaging the shampoo into her curls with surprising gentleness.
“This is almost nice,” Hermione murmured after a moment.
“Almost?” Ginny laughed.
“Well, it’d be nicer if I weren’t sitting here like an invalid,” Hermione said wryly.
Pansy leaned down so her voice was close to Hermione’s ear. “You’re sitting here like someone who’s smart enough to let her friends help. That’s a good thing, Potter.”
Hermione went quiet for a moment, then gave the smallest smile. “Alright. I’ll give you that.”
Astoria rinsed the last of the shampoo from her hair, careful not to let the water hit her side too forcefully. “There. Now you’ll feel more like yourself again.”
“Until I have to face the lecture committee outside,” Hermione muttered.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Ginny said with a smirk. “We’ll tell them we threatened you into compliance.”
Hermione chuckled softly. “Somehow I don’t think they’ll find that hard to believe.”
The steam thickened around them, and for a while, the only sounds were the water and the quiet hum of their voices-soft, steady, and full of the kind of care Hermione found herself leaning into, even if she’d never admit it out loud.
Chapter 22: The Art of Preparation
Summary:
Hermione finally get's cleared for light walking. Draco continues to be his typical self
Notes:
Here is the next chapter!! I hope you all enjoy!!!
Chapter Text
Two days later, Hermione's dorm room was quiet except for the faint ticking of the enchanted clock on the wall and the low, tense voices cutting through the stillness. She sat on the edge of her bed, legs drawn slightly inward, arms folded over her chest. Draco stood a few paces away, hands braced on his hips, his expression caught somewhere between irritation and worry.
"Draco," Hermione started, enunciating his name as if that would make what she was about to say more convincing, "You were here when Healer Fenwick cleared me for light walking. I don't plan on running any marathons. No duels. Just walking."
"Just because I was here, does not mean I agree with him," Draco shot back, his voice tight. "'Light walking' to you will turn into 'light walking plus stopping by the library, rearranging half the shelves, and rewriting your notes until midnight.'"
Hermione arched a brow. “You make me sound obsessive.”
Theo, sprawled in the armchair by the window, let out a dry laugh. “You are obsessive. You’ve been obsessive since the day we met you.”
“I am not obsessive,” Hermione said hotly.
“The week befor you got sick,” Theo said, holding up a hand like he was ticking off points, “you rewrote a thirty-page brief because you didn’t like the way the margins looked. The margins, Hermione.”
Hermione gave him a look, but her cheeks colored. “That’s completely irrelevant to the current conversation.”
“No, it’s exactly relevant,” Draco said, folding his arms. “Because you have a tendency to push past limits until you’re in pain again. And you-” He gestured sharply at her ribs. “-are still healing.”
Hermione huffed, but she didn’t look away. “I’m not going to push myself. I just want to get out of this room for an hour. It’s been two weeks, Draco, and I’m going stir-crazy.”
Theo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We’re not saying no to you getting out, Hermione. We’re saying no to you making this worse. There’s a difference.”
“And there’s a difference between caution and coddling,” she retorted.
Draco narrowed his eyes. “You call it coddling; I call it making sure you don’t end up flat on your back in the hospital ward again.”
Hermione’s lips curved in a faint, defiant smile. “That’s dramatic, even for you.”
“It’s not dramatic,” Draco said, his tone low and unamused. “It’s reality.”
Theo sat back again, watching them with the air of someone witnessing the same argument for the fifth time in a week. “Okay, how about a compromise? She goes for a walk-with us. And if she starts to look pale, we drag her back here.”
Hermione sighed, looking between them. “You two are impossible.”
“That’s a yes, then,” Draco said, his voice clipped but satisfied.
“That’s a ‘I’m agreeing under protest,’” Hermione corrected. “And only because I don’t feel like having both of you hovering over me like dementors for the rest of the afternoon.”
Theo smirked. “Hovering is kind of our thing.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but the fight in her posture softened a little. “Fine. An hour. And if you try to cut it short before then-”
“Yeah, yeah,” Draco interrupted, a faint smirk breaking through his frustration. “We’ll get the full Granger wrath. Trust me, we’re aware.”
Theo stretched, looking entirely too pleased. “Excellent. I’ll get our coats.”
Draco kept his gaze on Hermione for a moment longer, as if making sure she wouldn’t suddenly change her mind and try to dart out alone. She held his stare until he finally turned toward the wardrobe, muttering something under his breath about “stubborn Gryffindors.”
The stone steps of the main staircase reflected the late-afternoon light spilling in from the towering windows, the air cool with the promise of October. Hermione moved carefully between Draco and Theo, the two of them flanking her like a bodyguards prepared for battle. Draco's arm hovered slightly behind her back, ready to catch her if she faltered; Theo was just as close, his eyes flicking from her feet to her face as though he might spot trouble before she did.
“You’re doing fine,” Theo murmured, his tone warm but threaded with a tension that gave him away. “Nice and steady-don’t rush.”
They were halfway down when Hermione winced, the muscle in her thigh tightening involuntarily. Draco’s head whipped toward her.
“That’s the second time,” he said sharply. “If you do that again, we’re turning around.”
Her head snapped toward him, curls bouncing.
“If you make me turn around before I even reach the bottom of the stairs,” she hissed, “I will hex you where you stand, Draco Malfoy.”
Theo smirked faintly, though his brow was furrowed with concern. “For the record, I’m not standing in the way of that hex. You’d deserve it,” he said to Draco, then glanced at Hermione. “But maybe-and I’m just throwing this out there-don’t test your limits before you even get to the door?”
“That’s not testing my limits,” Hermione said, her chin lifting stubbornly. “It’s walking down the stairs like a functioning human being.”
Draco gave a slow, exasperated exhale but didn’t argue further, and they continued down.
When they finally reached the bottom landing, Hermione stopped abruptly, gripping onto both their arms, her knuckles whitening. She wasn’t swaying, but her breath came quicker, her eyes closed as if the world might stop spinning if she held perfectly still.
“You all right?” Theo asked quietly, leaning in so only she could hear.
“Fine,” she murmured, a little too quickly.
Draco’s gaze sharpened. “That didn’t sound fine.”
She opened her eyes and forced a faint smile. “Just… catching my breath.”
Draco didn’t look convinced, but before he could press, the cool air from the nearby courtyard doors swept across her cheeks like a welcome invitation.
“I want to walk around outside for a little bit,” she said at last, looking between them.
Theo’s lips quirked, though the tightness in his jaw betrayed his unease. “Of course you do.”
Draco’s gaze slid to the tall doors leading out into the courtyard, then back to her. “Fine,” he said, though the single syllable dripped with reluctance. “But the second you so much as sway-”
“-you’ll carry me back up the stairs?” Hermione finished for him with a smirk.
“I was going to say drag you,” Draco muttered, but he pushed the door open for her all the same.
The crisp autumn air swept over them, tinged with the faint scent of fallen leaves. Outside, the courtyard was alive with motion-students crossing between the sprawling Arcanium buildings, laughter echoing from the green, the faint hum of enchanted lanterns already strung along the walkways in anticipation of Halloween. Deep orange and gold leaves skittered along the flagstones, chased by a lazy breeze.
Hermione took a slow step forward, then another, her boots crunching lightly on the scattered leaves. “See?” she murmured, glancing at Draco with a pointed look. “Not collapsing. Perfectly fine.”
Theo kept pace beside her, his hands in his pockets but his gaze watchful. “You’re doing great,” he said gently, though the furrow in his brow deepened when she winced again. “Just… keep listening to your body, yeah? Don’t push.”
“I’m not pushing,” she said primly. “I’m walking.”
They moved along one of the winding paths, the carved stone benches and fountains already draped in cobweb charms and hovering jack-o’-lanterns. Groups of students paused to greet them; Hermione smiled and exchanged a few words, though she never slowed too much, as if determined to prove she could keep the pace.
Then, without warning, a sharp pain lanced through her side. She sucked in a breath, stopping short and pressing a hand against her ribs.
Theo noticed immediately. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she said too fast, attempting to wave it off. “Just a stitch-keep walking.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t get a stitch from strolling through the courtyard.”
Theo stepped closer, his expression softening even as concern lingered. “Hermione… sit for a minute.”
“I don’t need-” she began, but Theo was already steering her toward the nearest bench, Draco on her other side making sure she didn’t protest too much.
Once she was seated, the cool stone beneath her, Hermione let out a slow breath. The pain was already easing, but both boys were watching her like hawks.
“You’re not fine,” Draco said quietly.
She lifted her chin. “I’m not fragile either.”
Theo’s mouth curved faintly. “We never said you were. Just… let us worry a little. That’s sort of the deal.”
Hermione sighed, looking from one to the other. “Fine. Five minutes.”
“Ten,” Draco corrected.
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, leaning back slightly as the late-afternoon sun dipped lower, painting the courtyard in warm gold.
They lingered on the bench longer than Hermione thought necessary. She let her head tip back against the cool stone, eyes half-closed, listening to the distant splash of the courtyard fountain and the gentle rustle of leaves overhead. The pain in her side had faded to nothing, but she didn’t say so-not with Draco watching her like she might leap up and sprint into danger the moment he blinked.
When she finally pushed herself upright, both boys straightened with her. “I’d like to walk to the gardens,” she said, brushing an escaped curl behind her ear.
Draco’s answer was instant. “Absolutely not.”
She blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He folded his arms, the line of his shoulders stiff. “The gardens are halfway across the grounds. We’re not adding a field trip onto your little courtyard experiment.”
Before Hermione could retort, Theo tilted his head, studying her with a thoughtful expression. “She’s been walking fine,” he said slowly. “A couple of twinges, sure, but nothing that says she can’t handle a stroll to the gardens.”
Draco’s head snapped toward him. “You cannot be serious.”
Theo shrugged, almost lazy in his stance, but Hermione caught the glint in his eyes-he was choosing his side with deliberate intent. “She’s not asking to run laps. The gardens aren’t that far. Besides,” he added with a smirk, “you know she’s going to dig her heels in if you tell her no.”
Hermione’s lips parted in genuine surprise. “Are you… agreeing with me?”
Theo’s mouth quirked. “Shocking, isn’t it?”
“It’s… unexpected,” she admitted, eyeing him suspiciously as though he might be playing some elaborate prank.
“I’m perfectly capable of being reasonable,” Theo replied with mock offense, then tipped his head toward Draco. “Come on. We go to the gardens, we keep an eye on her, and if she so much as wobbles, you can have your dramatic ‘I told you so.’”
Draco stared between them, jaw tight, as if weighing the prospect of losing the argument versus looking like the overbearing villain in this little tableau. At last, he exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “Fine,” he said, dragging the word out like it pained him. “But we’re turning around the moment we reach the gardens. No detours, no lingering until moonrise.”
Hermione bit back a smile. “Agreed.”
“I mean it,” Draco warned, stepping back so she could rise from the bench. “The second we reach the gardens, that’s the end of the trip.”
“Yes, yes, I heard you the first time,” she said, slipping between them again as they set off.
They took the narrower path toward the back of the courtyard, the chatter of students fading as they moved away from the main green. Overhead, the last sunlight was threading through the skeletal branches, painting the stone walk in dappled amber. Hermione felt the crisp air sting her cheeks in the most invigorating way, and though she kept her pace steady, there was a lift in her step that neither Draco nor Theo missed.
Theo glanced down at her. “See? This isn’t so bad.”
Draco muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “We’ll see.”
“Maybe next time we could go even farther-” Hermione began.
“Don’t push it,” Draco cut in.
Theo chuckled, bumping her shoulder lightly. “Baby steps, sunshine.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. The gardens, with their archways of curling ivy and beds of autumn roses, were already coming into view ahead, and for the first time all afternoon, she let herself simply enjoy the walk, bracketed between the two of them.
The sky outside Hermione’s tall arched windows was painted in streaks of deep violet and burnt orange, the last traces of daylight slipping away. The soft glow of enchanted sconces filled her room with a warm golden light, and the fire crackled faintly in the hearth.
Hermione was curled up against the pillows, still in her clothes from earlier but tucked under a blanket. A book rested, forgotten, in her lap, her head tilted slightly to one side as she dozed. A lock of curls had slipped over her face, and she absently brushed it away without opening her eyes.
Draco, sitting sideways in the armchair nearest her bed, watched her for a long moment before speaking. “Hermione,” he said softly, his tone gentler than his words. “Why don’t you just go to bed properly?”
She made a small, sleepy sound and shifted without opening her eyes. “I’m already in bed,” she mumbled.
“That’s not what I meant,” Draco said, his lips twitching. “You’re going to wake up with a crick in your neck if you fall asleep like that.”
“Mm,” was all she offered in reply, clearly not intending to move.
Across the room, Theo lounged against the footboard, flicking absently through one of her other books. Pansy and Astoria were perched on the sofa by the fire, heads close together in quiet conversation. Blaise was stretched out in the other armchair, looking far too comfortable, while Harry and Ron sat cross-legged on the rug, Ginny leaning back against Harry’s shoulder.
Harry glanced over at Hermione, his brow furrowing. “How’d the walk go earlier?” he asked, the question careful but tinged with curiosity.
Hermione stirred at the sound of his voice, blinking herself a little more awake. She opened her mouth-
-but Draco’s voice cut in smoothly before she could get a word out. “It was fine.”
Her gaze snapped to him, surprise flashing into irritation. “Am I not allowed to talk for myself now?”
Draco didn’t flinch. “Not when you’re going to downplay the fact that you had to stop at the bottom of the stairs and that we had to make you sit down."
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “I was catching my breath.”
Theo’s voice slipped in, calm and measured. “You were also in pain, love. That’s not nothing.”
“It was a stitch,” she said sharply, sitting up a little straighter. “People get them walking across courtyards.”
Pansy lifted a brow. “Yes, but most people aren’t you, two weeks out from nearly exhausting themselves into the infirmary.”
“Thank you for the reminder, Pans,” Hermione muttered.
Astoria leaned forward, her tone softer but no less firm. “They’re not trying to stop you from doing things. They just don’t want you overdoing it.”
“That’s all any of us are saying,” Blaise added lazily, though his dark eyes were watchful. “You’re terrible at moderation.”
“I am perfectly capable of-” Hermione began, but Ron cut in with a snort.
“Yeah, because nothing says ‘moderation’ like you limping down a flight of stairs while two blokes hover like you’re about to keel over.”
Ginny elbowed him lightly but didn’t deny it. “They’re right, Hermione. You push yourself too far sometimes.”
Hermione crossed her arms, her jaw set. “I would like to reiterate that I am not fragile.”
“No one’s saying you are,” Draco replied, his voice quieter now, though his gaze didn’t waver. “But you don’t have to prove it every second of the day.”
The room went quiet for a moment, the fire popping softly in the background. Hermione’s gaze flicked between them-Draco’s steady, Theo’s warm-and then to the others watching her with varying degrees of concern and amusement.
Finally, she sighed, her shoulders loosening. “Fine,” she said. “But for the record, I am perfectly capable of deciding when to stop.”
Draco smirked faintly. “Of course you are. We just reserve the right to disagree.”
Theo grinned. “And to forcibly intervene when necessary.”
“Not helping,” Hermione muttered, but there was no real heat in it. She picked her book back up, flipping it open again, though she was clearly no longer reading.
The conversation in the room shifted away from her, the others falling back into smaller talks, but Draco and Theo didn’t stop watching her entirely-each in their own way, as if making a silent agreement that neither would be the first to let their guard down.
The pale morning light spilling through the tall arched windows had barely begun to touch the floor when Draco stirred, his arm instinctively reaching for the warm shape that should have been curled between him and Theo.
His hand met only cool sheets.
His eyes snapped open, the last threads of sleep burning away in an instant. “Theo,” he said sharply, sitting up.
Theo gave a groggy noise from his side, face still buried in the pillow. “What?”
“She’s not here.”
That was enough to jolt Theo upright, hair sticking up in wild angles. He scanned the room like he expected Hermione to be crouched behind the wardrobe or hiding under the desk. “Where the hell-”
A faint sound of running water came from behind the closed bathroom door.
Draco’s expression darkened instantly. “She’s in the shower.”
Theo scrubbed at his face. “You don’t think-”
“Of course I think,” Draco snapped, already throwing the blankets aside. “She could slip, twist something, make it worse-”
“Or she could just be taking a normal shower without two paranoid sentries waiting outside the door,” Theo muttered, but he was on his feet too.
The bathroom door opened just as they both reached it. Hermione stepped out, hair damp and curling wildly, wrapped in a pale dressing gown that trailed to her knees. She stopped mid-step when she saw them standing there-barefoot, rumpled from sleep, and looking like they’d caught her smuggling contraband out of the castle.
She blinked at them. “What are you two staring at?”
Draco’s voice was sharp enough to slice the air. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
Hermione frowned. “Taking a shower?”
Theo crossed his arms, brows drawn together. “Without telling us?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Hermione said, tightening her robe belt with deliberate patience. “I was careful. I used the dumb shower chair, I only winced once, and I didn’t overdo anything.”
“That’s not the point,” Draco said, his voice rising a notch. “You could have slipped, or-”
“Or what?” Hermione cut in, eyes narrowing. “You can’t hover over me every second of the day, Draco. You have to trust that I know my limits.”
Draco’s jaw flexed. “Limits? You were barely making it down the stairs yesterday-”
“And this wasn’t walking to the library,” she snapped. “It was a shower. I’m not made of glass, and I’m not going to shatter if I do something on my own.”
Theo glanced between them like a spectator at a Quidditch match, waiting for the right moment. “She does have a point,” he finally said, tone mild but steady.
Draco shot him an incredulous look.
“Thank you, Theo,” Hermione said over her shoulder as she walked past both of them toward the closet.
The sound of hangers sliding and drawers opening drifted out from the open door. Inside, she muttered something under her breath about “overprotective, insufferable Slytherin men,” which was just loud enough for both of them to hear.
Theo smirked faintly and murmured to Draco, “If you keep pushing, she’s going to start showering at three in the morning just to prove a point.”
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not apologising for worrying.”
Hermione’s voice floated out, clipped but calm. “No one’s asking you to apologise. Just… dial it back before you drive me mad.”
She emerged a moment later in soft charcoal leggings and a loose, cream jumper, hair twisted into a towel turban. She paused, eyeing them both. “Merlin’s sake, you look like I went cliff diving before breakfast.”
Theo flopped down onto the end of her bed, leaning back on his elbows. “We’ve seen you cliff dive-metaphorically, anyway. We’re just trying to prevent a repeat performance.”
“Exactly,” Draco said, folding his arms. “You’ve got a bad habit of pretending you’re fine until you’re not.”
Draco looked like he might start the argument all over again, but Hermione brezzed past them to her desk, plucking up a hairbrush and throwing it on her bed before flipping her head forward and drying her hair.
"If either of you start hovering again, I'm going to start locking the bathroom door," she said without looking up.
Theo grinned. "Bold move. He might actually break it down."
Draco didn't rise to the bait, but his gaze never left her. She ignored him, moving to sit on the edge of her bed while she finished drying the ends of her hair before grabbing her brush. The strands spilled over her shoulder in damp waves, and she worked through them with practiced efficiency.
After a moment, she sighed, softer now. “I know you’re worried. But I need to feel like I can still… do things. Even small things. If I don’t, I’m just going to feel more like an invalid.”
That seemed to take a bit of the fight out of Draco. He shifted, his voice quieter. “Fine. But you tell one of us next time. Just in case.”
She considered him for a long moment, then nodded. “Fine. But only because you’re impossible when you’re panicked.”
Theo smirked. “Progress.”
Draco muttered something under his breath but didn’t push further. Hermione set her brush down and drew her legs up onto the bed, curling sideways with a small sigh. “Now, if either of you are feeling useful, you could make tea.”
Theo hopped to his feet immediately. “Tea I can manage.”
Draco lingered where he stood, still watching her as if to make sure she wasn’t hiding a limp or about to keel over. But this time, Hermione didn’t call him out for it.
The soft autumn light filtered through the tall windows, casting long golden strips across the carpet. Hermione was curled at her desk, quill moving steadily over parchment as she finished the last of the essays she’d missed. The room smelled faintly of parchment and cinnamon from the tea cooling beside her, steam still curling lazily in the air.
Draco sat in the armchair nearest the fire, a book open on his lap, his legs crossed in lazy elegance that didn’t match the way his eyes flicked toward her every few minutes. Theo was sprawled on the rug with his own stack of schoolwork spread around him, leaning on one elbow as he jotted notes, occasionally tapping his quill against the parchment as though the rhythm might summon a better idea.
It was a companionable quiet-the kind of silence that wasn’t empty but comfortably full-broken only by the faint scratch of quills, the crackle of the fire, and the occasional rustle of pages turning.
A knock sounded at the door, firm but not hurried. Before any of them could answer, the door opened and Healer Fenwick stepped in with a warm, practiced smile.
“Miss Potter,” he greeted, setting his worn leather bag on the nearest table. “Just here for your afternoon check-up. I trust you’re feeling well today?”
Hermione set her quill aside, flexing the fingers that had grown cramped from writing. “Of course. Come in.”
Draco’s eyes lifted from his book, his brow already creasing into that familiar furrow that meant trouble. Theo closed his notebook with a quiet thump and sat up straighter, eyes following Fenwick as he crossed to Hermione.
The healer began the usual diagnostic spells, the tip of his wand glowing faint green as he murmured incantations. Hermione sat still and calm, her hair catching the afternoon light in warm curls.
“Well,” Fenwick said after a moment, the glow fading. “Everything looks good. In fact-” He smiled at her. “I’m clearing you to return to classes on Monday.”
Hermione’s face lit instantly, the tightness around her mouth easing. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” Fenwick confirmed. “But-”
“She’s not ready,” Draco cut in before the man could finish, snapping his book shut with a sound that made Theo wince.
Hermione’s glare could have set the whole armchair ablaze. “Draco-”
Theo tilted his head and gave his friend a deliberate, pointed look. “Mate… maybe let the trained healer finish before you start issuing decrees.”
Draco didn’t look remotely convinced, but his mouth pressed into a thin line as he leaned back, clearly forcing himself to keep silent.
“As I was saying,” Fenwick continued smoothly, as though this happened every day, “you’re cleared to go back, but you still need to take things slow. Don’t try to make up all the work at once. And if anything starts hurting badly again-anything at all-you tell me right away. No ‘pushing through it,’ no matter what deadlines you think are more important.”
Hermione nodded firmly. “I promise. I’ll be careful.”
Theo smirked faintly. "At leas one of us is in the same classes as her, so if she so much as tries to sprint down a corridor, one of us will catch it."
“That is not an invitation to hover,” Hermione said quickly, shooting them both a warning glance. “I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.”
Fenwick chuckled. “I’ll leave you three to sort that out. Just remember-slow and steady wins the race, Miss Granger.” He packed up his bag, offered them each a polite nod, and let himself out.
The moment the door shut, Hermione exhaled slowly, setting her parchments into a neat stack. “Monday,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Finally. I can’t wait to get back into the lecture halls.”
Draco was still looking like he wanted to launch into a list of reasons why this was a terrible idea, but Theo stretched out on the rug again, pillowing his head on his arms. “You’ll be fine,” he said with easy certainty. “We’ll walk you to and from every class until you’re sick of us.”
“That’ll be by Tuesday,” Hermione said dryly, though the corners of her mouth twitched.
Draco leaned forward slightly in his chair, one ankle crossing over the other, gaze fixed on her. “If you so much as wince-”
“Draco,” she warned, tone cutting off whatever dramatic vow he’d been about to make.
Theo grinned from the floor. “Translation-he’ll swoop you up and carry you straight back here if you so much as breathe wrong.”
“That’s not-” Draco began, only for Theo to smirk wider.
Hermione rolled her eyes, though the faint blush dusting her cheeks gave her away. “I’m finishing these essays before either of you start plotting ridiculous rescue missions.”
“Too late,” Theo said under his breath, pretending to return to his work but giving her a conspiratorial wink.
Draco reopened his book, though his gaze flicked toward her every few lines, as if reassuring himself she was still there and still fine. Hermione bent over her parchment again, the quiet settling back in-but now it carried the warm hum of anticipation for Monday, and the unspoken knowledge that, no matter how irritating their overprotectiveness could be, she wouldn’t have to face it alone.
The warm glow of early evening spilled through the tall dormitory windows, softening the edges of the room into a gentle haze. Hermione sat cross-legged on her bed, the faint scent of lavender shampoo drifting up from her freshly washed curls as Pansy perched behind her, deft fingers working through thick strands to weave them into intricate braids. At her side, Astoria balanced a tiny bottle of pale pink polish on her knee, guiding Hermione’s hand with careful precision.
Scattered across the room, the rest of her friends had made themselves at home-Ginny lounged sideways in an armchair, one leg dangling over the armrest; Luna sat cross-legged on the floor, her gaze drifting somewhere between the group and the dusky sky outside; Neville and Blaise shared the couch, deep in an easy conversation that meandered between Quidditch scores and greenhouse schedules; Ron had taken up residence on the rug, leaning back against the bed frame; Daphne occupied the windowsill, tea in hand, observing everything with a faint smirk; and Harry-ever the watchful older brother-stood near the foot of the bed, arms crossed, his protective instincts practically radiating off him.
"So," Pansy said at last, securing the end of one braid with a neat ribbon. "cleared for classes on Monday?" Her dark eyes flicked toward Hermione's reflection in the little hand mirror propped on the duvet. "You really going through with it?"
Hermione smiled faintly, flexing her fingers so Astoria could reach her thumb. “Of course I am. I’ve been away long enough. It’ll be… good to feel normal again.”
“Normal,” Harry repeated flatly. “Two weeks ago you could barely walk across the room without shaking. You think that’s gone because Fenwick says you’re fit for lectures?”
“It’s not just lectures,” Hermione countered, her voice calm but firm. “It’s my life. I’m ready to start living it again.”
Across the room, Draco-who had been leaning against her desk beside Theo-shifted slightly, his pale gaze sliding to Harry. “She’s ready,” he said, but the faint crease between his brows betrayed some hesitation. “Still… maybe easing in would be smarter.”
Hermione turned her head sharply, earning a quiet huff of protest from Pansy who had to steady the braid. “This morning you said you were fine with it,” she reminded him.
“I said I was mostly fine with it,” Draco corrected smoothly. “Now I’ve had time to think.”
“You mean time to agree with Harry,” Ginny muttered under her breath, earning a quiet laugh from Daphne.
“All the more reason,” Astoria said, carefully blowing on the fresh coat of polish, “that we should mark the occasion. Tomorrow night. All of us. Somewhere fun.”
“That,” Harry said immediately, “isn’t happening.”
Draco’s agreement was instantaneous. “Absolutely not.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed at him. “Oh, so you’re against me going back to class and against me going out? That’s new.” She shifted her gaze to Theo, who had been lounging lazily on the desk beside Draco. “Theo, would you please help our boyfriend see sense before I hex him?”
Theo grinned, stretching his legs out. “Drake, love, you’re looking a little too comfortable on Harry’s side of this fence. Didn’t peg you for the overprotective big brother type.”
“It’s not about being overprotective,” Draco said coolly. “It’s about being realistic. Crowds, noise, late nights-hardly the best recipe when you’re just getting back on your feet.”
Ginny snorted. “She’s not made of glass. And we’re all going to be there. If anything happens, we’ll handle it.”
Pansy leaned forward, her hands resting on Hermione’s shoulders. “Draco Malfoy, stop being tedious. One night out isn’t going to undo weeks of recovery.”
“Exactly,” Daphne added with a faint smile. “If anything, it’ll help her feel like herself again.”
Neville, who had been listening quietly, chimed in. “She’s been through worse than a night out. Honestly, I think it’d do her some good.”
“Same here,” Blaise said, swirling the tea cup he’d stolen from Daphne’s tray. “And selfishly, I’d like a night that isn’t spent listening to the two of you argue.”
Ron shrugged from the floor. “If she says she’s ready, I say let her. Not our job to wrap her in bubble wrap.”
Harry looked at him sharply. “Since when do you not worry about her?”
“Since she started glaring at me like that,” Ron said, nodding toward Hermione. “Means she’s serious.”
Draco’s lips twitched, but he didn’t give in. “You’re all hopeless.”
Theo bumped his shoulder. “Maybe. But we’re also right. You know she’s not reckless. Let her have this.”
For a moment, Draco’s gaze lingered on Hermione, reading the quiet determination in her eyes. The muscle in his jaw ticked once before he finally sighed. “Fine. One night. But I’m staying within arm’s reach the entire time.”
Harry groaned. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“It’s not supposed to,” Draco said dryly.
Hermione only smiled, relief threading through her expression. “Thank you. Both of you. And just so we’re clear, I am picking the place.”
Pansy grinned. “Now that’s the spirit.”
The tension in the room eased as the conversation dissolved into overlapping voices and teasing plans, the fading light casting them all in a warm, golden glow. For the first time in while, Hermione let herself believe Monday-and maybe even tomorrow night-could be exactly what she needed.
The pale Saturday morning light drifted lazily through the half-drawn curtains, spilling soft streaks of gold across the bed. The dormitory was quiet except for the slow, steady rhythm of breathing and the faint rustle of sheets.
Hermione was still curled on Draco’s chest, her cheek pressed over the steady beat of his heart, one hand loosely fisted in the fabric of his sleep shirt. Her curls, warm from sleep, fanned over his ribs in an unruly tumble, and Theo’s long fingers moved idly through them from his place on her other side, untangling small knots with the gentlest care.
Draco’s arm rested snugly around her waist, the weight protective but not constraining. His grey eyes were half-lidded, still carrying the heaviness of sleep, but they never strayed far from her face.
“She’s been out for hours,” Theo murmured, his voice low so as not to wake her. His fingers paused in their path through her hair, then resumed their slow work. “Don’t think she stirred once after we got into bed last night."
“That’s the point,” Draco replied quietly, his voice pitched in that same early-morning softness. “She’s still catching up. And now there’s talk of dragging her out tonight.”
Theo’s lips quirked faintly. “You mean Pansy and Astoria talk. They don't exactly take ‘no’ well.”
Draco’s brow furrowed, his hand absently rubbing along Hermione’s back through the thin cotton of her sleep shirt. “It’s not that I don’t want her to have fun. But it’s loud, it’s crowded-she’s just now started doing some things on her own. And… Merlin, she’ll try to act like she’s fine even if she’s not.”
Theo kept his tone light, though there was an undercurrent of reassurance. “You’re not wrong. But you also know she hates feeling like she’s being handled. We’ve both seen it-if you push too hard in the ‘stay home’ direction, she’ll dig in and do the opposite.”
Draco gave a quiet, reluctant hum. “I know.” His gaze flicked down at the faint movement against his chest as Hermione murmured something incoherent in her sleep. “She’ll insist she’s ready. And maybe she is. But if she isn’t…”
“Then we’ll be there,” Theo said simply, threading his fingers more deliberately through the curls by her temple. “Not hovering, not crowding-just there. If she stumbles, we catch her. If she gets tired, we make an excuse to leave. Easy.”
Draco’s mouth twitched into something halfway between a smirk and a sigh. “You make it sound like you’ve already decided for me.”
Theo’s smirk was unapologetic. “I have. You’re not actually against going-you’re against the unknown. That’s fair. But she’s already been through worse than one night in a pub or a dance floor. And if it’s a disaster, I’ll buy you a drink for every minute we’re there.”
“That’s supposed to sweeten the deal?” Draco asked, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes now.
“Absolutely.”
Before Draco could retort, Hermione stirred. She shifted slightly, a sleepy hum escaping her before she stretched her legs under the blankets-then drew in a sharp breath and winced.
Draco’s hand was instantly still on her back, but his tone was even. “What was that?”
“Mm?” Hermione blinked her eyes open slowly, still fighting the pull of sleep. “Just a stretch. Think I moved wrong. It’s fine.”
Theo’s fingers slid over her scalp one last time before falling back to the mattress. “That’s what you get for sleeping like a cat in a sunbeam. You’ve been curled up so tightly, I’m surprised you can still move at all.”
Hermione huffed softly, tilting her head enough to look up at Draco through mussed curls. “Morning.”
“Morning,” he replied, the faintest trace of concern still in his gaze, though it was tempered now by the warmth in his voice. “Sleep well?”
“Like a rock,” she murmured, shifting just enough to tuck herself closer between them again.
Theo’s grin was easy. “Good. Because if we’re going to survive tonight, you’re going to need every bit of that energy.”
Hermione’s brows lifted faintly, amusement touching her still-sleepy expression. “Survive tonight?”
Draco shot Theo a look, but it was too late-Theo only stretched and said, “I’ll fill you in over breakfast.”
Hermione groaned and burrowed against Draco’s chest again, muttering, “That sounds ominous.”
“It probably is,” Draco said dryly, though his arm tightened around her all the same.
A few minute later, Hermione's eyes finally opened, the sleep-fog clearing as she shifted just enough to see both of them. "You were both talking about me again, weren't you?"
Theo’s grin was instant. “No,” he said, far too quickly to be believable.
Draco’s expression was smoother, but the faint quirk at the corner of his mouth gave him away. “Only in the most flattering of terms.”
“Mm-hm.” Hermione pushed herself up onto one elbow, though she didn’t move far from Draco’s chest. “I know that look, Theo. And yours,” she added, narrowing her gaze at Draco, “is the one you get when you’ve decided to argue with me later.”
Theo made a low, amused hum, propping his head on his hand. “She’s onto you.”
“She always is,” Draco said, unfazed. His eyes traced her face with that same quiet attentiveness. “And you’re not wrong. But-”
“No ‘but,’” she cut in, her tone not sharp so much as certain. “We talked about this yesterday. I’m fine. I wouldn’t push myself if I wasn’t.”
Draco’s mouth opened, but Theo, clearly seeing where this was going, leaned in from her other side. “Sunshine, if you really want him on your side, you’re going to have to bribe him. Maybe promise to let him pick your dress for tonight.”
“That’s manipulative,” Draco said flatly, though his hand on Hermione’s hip betrayed no actual irritation.
Hermione tilted her head toward Theo, an impish glint in her eyes. “It’s effective.”
Theo chuckled, flopping back onto his pillow. “I’m just trying to save us all from a twenty-minute ‘pros and cons’ speech before breakfast.”
Draco gave him a cool look, but Hermione’s quiet laugh pulled some of the fight from him. She shifted again, this time stretching her legs with more care, and let her head fall back to rest against his shoulder. “You two are exhausting before I’ve even had tea.”
“We’re delightful before tea,” Theo corrected. “After tea is when the chaos starts.”
“Merlin help me,” Hermione murmured, though the smile that lingered at the corner of her mouth said she didn’t mind in the least.
Draco reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary. “Just… promise you’ll tell us if you get tired tonight. No pushing through just to prove a point.”
“I promise,” she said softly, and the sincerity in her voice seemed to finally settle something in him.
Theo clapped his hands once, breaking the moment. “Brilliant. Now, I say we get dressed before Pansy storms up here to start her ‘preparation rituals.’ You know she’ll insist on half the girls from our year being involved."
Hermione groaned again, though she was already letting Draco help her sit up. “If I hide under the blankets, will she leave me alone?”
“Not a chance,” Draco said dryly.
Theo grinned. “And you’d miss it if she did.”
Draco was fastening his cufflinks and Theo was still wrestling with his belt when a sharp, confident knock rattled the door. It wasn’t the kind of knock that asked permission.
“That’s Pansy,” Draco muttered without looking up.
Theo smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Before Draco could answer, the door swung open and Pansy swept in as though the room belonged to her. Behind her came Ginny, lugging a bottle of wine in each hand; Luna, serene as ever, carrying a basket of glass jars filled with pastel face masks; Astoria, clutching a tidy case of makeup; and the Patil twins, somehow balancing armfuls of crisps, biscuits, and chocolate frogs between them.
Hermione, still perched at the edge of the bed with damp curls drying against her shoulders, blinked at the sudden invasion. “Well. This is… a lot.”
“It’s essential,” Pansy corrected breezily, already scanning the room for the best spot to work. “Big night ahead, and you, my dear, need a proper transformation. No offence to the curls, of course.”
Theo leaned against the wall, eyeing the snacks. “Merlin’s sake, are we feeding the entire House?”
Parvati grinned. “If you’re lucky.”
Ginny plunked the wine onto Hermione’s desk with a satisfying thud. “Starting with the important stuff.”
Draco shot Hermione a steady look. “Take it easy on the drinking tonight.”
Theo nudged him with an elbow. “She’s not going to down the whole bottle.”
Pansy snorted, already unpacking a set of hairpins. “Shove off, Malfoy. If she wants two glasses, she’ll have two glasses. You can play mother hen later.”
“I’m right here,” Hermione pointed out. “And for the record, I can make my own decisions about wine consumption.”
“That’s the spirit,” Ginny said, dropping into the armchair.
Luna set her basket on the bed and pulled out a small jar of pale silver mask. “Your skin will look like starlight with this one,” she murmured.
Hermione tilted her head. “Starlight?”
“Yes. Just don’t let Draco wear it. It would make him too powerful.”
Theo barked a laugh. Draco arched a brow. “I’m already too powerful, Lovegood.”
“Exactly,” Luna said serenely.
Astoria had already spread an array of brushes and palettes across the desk. “Once your skin is prepped, I’ll do your makeup. Soft tones, maybe a bit of shimmer. Theo, you’re on Draco duty-keep him from pacing like a bodyguard.”
Theo gave her a mock salute. “On it.”
The Patils tore open bags of crisps, Padma handing Hermione a handful. “Energy for the big reveal later,” she said cheerfully.
Draco sat on the far side of the bed, watching the whirlwind with a resigned expression. “You’re going to be at this for hours, aren’t you?”
“Of course,” Pansy said, parting Hermione’s hair with brisk precision. “Perfection takes time. You could leave, but then who would micro-manage her?"
“He’d manage it from the next room,” Theo remarked.
Hermione laughed quietly, letting Pansy tilt her head for braiding. “Honestly, you two are worse than Harry sometimes.”
“No one’s worse than your brother,” Ginny said, uncorking a bottle with a soft pop and pouring into mismatched goblets. “You’re going to look amazing tonight, and you’re going to have fun. End of story.”
Pansy’s fingers worked quickly, weaving Hermione’s curls into a loose braid crown before letting the rest tumble down her back. “This is just prep,” she declared, tucking a pin into place. “The real magic happens after your skin’s perfect and your makeup’s done. And no, you don’t get to see the dress yet.”
Hermione blinked. “The dress?”
“Of course the dress,” Pansy said with a wicked grin. “Did you think I’d let you wear one of your-” she waved vaguely toward Hermione’s wardrobe “-sensible book-club numbers?”
Ginny chuckled and handed Hermione a goblet. “She’s bossy, but she’s right.”
Luna began smoothing the cool, mint-green mask over Hermione’s cheeks with gentle fingers, humming softly. “Close your eyes. This one smells like moonflower, but don’t eat it. Not very good in tea.”
Padma offered Hermione a chocolate frog while Parvati crunched into crisps. “Face mask first, sugar rush second,” Parvati said.
Astoria studied her palettes. “Champagne tones on the eyes, berry tint on the lips—”
“Not too bright,” Pansy interjected. “She’ll already stun the room.”
Hermione laughed. “You all act like we’re storming the Minstry.”
“We might as well be,” Ginny said, topping up her wine.
Theo eyed the scene from the doorway. “I thought we were just going out for drinks and dnacing? Is there a catwalk I should know about?"
“There will be if I say there is,” Pansy shot back.
Draco smirked faintly. “You’re treating this like a covert operation.”
“It is,” Pansy replied sweetly. “And you’re in the way. Both of you.”
“They’re not bothering anyone,” Hermione protested.
“They’re breathing in my workspace,” Pansy countered.
Theo grinned. “This is my favourite version of you, Pans.”
Draco’s gaze lingered on Hermione. “Remember what I said about taking it easy on the wine.”
“Yes, Draco,” she replied, smiling despite herself.
“Honestly,” Pansy muttered, “you’d think she was going into battle.”
Luna smoothed the last of the mask along Hermione’s jaw. “There. Like moonlight on still water.”
Astoria swished a makeup brush like a wand. “We let that set, then I start on the eyes. And this is the part where the two of you disappear.”
Theo held his hands up. “What, I can’t watch a smoky eye happen?”
“Yes,” Pansy and Astoria said in unison.
“Out,” Pansy added, shooing them with her comb.
Hermione frowned. “You don’t have to-”
"They do,” Pansy interrupted. “You’ll thank me when they don’t ruin the surprise.”
Theo pushed off the doorframe and bent to kiss Hermione’s temple. “Enjoy the pampering, love.”
Draco lingered, his hand brushing her shoulder. “Don’t let them-”
“Draco,” Hermione interrupted gently.
He kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you later.”
Theo caught his arm. “Before Pansy throws you out bodily.”
Pansy made a shooing gesture again.
With one last glance at Hermione, Draco let Theo steer him out, the door clicking shut on the hum of female voices and the scent of moonflower.
Hermione waited until the door clicked shut before arching a brow at Pansy. “Was that really necessary?”
“Absolutely,” Pansy said without hesitation, sliding the comb back into her bag like she’d just completed a masterstroke. “Draco’s lovely when he wants to be, but he’s also impossible to work around. You’d have been glancing up at him every three seconds instead of sitting still.”
Parvati grinned over the rim of her crisps bag. “She’s not wrong. You were already following him with your eyes like a niffler on a gold coin.”
Hermione gave her an incredulous look. “I was not.”
Padma popped a chocolate frog into her mouth and shrugged. “A little bit. But in a cute way. Like, ‘I love you but you’re in my light’ sort of way.”
Ginny snorted. “Oh, that’s exactly it.”
“I can hear you all,” Hermione said, trying to keep her voice dry but feeling her cheeks warm despite the cool mask Luna had smoothed over them.
“Good,” Pansy said crisply, moving around to adjust the braid she’d started. “Maybe it’ll sink in that we know exactly what we’re doing and you should just relax.”
Hermione exhaled through her nose. “It’s not that I don’t trust you-”
“You don’t,” Parvati interrupted cheerfully.
Padma nodded sagely. “She doesn’t.”
Hermione gave them both a look, but Luna spoke up before she could respond. “Trust isn’t really the point. It’s about surrendering to the experience.”
“That sounds suspicious,” Hermione said slowly.
“It is,” Ginny agreed, pouring herself a splash of wine. “Suspiciously fun.”
Pansy smirked, tugging gently on the braid until Hermione sat up straighter. “Exactly. And before you start, yes, I’m going to make you look like you stepped out of Witch Weekly, and no, you don’t get a say in the lipstick.”
Padma leaned forward like she was letting Hermione in on a secret. “This is how she wins, you know. She makes you think you’ve got a choice, but really-”
“-you never did,” Parvati finished with mock solemnity.
Hermione couldn’t help it - she laughed, shaking her head slightly. “Merlin help me.”
“You won’t need Merlin,” Pansy said, fastening the last pin in place. “You’ve got me.”
Ginny wandered over with a damp flannel in hand, tilting Hermione’s chin up with the ease of someone who had wrangled plenty of reluctant teammates through post-match clean-ups. “Hold still,” she ordered, gently wiping away the silver mask Luna had so carefully applied.
“There,” Ginny said a minute later, tossing the cloth into the laundry basket. “Fresh as a daisy.”
“Daisies are underrated,” Luna murmured from the bed, peering into one of her jars as though it held some cosmic truth.
Astoria moved in like a general taking command of a battlefield. “Right. Face me,” she instructed, already sweeping her brushes into one hand and flicking open a palette with the other. “We’re going soft but luminous. I want Draco speechless, Theo floored, and Harry forced to admit I was right.”
Ginny smirked. “Harry’s never going to admit you’re right about anything.”
“Then I’ll just have to make it impossible for him to say otherwise,” Astoria replied smoothly, dabbing a bit of foundation along Hermione’s cheekbone.
Pansy had moved behind Hermione again, tugging a curling wand from her bag with a gleam in her eye. “And I’m going to give you curls that look like they belong on a moving-picture advert.”
Hermione sighed, watching Astoria work. “You two are enjoying this far too much.”
“Obviously,” Pansy said, wrapping the first section of hair around the wand. “This is the highlight of my week. Maybe my month.”
Parvati perched cross-legged on the bed, crunching crisps between comments. “You’re basically the center of a romcom makeover montage right now.”
Padma nodded. “All we’re missing is music and a slow-motion reveal.”
Ginny snorted. “And Draco fainting in the corner.”
“That’ll be later,” Pansy said with a wicked grin. “After he sees the dress."
Hermione glanced between them. "About the dress... I know you said I-"
"No," Pansy cut in.
Hermione blinked. "Pansy-"
“You don’t get to see it until it’s on you,” Pansy said firmly, curling another section of hair. “Trust the process.”
“That sounds ominous,” Hermione muttered, earning an amused hum from Astoria as she blended eyeshadow.
“It’s supposed to,” Pansy said.
Luna, still serenely perched on the end of the bed, reached over to offer Hermione a chocolate frog. “Chocolate helps with anticipation,” she said.
“Chocolate helps with everything,” Parvati corrected.
Padma gestured with a biscuit. “Even bad hair days. Not that you’re having one. Obviously.”
Hermione gave a little laugh, glancing between Astoria’s concentrated expression and Pansy’s quick hands moving through her hair. “You’re all ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously good at this,” Pansy corrected, giving a satisfied little hum as another curl fell perfectly into place. “Now stop moving your head before I burn your ear.”
Chapter 23: The Calm After the Storm
Summary:
Hermione finally gets to let loose. Draco get's an unexpected letter.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Pansy finished curling the last few strands of Hermione’s hair, stepping back to admire her handiwork with a satisfied nod. Hermione’s hair now fell in perfect, glossy waves crowned with that loose braid-effortless but striking, like she’d just stepped out of a painting.
Astoria put down her brush and tilted Hermione’s chin up again. “Alright, lips next. Just a touch of berry tint, nothing too bold.” She swept a soft color over Hermione’s lips, and the effect was subtle, elegant-soft enough to let Hermione’s natural warmth shine through, but just enough to catch the light when she smiled.
Ginny, who had been chatting with Luna and the Patils while keeping an eye on the wine bottles, wandered back over and plucked a stray hair off Hermione’s shoulder. “Perfect,” she said, her grin wide. “Honestly, you could walk in like this and no one would believe you were about to dance until dawn.”
Hermione chuckled, feeling the light buzz of excitement start to build again. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Parvati bounced onto the bed beside her, already nibbling on a chocolate frog. “You’re definitely stealing the spotlight tonight, Hermione."
Padma nodded firmly, adjusting a handful of crisps in her lap. “Speaking of which, we should probably get started on ourselves.”
“Right you are,” Ginny said, standing and stretching out. “Pansy, you first?”
“After I finish putting Hermione to bed,” Pansy replied, packing away her curling wand and smoothing down any rebellious flyaways on Hermione’s crown braid. “Then it’s my turn for a little magic.”
Astoria started gathering her brushes and palettes into her makeup case. “I want something classic but with a bit of edge. Maybe smoky eyes and a deep red lip?”
“Oooh, yes,” Parvati said, already bouncing in place. “I want sparkles. Lots of sparkles.”
Padma rolled her eyes but smiled. “I’m going for something simple. Maybe a gloss and a light shimmer.”
Luna, who had been quietly examining a particularly glittery face mask, spoke up with a serene smile. “I think I’ll try the moonflower mask again. It’s calming, and I might add some star-shaped stickers around my eyes.”
Ginny laughed softly. “Only you could make face stickers look elegant.”
Pansy leaned in conspiratorially. “You know, the lot of you look stunning no matter what. But tonight, we’re not just looking good - we’re taking over.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Taking over?”
“Metaphorically,” Pansy said, tossing her bag over her shoulder. “Though if anyone tries to interrupt our fun, they’ll get more than a glare.”
The Patil twins exchanged a mischievous glance. “And maybe a strategic chocolate frog,” Padma added with a wink.
With a collective burst of energy, the group moved into a flurry of activity. Ginny uncorked the other bottle of wine, pouring out a few generous glasses, while Astoria sat before a mirror, carefully applying her makeup. Pansy flipped her wand open to style her own hair with swift, precise movements, her usual sharp expression softening as she allowed herself to enjoy the moment.
Parvati and Padma teamed up, trying different face masks and giggling as the cool, scented gels transformed their skin. Luna floated between them, offering calm commentary and handing out star-shaped stickers for their cheeks and temples.
Hermione watched for a moment, a warm glow spreading through her chest. Despite the chaos and the bustle, there was something deeply comforting in this: friendship, laughter, and the shared excitement of the night ahead.
Pansy caught Hermione’s eye in the mirror. “Ready for your grand entrance yet?”
Hermione smiled. “Almost. But I think I’m going to need a little more of whatever Ginny’s pouring.”
Ginny raised her goblet in a toast. “To a night we won’t forget.”
And with that, the room settled into a happy, vibrant hum - the perfect calm before the storm.
At the bottom of the grand staircase, Draco, Theo, Neville, Blaise, Harry, and Ron were already gathered, leaning casually against the stone walls or shifting their weight from one foot to the other. The tension from earlier had eased, replaced by the easy camaraderie of a group used to teasing as much as supporting one another.
Draco crossed his arms, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “I swear, if this lot takes any longer, I’m claiming I never agreed to this celebration.”
Theo chuckled, nudging Neville. “Don’t look at me. I’m still waiting for Pansy to stop bossing everyone around.”
Neville rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “You’d probably enjoy it if she was bossing you.”
Blaise raised an eyebrow. “You wish. She’s scary.”
Ron snorted, running a hand through his messy hair. “And here I thought the scary one was going to be Harry if anyone messed up tonight.”
Harry shot Ron a mock glare, but his eyes twinkled with humor. “Mess with my sister, and you’ll regret it. But tonight, try not to get us all kicked out of the castle, yeah?”
Draco smirked. “Easy for you to say, Potter. You’ve got the big brother threat factor. I get labeled the overbearing boyfriend.”
Theo laughed. “Overbearing and charming. Dangerous combo.”
Neville shook his head with a smile. “I’m just here to make sure no one trips over their own feet after too much wine.”
Blaise gave a sly grin. “Leave that to me. I’ll make sure the dance floor stays interesting.”
At that moment, heels on stone sounded at the top of the stairs, and the sound drew every eye upward.
Hermione appeared first, framed by the golden candlelight spilling from the corridor behind her. Her gown was a deep, midnight blue silk that caught the light with every movement, the fabric flowing like water as it skimmed her frame. The neckline swept just off her shoulders, revealing the elegant line of her collarbones, while the bodice was fitted enough to hint at her curves without losing its tasteful modesty. Tiny silver charms were threaded through the braid crown in her hair, catching the glow and scattering it like constellations. Her eyes shimmered-not from makeup alone, but from the spark of anticipation in them.
Draco’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before curling into something softer, sharper-possessive without being territorial. His gaze swept over her once, slow enough that Theo elbowed him.
“Merlin,” Theo muttered under his breath, lips twitching in a grin, “you’re going to make Potter hex you if you keep looking at her like that.”
Draco didn’t look away. “I’ll take my chances.”
Theo’s own grin widened as Hermione reached the halfway point on the stairs. “You’re trouble, Potter,” he called up to her, voice carrying easily in the vaulted space. “Absolute trouble, walking around looking like that.”
Hermione flushed, the corners of her mouth tilting upward as she descended the last steps. Pansy, Ginny, Luna, Astoria, Parvati, and Padma followed close behind, each glowing in their own way, but even they seemed content to let Hermione have the moment.
Harry’s expression softened as he looked at her, then gave a small nod. “Alright, everyone. Tonight’s about celebrating her. Let’s keep the fun going-and the trouble minimal.”
Ron grinned. “No promises there.”
Draco folded his arms again, amusement flickering in his eyes though it didn’t quite hide the pride. “Sounds about right.”
Theo stepped forward, offering his arm with a playful bow. “Ready to show us all how it’s done?”
Hermione smiled, slipping her hand into his. “After all that fuss, you better believe it.”
With laughter and easy chatter, the group headed toward the doors, ready to celebrate together.
The night air was crisp as the group spilled out of the castle, laughter and chatter echoing against the stone walls. Their footsteps crunched along the gravel path, the lanterns along the courtyard casting golden light over dresses, suits, and half-buttoned coats. The energy was high-anticipation humming in the air like static.
Draco, walking on Hermione’s right, glanced down at her with a faint smirk. “Alright, sweetheart, you’ve been keeping us all in suspense. Where exactly are we apparating to? Somewhere wizarding, or have you gone completely rogue and picked a Muggle spot?”
Hermione’s lips curved into a mischievous smile. “Ministry of Sound.”
Blaise nearly tripped over his own feet. “The club in Muggle London?” His voice was equal parts surprise and intrigue.
Hermione nodded. “Renowned for house and electronic dance music. I used to go there a lot right after the war. Loud, crowded, and absolutely impossible to think about anything except the music.”
Theo grinned. “So… you’re telling me we’re in for a night of bass so heavy it shakes our ribs? I’m sold.”
Ginny’s eyes lit up. “I’ve heard about that place! My brother Charlie swears it’s the only Muggle club he’s ever felt at home in.”
Ron raised an eyebrow. “Wait-Charlie’s been? How do I not know this?”
“Because you were too busy being boring,” Ginny shot back with a grin.
Neville chuckled under his breath. “Do they at least serve drinks we’d recognize? Or am I going to have to learn what a… vodka tonic is?”
“Oh, you’ll recognize the important ones,” Hermione assured him. “And if you don’t, I’ll order for you.”
Harry frowned slightly but with a teasing glint in his eyes. “You went there a lot after the war? Without telling me?”
Hermione shrugged. “You were off busy doing your own thing. I needed… something loud. Something alive. Somewhere to remember what fun felt like.”
That quiet honesty softened the group for a moment. Draco caught her eye, his expression somewhere between fond and protective. “Then I suppose it’s only fair I see this place you rate so highly. But don’t think for a second I’m letting you disappear into the crowd without me.”
Theo nudged him. “Or me. You’re not getting the first dance.”
Pansy, walking ahead with Astoria, threw a glance over her shoulder. “Please. You two couldn’t keep up with her in a crowd like that.”
Parvati and Padma exchanged identical grins. “Want to bet?” Parvati teased.
By the time they reached the apparition point just beyond the gates, the laughter had come back full force. Wands were drawn, coats adjusted, and the sharp snap of magic hung in the cool night as they prepared to travel.
Hermione took one last look at the castle behind them, then tightened her grip on Theo’s arm. “Alright then. Let’s go dance until we can’t feel our feet.”
With a chorus of cracks, the group vanished into the night, London-bound.
The night air in London hit them all at once-cool, damp, and buzzing with city energy. They had apparated into a small alley just around the corner from the club, the muffled thump of bass already vibrating through the pavement beneath their feet.
“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered, wide-eyed as a stream of people hurried past toward a bright-lit building up ahead. “It’s loud and we’re not even inside yet.”
“That’s the point,” Hermione said with a knowing smile, tugging her coat a little tighter. “You feel the music before you hear it properly.”
The street ahead was alive-pulsing lights spilling from open doors, a line of people in glittering outfits stretching around the block. The steady beat grew sharper with each step, spilling out into the night in waves.
Theo let out a low whistle. “This place… doesn’t mess around.”
Draco eyed the queue, his gaze sweeping over the neon sign glowing above the entrance. “This is where you used to spend your nights?” His voice carried a mix of disbelief and curiosity.
Hermione grinned, a hint of nostalgia in her eyes. “This is where I remembered how to breathe after the war.”
Blaise tilted his head, studying the line. “What’s the door policy? Dress code? Because I’ve got no intention of being turned away after looking this good.”
Padma smirked. “You’ll be fine. You look like you own the place.”
Ginny bounced slightly on her toes, the beat pulling at her. “Come on, can we just get in already? I want to see if it lives up to Hermione’s hype.”
Harry gave Ginny a look. “You’re sticking with me in there. No disappearing into some mosh pit.”
“Noted, Overbearing Fiancee,” Ginny replied, rolling her eyes but grinning all the same.
Neville was taking it all in, looking more fascinated than nervous. “Feels like the whole street is part of the party.”
“It is,” Hermione said simply, her tone fond. “The music’s inside, but the atmosphere… it starts here.”
As they joined the line, Theo leaned toward Draco, his voice just loud enough for him to hear over the bass. “Better pace yourself, Malfoy. If this is what it’s like outside, inside’s going to knock you sideways.”
Draco smirked faintly, his arm brushing against Hermione’s. “Good. I’d hate for her to think I couldn’t keep up.”
Hermione just laughed, the sound almost blending with the music as the line crept forward, closer to the thundering heartbeat of the club.
Once they reached the front of the line, the bouncer barley glanced twice at them-Hermione clearly knew what she was doing here. One nod, a quick exchange at the door, and they were waved past the velvet rope. The bass hit full force the moment they stepped inside-deep, rolling, and wrapped in shimmering waves of synth. Lights strobed in sync with the beat, painting the packed dance floor in flashes of electric blue, gold, and crimson.
Draco’s brow arched as he took it all in. “Subtle,” he remarked dryly, though the corner of his mouth curved upward.
Theo grinned, clearly at home in the chaos. “Subtlety’s overrated.”
Hermione threaded her way through the crowd with practiced ease, leading them to a booth tucked against the far wall. From there, they had a perfect view of the DJ booth-a pulsing hive of movement and light-and enough space to breathe while still feeling the music in their bones.
“Right,” Hermione said, leaning over the table so they could all hear her. “What’s everyone drinking?”
“Whatever you’re having,” Blaise replied without hesitation, his gaze already scanning the crowd.
Pansy was less patient. “Forget that-shots first. We need to christen the night properly.”
Hermione’s lips quirked. “Shots before dancing? Bold choice.”
“Necessary choice,” Pansy corrected. “You don’t take a first step into a place like this with something mild. We’re going in hot.”
Ginny grinned. “I second that.”
“Third,” Theo added, looking far too pleased with himself.
“Fourth,” Parvati chimed in, elbowing her sister.
Padma smirked. “Fifth. Let’s make it unanimous before anyone tries to order anything terriable.”
Hermione rolled her eyes but waved down a passing server. “Fine. Lemon Drops for the table. Twelve of them.”
Draco leaned closer, speaking low enough that only she could hear. “You’re aware you’re enabling chaos?”
“That’s the point,” she replied, smiling like she meant it.
The drinks arrived quickly-small glasses filled with bright golden liquid, sugar dusting the rims. The server set them down in neat rows, the scent of lemon cutting through the haze of music and perfume.
“Alright,” Pansy said, passing them around like a drill sergeant handing out orders. “One for everyone. No excuses.”
Neville sniffed his glass suspiciously. “This is just… sugar and alcohol?”
“Exactly,” Parvati said cheerfully.
Harry sighed but took his glass anyway. “If I wake up regretting this, I’m blaming all of you.”
Padma raised hers with a grin. “Live dangerously, Potter.”
“Cheers,” Hermione said, raising hers, the lights catching on the sugar rim.
They clinked glasses-loud, messy, overlapping-and tossed them back in near unison. The sweet-tart burn hit instantly, making Ginny laugh, Ron cough, and Theo slap the table with a satisfied “That’s the stuff.”
Blaise licked the sugar from his lip with a satisfied hum. “Round two?”
Hermione grinned, already signalling for a second round.
Hermione was caught between Pansy and Ginny, laughing as the three of them moved in sync with the pounding rhythm. Pansy’s hands rested firmly on Hermione’s hips, guiding her in time with the music, while Ginny’s arms draped over her shoulders, fingers curling lightly at her sides. The heat, the press of bodies, the pulse of the bass-it all folded into something heady.
From their vantage point at the edge of the crowd, Draco and Theo stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Harry and Neville, drinks in hand, watching.
Draco’s jaw worked slightly, though his tone was dry. “Is this… normal?”
“Define normal,” Theo replied, his eyes not leaving Hermione.
Harry made a sound that might have been a groan. “I’m engaged to one of them,” he said, nodding toward Ginny, “and I still feel like I should be dragging all three of them off the floor.”
Theo smirked. “You can try, but I think you’d lose a hand.”
“Or worse,” Draco added, his gaze sharpening when Hermione laughed at something Pansy said, her curls bouncing under the strobe lights. “We’re letting her have her fun.”
Harry huffed. “Fun is one thing. That’s Ginny’s ‘I’m going to cause trouble’ face.”
Neville chuckled beside them, swirling the last of his drink. “I’d be more worried about Pansy’s face. That’s the look she gets right before she talks someone into bad decisions.”
Theo’s mouth twitched. “She’s your girlfriend, Longbottom-shouldn’t you be over there rescuing her?”
Neville grinned. “She’s the one who usually rescues me. Besides, she looks happy-and Hermione looks like she might actually dance until sunrise.”
Out on the floor, Blaise had Luna spinning in slow, graceful arcs that somehow matched the pounding beat. She moved like she was hearing a completely different song, and Blaise looked more than happy to follow her lead.
Nearby, Parvati and Padma twirled around each other, laughing when one nearly bumped into a stranger.
Daphne and Astoria had Ron trapped between them, the Weasley brother clearly unsure if he was enjoying himself or preparing for an ambush.
Theo nodded toward the cluster of girls. “We should probably check on them eventually.”
Draco’s mouth curved faintly. “Eventually.”
Harry sighed again, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Fine. But if Ginny decides shots on the dance floor are a good idea, one of you is stopping her.”
“Not it,” Neville said immediately.
“Also not it,” Theo chimed in.
Draco took a sip of his drink, eyes still locked on Hermione. “Looks like you’re volunteering, Potter.”
Harry groaned, but didn’t move-just kept watching as the beat dropped and the girls threw their heads back in laughter, lost in the music.
When the song shifted into something heavier, the bass thudding like a heartbeat, Theo tipped back the rest of his drink and set the glass down with a decisive thud.
“Right. I’m done watching.”
Draco gave him a sidelong glance. “Going to risk your life, Nott?”
Theo smirked. “It’s not risk-it’s strategy.” He nodded toward the girls. “You’re coming with me.”
Draco didn’t bother pretending to hesitate. “Fine. Longbottom?”
Neville blinked. “What, you think I’m letting Pansy stay out there with both of them? I’ve seen that kind of chaos before. I’m in.”
Harry lifted his glass. “Good luck, gentlemen. If Ginny elbows one of you in the ribs, I’m not responsible.”
The three of them wove their way through the crowd, slipping between dancers until they reached the pulsing knot of movement where Hermione was still flanked by Pansy and Ginny.
Theo slid in behind Hermione like it was the most natural thing in the world, his hands finding her waist with practiced ease. She half-turned, her smile bright even in the flashing lights. “Took you long enough.”
Draco moved to her other side, brushing a strand of hair back from her face before resting a hand on her hip. “We were enjoying the view.”
Pansy arched a brow at Neville, who stepped in smoothly and caught her by the waist. “Decided you might need me?” she teased.
“More like decided I might need you,” Neville said with a grin.
Ginny leaned toward Harry over Hermione’s shoulder, calling, “You’re missing out, Potter!”
Harry shook his head but stayed where he was, amusement flickering over his face as Ginny spun away and rejoined the tight knot of dancers.
Around them, the floor had become a swirl of movement-Blaise still guiding Luna in slow, dreamlike turns; the Patil twins matching each other’s steps perfectly; Daphne and Astoria now pulling Ron into something that looked suspiciously like choreography.
Theo leaned down so his mouth was near Hermione’s ear. “Pansy had her hands on you earlier.”
Hermione grinned without missing a beat. “She dances well.”
Draco’s hand tightened slightly on her hip, though his smirk was pure challenge. “And I don’t?”
“Show me,” she dared.
It was as if the three of them moved on some unspoken rhythm-Theo’s hands steady at her waist, Draco’s guiding her with small, precise pressure, Hermione laughing between them as the beat rolled through the floor.
From the edge of the floor, Harry called out, “I said good luck-didn’t say you’d win!” but his voice was swallowed by the music as Ginny caught his arm and dragged him in after all.
The song bled into another without pause, but Hermione barely had time to catch her breath before Pansy’s fingers curled around her wrist.
“Come on,” Pansy called over the music, her dark eyes sparkling. “We’re refuelling.”
Ginny was already on Hermione’s other side, looping her arm through hers. “Shots,” she confirmed with a wicked grin.
Hermione laughed, letting herself be tugged off the floor. The heat of the crowd gave way to the cooler air at the edge, and she caught a glimpse over her shoulder-Draco, Theo, Harry, and Neville trailing behind like a mismatched honour guard, weaving between dancers without losing sight of them.
The three of them broke free of the music’s crush and made for their booth. The Patil sisters were already there, heads bent together in twin mischief, their identical smiles turning toward Hermione as soon as they saw her.
Daphne and Astoria were draped comfortably in the booth’s corner, Ron wedged between them with the slightly dazed look of a man who’d been dancing against his better judgement. He raised his glass in greeting. “We saved you a spot.”
“Good,” Pansy said, sweeping in and sliding onto the bench without letting go of Hermione’s arm. “We’ve got work to do.”
Theo chuckled as he and the others caught up, Draco taking the seat beside Hermione, Harry and Neville finding space opposite. “This doesn’t feel like work,” Theo said.
“That’s because you’re doing it wrong,” Parvati teased.
Hermione flagged down the server with a quick, efficient motion. “Lemon Drops again,” she said, her tone making it clear there was no room for debate. “Another twelve.”
Draco leaned back, watching her with a faint smirk. “Enabling chaos again.”
“That’s the point,” she reminded him, the same way she had earlier.
The shots arrived in gleaming rows, sugar rims catching the light. Ginny wasted no time passing them out.
“Alright,” Pansy said, already lifting hers, “round two. No excuses, no complaints.”
Ron eyed his glass like it might bite him. “How many of these are we doing?”
“As many as it takes,” Astoria said sweetly, clinking her glass against his before downing hers in one smooth motion.
Neville grinned at Pansy as they both tossed theirs back. Harry muttered something about regretting this in the morning but didn’t hesitate.
Hermione tipped hers up, the sweet-tart burn curling warm in her chest, and felt Draco’s hand settle at her back as she set the glass down.
The empty shot glasses barely had time to hit the table before Hermione was waving the server back again.
“Right,” she said, propping her chin on her hand as she scanned the table. “We can’t survive on lemon and sugar alone. Proper drinks, everyone. Now’s your chance to speak up.”
“You’re making the call?” Pansy arched a brow, leaning lazily into Neville’s side.
“I’m making the call,” Hermione confirmed with a grin that was already starting to edge toward tipsy warmth.
She rattled off the order like she’d been rehearsing it: “One Amaretto Sour for me… Draco will have a gin and tonic, extra lime. Theo, you’re getting a dark rum and ginger beer-trust me. Harry, pint of whatever’s on draught. Neville, you’re having a whisky ginger. Ron…” She tilted her head at him.
“Uh… butterbeer?” he offered hopefully.
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Make it a spiked one.”
Hermione smirked and kept going. “Pansy, vodka cranberry. Ginny, long island ice tea-don’t pretend you don’t want it. Blaise, Old Fashioned. Luna-”
“Surprise me,” Luna said serenely from where she’d appeared with Blaise in tow, her hair catching the shifting lights.
“…surprise for Luna,” Hermione finished, handing the list to the server like a queen issuing royal decrees. She glanced further down the table. “Parvati, mango daiquiri. Padma, elderflower spritz. Daphne-”
“Gin fizz,” Daphne said promptly.
“Astoria?”
“French 75,” she said with a grin that suggested she knew exactly what she was asking for.
Draco’s brows lifted. “Efficient.”
“She’s a woman on a mission,” Theo murmured, amusement curling his mouth.
When the drinks arrived, the table quickly turned into a small sea of glass and colour-bright citrus in Parvati’s hand, pale fizz for Daphne, something sparkling and dangerous in front of Astoria. Hermione lifted her Amaretto Sour, inhaling the sweet almond-and-citrus scent before taking a sip. Her eyes went soft, her shoulders loosening as the warmth slid through her.
“Good?” Draco asked, his gaze sharp but fond.
“Perfect,” she said, maybe a little too brightly.
By the time she was halfway through it, her laughter was spilling more freely, her curls falling into her face as she leaned across to tell some half-remembered story to Ginny and Pansy. Blaise, already halfway through his Old Fashioned, was teasing Luna about her mystery drink, while Daphne and Astoria were goading Ron into trying theirs-his expression somewhere between impressed and terrified. The Patil twins had pressed their heads together, giggling over some joke Hermione had thrown their way.
Theo leaned in, catching Hermione’s eye with a slow smile. “Careful, sunshine. You’re starting to look a little too pleased with yourself.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him playfully. “I am perfectly fine.”
“Of course you are,” Draco said dryly, but his hand brushed her knee under the table. “Sweetheart.”
The endearment made her smile-soft this time, almost shy-before she took another sip, ignoring Theo’s knowing smirk and Draco’s faintly smug expression. The noise of the club swirled around them, but at that moment, the booth felt like its own little world.
The laughter around the table hadn’t even begun to die down when Pansy straightened in her seat, eyes glittering with mischief.
“Right,” she announced, snapping her fingers for the server. “Another round of shots. Something stronger than lemon drops this time.”
Draco groaned low in his throat. “Merlin, Pansy, we’ve barely recovered from the last round.”
“Do we really think that’s a good idea?” Harry asked, half-serious, half-hopeful she might be bluffing.
Theo didn’t even hesitate. “Absolutely. Hermione’s on fire tonight-let’s not ruin the streak.” He tipped his glass toward her in salute, earning a grin she didn’t bother to hide.
Blaise chuckled darkly from across the table. “You two are the harbingers of chaos. If we all wake up regretting this, I’m blaming both of you.”
“That’s fair,” Theo said mildly, leaning back in his seat.
The shots arrived quickly-clear, bright liquid in narrow glasses that looked far too innocent for the damage they were likely to do.
Hermione picked hers up with a little flourish. “To questionable decisions and excellent company.”
They clinked glasses, the sharp sound carrying over the bass-heavy music, and downed them in one go.
Ginny set hers down with a satisfied sigh. “Right. That’s it. Time for more dancing.”
“I second that,” Parvati said, already sliding out of the booth.
“Thirded,” Daphne chimed in, tugging at Astoria’s hand.
Within seconds, the rest of the girls were on their feet, grabbing for wrists, hands, and shirt sleeves until the men had no choice but to follow. Blaise tried for dignity and failed when Luna simply looped her arm through his and towed him toward the dance floor.
Draco shot Hermione a look that said this was her fault entirely, but she only smiled sweetly, curling her fingers around his and Theo’s as they were dragged into the pulsing crowd.
The thrum of bass wrapped around them the moment they stepped back onto the dance floor, lights strobing in quick bursts of gold and violet. Hermione’s pulse matched the rhythm as she found herself caught between Draco and Theo, each of them closing in without hesitation.
Theo’s hands slid low on her hips, pulling her back against him, his breath warm at her ear. “You realise,” he murmured over the music, “you’re completely ruining our ability to pretend we’re behaving.”
“Pretend harder,” she tossed back with a grin, pressing into him just enough to make Draco’s eyes narrow in challenge.
Not to be outdone, Draco moved in front of her, one hand catching hers and the other settling on her waist as he matched her movements, slow and deliberate. The heat between the three of them was less about the crowd and more about the way every beat seemed to drag them closer.
A few feet away, Pansy was unapologetically grinding on Neville, who looked both alarmed and helplessly fascinated, his hands hovering like he wasn’t sure where they were allowed to go.
Luna, utterly in her own world, was swaying with Blaise, who had a lazy, appreciative smirk on his face as she spun and drifted like the beat belonged to her alone.
Ginny had claimed Harry in a way that left no doubt they were engaged-arms looped tight around his neck, her hair brushing his cheek as she moved against him, earning a smile he tried (and failed) to hide.
Astoria and Daphne had Ron sandwiched between them, each moving in perfect sync, laughing whenever his ears turned another shade of red.
The Patil twins, meanwhile, had somehow acquired a pair of unsuspecting Muggle men, both tall, both clearly entranced as Parvati and Padma moved with fluid precision that drew plenty of glances from the surrounding crowd.
Hermione tipped her head back, catching Theo’s grin and Draco’s intent gaze in the same glance, and for a moment, the rest of the club melted away into just the three of them, heat and music threading through every breath.
About an hour later, the music still pulsed through the walls, but the energy on the dance floor had softened into something more wobbly and carefree. The girls’ laughter was louder now, their steps less precise-Ginny’s hair was tousled, Pansy kept bumping into Neville with a mischievous grin, and Hermione’s curls fell over her eyes as she leaned heavily on Draco and Theo for balance. Astoria and Daphne clung onto Ron’s arms, giggling as he tried to keep pace with their playful spins. Nearby, Parvati and Padma, flushed and laughing, supported each other as they stumbled slightly in their matching dresses. Luna leaned on Blaise’s shoulder, her serene smile never fading even as they swayed unsteadily together.
Draco glanced at his watch, then caught Harry and Neville’s eyes. “It’s nearly three in the morning. I think it’s time we called it.”
Harry groaned but nodded. “Agreed. Ginny’s starting to look like she might topple over any second.”
Theo chuckled, brushing a loose strand of hair from Hermione’s face as she swayed between them. “She’ll protest, but she’s done. We all are.”
Sure enough, Pansy pouted dramatically, slurring, “One more song. Please.”
Ginny chimed in with a hiccuped, “Just one more dance.”
Hermione tried to argue too, but her words tangled and softened into a sleepy smile.
Ron looked between Astoria and Daphne, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’ll keep going all night if I let them.”
Neville grinned at Pansy. “You heard the guys. Time to go.”
Parvati and Padma exchanged wide-eyed looks but nodded reluctantly, their arms finding support from each other.
Luna sighed softly but gave Blaise a small nod, allowing him to help her steady as they prepared to leave.
With some good-natured groaning and a few exaggerated sighs, the group let themselves be shepherded toward the exit, arms linked and laughter trailing behind them as the club’s wild night wound down.
Hermione’s heels clicked unevenly as she tried to keep pace, the wobble in her step growing more pronounced with every movement. Her laughter bubbled up again, breathless and light, but it was clear her balance was betraying her. Just as she teetered dangerously to one side, Draco was there-smooth and steady-sweeping her effortlessly into his arms.
“Got you, sweetheart,” he murmured against her temple, his voice low and sure.
She melted into him with a sleepy smile, her arms winding around his neck as he carried her forward. “You’re spoiling me,” she whispered, voice thick with warmth.
Draco chuckled softly. “Only the best for you.” His hand pressed lightly to her back, steadying her as they moved.
Around them, the others were similarly clustered into pairs and trios, each man steadying their own spirited partner. Theo walked with the Patil twins, his easy banter keeping their laughter flowing even as they leaned on him.
“Careful, Parvati,” Theo teased, steadying her when she nearly stumbled. “Don’t make me carry you next.”
“Please don’t, I’m almost as heavy as Hermione,” Parvati slurred, giggling as Padma snorted beside her.
Blaise had Luna nestled close, one arm firm around her waist, guiding her steps with quiet patience.
“Luna, you’re holding onto me tighter than a Blast-Ended Skrewt,” Blaise murmured.
Luna smiled serenely. “I suppose I just don’t want the night to end yet.”
Harry was supporting Ginny, their fingers intertwined as she nuzzled into his shoulder.
“You’re doing better than I am,” Harry joked softly, his breath warm against her ear.
Ginny hiccupped. “Barely, Potter. Barely.”
Neville matched steps with Pansy, her usual smirk softened into a drowsy grin.
“Don’t think I’m going easy on you just because you’re tipsy,” Pansy teased, though her voice was low and relaxed.
Neville grinned back. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Ron had both Astoria and Daphne on either side, his arms around their waists as they stumbled together.
“You two better keep up,” Ron warned jokingly, though his eyes were gentle.
Astoria laughed. “You worry too much, Ron.”
Daphne hiccupped in agreement, swaying slightly.
“Almost there,” Theo called out over the din, his voice warm as he glanced back to make sure no one was left behind.
Hermione lifted her head slightly, her cheek resting against Draco’s chest. “Thank you,” she murmured quietly, reaching a hand up to tuck a loose curl behind her ear.
Draco pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Always.”
As they weaved through the thinning crowd on the pavement, laughter and gentle teasing floated between them, the night wild energy softened into tender care.
“Remember when we thought we’d be out by midnight?” Ginny chuckled, leaning closer to Harry.
“And now look at us,” Harry replied with a tired smile.
“Could be worse,” Blaise said, nodding toward Luna, who was humming a soft tune.
Neville glanced down at Pansy. “Think you can make it back to the school without tripping over your own feet?”
Pansy smirked. “Challenge accepted.”
Finally, the apparition point came into view-an empty alleyway bathed in the pale glow of street lamps. The group slowed, forming a loose cluster as they prepared.
Draco set Hermione gently on her feet, still steadying her with a hand on her lower back.
“You good to stand on your own?” he asked, eyes searching hers.
She nodded, though a slight sway betrayed her.
Theo stepped forward, pulling out his wand. “Ready when you are.”
Hermione glanced around at their friends-smiling, tired, but together. She smiled back, feeling the warmth of the night linger in her chest.
“Let’s go home.”
Sunday morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a pale glow over the room. Hermione stirred slowly, the weight of a heavy headache pressing behind her eyes like a storm about to break. Her limbs felt leaden, her mouth dry and unpleasantly metallic. She shifted beneath the loose, long-sleeved t-shirt she’d grabbed in the dark before collapsing into bed, the fabric cool against her skin.
On either side of her, Draco and Theo lay with their eyes closed, but they were clearly awake. Hermione blinked against the brightness, groaning softly as she tried to move, only to freeze when a warm, feather-light kiss trailed along the sensitive skin at the curve of her neck.
“Morning, sunshine,” Theo murmured, his voice thick with sleep but full of tenderness. His lips followed the kiss with slow, gentle nips as his hand came up to stroke her hair.
Before Hermione could respond, Draco’s hand threaded through the soft curls at the nape of her neck, his fingers brushing soothingly. “How’s my princess feeling?” he asked in a low, amused tone.
Hermione let out a shaky breath, her hand rising to rub her temples. “Like I’ve been hit by a blasted cannonball,” she confessed, voice rough.
Theo chuckled softly against her skin. “That sounds about right. You really went all out last night.”
Draco shifted closer, his voice a soft rumble. “I think you might have earned a day in bed… or three.”
Hermione’s lips twitched into a weak smile, despite the pounding in her head. “Do I look like I’m built for lounging?”
“Not when you’re glowing like this,” Theo teased, fingers weaving through her curls as he kissed her temple. “You’re radiant, even if you feel like death warmed over.”
“Theo, don’t encourage her,” Draco said, though his tone was fond. “She’ll have us running errands by noon.”
Hermione sighed, the warmth of their touches soothing the aches inside her. “I might survive if you both stop fussing and just let me close my eyes for a minute longer.”
Theo pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll be here when you wake up. No rush.”
Draco smiled softly, voice dropping to a whisper. “Take your time, princess. We’ve got all day.”
Hermione nestled deeper between them, letting the comfort of their presence ease the fog in her mind. “Thank you,” she murmured, voice thick but sincere.
“Always,” they said together, and for a few blissful moments, the only sound in the room was the steady cadence of love and quiet affection wrapping around her like a warm cloak.
As Hermione’s breathing evened out, her eyelids fluttering closed once more, Draco shifted slightly to avoid disturbing her. He turned his gaze toward Theo, who was watching Hermione with a soft, contemplative smile.
Draco cleared his throat quietly. “She’s not used to letting go like this. Always tried so hard to be perfect, to keep everything together.”
Theo nodded, brushing a stray curl off Hermione’s forehead. “Yeah. She’s always been the one holding herself to impossible standards. But ever since we’ve been with her… she’s started letting her guard down. Letting us see who she really is beneath all that.”
Draco smirked softly. “It’s a side of her I’ve never seen before. Fierce and vulnerable all at once.”
Theo chuckled. “Sunshine and storm, yeah. But this-this softer, quieter Hermione-it makes you want to protect her more than ever.”
Draco’s hand found Hermione’s again, fingers curling gently around hers. “I’ve never known anyone quite like her. Brilliant, stubborn, kind… and now, somehow, brave enough to be real with us.”
Theo sighed, eyes never leaving Hermione’s peaceful face. “That’s what makes her special. She’s been pretending for so long, but she trusts us enough to just be herself.”
Draco’s gaze softened. “We owe her more than just our loyalty. For letting us in, for being Hermione-flaws and all.”
Theo smiled, a quiet warmth in his voice. “We’ll take care of her. Together.”
Draco nodded firmly. “Together. Always.”
For a moment, the two men simply sat there, watching over the woman who had captured both their hearts so completely, the quiet promise hanging in the air between them as steady and sure as the morning light.
The soft stillness was broken by a sharp tap-tap-tap against the window. Draco’s brows knit, and he glanced toward the sound, careful not to jostle Hermione as she dozed between them.
Theo followed his gaze, frowning. “Who in Merlin’s name is sending post this early on a Sunday?”
The tapping came again, more insistent this time, accompanied by the faint rustle of wings. Draco shifted slightly, untangling his arm from Hermione and moving toward the window. The moment he pulled back the curtain, a cold prickle ran down his spine.
Perched on the sill was an Azkaban owl-its grey feathers sleek but lifeless-looking, its eyes an unnervingly pale yellow. The heavy, dark metal band around its leg bore the Ministry crest.
Theo’s voice dropped low. “That’s not the kind of bird you want at your window.”
“No,” Draco said quietly, unlatching the window. The owl stepped inside with a stiff, mechanical grace, the chill of its presence seeming to suck warmth from the room. It extended one leg toward Draco, revealing a tightly rolled piece of parchment sealed with the Malfoy crest.
Theo’s jaw tightened. “Lucius.”
Draco didn’t answer right away. He took the letter, and the owl immediately turned and flew off without waiting for acknowledgment. His fingers lingered over the wax seal for a moment before breaking it open. The familiar, elegant script sprawled across the page was precise, cold, and unmistakably his father’s.
Draco read in silence at first, his jaw gradually tightening.
Theo leaned forward. “Well?”
Draco exhaled slowly through his nose, folding the letter once before speaking. “He’s… requesting-no, demanding-a visit. Says it’s imperative I come to Azkaban to ‘discuss family matters.’”
Theo’s expression darkened. “Imperative, huh? That’s never a good sign coming from him. What’s the tone-angry, manipulative, or both?”
“Both.” Draco tossed the letter onto the desk beside the bed. “He says I’ve been… negligent. That I’m ignoring his advice, and that my choices-” Draco’s eyes flicked toward Hermione, still sleeping peacefully “-are tarnishing the Malfoy legacy.”
Draco didn’t deny it. He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping at the foot of the bed. “He’ll expect me to go. He’ll want control. He always wants control.”
Theo leaned back against the headboard, watching Draco carefully. “You don’t have to go, you know. He’s got no hold over you now.”
Draco’s lips twisted into something between a smirk and a grimace. “Legally? No. But he’s still my father. And if I don’t, he’ll find other ways to make himself a problem.”
Theo’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not going alone if you do go.”
“I wouldn’t,” Draco said simply, his voice firm.
Hermione stirred faintly at the sound of their voices, her lashes fluttering before she settled back into sleep. Draco’s gaze lingered on her for a long moment, something protective hardening in his expression.
He glanced back at Theo. “If he tries to use her to get to me-”
Theo’s voice was equally steady. “He won’t get the chance. Not while we’re here.”
The two men shared a silent understanding, the air between them heavier now than it had been minutes ago. The morning sunlight filtered in through the glass, but the shadow of Lucius Malfoy’s presence loomed far darker.
Notes:
Put to bed- British slang meaning to finalize something.
Ministry of Sound is an actual club in London.
Chapter 24: The Weight of a Name
Summary:
Hermione faces some struggles but knows she is not alone.
Notes:
I am back!! I am sorry that I have been gone for so long, life has been throwing my some curve balls lately. But here is the next chapter, I hope you all enjoy!!!
***THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS ADULT CONTENT***
Chapter Text
An hour later, Hermione stirred with a soft sigh, stretching slightly beneath the covers. The first thing she registered was the gentle, rhythmic motion of Draco’s fingers combing through her curls, the soothing touch drawing her fully from the edges of sleep. The second was the slow, absentminded way Theo’s thumb was tracing along the bottom of her ribs, his hand resting warm against her side.
She let herself sink into the sensation for a moment, breathing in the faint scent of Draco’s cologne and Theo’s soap-comforting, familiar, safe. But as the haze of sleep lifted, she became aware of something else beneath the surface of the morning’s peace: the stillness between them wasn’t quite right.
When she opened her eyes, Draco’s gaze wasn’t on her but somewhere distant, his jaw set in a way she’d come to recognize. Theo’s touch was steady, but his eyes flickered toward Draco more often than to her, a silent exchange passing between them that she couldn’t read but didn’t like.
She frowned faintly, her voice still husky from sleep. “All right… what’s happened?”
Draco’s hand paused briefly in her hair before resuming its slow path. “What makes you think something happened?”
Hermione arched a brow, her suspicion clear even in her drowsy state. “Because the two of you look like you’re having an unspoken crisis and trying not to wake me with it.”
Theo huffed a quiet, amused breath, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re far too observant for someone who just woke up.”
She shifted slightly so she could see them both more clearly, her expression sharpening despite the lingering softness of the morning. “You’re deflecting. Now-what is it?”
Draco hesitated, the faintest flicker of reluctance passing across his features before he exchanged a quick glance with Theo. His hand stilled in her hair. “We had a visitor while you were sleeping.”
Hermione’s frown deepened. “A visitor?”
Theo’s tone was careful. “An owl from Azkaban.”
The words landed heavy, pushing away the last remnants of sleep. She searched their faces, her voice quiet but steady. “From who?”
Draco’s eyes met hers, cool and steady despite the tension beneath. “My father.”
Hermione blinked, her breath catching slightly as she pushed herself up onto one elbow between them. “Lucius?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
Draco gave a short nod, the movement sharp. “He’s… requesting a visit.” The faint curl of distaste in his tone made it clear just how little he liked that word.
Theo snorted softly. “Requesting, demanding-same thing with him.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed, eyes flicking between the two of them. “Why? What could he possibly want now?”
Draco leaned back against the headboard, his fingers absently twisting a strand of her hair around them. “That’s the question, isn’t it? He’s never been one for pleasantries. And an owl from Azkaban…” His mouth tightened. “It’s not something you ignore, unfortunately.”
Theo’s hand at her side moved in slow, reassuring circles. “The owl wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy either. Formal, clipped… like every word was weighed before it was sent.”
Hermione searched Draco’s face, catching the faint shadow in his expression. “Does it worry you?”
Draco didn’t answer immediately, his grey eyes fixed somewhere beyond her shoulder. “It’s not worry, exactly. Just… irritation. He’s in Azkaban. He has no power over me, not anymore. But when he calls…” His jaw flexed. “It still feels like an echo of the old days. Like he’s trying to remind me I’m still a Malfoy on his terms.”
Theo’s lips quirked without humor. “He’ll find out soon enough whose terms you live by now.”
Hermione’s gaze softened as she reached up, brushing her fingers lightly along Draco’s jaw. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
His eyes flickered to hers, the edge in them gentling. “I know. But if I don’t, he’ll send more letters. And if I do… maybe I’ll find out what game he’s playing before it becomes a bigger problem.”
Theo’s thumb swept along her ribs again, slower this time. “We’re not letting you go alone, you know that.”
Draco’s lips curved faintly, though there was no real smile in it. “I figured as much.”
Hermione leaned back against both of them, drawing their arms around her. “Then whatever it is, we’ll handle it together. And if he tries anything-”
Theo grinned at her over her shoulder. “-we hex him and let the Auror's deal with the paperwork.”
That earned a faint huff of laughter from Draco, and some of the tension in the room eased. But Hermione still felt the undercurrent thrumming beneath their quiet-something sharp and unresolved that would follow them until the visit was done.
The morning light had shifted by the time the conversation about Lucius faded into quiet. Hermione found herself cocooned between them again, Draco’s arm draped lazily over her waist, Theo’s slung across her hips. Their warmth pressed in on either side, and for a while the only sound was the slow rhythm of their breathing.
Theo’s voice broke the silence first, low and relaxed. “You realize we’ve spent almost the entire morning like this?”
Draco hummed in agreement, his fingers absentmindedly tracing small patterns against Hermione’s side. “Best use of a Sunday I can think of.”
Hermione smiled faintly, her eyes still half-closed. “It’s nice… but I really do need to shower.”
Draco tilted his head, grey eyes glinting as he looked down at her. “Overrated.”
Theo smirked against her hair. “Completely unnecessary when you’re this comfortable.”
Hermione gave them both an incredulous look. “Comfortable for you, maybe. I feel like I have a layer of sweat and glitter from last night still on me.”
“That’s just proof you had fun,” Theo murmured, his hand sliding idly along the curve of her hip.
Draco’s palm drifted lower over her stomach, his touch warm and teasing. “Besides, you smell just fine, princess.”
She narrowed her eyes at him in mock warning, though her lips twitched. “You two are impossible.”
Theo grinned, pressing a light kiss to the curve of her neck. “That’s one of our better qualities.”
Draco’s fingers threaded lazily through her curls, tilting her head back against his shoulder. “Agreed. And if we keep you here just a little longer, maybe you’ll forget all about that shower.”
Hermione let out a quiet, almost reluctant laugh as their hands wandered in lazy, familiar patterns-not hurried, not urgent, just enough to make the air between them warmer. She knew they were drawing it out, keepinf her tucked there simply because they could. And if she was honest with herself, she wasn't in any rush.
Draco's hand slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, his fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path along the underside of her breasts. Hermione's breath hitched, her body respoding to the touch despite her earlier resolve. Theo's hand, meanwhile, slid over her hips and under the hem of her sleep shorts.
"See, already forgetting about that shower," Theo murmured, his voice a low rumble against her ear. His lips brushed her skin, teeth nipping lightly at the curve of her neck.
"Stay, Hermione," Draco breathed, his lips brushing along her temple.
Hermione's hands found their way to Draco's chest and Theo's arm, her fingers curling as she nodded, her body already yeilding to their touches. Theo's lips moved to the dip between her neck and shoulder, his tounge tracing a hot, wet path as his hand applied pressure between her thighs.
Draco shifted, hid body sliding down beneath the covers until he was positioned between her legs. Hermione's breath grew ragged as she felt his fingers hook into the waistband of her shorts, pulling them down slowly, inch by inch, until the were discarded on the floor.
Theo's hands slid under her shirt and over her breasts as he slid behind her. Draco's lips traced along her stomach as Theo pulled her shirt over her head and threw it next to the shorts. Hermione painted as she threw her head back, Theo's hands cupping her breats.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," Theo breathed, his eyes dark with desire as he took in the sight of her. He rolled her nipplies between his middle finger and thumb causing her to whimper as Draco continued to kiss an nip along her stomach and hips.
Draco's hands gripped her thighs, spreading them wide as he settled between them. Hermione's hips lifted instinctively, seeking his touch as Theo's mouth found her neck again. Draco chuckled, and he obliged, his fingers sliding through her wetness before circling her clit in slow, deliberate strokes.
"Draco," she gasped, her body alreadt tense with anticipation.
"Shh, we've got you," he murmured, his voice muffled against her skin. His head dipped lower, his tounge replacing his fingers, licking and sucking as he brought her closer to the edge.
One of Theo's hands slid around her throat as he turned her head towards him, his mouth pressing hard against hers. Hermione's fingers dug into his thigh, her nails biting into his flesh as her moans and whimpers grew louder.
"Cum for us, sweetheart," Theo commanded, his voice a low growl.
Draco's fingers slipped into her cunt, curling an probing as his tongue worked over her clit. Hermione's body tensed, her muscles coiling tight as the pleasure reached a fever pitch. With a cry, she came, her body convulsing as waves of ecstacy rolled through her like feindfyre.
Draco held her there, his fingers and tongue drawing out every last tremor of pleasure as she rode the aftershocks. Theo's nips and kisses softened, his touch gentle as he slid his hands to encircle her hips, holding her close as she trembled.
"Fuck, that was hot," he murmured, his lips brushing her temple. "But, not it's my turn."
Hermione's eyes fluttered open as Draco emerged from under the covers adn Theo slid out from behind her. Theo grinned, a wicked glint in his eye.
Draco's chin and lips glistened with Hermione's arousal. He crawled up her body, and behind her as Theo slid between her open legs. Draco's hands cupped her breats, his mouth capturing hers.
"You're incrediable," Draco whispered against her mouth, his thumb circling her nipples as he deepened their kiss, his tongue exploring ever inch of her mouth.
Theo's hands roamed over her stomach and hips, his touch light and teasing as he traced patterns on her skin. Hermione's whimpered as he hips lifted, seeking friction, Theo chuckled as he slipped his hand between her thighs. His thumb circled and pressed her clit as two finger slipped into her heat.
"Gods, I love the way you respond to us," Theo murmured, his voice thick with want. "She eager, so hungry."
Hermione shivered and moaned as Draco's teeth nipped along neck and Theo's fingers pumped a steady pace in and out of her. Her nerves were alight, their touches sent her spiraling higher, her body coiling tight as Theo dragged her toward the edge.
"Are you going to cum for us, Princess?" Draco murmured into her neck, his hand settling around her neck.
Hermione nodded, her breath coming out in short, sharp pants as Draco's grip tightened slighty and Theo pumped his fingers into her at a faster pace.
"Be a good girl and cum for us, love," Draco commanded, his voice rough against her neck. "Let Theo feel you come undone."
With a cry, Hermione came again, her body convusling as Theo thumb kept its pace and Draco's lips pressed into hers. Draco swallowed her screams, his kiss demanding as he held her, his touch and Theo's fingers drawing out every last tremor of pleasure.
Her chest heaved as the storm inside her finally eased, leaving her trembling and utterly spent. Draco's arms wrapped around her waist, his breath slighly uneven, while Theo settled beside them, his hand slipping into Hermione's.
"Gald we talked you out of that shower?" Theo asked, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth.
Hermione gave a weak, breathless laugh, swatting at him half-heartedly. "You're insufferable."
"Mm, but right," Theo replied, brushing his thumb lightly over her hip. "And you know it."
Draco let out a soft, low chuckle, turning her head so her dazed eyes met his. "For once, Potter, admit we were right to keep you in bed."
She huffed, cheeks still flushed, but the corner of her mouth curved despite herself. “Don’t get used to it.”
Draco’s lips ghosted over hers again, his voice a husky whisper. “Too late.”
Theo grinned, leaning in close on her other side. “Definitely too late.”
Steam drifted out from the bathroom as Hermione padded into the dorm, still wrapped snugly in a fluffy towel, droplets of water clinging to her collarbone. She was toweling at the ends of her curls with one hand, her cheeks still pink from the hot shower.
Draco was perched comfortably at the edge of the bed, long legs stretched out, a book resting open in his hands. His posture was casual, but his eyes flicked up the moment she entered, following her with the sharp awareness that never seemed to switch off.
On the floor, Theo was sprawled out on his stomach, parchment spread in a loose circle around him. He had a sugar quill tucked between his teeth, ink stains already on his fingers from note-taking.
“You took your time,” Draco drawled, snapping his book shut with a neat flick. “I thought perhaps you’d drowned in there.”
Hermione arched a brow, clutching her towel a little tighter. “Forgive me for wanting to feel human again and be clean."
Theo glanced up at her with a lazy grin, his quill bobbing between his teeth. “You look human enough. A very damp human, but still.”
She rolled her eyes, stepping carefully over Theo’s scattered parchments to reach her dresser. “I’d look even more human if you’d both let me get dressed without commentary.”
Draco smirked and leaned back on his hands, watching her with deliberate leisure. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“The fun,” Hermione said pointedly, rifling through her neatly folded underthings, “is in not having to hex either of you for staring.”
Theo made a show of returning his eyes to his notes, though his grin never faded. “Wouldn’t be the first time, sunshine.”
Hermione shot him a look over her shoulder, curls bouncing as she pulled a set of soft cotton underthings from the drawer. “Keep testing me, Theo.”
Draco’s voice cut smoothly across the room. “Ignore him, sweetheart. He thrives on provocation.”
Theo propped his chin on his fist, smirk sharpening. “Takes one to know one.”
Draco arched a brow, but didn’t rise to it-choosing instead to pick up his book again. “Unlike some, I can actually keep myself occupied.”
“By staring at her while she walks past in a towel?” Theo muttered, his quill scratching against parchment.
“I wasn’t staring.” Draco’s eyes flicked back to Hermione, and the faint curve of his mouth betrayed him. “I was… observing.”
Hermione gave a short laugh, shaking her head as she disappeared into her closet. Her voice carried through the doorway. “You two are utterly hopeless.”
“That’s not new information,” Theo called back cheerfully.
When she emerged, she was dressed in leggings rolled to her calf, and a Slytherin jumper-Draco tilted his head, studying her. "Better."
Theo whistled low. “Definitely better.”
Hermione groaned, throwing her towel at him. “You two are insufferable.”
Theo caught it with a laugh, tossing it aside carelessly. “And yet, you keep us.”
“Merlin knows why,” she muttered, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her amusement as she moved toward the bed.
Draco shifted, making room beside him, and when she sank down with a sigh, his hand immediately threaded into her curls again, tugging gently until her head rested on his shoulder. “Because you like us just as we are.”
Theo leaned back on his elbows from the floor, smirk widening. “She loves us, actually. Don’t let her fool you.”
Hermione’s cheeks warmed, but she didn’t pull away. “You two are awfully confident for people I have half a mind to hex into silence.”
Draco’s lips brushed the top of her hair as he murmured, “We’re confident because we’re right.”
Theo hummed in agreement, stretching his arms above his head. “Exactly. Now, the real question is-do we have to start on that mountain of assignments today, or can we continue pretending Sunday is sacred?”
Hermione’s lips curved slowly. “You can pretend all you like. I, however, am not letting you both slack off.”
Theo groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the floor. “Knew she’d say that.”
Draco smirked down at him, smoothing his hand along Hermione’s curls. “And you love her for it.”
Theo tipped his head back toward them, grin crooked. “Yeah. I really do.”
Hermione sighed against Draco’s shoulder, then straightened with reluctant resolve. She flicked her wand and summoned a neat stack of parchment and books from her desk, which floated obediently into her lap.
Theo groaned from the floor, draping his arm over his face like she’d personally betrayed him. “Merlin’s beard, sunshine, you're just cruel. Absolutely cruel.”
Hermione smirked, quill in hand. “You knew what you were signing up for.”
Draco reached over and plucked the top parchment from her stack, scanning the tidy notes with an arched brow. “You’re not diving straight back into work already.”
“Yes, I am,” she said matter-of-factly, reclaiming her notes from him.
“No,” Draco countered smoothly, catching her quill before it touched the page. “You still need to take it slow, sweetheart. You were sick just last week, and drank half of London dry last night. You're not launching into twelve hours of essays."
Theo lifted his head from the floor just long enough to wag a finger in agreement. “He’s right. For once. Pacing yourself isn’t a suggestion, sunshine. It’s a rule.”
Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes as she tugged her quill back. “Fine. I’ll… pace myself.”
Theo grinned knowingly. “That’s as close to obedience as we’re going to get.”
Draco smirked faintly but let it rest, resuming the gentle comb of his fingers through her curls. Hermione tried to look unimpressed, but her shoulders eased under his touch, betraying her.
A sudden knock at the door cut through the quiet. It wasn’t tentative-it was the crisp, measured sort of knock that carried command in every beat.
Draco stilled, his jaw tightening as his gaze flicked to the door. “That’ll be Mother.”
Theo pushed himself up onto his elbows, brows rising. “On a Sunday morning? Brave woman.”
Hermione glanced between them, heart giving a nervous twist. But before she could rise, Draco’s voice-low, cool, controlled-cut across the space.
“Come in.”
The door opened with a soft click, and Narcissa stepped inside. Elegant as ever in a dove-grey robe that looked as though it had been tailored for this very hour, she regarded the three of them with an unreadable expression.
“Draco,” she greeted softly, her gaze flicking to Hermione with something gentler-almost approving-before returning to her son. “I trust you slept well.”
Draco didn’t bother with pleasantries. His voice was quiet but edged with steel. “Why did you tell Father?”
The air shifted instantly. Narcissa’s hands folded in front of her, her chin lifting slightly as though bracing herself. “Because it was not something I could keep from him. He would have discovered it soon enough on his own-and this way, it came from me, not gossip.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “You know what he’s like. You know what that letter was-”
“I know,” Narcissa interrupted, her tone clipped but not unkind. “And I also know that avoiding him will not make the matter disappear. He needed to hear it from me before whispers reached him.”
Theo leaned back against the foot of the bed, watching her with open curiosity. “And you thought this was… merciful?”
Narcissa’s gaze shifted to him briefly, sharp and assessing, before returning to Draco. “I thought it was necessary.”
Hermione, who’d been silent until now, spoke up quietly. “If it helps-he was bound to find out eventually. At least now it’s in the open.”
Draco’s hand tightened in hers, his jaw still set. “That doesn’t make it any less infuriating. You should have warned me, Mother.”
For a heartbeat, something flickered in Narcissa’s eyes-regret, perhaps, though carefully guarded. “Perhaps. But my intention was not to undermine you, Draco. It was to protect you all. To give you the chance to prepare.”
Hermione met Narcissa’s gaze, searching, and found no malice there-only a weary kind of pragmatism.
Theo let out a low whistle. “Well. Family breakfasts must be delightful in this house.”
Narcissa’s lips curved ever so slightly. “You have no idea, Theodore.”
Despite himself, Draco’s mouth twitched at that, though the tension never fully left his shoulders. He reached for Hermione’s hand again, thumb brushing over her knuckles in a gesture half-grounding, half-defiant.
“Then we’ll be prepared,” he said finally, voice low and resolute. “But next time, Mother… you tell me before you tell him.”
Narcissa inclined her head, a queen acknowledging terms. “Very well.”
The silence that followed was heavy, but not unbearable. Hermione leaned subtly into Draco’s side, her curls brushing against his arm, while Theo stretched out on the floor again with a muttered, “Well. That was invigorating.”
Hermione shifted slightly on the bed as the door clicked shut behind Narcissa, she tucked her parchment aside before she angled toward Draco. Her expression was gentle but firm, her voice steady even as she leaned her shoulder into his.
“Draco,” she said, eyes lifting to meet his, “you didn't need to bite her head off. She was trying to help.”
He turned his sharp gaze to her, incredulous. “Help? By sending Father breathing down our necks?”
Hermione’s brow arched. “By making sure you weren’t blindsided by it later. You know as well as I do that he’d have found out eventually.”
Draco scoffed, running a frustrated hand through his hair, but Hermione pressed on before he could retort.
“She’s not your enemy,” Hermione continued softly. “She’s the one who stood between you and him more times than you’ll ever know, I’d wager. She deserves more than your temper.”
Theo let out a bark of laughter, his parchment forgotten. "Merlin, Hermione, I've never seen anyone scold him like that and live to tell the tale."
Hermione shot him a look, though her lips twitched. “Someone has to.”
Theo grinned, propping himself on his elbows. “Oh, I wholeheartedly approve, sunshine, please don’t stop-he gets insufferable otherwise.”
Draco turned a glare on Theo, but Hermione’s hand on his arm gentled it. She leaned in just enough for only him to hear, her tone warm but insistent.
“You’re better than snapping at her,” she whispered. “You know you are.”
Draco exhaled slowly, the fight draining out of him bit by bit as he glanced back at the door his mother had just walked out of.
Finally, Draco gave a curt nod. “Fine. I was… sharp. That wasn’t fair.”
Theo clutched his chest dramatically. “An admission of fault from the mighty Malfoy? Mark the date, Hermione-it’s history.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but Draco’s lips quirked despite himself, the tension in his jaw easing.
The morning stretched on lazily, parchment and books scattered across the bed and floor, Theo still sprawled in his usual unbothered way with ink smudged on his fingers, and Draco leaning against the headboard with a book open but long forgotten in his lap. Hermione stretched her arms overhead, a small yawn escaping as her stomach gave an unmistakable growl.
She glanced at the clock, then at the two boys. “It’s past noon,” she said pointedly. “We should go down to the dining hall for lunch.”
Both Draco and Theo groaned in unison, like it had been rehearsed.
Draco tipped his head back dramatically against the headboard. “Absolutely not. Crowds, noise, people staring. No, thank you.”
Theo didn’t even bother lifting his head from the parchment he’d been doodling on. “What he said. It’s far too early in the day for human interaction.” He punctuated the words by biting off the tip of his sugar quill and talking around it.
Hermione placed her hands on her hips, her voice full of mock reproach. “You two are ridiculous. It’s lunch time, not a death sentence.”
Draco cracked one eye open, smirking faintly. “I’d argue that they’re one and the same.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You can’t hide in here all day, avoiding everyone.”
Theo finally looked up at her, grinning lazily. “Sweetheart, I thrive in chaos. But the other people out there? That’s where the real danger lies.”
“You’ll both survive.” Hermione folded her arms, her expression softening but her tone no less firm. “Besides, if I can deal with being the Chosen One's sister, you can manage a meal. Human interaction will not kill you.”
Theo chuckled, shaking his head. “She’s bossy when she’s right.”
Draco groaned again, but he was already setting his book aside. “You’re impossible.”
Hermione leaned down to kiss his cheek sweetly. “And you love me for it.”
“Unfortunately,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him with the hint of a smile.
Theo sat up, brushing quill shavings from his lap. “I vote we make her carry our trays if we’re going to suffer through this.”
Hermione arched a brow. “I’ll hex you before I carry three trays.”
Draco finally swung his legs off the bed, dragging himself upright with the air of a man marching to his doom. “Fine. But if we encounter even one overeager firstie, I reserve the right to turn them into a ferret."
Hermione laughed, tugging at his hand until he stood properly. She turned to Theo with a knowing look. “Well?”
Theo sighed in exaggerated defeat as he gathered his parchments. “When you’re outnumbered two to one by Gryffindor stubbornness and Malfoy melodrama, what choice do you have?”
“Exactly,” Hermione said primly, grabbing her bag. “Now let’s go. Food and sunlight will do you both some good.”
Draco muttered under his breath as she ushered them toward the door, but the faintest smile tugged at his lips. Theo caught Hermione’s eye as they followed, his grin wide. “You do realize, Potter, you’ve officially become our keeper.”
“And you two make terrible pets,” Hermione shot back, but her laughter rang bright as she sheapered Draco and Theo out of her room like a general leading her reluctant soliders into battle.
Draco dragged his feet just enough to be iritating, while Theo fell into step behind her, quill still tucked behins his ear, parchment sticking hapazardly from the edges of his satchel.
The corrersidors of the University hummed with midday activity-bright voices echoing off the walls. Sunlight filtered through tall arched windows, throwing patterns across the polished stone floor. Draco adjusted his stride, still looking vaguely displeased, but Hermione’s hand slipped into his, grounding him, while Theo’s shoulder brushed hers, steady and warm.
“See?” she said, her chin lifting stubbornly. “No one’s even staring at you.”
“Yet,” Draco muttered.
“Give it time,” Theo added with a crooked grin. “You’re too handsome not to cause a scene.”
Draco smirked despite himself, squeezing Hermione’s hand. “That’s the only sensible thing you’ve said all day.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched at the corners.
As they stepped into the dining hall, the familiar hum of chatter and clinking dishes surrounded them. The vaulted ceiling stretched high overhead, enchanted light globes floating lazily above the long rows of tables. It smelled of roasted meats, fresh bread, and pumpkin juice, and Hermione’s stomach gave another hungry growl.
They barely made it two steps inside before Ginny spotted them from across the room. She waved wildly, her red hair catching the light like a beacon. “Finally! Took you long enough!”
Hermione smiled, tugging Draco and Theo toward the table where the rest of their friends had gathered. Harry was wedged between Ginny and Neville, deep in conversation; Pansy lounged opposite, her chin propped on her hand as she laughed at something Blaise had murmured in her ear. Luna sat serenely beside them, humming softly while arranging her plate into neat little sections. Ron was at the end, trying (and failing) to keep up with Daphne’s sharp, teasing remarks.
“About time,” Pansy called as they approached. “We thought you three had locked yourselves away for the entire day.”
“Not for lack of trying,” Draco said dryly, sliding onto the bench beside Hermione.
Theo dropped into the seat on her other side with an exaggerated sigh. “Miss bossy insisted. Said human interaction wouldn’t kill us.”
“She’s not wrong,” Ginny said, smirking as she passed Hermione a plate. “You’re all too pale-you need sunlight and a proper meal.”
Neville grinned. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure Hermione would manage to drag them out.”
Hermione arched a brow, piling food onto her plate. “Have a little faith in me, Neville.”
Harry chuckled, though his gaze flicked toward Draco with something between wariness and acceptance. “She’s always been persuasive.”
“Persuasive?” Draco repeated, his mouth curving into a smirk. “Try relentless.”
“That too,” Theo said around a mouthful of bread, earning a sharp look from Hermione.
“You could at least wait until you swallow,” she scolded, though the corners of her mouth softened.
The table broke into laughter, the tension lightening as platters were passed around. Conversation spilled easily: Neville describing a strange new plant in Herbology, Ginny debating with Pansy about which upcoming festival would have the best music, and Luna casually remarking that the enchanted ceiling above them looked like it might rain silverfish any minute.
Hermione leaned against the table, sipping pumpkin juice as she watched the group with quiet contentment. Theo nudged her gently. “See? Not so bad.”
“Don’t encourage her,” Draco muttered, though his hand found hers beneath the table, his thumb brushing lazily over her knuckles.
“Encouragement is necessary,” Theo countered smoothly. “Otherwise, how will we ever become functioning members of society?”
“You won’t,” Pansy said sweetly from across the table. “But that’s half the fun.”
Daphne laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear as she leaned forward. “I’ll give her credit, though. She’s managed to wrangle both of you into behaving long enough to sit at a table with the rest of us. That’s a miracle.”
Hermione smirked. “I’ll add it to my list of accomplishments.”
Theo grinned. “Right between ‘top marks’ and ‘saving the world.’”
“And putting up with you two,” Hermione added, poking his side.
“Clearly sainthood material,” Blaise drawled, sipping his drink.
As the meal stretched on, the group’s chatter wove into a familiar, comforting rhythm. Plates emptied, goblets refilled, and laughter spilled louder as the enchanted ceiling brightened with afternoon light. For the first time that day, Draco looked more at ease, his expression softening as he let Hermione’s hand rest in his. Theo leaned back against the bench, lazy and content, watching the way she animated every conversation with that sharp, clever spark of hers.
Suddenly, the sound of fluttering wings cut through the air.
The hall quieted instinctively as dozens of owls swept overhead, delivering the midday edition of The Prophecy. A sleek gray owl dipped low toward their table, wings beating once before it dropped the paper right in front of Hermione’s plate.
She blinked at it, surprised, but before she could move, the owl gave a sharp hoot and took off again.
The front page gleamed up at her. In bold black letters, the headline shouted:
Chosen One's Sister Sinks Low: Hermione Potter Spotted in Muggle London with Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott
Beneath the words, a moving photograph stretched nearly half the page. It showed her between Draco and Theo on the crowded dance floor at the Ministry of Sound the night before-Draco’s pale hand steadying her hip, Theo laughing as she leaned back against them, her curls wild under the neon lights. In the background, Ginny and Pansy could be seen dancing with Harry and Neville, Blaise with Luna, Ron with both Greengrass sisters, and the Patils arm in arm with unfamiliar Muggles. The image pulsed with color and motion, the kind of shot that practically begged for scandal.
The article continued in a venomous tone:
"It seems the Chosen One's sister is intent on redefining the Potter legacy-not through scholarly achivement or magical aptitude, but through dedonistic indulgence in Muggle nightclubs. Witnesses report Hermione Potter dancing and drinking with known Slytherin's inclusing the infamous Draco Malfoy and the troublesome Theodore Nott. Rather than honoring her brother Harry Potter's heroic reputation, she appears to revel in public spetacle, undermining the Potter and Black familt name with every step. What does the future hold for this trio? Potter, Malfoy, and Nott? Will their reckless revelries continue to besmirch not only themselves but those associated with them? Critics warn that such behaviour is unbecoming of young witches with influence in both the magical and Muggle communities."
Hermione’s hands shook slightly as she stared at the page, heat rising to her cheeks.
“Oh, bloody hell,” she muttered under her breath.
Draco snatched the paper from her, scanning the headline, jaw tightening. “Unbelievable. How dare they-”
“Give me that,” Harry said, voice low but tight with frustration. He leaned over the table, glaring at the image. “Of course they’d paint it this way. She danced and had fun, and now she’s a public villain?”
Pansy leaned back in her chair, smirking. “They’re relentless. But you’ve got to admit-it makes for a compelling narrative. Drama, chaos, the perfect scandal.”
Ginny’s jaw set, her tone sharp. “Compelling or not, they’re lying. This isn’t scandalous. It’s ridiculous. Hermione was just enjoying herself.”
Ron shook his head. “And they didn’t even get me right in the caption. I look like I’m-what exactly?”
Daphne giggled, nudging him lightly. “A bit lost, probably.”
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, groaning softly. “This is insane. I wasn’t trying to ruin anyone’s reputation. I wasn’t trying to do anything except… live a little.”
Draco leaned closer, his voice low and steady. “Hermione, ignore them. You don’t owe these vultures an explanation.”
Theo’s hand brushed hers under the table, warm and reassuring. “Sunshine, they’ll always find something to twist. We know the truth, and that’s enough.”
Harry let out a long exhale, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Still... this is going to be known by the whole University by dinner."
Neville frowned, leaning in. “It’s unfair, but you’re handling it better than I would.”
Blaise smirked, tossing the paper onto the table. “They’re the harbingers of chaos, as always. And let’s be honest-it’s a little entertaining.”
Hermione shot him a glare. “Entertaining for you, maybe. I look like I’ve lost all dignity.”
“Not true,” Theo said quietly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You look… alive. That’s what matters.”
Draco’s thumb brushed her hand, and his eyes softened. “And as long as you’re alive and happy, I couldn’t care less what they print.”
Hermione exhaled, shoulders relaxing, though the heat in her cheeks lingered. “I just… I hate that they twist everything.”
Ginny reached over and squeezed her hand. “Then let them twist. You know who you are. And who we are. That’s what counts.”
Harry nodded reluctantly, his tone gentler now. “Fine. But next time- maybe we try to leave the club scenes off the record.”
“Noted,” Hermione muttered, glancing at Draco and Theo with a small smile.
Draco grinned, tugging her close under his arm. “Sweetheart, you’ve survived worse. Let a few tabloids worry themselves.”
Theo’s hand slid over hers again. “Exactly, sunshine. They’ll get bored eventually.”
Hermione let herself laugh softly, the tension easing as the warmth of friends and allies surrounded her. For once, the scandal felt distant-small, ridiculous, and ultimately powerless against what she had: a circle who saw her as she truly was.
Pansy rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her grin. “Fine. But dessert is still happening. You’ve earned it, Potter.”
Blaise chuckled. “And maybe a spot of vengeance gossip for good measure.”
Hermione shook her head, smiling despite herself. “Just… keep your faces friendly at the table, okay? Let me pretend we’re normal humans for at least five minutes.”
The others laughed, and the conversation shifted as plates of dessert arrived, the scandalous paper lying forgotten-at least for the moment.
Hermione sat hunched over her books, a fortress of tomes stacked high on either side of her, parchment and quills scattered across the surface like a chaotic halo. The library’s magical lamps cast a warm glow over her, but the rest of the room seemed dim, quiet, and distant-perfect for burying herself in work. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her quill scratching tirelessly across a sheet of parchment as she copied notes, annotated spellwork, and cross-referenced magical laws. She had arrived shortly after supper, intending to spend only an hour here, and now-hours later-she was still lost in her self-imposed study.
She didn’t even notice when Draco and Theo slid into the library, moving quietly between the shelves until they found her tucked into a hidden alcove at a long, narrow table that seemed almost made for secrecy.
Draco cleared his throat softly, leaning against the edge of her table. “Hermione?” he murmured.
Hermione barely glanced up, barely acknowledging him. “Hmm?” she said, her voice clipped, a faint edge of irritation threading through her tone.
Draco’s brow furrowed. “You said you were only going to be in here for an hour. It’s… been four.”
“I said a lot of things,” Hermione snapped without looking up, returning to her notes with an exaggerated flourish of her quill. “And some of them… apparently don’t matter as much as your timing.”
Theo raised an eyebrow, leaning over to peer at the sprawling mess of notes. "Right...so, are you going to tell us what's wrong, or are we supposed to enjoy the pleasure of being treated like imprttinent pests?"
Hermione’s quill faltered for a moment, a slight hesitation, but she shook it off and kept writing. “I’m fine,” she said, voice a little sharper than she intended. “Really. Just… busy.”
Draco stepped closer, resting a hand on the edge of the table. “Sweetheart… you’re not fine. I can tell. You’ve been in here scribbling and muttering for hours, ignoring me and Theo… please. Just talk to us.”
Hermione’s hands clenched slightly around her quill. She exhaled sharply, her voice rising in frustration, trembling just enough to betray her controlled exterior. “You want to know what’s wrong?” she said, finally looking up at them, eyes bright and unguarded for the first time that evening. “Fine. I’ll tell you. You see me-me, Hermione Potter-and all you ever notice is that I’m Harry Potter’s sister. That’s it. The Chosen One’s sister. That’s what they call me. That’s how people see me. That’s how they judge me. Not for my spells, not for my research, not for the things I actually accomplish. Just… that. Just because of him.”
Theo exchanged a quick glance with Draco, his hand brushing a stray curl from her face. “Sunshine…” he murmured softly.
“No!” Hermione shot back, shaking her head fiercely. “I don’t want sympathy. I don’t want soft words. I want them to see me! Not Harry’s shadow! Not some magical echo of his name. I worked for every bit of knowledge I have, every ounce of magic I’ve mastered, every spell I’ve learned… and they just-ignore it. Pretend I’m not standing here doing it. Pretend I don’t exist except as a reminder of him. And this article-” she waved a hand toward the folded copy of The Prophecy sitting near her bag, “-this… this just proves it. All they see is a spectacle. A girl having fun in Muggle London and the media paints me like I’m ruining everything, running Harry’s name into the ground. But it’s my life, my choices. And yet, they never care about that. Only that it reflects on him.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “Hermione…”
Hermione’s voice cracked slightly now, and she buried her face in her hands for a moment before lifting her gaze to them again. “And I’m tired of it. I’m tired of always being compared, of always being second. Not in the sense of ranking, but in the sense that my identity is stolen, appropriated by someone else’s story. I want people to see me, truly see me, not just as a footnote in someone else’s legend.”
Theo’s hand brushed her shoulder gently, a warm, grounding presence. “Love… I see you. And I don’t care about anyone else’s headlines or opinions. I care about you-Hermione, not the Chosen One’s sister.”
Draco slid his hand under hers, curling his fingers around hers with a soft pressure that spoke more than words could. “Sweetheart… you’re extraordinary. Not because of Harry, not because of anything else. Because of you. And anyone who can’t see that isn’t worth your energy. Not for a second.”
Hermione blinked back the sudden sting of tears, her lips trembling as a shaky laugh escaped her. “You make it sound so easy. But it’s not. People… they’ve been labeling me since the day I was born. Every accomplishment I’ve had… filtered through the lens of his shadow. And this-this article-” she gestured helplessly again, “it’s just another reminder. I want to be just Hermione. Not… someone's sister, someone else’s reflection.”
Theo leaned closer, tilting her chin up with one finger, his expression soft but teasing in a way that made her smile despite herself. “Love… you are just Hermione. And we know it. That’s what matters. Always has, always will.”
Draco squeezed her hand gently. “And I’ll remind you of it every time someone tries to erase it. Every. Single. Time.”
Hermione’s lips quirked into a small smile, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “You two are too good to me.”
Theo grinned. “Nonsense. We’re just doing our job. Protecting our girlfriend from the world’s blasphamey.”
Draco chuckled softly, leaning back against the table. “And making sure you know you are never anything less than remarkable.”
Hermione laughed softly, leaning into them just a fraction as her hands smoothed over her notes. “I… I just needed to say it. To get it out of me before it ate me alive. I thought I could just… pretend it didn’t matter. But it does. Sometimes it matters more than I let myself feel.”
Theo brushed a kiss against her temple, murmuring, “Then let it matter. Let us hold some of it for you.”
Draco’s arm slid around her shoulders, pulling her close. “And remember, Hermione… you’re not alone. Not for a second.”
Hermione let herself exhale fully for the first time in hours, resting her head against Draco’s chest, feeling the warmth of Theo beside her. She looked at her books, then at her two partners, and finally allowed herself a small, genuine smile. “Okay… maybe I can breathe now.”
Theo winked. “See? She always comes out smiling in the end.”
Draco added softly, “And she always knows she’s loved.”
Hermione laughed quietly, the tension of the afternoon slowly melting away, leaving her surrounded by the knowledge she was finally, truly seen.
Chapter 25: Edges Beneath the Smooth
Summary:
Hermione deals with an ubsured amount of "fanmail"
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione shoved open the tall oak doors of Comparative Spellcasting Lecture, her satchel bumping against her hip as she marched inside. Her curls were frazzled, shoulders tense, and a fine trail of soot dusted the sleeve of her jumper. She brushed at it irritably as she muttered, “Honestly-how many Howlers and exploding parcels can one person get at breakfast? It’s absurd.”
Draco and Theo flanked her, looking considerably less frazzled but still tight-jawed. Theo leaned down just enough so his voice carried only to their group. “The one that called you a slag was particularly creative,” he said with dry humor, though his eyes glittered dangerously. “Imagine being so offended by the fact that you’ve taken two of the most eligible bachelors off the market that they had to shriek it in front of the entire dining hall. Really says more about them than you.”
Hermione shot him a sharp look, but there was the faintest curve of a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “I could have done without my porridge exploding across the table,” she said tartly, still brushing at soot. “Or the box that belched smoke for ten minutes straight. What are we, first years trying to learn their first hex?”
Draco’s mouth curled into a thin, sardonic smile. “If they think juvenile pranks and a shrieking bit of parchment are enough to rattle you, they haven’t been paying attention. And if anyone tries it again, they’ll find out exactly what a Malfoy can do when sufficiently provoked.”
Hermione gave him a weary look, though there was gratitude flickering in her eyes. “Draco, I really don’t need you threatening half the student body.”
“You don’t,” he agreed smoothly, eyes sharp. “But I rather enjoy it.”
Theo smirked. “Besides, they wouldn’t dare test him. Not after the glare he gave when that second Howler went off. I think the poor girl who sent it nearly fainted into her kippers.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, pushing down the amused huff that escaped her. She slid into her usual seat near the middle of the lecture hall, Draco and Theo bracketing her with practiced ease. Pansy spun in her seat from the row just ahead, Blaise lounging lazily beside her, Daphne on the other side of the desk already uncapping her inkpot.
“Well, that was a show at breakfast,” Pansy said, smirking with just a hint of fondness beneath it. “I haven’t heard that many Howlers go off since the Ministry trial days. Very dramatic, Potter. You could have warned us to bring earplugs.”
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t invite them, Pansy.”
Blaise chuckled lowly, resting his chin in his hand. “Still-deliciously entertaining. Whole hall was buzzing. Honestly, you’ve given the Prophet an absolute feast of gossip, and they’ll milk it for weeks.”
“Lovely,” Hermione muttered, glowering at the fresh soot on her sleeve.
Daphne, ever calmer than the rest, tilted her head toward her parchment. “The Prophet’s always desperate. One week it’s Harry’s daring deeds, the next it’s some Ministerial scandal. This week it happens to be you. It’ll pass.”
Draco’s voice cut in, cold and certain. “It shouldn’t be her problem to bear at all. She shouldn’t have to smile politely while the world rips into her.”
Pansy turned, eyebrows arching at Draco’s uncharacteristic heat. “Protective, aren’t we?” she teased, though her smile softened when she looked back at Hermione. “He’s not wrong, though. You don’t deserve half the nonsense they throw at you.”
Theo leaned lazily back in his chair, propping an elbow along the desk. “She doesn’t, but you wouldn’t know it by the way they carry on. Can’t handle the idea that Hermione Potter makes her own choices, so they scream it out in badly-written Howlers. Pathetic.”
Hermione’s lips pressed into a thin line, her quill poised but unmoving above her parchment. “It’s just exhausting. Constantly being measured against Harry or judged for my own decisions. If it’s not one thing, it’s another.”
Before either man could reply, the doors at the front creaked open and Professor Julian Greaves swept in. Tall and severe,hair tied neatly back and sharp spectacles perched on his nose, he strode to the front with a presence that commanded silence.
“Wands away. Notes ready,” Greaves intoned, his voice deep, clipped, and carrying easily through the hall. “Today we will be comparing invocation methods between late-classical elementalists and early renaissance duelists. I expect you to not only take notes but to think. We are not parrots; we are scholars. Let’s begin.”
Professor Greaves’ chalk scratched briskly across the board, a flurry of symbols and notations springing up with precise, sharp movements of his hand. He spoke in measured cadences, crisp and exact, weaving together magical theory with historical context in a way that made lesser students scramble desperately to keep pace. Hermione, however, leaned forward, quill flying across her parchment, her frown deep with concentration as she parsed each point before Greaves even finished the thought.
“Now then,” Greaves said abruptly, pivoting toward the rows of students, his keen eyes sweeping the hall. “Miss Potter.”
Hermione’s head snapped up, heart jolting at the sudden sound of her name. Greaves adjusted his spectacles and gestured sharply toward a series of notations on the board. “Explain, if you will, why duelist invocations in the early renaissance era shifted from elemental channeling to wordless invocation. And spare me the obvious answer-efficiency. We’re all aware of that. I expect nuance.”
There was a beat of silence. Half the class ducked their heads, grateful not to have been called on. Hermione inhaled, straightened, and spoke steadily, her voice carrying just enough to fill the space without hesitation.
“Because it wasn’t simply a matter of efficiency,” she began, quill still poised midair. “Wordless invocation was a necessary adaptation in response to the increased prevalence of counter-spell theory during the period. Duelists discovered that spoken incantations were being anticipated-sometimes even echoed back-by opponents, creating vulnerabilities. Wordless casting became not only faster but also less predictable, allowing for a broader tactical range. And,” her eyes flicked briefly to the board, “it shifted the emphasis from vocal precision to mental discipline, which influenced magical pedagogy for generations.”
A ripple of faint murmurs swept through the hall. Greaves’ brow arched, just slightly, and his mouth twitched in what might have been the ghost of approval. “Adequate,” he said at last, though the gleam in his eye betrayed his satisfaction. “Miss Potter, you may stay after lecture to walk the rest of the class through your analysis in full. You’ve hit on precisely the foundation we’ll need for the next set of comparative exercises.”
Hermione flushed faintly, ducking her head as she scribbled the last of her notes.
Draco, seated just to her left, leaned ever so slightly toward her, his voice a smooth whisper. “Brilliant as always, love. Watching you dismantle centuries of magical theory like it’s child’s play-never gets old.”
Theo, lounging to her right, smirked and nudged her knee with his own. "You make it look unfair. The rest of us don’t stand a chance when you open your mouth."
Hermione fought the smile threatening to bloom on her lips, trying to appear as though she were still furiously focused on her parchment. “Both of you hush,” she whispered back, though the warmth in her voice betrayed her pleasure.
But before she could dip back into her notes, a sharp tapping cut through the lecture. Heads turned as a great dark-feathered owl tapped insistently at the high glass window, its amber eyes glinting in the weak afternoon light.
Professor Greaves frowned, irritation flashing briefly as he flicked his wand to open the window with a sharp clack. “Really,” he muttered. “You’d think families would learn the concept of boundaries when one is in class.”
The owl swooped down with startling precision, ignoring every other outstretched hand and heading straight for Theo. It landed gracefully on the edge of his desk, amber eyes locked unblinking on him, a heavy parchment envelope tied neatly to its leg.
Theo’s body stiffened, though outwardly he only raised one eyebrow. Beside him, Draco’s gaze flicked to the owl, recognition sparking instantly in the sharp line of his mouth.
Hermione glanced between them, confused, but Theo reached out with steady fingers, untying the envelope with practiced ease. He didn’t open it. Instead, he tucked it smoothly into the inner pocket of his robes, murmuring a low word of thanks to the owl. The bird blinked, gave a soft hoot, and launched itself back out the open window with a rustle of feathers.
Greaves, impatient, turned back to the board. “As I was saying-our next discussion concerns the subtle differences in intent when applying elemental resonance…”
Around them, the hall’s attention drifted back toward the lecture. Only Draco and Theo shared the flicker of a look, quiet understanding passing between them.
Theo leaned back in his chair, one hand still idly tapping his quill against his parchment. To anyone else, he looked perfectly at ease. But Draco caught the faint tension in his jaw. He didn’t need to ask whose owl that had been. He already knew.
Draco gave the smallest of nods, his expression unreadable. Later.
Theo inclined his head just once in return, then bent over his notes, as though nothing at all had happened.
Hermione glanced at them curiously, her brow furrowed-but Theo only offered her his usual half-smile, the one that promised explanations at a time of his choosing. She narrowed her eyes faintly, but for the moment, she let it go, quill scratching back across her parchment as Greaves launched into another round of theory.
The din of the dining hall was louder than usual at midday, chatter bouncing off high vaulted ceilings and clinking glasses. Hermione slid onto the bench at the long table, flanked as always by Draco on one side and Theo on the other. Her plate of food sat largely untouched-her appetite hadn't quite recovered from the chaos of the morning.
Across from her, Ginny was waving a hand animatedly as she spoke. “Honestly, the gall of it. ‘Chosen One’s Sister Sinks Low’? What sort of headline is that?”
Ron, halfway through a mouthful of shepherd’s pie, gestured with his fork. “Yeah, as if you going out and dancing in Muggle London is somehow the downfall of wizarding society.”
Daphne, sleek as ever beside him, arched a brow. “Oh, but don’t you know? A witch enjoying herself is scandalous. The Prophet thrives on it.”
Astoria rolled her eyes, stabbing her fork into a roasted carrot. “You’d think there were bigger things to report on than Hermione Granger having a social life.”
Hermione gave a tight smile, trying not to show the sting, and picked at her roll. “It doesn’t matter. Let them write what they want.”
Theo leaned closer, his tone dry but his eyes soft. “Except it does matter. You’ve had at least a dozen Howlers since breakfast. And that last exploding parcel? Merlin, that nearly took Harry’s eyebrows off.”
Harry, who was still nursing a singed fringe, grimaced. “Don’t remind me.”
Ginny smirked at him but quickly turned back to Hermione. “They’re cowards, hiding behind anonymous curses and letters. You know better than anyone how to rise above it.”
Neville, sitting with Pansy tucked comfortably against his side, gave a firm nod. “They can’t touch who you really are, Hermione. Don’t give them that power.”
Pansy, swirling the drink in her glass, snorted. “Still, it’s bloody inconvenient. Breakfast shouldn’t require protective enchantments.”
Blaise leaned back in his chair, expression sharp with amusement. “Welcome to the chaos, Potter. The Prophet sees blood in the water and will circle until they’re bored. You’ve got two choices-play along or starve them.”
Lavender, sitting with Cho and the Patil twins, piped up with a sigh. “It’s not fair, though. Harry was there dancing as well, but not a word was mentioned about that.
Parvati nodded vehemently, her earrings jangling. “Exactly. But because it’s Hermione, it’s scandal.”
Padma pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “It’s sexism wrapped in sensationalism. Typical Prophet tactics.”
Cho’s voice was gentler but no less firm. “Hermione, you’ve faced worse. This will pass.”
Hermione gave them all a wan smile, though her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her napkin. “I know. It’s just-exhausting.”
Draco, who’d been silent until now, finally spoke, his voice low but carrying. “You shouldn’t have to endure it at all. They’ve no right to make you a target.” His hand brushed hers under the table, grounding, protective.
Before Hermione could reply, a sudden flutter of wings drew their attention. Another owl-large, mottled, with sharp talons-swooped down, scattering crumbs and parchment as it landed squarely in front of Hermione’s plate.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Ron muttered, shoving his plate back. “Not again.”
“This one doesn’t even have a Howler seal,” Daphne observed, wary.
Astoria leaned forward slightly. “It’s just a plain envelope. Maybe it’s not-”
But before she could finish, the parchment unfurled itself in midair. Draco’s hand shot out, trying to snatch it, but the seal popped open before he could reach it. A hiss of magic filled the air.
“Don’t-!” Draco started, but it was too late.
A thick puff of smoke burst outward, enveloping Hermione’s face. She coughed once, sharply, then blinked rapidly, her hands going instinctively to her throat.
“Hermione?” Theo’s voice cut through, taut and sharp. He leaned toward her instantly, his hand hovering near her back.
Hermione’s chest hitched; she gasped, but no air seemed to come. Her eyes went wide with panic as her lips parted, searching desperately for breath.
“Hermione!” Ginny half-rose from her seat, alarm breaking across her features.
Harry was already fumbling for his wand. “She’s choking!”
“No-look!” Neville’s voice cracked as Hermione’s body swayed, her hands clawing at her throat. “She can’t breathe-it’s a curse!”
Draco was on his feet in an instant, his chair clattering backwards. “Sweetheart, look at me. Stay with me. Don’t you dare-” His hands framed her face, steadying her as she swayed dangerously.
Theo’s voice was low but edged with terror. “It’s a suffocation hex. Someone laced the letter.” His wand was already out, tracing runes midair, his jaw clenched tight. “Give me space.”
Hermione’s vision blurred, black edges crowding at the corners. She felt her knees buckle, the table lurching away from her as the sound of her friends shouting faded into a dull roar. Draco’s arms caught her before she hit the ground, his grip iron-strong, refusing to let her go.
“Stay with us, sunshine,” Theo urged, his voice strained, his wand glowing with hurried counter-curses. “Just a few more seconds. Come on, Hermione.”
The dining hall erupted into chaos, students crying out, chairs scraping, the scent of burnt parchment and acrid smoke hanging thick in the air.
Hermione’s chest seized once, twice-and then the world tilted, blackness rushing up to swallow her whole.
The long table erupted into chaos and echoed out trhough the dinning hall. Harry shot to his feet, wand drawn, his green eyes blazing as he scanned the room for whoever had dared to target his sister. Ginny caught his arm, face pale but fierce, pulling him down beside her. Neville shoved plates and goblets out of the way with a crash, clearing space. Pansy and Daphne scrambled around the table, skirts catching on chair legs, both pressing in close to Draco and Theo. Blaise and Ron moved instinctively to the outer edges, shoulders squared as though daring anyone else to try.
Astoria's voice was hsaking as she pressed closer to her sister, but her wand was drawn. "She-she can't breathe-"
"Give them room!" Lavender cried, though she, Cho, and the Patil twins surged forward anyway, forming a protective arc.
In seconds, Hermione’s friends had created a ring around her-twelve strong, shoulders brushing, all facing outward like an unspoken pact. Strangers pressed and craned to see, but none dared cross that circle.
Hermione gave a shallow, rasping gasp, her body jerking once before going frighteningly still again.
“No, no, no-” Draco’s voice broke as he clutched her tighter. “Don’t do this-don’t leave us-”
“Don’t talk like that!” Theo snapped, his wand hand shaking. He shifted closer, his other hand cupping Hermione’s face. “Hermione, you hear me? You’re going to breathe-you don’t get to give up now. Not with us here.”
The air crackled with tension. Pansy pressed her knuckles to her lips, eyes bright with tears she refused to let fall. Daphne’s hand found her sister’s, squeezing tight. Blaise’s jaw was clenched so hard it looked painful. Harry looked like he was one word away from hexing the entire hall into dust.
A thunderous CRACK split the air.
Healer Fenwick appeared in the center of the hall, healer’s robes snapping around his tall frame, eyes already locked on the scene. With him stood Dean Obelyn, elegant but stern, and Headmistress Virelle, whose commanding presence seemed to drain the chaos from the air.
“What happened?” Fenwick demanded, voice like a whip.
Harry pointed at the crumpled letter on the floor, his voice sharp and furious. “Cursed mail-it went off right in her face-”
Draco’s voice was rough, desperate. “She can’t breathe-she’s fading-”
Theo’s wand shook as he pulled it back with a helpless growl. “Every counter-spell I know-none of them stick-it’s fighting back.”
Fenwick swept in, kneeling beside Hermione. He touched her throat with practiced fingers, his wand already moving in rapid, precise patterns. A shimmer of green light spread over her chest. “Pulse thready. Breathing shallow. Someone’s deliberately bound her airway.” His jaw tightened. “Ugly work.”
Draco’s grip on Hermione’s hand tightened. “Fix it,” he ground out, voice breaking.
Fenwick didn’t look up. “I intend to.”
The ring of friends instinctively shifted tighter around Hermione as if shielding her with their very presence. Blaise’s dark eyes swept the hall, daring anyone to interfere. Neville planted himself near Harry, wand raised. Ginny’s hand clenched Harry’s, her knuckles white. Luna’s wide gaze darted between Fenwick and Hermione, her usual dreamlike calm shattered by naked worry.
Hermione’s chest finally rose-shallow, uneven-but it was something. Draco gave a broken exhale, his forehead pressing against her curls. Theo muttered hoarsely, “That’s it, sunshine. That’s it-stay with us.”
“Not good enough,” Fenwick said shortly. He cast again, gold light flooding Hermione’s frame, reinforcing each rattling breath. His gaze flicked up at the Headmistress. “She needs to be taken to the ward, now.”
“Go,” Virelle commanded, her voice iron. “Dean Obelyn and I will lock this place down. No one leaves until we know who is responsible.”
The friends didn’t need telling twice. The circle broke just long enough to let Draco lift Hermione into his arms, her curls spilling across his sleeve. Theo hovered at his side, one hand steadying Hermione’s head as though he could anchor her with touch alone.
Harry surged forward. “I’m going with-”
Ginny caught him firmly. “Harry-no. You’ll only get in the way. Let them take her.” Her voice wavered, but her eyes burned. “She needs them more than anyone right now.”
Reluctantly, Harry stilled, his jaw set, watching as Draco carried his sister toward the doors. Pansy, Daphne, and Blaise all fell in beside them, half-protecting, half-following, until Fenwick’s sharp gesture sent them back.
“Only these two,” Fenwick said firmly, pointing to Draco and Theo. “She’ll respond best to those she trusts most. The rest of you-stay.”
And so, with the sound of muffled sobs and anxious whispers behind them, Draco and Theo carried Hermione out of the dining hall, following Fenwick’s relentless stride as Obelyn raised wards behind them.
The last glimpse her friends had was of Hermione’s still, pale face against Draco’s shoulder and Theo’s lips moving soundlessly as he whispered encouragements to her, refusing to let her go.
The echo of hurried footsteps rang down the quiet stone corridor as Fenwick led the way, his robes billowing behind him. Draco clutched Hermione close, his jaw tight, the beat of her shallow breaths echoing against his chest. Theo’s hand never left her-steadying her head, brushing her curls back from her damp forehead, murmuring soft encouragements as though words alone could anchor her to them.
They burst into the Hospital Ward. Lamps flared to life with a flick of Fenwick’s wand, bathing the whitewashed room in sharp light. “Bed three,” he snapped, already signaling toward the far corner.
Draco lowered Hermione carefully onto the crisp sheets, his hands lingering, as if afraid to let go. Her chest rose weakly, each breath rattling against her throat. Theo dropped into the chair beside the bed, leaning close, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.
The ward doors slammed open again, Assistant Healer Callen Mire hurried in, eyes wide, healer kit clutched in his hands. His eyes grew even wider at the sight of Hermione pale and still on the bed, but he moved quickly, setting down supplies.
“Blood curse?” Callen asked, voice low.
“Targeted respiratory hex-layered, malicious.” Fenwick’s wand flicked, golden lines rippling across Hermione’s chest. “She’s fighting, but she’s dangerously close to collapse.”
Callen nodded tightly, pulling out vials. “Strengthening draught. And a salve for her airways.”
“Prepare both. Now.”
Draco’s voice cracked into the charged silence. “What does that mean for her? Tell me she’ll be fine.”
Fenwick didn’t look up, his focus absolute. “She will be-if we move quickly.”
Theo’s chair screeched against the floor as he half-stood, his voice low, urgent. “Tell us what to do. We’ll help.”
Fenwick’s eyes flicked to the boys, assessing them in one sharp glance, then gave a curt nod. “Hold her steady. She may thrash.”
Draco immediately pressed to Hermione’s right side, one hand at her temple, the other clasping hers. Theo braced at her left, both hands firm on her arm.
Fenwick whispered a long incantation. Hermione’s body arched against the bed, her lips parting in a ragged gasp. Draco’s voice broke. “I’ve got you, sweetheart-I’ve got you-”
Theo’s head dipped low, his cheek brushing her curls. “Breathe, sunshine, just breathe-come back to us.”
Callen hurried forward, sliding a vial into Fenwick’s hand. “Draught ready.”
“Open her mouth,” Fenwick ordered.
Theo gently tilted her chin, whispering soft encouragements. Draco’s thumb brushed over her lips before Fenwick coaxed the potion past them. For one breathless moment, nothing happened. Then Hermione coughed violently, gasping as her chest heaved.
“Good,” Fenwick muttered, steadying her with a hand at her throat. “Again.” He cast, gold light pouring into her chest.
Her breathing steadied-still shallow, but stronger.
Draco’s knees nearly buckled with relief. His forehead pressed against her shoulder, voice rough. “That’s it, love. That’s it. Stay with us.”
Theo exhaled shakily, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “Knew you’d fight.”
Callen, standing back now with sweat beading his brow, murmured, “She’s stabilizing.”
Fenwick gave a short nod. “She’ll need rest, close monitoring-but yes. She’s out of immediate danger.”
Draco closed his eyes, his grip tightening as though he could hold her steady with touch alone. Theo leaned back into the chair, pale but unwilling to move an inch from her side.
The ward doors slammed open again.
A familiar figure stormed in, his robes swirling like a thundercloud. Sirius Black, all sharp angles and raw energy, hair slightly disheveled, eyes blazing.
“Where is she?” His voice cracked like a whip through the ward. “Where’s my niece?”
Draco stiffened, instinctively leaning protectively over Hermione. Theo glanced sharply up, his body tense.
Fenwick held up a hand. “Quietly, Mr. Black-she’s stable now, but she needs calm.”
Sirius’s eyes landed on Hermione, small and pale against the white sheets. Whatever fury had propelled him there cracked apart, replaced by raw anguish. He crossed the room in three strides, falling to his knees at the bedside.
“Mia,” he whispered, brushing her curls gently back. “Merlin, pup-what did they do to you?”
Draco’s jaw clenched. “A cursed letter. In the dining hall. She barely-” His voice caught, breaking.
Theo leaned forward, steadying his tone where Draco could not. “She wasn’t breathing. Fenwick and Callen fixed it—but it was close. Too close.”
Sirius’s gaze snapped to them, sharp and searching. He saw the fear etched into their faces, the way Draco’s hand refused to release Hermione’s, the way Theo’s chair was practically fused to her side. Slowly, Sirius exhaled, tension easing, though his voice stayed low and fierce. “You didn’t leave her.”
Theo’s brows furrowed. “Never.”
“Not once,” Draco added, his voice low but certain.
Sirius’s eyes softened, just slightly. He leaned down again, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s curls. “That’s my girl. Strong as her mother. Stubborn as her father.” He pulled back, glancing at Fenwick. “She’s really going to be alright?”
Fenwick straightened, fatigue showing in his lined face. “If she rests, if she doesn’t push herself. She’ll be watched constantly.”
“Good.” Sirius’s voice was steel. “Because if I find out who sent that letter-”
“Sirius,” Fenwick cut in, firm. “Later. Right now, she needs peace.”
Sirius blew out a long breath, visibly restraining himself. His hand brushed Hermione’s cheek, gentler this time. “You scared the life out of me, Mia. Don’t do that again.”
Hermione stirred faintly, her lips parting, though her eyes stayed shut. Her hand shifted weakly in Draco’s. Draco’s breath hitched, leaning close. “We're here, sweetheart. We're not going anywhere.”
Theo bent close too, his voice low and soft. “Sleep, sunshine. We’ve got you.”
Sirius sat back slightly, watching the two boys with narrowed eyes. But what he saw there-raw devotion, love stripped of pride-seemed to settle something in him. He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.
“Alright,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I suppose I’ll allow it. But only because she clearly has you wrapped around her little finger.”
Theo let out a shaky chuckle, the tension breaking just a hair. “You’ve noticed.”
Draco smirked faintly, though his hand never left Hermione’s. “Took you this long?”
Sirius snorted, the edge of his usual humor returning. “Merlin help me, she’s going to run both of you ragged.”
The three men-so different, yet united in their care for the girl on the bed-sat in a strange, fragile silence. Around them, the ward’s magic hummed low, steady, holding Hermione safe.
And for the first time since the cursed letter exploded, the world felt just a little less like it was breaking apart.
The Hospital Ward was dimmer now, lanterns casting a soft golden glow over the rows of beds. Outside the tall windows, evening had settled into dusky purples and navy blues, the university grounds quiet beneath the stretch of stars.
Hermione lay still, a pale shape against the crisp sheets, curls spread around her face. A half-circle of friends had formed around her bed-Harry and Ginny pressed close together, Neville perched stiffly on a chair, Daphne leaning against its armrest, Pansy standing with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, Luna dreamily swaying on her heels, Blaise lounging against the wall with deceptively easy calm, and Ron fidgeting near the end of the bed.
Draco sat at Hermione’s right side, her hand still clasped firmly in his. Theo sat on her left, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, watching her chest rise and fall as though every breath reassured him anew. Sirius had claimed the chair near her head, one hand occasionally brushing through her curls with a mixture of tenderness and worry.
It was Harry who broke the long silence, voice low. “The Dean and Headmistress still haven’t found out who sent it.”
Draco’s head snapped up, sharp gray eyes narrowing. “You’re joking. They’ve had hours.”
Harry shook his head grimly. “They’re tracing the magical signature, but whoever did it knew what they were doing. Covered their tracks.”
Ginny leaned forward, her brow furrowed. “They’ll find them. They have to. No one just gets away with attacking Hermione like that.”
“They better not,” Pansy muttered darkly. “Because if they do, I’ll find them myself.”
“Stand in line,” Neville said quietly, but there was steel beneath his words.
Daphne sighed, her voice cool but carrying weight. “It was too specific to be random. Someone wanted to humiliate her first with that article, and when it wasn’t enough-they escalated.”
Theo’s jaw tightened. “And they nearly killed her.” His voice cracked slightly before he pressed it back down, his thumb brushing absently along Hermione’s hand.
Sirius’s expression hardened, dark and dangerous. “When they’re found, they’ll answer to me first.”
“Not if I get to them before you,” Draco said flatly, his tone like ice.
Luna tilted her head dreamily, but her words cut through with quiet conviction. “Darkness always hates the light. And Hermione shines too brightly to be ignored.”
Blaise let out a long exhale from the wall, finally speaking. “Poetic, love-but not wrong.” His dark eyes swept the group. “She was targeted because she doesn’t bend. Whoever did this miscalculated. They’ve just made all of us angry.”
Ron, who had been silent until then, shifted uncomfortably. His ears were pink, but his voice was steady. “We’ll protect her. All of us. They’ll have to go through every single one of us before they touch her again.”
For a moment, silence lingered—charged, protective, unyielding.
Then a faint sound broke through.
A low moan.
Theo was the first to lean forward, voice urgent but soft. “Sunshine?”
Draco bent low, his hand tightening around hers. “Hermione? Can you hear me?”
Hermione stirred weakly, her lashes fluttering. Her lips parted, and in a small, pained voice, she whispered, “Ow.”
Every single person seemed to freeze-then a dozen voices overlapped at once.
“She’s awake!” Ginny gasped.
“Bloody hell,” Ron blurted, his face pale.
“Hermione, you’re alright,” Neville said quickly.
“Hush, give her air-” Daphne tried to cut in.
“She needs water-” Pansy snapped, already reaching for the pitcher at the bedside.
“Sweetheart, don’t move yet,” Draco murmured, brushing her curls back from her damp forehead.
“Breathe, love, slowly,” Theo whispered, his thumb running soothing circles against her hand.
Hermione blinked again, squinting against the dim light. Her gaze shifted sluggishly over the faces crowded around her, confusion flickering. “What… happened?”
“You were attacked,” Sirius said gently, though fury simmered under his voice. “A cursed letter at lunch. Nearly took your breath away-literally.”
Her brows pinched faintly, but she didn’t speak. Her throat worked like swallowing was an effort.
“Don’t push her,” Draco warned the others, his voice low, protective. “She’s barely conscious.”
Ginny nodded quickly, tugging Harry’s sleeve. “She needs the healer.”
“Already on it,” Blaise said, pushing himself off the wall. He strode toward the ward doors with purposeful grace. “I’ll fetch Fenwick-and Mire too.”
Theo leaned closer, voice soft as silk. “You scared us, love. Don’t do that again.”
Hermione’s lips twitched in the faintest, ghostly smile, though her eyes stayed half-lidded. “Wasn’t… my idea…”
Despite everything, Sirius let out a rough laugh, his hand smoothing over her curls. “That’s my girl. Still cheeky.”
Her gaze drifted to Draco then, her fingers flexing weakly in his grip. His voice softened instantly. “I’m right here, sweetheart. You’re safe.”
As the ward doors creaked open again, Blaise returned with Fenwick striding at a clipped pace beside him, Callen Mire at his heels carrying another kit.
“Out of the way,” Fenwick barked, sweeping to Hermione’s side. “Give her space.”
Reluctantly, the half-circle of friends shuffled back, though none of them went far, their faces pale with worry, their eyes fixed on Hermione.
Draco and Theo stayed where they were, one on each side of her, unmoving. Sirius too remained, looming protectively near her head.
Fenwick glanced at them once, but didn’t argue. He simply flicked his wand, muttering an incantation as golden light washed over Hermione’s chest again. Callen carefully handed him a fresh vial.
The tension in the room was so thick it nearly hummed.
And still, Hermione’s weak whisper slipped out. “Ow.”
Theo’s laugh was soft and shaky, breaking through the fear. “Still dramatic.”
“Stubborn as ever,” Draco muttered, though his thumb stroked her hand with infinite care.
Her eyes drifted shut again, exhaustion pulling her back under even as Fenwick worked. But this time, the circle around her didn’t panic-they waited, united, ready to guard her through the night.
Several hours later, the Hospital Ward had quieted with the evening, lanterns dimmed so their glow was no more than a soft haze against the whitewashed walls. The other beds were empty, curtains drawn back; the only real presence in the room was clustered around Hermione's.
Hermione herself lay nestled against the pillows, her face less pale now, though still marked by faint exhaustion. She was breathing evenly, the rise and fall of her chest a steady reassurance. Fenwick and Callen had retreated hours ago, leaving instructions and vials on the bedside table. Sirius had reluctantly been coaxed away by the Headmistress with the promise of returning come morning, his heavy cloak swirling as he departed with a last look at his niece.
That left the smaller circle: Draco, Theo, Harry, Ginny, Pansy, Neville, and Ron.
Draco sat closest, Hermione’s hand clasped in his own, thumb absently brushing her knuckles in endless patterns. His gray eyes never strayed far from her face, though every so often he glanced toward Theo, who was stretched out in a conjured chair on the other side of the bed, long legs sprawled carelessly but his gaze every bit as intent.
Harry and Ginny were tucked together at the foot of the bed, their chairs drawn close. Ginny leaned against Harry’s shoulder, her hand twined with his, though her sharp brown eyes kept flicking toward her friend, watching every shift in Hermione’s breathing.
Pansy had claimed the corner near Draco, legs crossed elegantly, arms folded, though her chin rested on her palm in a rare show of weariness.
Neville had slumped into his chair beside her, head tilting precariously toward his shoulder as his eyelids fluttered. Ron, further down, was even less subtle-slouched so far he was practically half-slid out of his seat, faint snores already escaping.
The relative peace was broken by Draco’s dry murmur. “Weasley, if you drool on the floor, I’m not cleaning it up.”
Ginny snorted, muffling a laugh against Harry’s sleeve. “Don’t bother. He won’t wake up unless the bed’s on fire.”
Pansy arched a brow. “So tempting.”
Theo’s lips quirked. “Don’t give her ideas, Weasley.”
“Shove it, Nott” Pansy corrected sharply, though her smirk gave her away.
Harry shook his head, though there was a faint smile tugging his lips. “You lot are unbelievable. Hermione nearly-” His voice caught, and he swallowed. “She nearly died today, and you’re bickering about drool.”
Draco’s tone softened immediately. “We’re not making light of it, Potter. Believe me. But she’d hex us all into next week if she woke up and found us sitting here looking like a funeral procession.”
That earned a reluctant nod from Harry. Ginny squeezed his hand, adding, “Draco’s right. Hermione would want laughter. She’d want us to act normal.”
Pansy flicked her gaze toward Hermione’s still form. “Normal’s not in her vocabulary.”
“She tries,” Theo murmured, his gaze fixed on Hermione. “But even her trying looks like taking the world on her shoulders.”
Silence fell briefly. The only sounds were Ron’s quiet snoring and Neville shifting as his head lolled toward Pansy’s shoulder. She stiffened, glancing sideways.
“Longbottom,” she hissed.
Neville jerked awake with a blink. “What? I wasn’t asleep.”
Ginny laughed softly. “You were snoring.”
“I don’t snore,” Neville protested indignantly, rubbing his eyes.
“Yes, you do,” Pansy shot back flatly. “Like a Kneazle with a cold.”
That broke the tension; even Harry chuckled, though he quickly rubbed his face with one hand.
Draco’s gaze lingered on Hermione, his thumb still brushing her knuckles. “I can’t shake it. Whoever sent that letter-knew exactly what they were doing. That wasn’t just a prank.”
Harry’s jaw tightened. “It wasn’t. The Headmistress confirmed-the spellwork was designed to constrict her lungs. Deliberately.”
Ginny’s voice shook slightly. “It could’ve killed her if she hadn’t been surrounded by all of us.”
Theo leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees. His voice was quiet but heavy with conviction. “We won’t let it happen again. She’s not alone anymore. Not in the slightest.”
“She never was,” Harry said, his eyes steady on Theo’s.
Draco gave him a long look, then nodded once.
Pansy leaned back in her chair, exhaling through her nose. “Well, that’s settled then. We form a bloody guard rotation. No more letters without one of us checking them first. No more packages.”
Neville rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Already been thinking about a warding charm that could help. I’ll talk with Professor Slatter tomorrow.”
Ron stirred at that moment, snorting awake. “Wha’-did someone say dinner?”
Theo smirked. “You’ve missed it. It’s midnight.”
Ron blinked blearily. “Oh. Right. Just resting my eyes.”
Ginny rolled hers fondly. “You were snoring louder than Neville.”
“Oi,” Neville muttered, reddening.
Draco let the banter wash over him, his attention still fixed on Hermione. For a moment, it looked like she might stir, her fingers twitching faintly in his grasp. He bent close, his voice low, intimate. “We’re here, princess. You just rest. Let us handle the rest.”
Theo’s voice followed, softer, reassuring. “We’ve got you, sunshine. Always.”
Hermione didn’t wake, but her breathing shifted slightly, as if even asleep she heard them.
And so the circle settled again, friends gathered around her, their laughter and light arguments softening the edges of the fear that still lingered. The night stretched on, but they remained-a quiet guard in the dim glow of the ward, ready to meet whatever came next.
Morning light filtered through the tall, arched windows of the Hospital Wing, pale gold spilling across the polished floor and the neat rows of white-sheeted beds. The room smelled faintly of potions and lavender balm, a familiar mixture that usually soothed-but today it was paired with the hushed murmur of too many voices.
Hermione stirred. Her lashes fluttered, her throat tight with dryness, and she shifted against the pillows. The motion set off a ripple in the crowded space around her bed.
Chairs had been dragged into an untidy semicircle. Harry sat nearest, looking as though he hadn’t closed his eyes all night; Ginny perched beside him, her hair wild, her expression stubbornly determined. Draco had not moved from her side, his hand still wrapped firmly around hers, while Theo lounged in his conjured chair, his long legs stretched out, sharp eyes fixed on her.
Beyond them were Pansy, Blaise, and Luna, all visibly exhausted but holding their ground. Neville, Ron, Astoria, and Daphne were crammed into the next row of chairs-Ron listing sideways again in half-sleep while Neville blinked blearily. Lavender and Cho whispered to one another at the end of the row, their faces tense, and the Patil twins sat side by side, identically stiff-backed as if daring anyone to try to remove them.
And behind them all, leaning against the far wall in his travel-worn cloak, Sirius Black looked every inch the restless, fierce guardian. His dark hair was disheveled, eyes shadowed from lack of sleep, but the moment Hermione stirred, his focus sharpened like a hawk’s.
“-she moved,” Ginny whispered.
Draco immediately bent closer, his voice low. “Hermione? Sweetheart, can you hear me?”
Her eyes cracked open against the light. The ceiling blurred, then steadied. She turned her head slightly, her curls tangling against the pillow. “Ow,” she croaked, her throat raw.
Theo leaned in on the other side, his smile soft with relief. “There she is. Good morning, sunshine.”
The relief in the circle was palpable-an audible exhale, chairs scraping as people surged a little closer.
Hermione blinked, still muzzy. “What-” Her voice cracked, and she coughed. Draco was already holding a glass of water to her lips. She sipped, swallowing slowly, then leaned back against the pillows. Her gaze roved over the crowd-and widened.
“…Why,” she rasped, “is half the university around my bed?”
That earned nervous chuckles. Ginny leaned forward quickly. “Because we were worried. Obviously.”
“You-” Hermione cleared her throat again, managing more volume this time. “You’re all supposed to be in class. Do none of you have lectures? Labs? Tutorials?”
Lavender made a sheepish face. “Er. Some of us might’ve skipped.”
“You all skipped,” Hermione shot back, exasperation breaking through her grogginess. “This—this is ridiculous. You shouldn’t be here hovering over me like I’m-”
“Like you nearly died yesterday?” Harry interrupted bluntly, his green eyes flashing. “You think we were going to waltz into class and pretend nothing happened?”
Hermione opened her mouth, shut it, then huffed, cheeks coloring. “Still. You can’t neglect your work for me. That’s not-”
“Hypocritical, much?” Pansy drawled, arching a brow. “You’d skip meals, sleep, and an entire week of classes if it meant protecting someone else.”
Blaise smirked faintly. “She has a point.”
Hermione scowled. “That’s different.”
“Not really,” Theo countered lightly, his thumb brushing along the back of her hand. “You’re just annoyed you can’t argue us all out of caring.”
“That’s-” Hermione faltered, looking between them all, her chest tightening. “…unfair,” she muttered finally.
Luna tilted her head dreamily. “I think it’s perfectly fair. We love you. That’s what people do when they love someone. They stay.”
The words landed with a quiet weight. Hermione swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. Sirius, still at the back, cleared his throat gruffly. “The girl’s right. You lot saved her life yesterday with your quick thinking. Don’t let her lecture you into leaving. She’s a Potter, after all-stubborn as sin.”
Hermione turned her head toward him, eyes misting. “Uncle Sirius…”
Before more could be said, the doors swung open. Healer Fenwick entered briskly, Callen trailing behind with an armful of potions and parchment. Behind them swept Dean Obelyn in her sea-green robes, and Headmistress Virelle in her stately dark blue, her silver hair pinned in its severe coil.
The gathered students scrambled slightly, some straightening, some guiltily shifting.
Fenwick was already striding forward. “Ah, awake at last. Good, good.” His sharp eyes took in the crowd. “Though I see the concept of patient rest has been utterly disregarded.”
“Not my fault,” Hermione croaked. “They won’t leave.”
That drew a ripple of laughter, quickly stifled under Fenwick’s glare. He checked her pulse, laid a hand on her forehead, and nodded. “Breathing steady. Color returning. You’ll need close monitoring today, but I’m pleased.”
Callen set the potions down, his young face anxious. “Should I-”
“Yes, yes, bring the tonic,” Fenwick waved. “She’ll need strengthening.”
As Callen moved, Dean Obelyn stepped closer, her hands clasped, expression thoughtful. “Miss Potter, I hope you know the faculty are taking this matter extremely seriously. Such an attack is unprecedented within our wards. It will not go unanswered.”
Headmistress Virelle’s cool voice followed. “You have the full protection of the university. Security is being doubled. Whoever orchestrated this—will be found.”
Sirius straightened at the back, voice low and dangerous. “See that they are.”
Draco’s grip on Hermione’s hand tightened; Theo’s gaze sharpened. Around the bed, friends exchanged looks of grim agreement.
Hermione, throat tight, whispered, “Thank you.”
Fenwick handed her the tonic. “Drink. Then sleep again. And all of you-” His gaze swept the crowd like a storm. “Classes. Now.”
A wave of protests erupted immediately.
“We’re not leaving her-” Ginny began.
“She needs company-” Neville tried.
“I’ll stay,” Draco cut in coolly, his tone brooking no argument. “Theo too.”
Fenwick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Two. No more. The rest of you-out.”
Hermione, though still tired, managed a faint smile. “See? Even the Healer agrees with me.”
Groans, reluctant laughter, and much shuffling followed. One by one, the others began to file out, though not without squeezing her hand, hugging her carefully, or promising to be back the moment lectures ended.
When the doors finally closed, the room felt quieter, though still heavy with unsaid things. Draco and Theo remained, one on either side, Sirius still looming like a shadowed guardian at the back.
Hermione leaned back against her pillows, her eyes fluttering shut. “Honestly,” she murmured, voice slurred with exhaustion. “You’re all impossible.”
Draco’s lips quirked. “And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Theo leaned close, brushing a curl back from her face. “Go back to sleep, sunshine. We’ll be right here.”
Hermione’s breathing evened out again, slow and steady, her lashes resting against her cheeks as the potions finally pulled her into deeper sleep. Draco had kept hold of her hand until her fingers went lax, then carefully set it against the sheets. Theo had leaned back in his chair, head tilted, though his sharp eyes flicked to her every few seconds, as if daring any unseen danger to come near.
From the far wall, Sirius finally pushed himself away, boots scraping softly on the stone floor. The man had been silent for the last half-hour, watching with that predatory kind of patience he’d cultivated in Azkaban and beyond. But now his grey eyes fixed on the two young men with a penetrating intensity.
“You two,” he said quietly, but his voice carried.
Draco’s head lifted immediately, pale brows arching. “Us?”
Theo stretched his legs out lazily, but his expression sharpened. “I get the feeling this isn’t a compliment.”
Sirius’ mouth twisted into something like a grim smile. “You’re clever boys. I’ll spare us the dance. I know what’s happening here. Or at least, enough of it to see Hermione’s wrapped up in you both.” He tipped his head, hair falling loose around his face. “If I remember correctly a conversation was had on her birthday, but it appears things have escalated since then. So tell me-what exactly are your intentions with my niece?"
Theo gave a soft snort. “Straight to the good stuff. Can’t say I’m surprised.”
Draco’s chin lifted, defiant but not cruel. “With all respect, Sirius, that’s between us and Hermione.”
Sirius stepped closer, his long coat sweeping around him. “Everything involving Hermione is my concern, Malfoy. Especially when she nearly dies and wakes up with the two of you curled around her like you’ve staked a claim.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m not blind. I’ve seen how she looks at you. Both of you.”
Theo’s smirk faded. He sat forward now, forearms braced on his knees. “Then you’ve also seen that we’d burn the world down before letting anything happen to her.”
“That’s a pretty line,” Sirius shot back. “But I’ve heard plenty of pretty lines before.” He glanced between them, his voice dropping lower. “Convince me you’re not going to hurt her. Because if you do-”
Draco cut him off, voice cool but tight with sincerity. “If we ever hurt her, it wouldn’t matter what you did to us. Because we’d destroy ourselves first.”
That silenced the room. Even Theo didn’t add to it.
Sirius studied Draco for a long moment, the silence weighted. Then, unexpectedly, his expression softened just slightly. “Merlin’s beard. You sound like your mother.”
Draco blinked. “…That was either an insult or the highest praise.”
Sirius gave a huff of laughter, not entirely without fondness. “Narcissa always had steel under her silk. Looks like she passed it on.”
Theo shifted, his usual smoothness laced with edge. “And what about me? Do I get the Black family stamp of disapproval by default, or are you saving the dramatic monologue?”
Sirius eyed him. “Theo Nott. Your father is the kind of man I wouldn’t have shared a drink with if we were stranded on a desert island.”
Theo’s jaw flexed. “Not exactly breaking news.”
“But you,” Sirius continued, surprising him, “aren’t him. You’ve got your own mind. I watched you tonight-calm when others panicked. Quick hands. Loyalty written all over your face. Don’t let me find out it’s just a performance.”
Theo’s voice dropped, steadier than usual. “It’s not.”
Before Sirius could reply, the door at the far end creaked open. The sound of soft heels against stone followed, measured and precise. Narcissa Malfoy swept into the ward, pale silk robes trailing, her composure immaculate as always.
Her gaze flicked instantly to Hermione-relief softening her features for half a breath-before sharpening on the cluster of men around the bed. “I heard she woke,” she said softly, but her eyes darted to her son.
“Briefly,” Draco replied, his tone clipped but respectful. “She’s sleeping again.”
Narcissa stepped closer, her posture elegant but her hand twitching faintly at her side, as though resisting the urge to reach for Hermione herself. “Good.” Her gaze moved to Sirius then, cool but not unkind. “I didn’t expect to find you here, cousin.”
“Family,” Sirius said simply, his arms folding. “Unlike your husband, I don’t pick and choose when it’s convenient.”
Something flickered in Narcissa’s eyes, but her tone remained smooth. “And yet you always assumed the worst of us.”
Sirius tilted his head. “Perhaps. But I know what I see. And right now, I see two boys who care for her more than their own skins. For once, I’m inclined to take it at face value.”
Draco’s lips twitched faintly. “I’ll cherish that vote of confidence.”
Theo leaned back again, smirking faintly. “Feels like a proper Black family reunion in here. What’s next, a duel at dawn?”
“Don’t tempt me,” Sirius muttered.
Narcissa’s attention cut to Theo then, assessing, sharp as glass. “You’ve attached yourself to my son’s… arrangements.”
Theo met her gaze squarely. “Arrangements, is it? No. I’ve attached myself to her. Draco just happens to be inconveniently in the same orbit.”
Draco snorted, muttering, “Charming.”
Narcissa’s lips curved ever so slightly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re bold. I’ll give you that.” She exhaled slowly, softening as she turned back to Hermione. “She looks so fragile. But I know better. She’s stronger than most realize.”
“Stronger than all of us combined,” Sirius murmured.
Silence stretched a moment. The steady tick of the clock, Hermione’s soft breathing, the faint rustle of Narcissa’s silks—these filled the gaps their words left.
Finally, Narcissa spoke again, her voice quieter now. “Lucius will not like this. You know that, Draco. He’ll see this as both an insult and an opportunity.”
Draco’s jaw tightened, his hand curling subtly into the blanket. “Let him try.”
Theo’s voice was low but dangerous. “He’ll regret it if he does.”
Sirius’ gaze flicked between them, then finally rested on Narcissa. “Seems we’re agreed on one thing. Whoever threatens Hermione-Potter or not-isn’t going to walk away untouched.”
Narcissa looked at Sirius, then at Draco, then Theo. And for the first time in years, she let out a quiet, weary laugh. “Merlin help us all, she really has managed the impossible. You three are on the same side.”
The corners of Draco’s mouth curved. “Maybe Hermione’s the only one who could manage it.”
Theo reached over, brushing Hermione’s curls back from her face, his voice soft but steady. “She usually is.”
And for the first time that night, even Sirius allowed himself to relax, just slightly, as silence settled over them again-not heavy now, but protective, almost reverent, as Hermione slept on, unaware of the alliances being forged in her name.
Notes:
I love the family banter, I think I might add more Sirius and Narcissa interactions
Chapter 26: Unyielding Resolve
Summary:
Draco and Theo finally have a conversation about the letter Theo recived from his brother while Hermione heals.
Chapter Text
The hush of the Hospital Ward felt heavier now, after so much chaos and worry. Hermione was still sleeping soundly, the potion-dulled rise and fall of her chest steady against the pale sheets. A low golden light from the ward’s enchanted sconces softened the edges of the room, and the faint murmur of voices could be heard in the hall outside: Narcissa’s polished, cool tones interwoven with Sirius’ sharper cadence as they spoke with Headmistress Virelle and Dean Obelyn.
Draco sat perched in the chair beside Hermione’s bed, fingers absently tracing the spine of the book he hadn’t turned a page in for the last twenty minutes. His pale eyes were fixed on Theo, who had been sitting at the opposite side of the bed, staring at the unopened letter lying on the bedside table as if it were a coiled serpent.
Finally, Draco broke the silence. “You’ve been glaring at it for the better part of an hour.”
Theo didn’t look up. “That’s because I know exactly what it’s going to say. And I don’t particularly fancy hearing it.”
Draco leaned back, folding his arms. “So we let it sit there and hiss at us? That’s one approach. Not particularly effective.”
Theo gave a humorless chuckle, running a hand through his dark hair. “It’s Alexander. His words never miss their mark. He has Father’s precision when it comes to slicing someone down with ink and parchment.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “Except you’re not your Father’s puppet. You never have been.”
Theo’s eyes flicked up, sharp and searching. “And yet here I am, hesitating like a schoolboy over a bloody letter.”
“Because it’s from your brother,” Draco said evenly. “And whether you admit it or not, you care what he thinks.” He reached over and picked up the sealed parchment. “Best not to give it more power than it deserves.”
Theo stared at him, then exhaled heavily and snatched the letter from Draco’s hand. He broke the seal in one swift motion, the crack of wax loud in the quiet ward. His fingers hesitated only once before unfolding the parchment.
The handwriting was elegant, precise, and just a little cold. Theo’s eyes flicked over the first lines before he began to read aloud, his voice flat, as though distance could dull the sting.
Theodore,
It has been some time since I felt compelled to put quill to parchment and address you directly. That in itself should tell you something about the depth of my disappointment. I have seen this morning’s Prophet - the front page that splashes your name alongside Malfoy’s and, Merlin help you, Potter's. The photograph is damning enough, but the words are worse. The company you keep, the image you project… it is reckless beyond measure.
I find myself wondering whether you truly grasp the consequences of your choices. Aligning yourself with Draco Malfoy is one thing - misguided, but at least understandable. He is heir to a name with weight, and however tarnished, the Malfoy crest still holds power in certain circles. But entangling yourself with Hermione Potter? Publicly? It is a dangerous folly. She is a figure already drowning in controversy, a lightning rod for the fickle tides of public opinion. By tying yourself to her, you not only damage your own standing but invite ruin upon the family name.
Did you stop to consider what this would mean for Father? For me? Every alliance I have worked to strengthen, every careful step I’ve taken to reestablish the Nott family as respectable… all of it undermined by your impulsive displays. Do you truly wish to run our name further into the ground? Or is this rebellion for rebellion’s sake?
Know this: I have already informed Father. He deserves to know the spectacle his youngest son has made of himself. What he chooses to do with that knowledge is, of course, his prerogative. But do not deceive yourself into thinking he will remain silent. He will act. He always does.
For your sake, Theodore, I hope you come to your senses quickly. Do not mistake my words for cruelty - they are warning, not malice. But if you continue down this path, you will find yourself alone, cut adrift from the very foundation that has always sustained you. And when that moment comes, do not expect me to shield you from its consequences.
You are still my brother. But blood does not absolve folly. Consider carefully what you are doing before it is too late.
— Alexander
Theo lowered the parchment slowly, his expression schooled into neutrality, but the stiffness in his jaw betrayed him. For a long moment, he didn’t speak.
Draco broke the silence first, his voice cool with controlled anger. “What a charming piece of literature. Tell me, Theo, does he always write like a Ministry memo dressed up as a family sermon?”
Theo gave a humorless laugh. “That’s Alexander. Ice dressed as reason. He doesn’t yell, doesn’t sneer. Just… cuts.”
Draco leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So he’s disappointed. What else is new? Did you honestly expect him to embrace Hermione with open arms?”
Theo rubbed his face, weary. “No. But I didn’t expect him to hand-deliver the story to Father, either. That’s…” His voice dropped. “That’s betrayal.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “He calls it loyalty to your family. I call it cowardice. He doesn’t have the spine to stand on his own, so he hides behind your father’s shadow.”
Theo tossed the letter onto the table with more force than necessary, the parchment sliding across the wood. “You don’t understand. Alexander… he’s always been the favored son. The golden heir. Everything he does, Father praises. And I-” He stopped, pressing his lips together.
Draco’s gaze softened slightly. “And you were the disappointment.”
Theo gave a harsh laugh. “I didn’t say it. You did.”
“Because it’s the truth,” Draco said steadily. “But not for the reasons you think. Your father needed one perfect heir, and he shaped Alexander into it. But he needed someone to look down on too, so he turned you into the foil. None of it was ever your fault, Theo. You were just the scapegoat.”
Theo’s throat worked as he looked at Hermione, still asleep, her curls spilling over the pillow. “And now? Now I’ve just handed them another reason to hate me.”
“No.” Draco’s voice was sharp, cutting. “Now you’ve given them the only reason that matters to respect you. Because for once, you didn’t choose them. You chose her. And me.”
Theo’s head snapped toward him, surprised at the force of the words.
Draco held his gaze firmly. “Let Alexander clutch at your Father’s approval all he wants. You’ve got something neither of them will ever touch. Real loyalty. Real love. They don’t get to decide what that’s worth. You do.”
Theo let out a long breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “Merlin, Drake. You almost sound like you believe that.”
Draco’s mouth curved, faint but sincere. “I do. Every bloody word.”
For a moment, the two of them just sat there, the letter lying between them like a dark stain. The muted voices of Narcissa and Sirius carried in faintly from the hall, a reminder of the storm gathering outside.
Theo finally spoke, his voice low. “If Father’s already been told, he won’t wait long. He’ll act.”
Draco nodded grimly. “Then we’ll be ready. And this time, Theo, you won’t be standing alone.”
Theo looked at him for a long beat, then huffed a quiet laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Bloody hell. You’re starting to sound like a Gryffindor.”
Draco smirked. “Don’t insult me.”
Theo chuckled softly, shaking his head. He leaned back again, eyes lifting to the ceiling. “Merlin, I hope Hermione never has to read that letter.”
Draco’s gaze slid to Hermione’s sleeping face, his expression softening. “She won’t. Not while we’re here.”
Theo sat back heavily in his chair, arms folded tight across his chest as though bracing himself against the words still burning on the parchment. His jaw worked silently, but no sound came.
Draco picked up the letter again and read the closing lines once more before letting it flutter back onto the table. His expression was sharp and distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.
When he spoke, his tone was low, edged with something like bitterness. “I’d wager right now, in whatever dank little corner of Azkaban they’re rotting in, Lycurgus and my father are already scheming over this article. Brainstorming like a pair of bloody strategists about how best to twist it into a weapon.”
Theo’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “You think they still talk? After everything?”
Draco’s lips curled in a humorless smile. “Of course they do. Men like them don’t stop. Azkaban doesn’t chain their minds, just their bodies. They sit in their cells, waiting, whispering through whatever cracks exist, trading words through guards or sympathizers. Do you really think either of them could resist plotting? Especially when it concerns us?”
Theo gave a hollow laugh, though there was no amusement in it. “Merlin, the thought of those two aligning over this-over her-” His eyes flicked toward Hermione, still unconscious. “It makes my skin crawl.”
Draco leaned forward, voice tight. “Don’t you see? That’s exactly why Alexander’s letter reads like it does. Because it isn’t just Alexander. It’s your father’s shadow bleeding through every line. He’ll know soon enough that Hermione Granger is the one thing tying both of us together, and he’ll use that knowledge the first chance he gets.”
Theo swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair. “And Lucius? You think he’s feeding the fire too?”
Draco gave a sharp nod. “Without question. My father has never forgiven me for failing to follow his path to the letter. Every breath I take outside his doctrine is an insult in his eyes. And Hermione-” His gaze lingered on her, softening despite the hardness of his words. “-she’s the purest rebellion I’ve ever dared.”
Theo let out a long breath, dragging a hand down his face. “So we’ve given them the same target. A single place to strike. Bloody brilliant of us.”
Draco’s mouth twitched, not quite a smirk. “Perhaps. But also the one place they can’t touch.”
Theo frowned. “Can’t? Drake, if they-”
“They can try,” Draco interrupted, his tone sharp, commanding. “But they won’t win. Not this time. Azkaban may give them their echo chamber, but it’s still a cage. And here? We have her. We have each other. That’s more than either of them will ever grasp.”
Theo looked at him for a long moment, then huffed a quiet, bitter laugh. “You sound certain.”
Draco’s pale eyes cut back to him, fierce and unwavering. “I have to be. Because if I start doubting, even for a moment, they’ve already won.”
Theo’s gaze dropped to the folded letter, his hand twitching as though to crumple it but stopping short. “Alexander will send more, you know. He won’t stop with this one. He’ll write, he’ll warn, he’ll twist every word until I start to believe him.”
“Then don’t read them,” Draco said bluntly.
Theo blinked. “What?”
“Don’t read them,” Draco repeated. “Give them to me. Let me burn them before they touch your thoughts. If he wants to poison you with words, he’ll have to go through me first.”
Theo stared at him, startled by the rawness beneath the offer. For a long beat, he didn’t answer. Then his lips tugged into the faintest of smirks. “Careful, Drake. You keep that up, and I’ll start to think you actually care.”
Draco scoffed, though the corner of his mouth curved. “Don’t flatter yourself. I simply prefer not to have you sulking so much that you become intolerable company.”
Theo chuckled low in his chest, the tension easing a fraction. His gaze slid back to Hermione, her lashes fluttering faintly in her sleep. “She’d hex us both for this conversation if she were awake.”
Draco’s expression softened, almost imperceptibly. “She’ll hex us anyway. But at least she’ll be awake to do it.”
From the hall, Narcissa’s voice drifted closer, calm but commanding. “…your wards are insufficient if a cursed letter can breach them so easily, Headmistress.” Sirius’ sharper retort overlapped it, full of derision. “Insufficient? They’re bloody nonexistent!”
Theo and Draco exchanged a look, both weary and knowing.
Theo muttered, “Should we be bracing ourselves for another storm when they come back in?”
Draco leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Undoubtedly. But compared to what’s waiting for us in Azkaban’s shadows, I’d rather face Sirius Black and my mother’s wrath any day.”
Theo smirked faintly, shaking his head. “Merlin help us, then.”
The parchment still lay on the table, its inked words gleaming faintly in the dim light. It was a reminder of the chains waiting beyond the stone walls of the ward. But between the low murmur of their voices, the steady sound of Hermione’s breathing, and the knowledge of their bond, the letter felt—if only for now-less like a curse and more like a challenge they would meet together.
The letter still lay between Draco and Theo, its edges curling slightly as though the parchment itself recoiled from the weight of the words written on it. Neither reached for it again. Silence hung thick between them, broken only by the muted sounds outside the hospital ward - Narcissa’s cool, measured voice intertwined with Sirius’ sharper tones, and the occasional lower interjection from the Headmistress and Dean.
Theo rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t think I’ve ever hated paper this much.”
Draco’s mouth quirked faintly, though his tone was dry. “Welcome to my world. Letters from Azkaban have a way of poisoning more than parchment.”
Before Theo could reply, the door to the ward pushed open. Narcissa swept in first, composed as ever, her pale robes trailing behind her like a sheet of moonlight. Her expression was smooth, but Draco knew her well enough to spot the tension pinched at the corners of her eyes. Sirius was right on her heels, his stride long and sharp, his dark hair wild from running his hands through it in agitation. Dean Obelyn followed, her crimson Arcanum robes perfectly straight despite the clear strain in her eyes, and Headmistress Virelle, tall and stern, closed the door behind them.
Draco and Theo both straightened instinctively, as though bracing for impact.
“Ah,” Sirius said, his voice pitched with irritation as his sharp gaze landed on Draco and Theo. “Perfect. The guilty parties already waiting.”
Theo’s brows shot up. “Guilty parties?” he repeated, incredulous.
Draco didn’t even look at Sirius - his eyes were on his mother. “What did you find?” he asked, his tone controlled, though a muscle ticked in his jaw.
Narcissa’s gaze flicked from Draco to Hermione’s sleeping form, softening for a moment before she turned back. “The letter that targeted Miss Granger was steeped in layered charms. Cunning work - subtle enough to evade the initial wards on the hall, but corrosive once opened. It was intended to bypass her natural defenses, smother her lungs, and render her helpless.”
Theo went rigid. “Smother-” He bit back a curse, his fists tightening.
Draco’s voice was like ice. “So someone sent her a slow suffocation.”
Headmistress Virelle stepped forward, her voice precise, crisp, as though delivering facts to cut through the tension. “Correct. The curse was designed to leave no trace beyond exhaustion - she would have appeared weak, merely unwell, until it was too late, but it ended up suffocating her out right."
“That’s supposed to reassure us?” Sirius snapped. “Because from where I’m standing, your vaunted Arcanum wards just let a poisoned missive stroll through the front door and nearly kill my niece in front of half the bloody student body!”
Dean Obelyn’s jaw tightened. “We are not denying the severity of the breach, Mr. Black. We’re investigating how it slipped through our protections.”
“Oh, investigating,” Sirius mocked. He gestured wildly at Hermione’s bed. “That’s comforting, isn’t it? Nearly buried by cursed smoke at breakfast, but don’t worry - someone’s filling out paperwork!”
“Sirius.” Narcissa’s voice cut through the room, sharp enough to make even him pause. Her gaze was steady, her tone even. “Yelling at the Headmistress will not keep Hermione safe.”
“No,” Sirius shot back, his eyes flashing. “But it might make someone realize how dangerous it is for her to stay here. You’re all blind if you think this was a one-off.”
Theo leaned forward in his chair, his voice low and biting. “Do you think we don’t know that? Do you think we haven’t been waiting for the next blow since the article dropped?”
Sirius rounded on him. “And yet she’s with you, Nott. You and him.” He jabbed a finger at Draco. “The two names most likely to paint a target on her back. Forgive me if I’m not reassured.”
Draco’s temper flared, his voice slicing through the air. “Careful, Black. You forget who else’s name paints a target. Potter. Your nephew. Hermione’s been living under someone else’s shadow her whole life. Don’t you dare pretend it’s only us.”
The room snapped taut with silence.
Hermione shifted faintly in her sleep, letting out the barest sigh. All eyes flicked toward her, tension melting a fraction at the reminder of her fragility.
Sirius dragged a hand down his face, muttering. “Bloody hell.”
Narcissa crossed to her son then, her voice quiet but cutting. “Draco. Do not bait him.”
Draco’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
Theo broke the silence, his voice rough. “Alexander wrote to me.”
Every head turned.
Sirius frowned. “Alexander?”
“My brother,” Theo confirmed. He glanced at Draco, then down at the folded parchment on the table. “He saw the article. And he made sure to tell me he’d informed our father.”
Narcissa drew in a slow breath, her eyes closing for a moment as though gathering herself. “Lycurgus will waste no time.”
Draco leaned back in his chair, his voice dry as ash. “Nor will mine. I told Theo already - I’d wager Lucius and Lycurgus are brainstorming together in Azkaban as we speak.”
The Headmistress’ eyes narrowed. “You believe they still coordinate?”
Draco’s lips curled faintly. “Believe? I know.”
Theo gave a bitter laugh. “And now they know about her.” His hand jerked toward Hermione. “She’s not just our weakness, she’s their opportunity. That letter was just the opening move.”
Sirius swore under his breath, pacing near the foot of the bed. “I should have expected this. I did expect it, but not this soon, not so brazen.”
Dean Obelyn’s voice was even, though there was steel beneath. “Arcanum will increase security around Miss Potter immediately. Additional wards on her rooms, stricter screening of all incoming mail, increased staff presence during meals.”
“Too little, too late,” Sirius muttered.
Narcissa’s eyes sharpened. “Do you have a better suggestion?”
“Yes,” Sirius said flatly. “Take her away from here. Get her out of the line of fire before Azkaban’s spawn and sympathizers get bold enough to try again.”
“And put her where, exactly?” Narcissa countered, calm but firm. “You think she’ll accept being spirited off like a child? You think she’ll forgive you if you cage her to keep her safe?”
Sirius’ mouth opened - then shut again.
Theo looked between them, then down at Hermione. His voice was quiet. “She’d hex you both. She’d hex all of us if we tried.”
Draco’s lips quirked in grim agreement. “And she’d do it while quoting some obscure subsection of Arcanum’s student rights charter.”
A faint ripple of strained amusement moved through the group. Even Sirius cracked the ghost of a smile before it fell away.
Headmistress Virelle cleared her throat. “The university remains responsible for her safety, as for every student. And I assure you, this attack will not go unanswered. Whoever sent that letter left traces. We will find them.”
Draco arched a brow, skeptical. “And when you do?”
Dean Obelyn’s eyes glittered. “Then Arcanum’s justice will remind them why this institution stands.”
Sirius muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “academic bluster,” but Narcissa ignored him.
Instead, she turned back to Draco and Theo, her gaze sharp and soft all at once. “You both need to be vigilant. More than you already are. If Lucius and Lycurgus truly are aligning, then Alexander’s letter is not a warning - it’s a herald. Whatever comes next, it will not be subtle.”
Theo swallowed hard. “We know.”
Draco’s voice was iron. “We’ll be ready.”
Hermione stirred again, her lashes fluttering but not opening. Narcissa’s hand smoothed the edge of her blanket almost unconsciously. Sirius moved closer to the bed, his expression softening in a way it rarely did.
For a moment, the room fell quiet - an uneasy truce hanging between anger, fear, and resolve.
The folded parchment still sat on the table, stark and damning, but in the circle around Hermione’s bed, the atmosphere shifted. It wasn’t just worry anymore. It was resolve.
The room has just settled into tentative calm when Hermione’s eyelids fluttered, heavy and reluctant, before snapping open. Her chest heaved in a sharp, panicked gasp, and the faint pink of panic rose to her cheeks as she drew in a ragged breath. The potion had dulled her awareness for hours, but the sudden rush of wakefulness brought every sensation back all at once: the quiet hum of the ward, the low murmur of voices outside, the scent of disinfectant and parchment, and the subtle warmth of Draco’s coat sleeve brushing against her arm.
“Hermione…” Draco’s voice was low, smooth, grounding. He leaned forward, pale fingers brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “Water.”
Before she could respond, he reached for a crystal glass on the bedside table, already filled with water, and pressed it gently into her hands. “Slowly. Don’t try to drink it all at once.”
She obeyed instinctively, tipping the glass to her lips in small sips, letting the cool liquid ease the tightness in her chest. Her breathing gradually steadied, and she finally set the glass back on the table, hands trembling faintly.
“What… what happened?” she whispered, voice hoarse, just loud enough for them to hear. “What did you find out about the letter?” Her green eyes darted between Draco, Theo, Narcissa, and Sirius, all of whom were standing or sitting around the bed like silent sentinels, their expressions taut with concern.
Dean Obelyn stepped forward with a careful, measured tone. “Miss Potter, the letter was enchanted. Poisoned, subtly. Its charm was designed to bypass most wards and strike the recipient gradually. Since it had opened fully, it nearly incapacitated you."
Hermione’s hand shot up to her chest. “So… it was meant to-”
“Smother you,” Theo interjected sharply, his voice low but edged with anger. “That’s exactly what it was. Slow, calculated. A curse masked as ink and paper.”
Sirius moved closer, dark eyes narrowing with both guilt and frustration. “Which is why I suggested-”
“Don’t.” Hermione’s voice was unexpectedly firm, cutting him off mid-sentence, sharp enough to silence even the low hum of the enchanted ward. She leaned slightly forward, gripping the edge of the sheets. “I will not be sent running again. I am not a child to be spirited away. I am not going to leave Hogwarts because some… some bastard thinks I’m a target.”
Sirius exhaled through his nose, the faintest shdow of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I had a feeling that was going to be your answer."
Narcissa's hand, pale and poised, rose slightly as if to pat him on the arm, though she kept her gaze on Hermione. Her lips pressed together in a familiar, slow drawl of "I told you so," which somehow carried the weight if absolute certainty.
Draco’s mouth twitched in a faint smirk, though the tension in his jaw remained. “Merlin, Black. You can always count on her to have that look of ‘not a chance’ before she even speaks.”
Theo leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest, voice dry but amused. “And she’s never wrong. Not once. That’s the trouble with her.”
Sirius raised his hands in mock surrender, but his dark eyes were soft, scanning Hermione’s face with a mixture of pride and concern. “Fine. You’ve made your point. I expected as much, of course. Couldn’t have been any other way.”
Headmistress Virelle’s tall figure moved closer to the bedside, the subtle authority in her posture leaving no doubt about her words. “Miss Potter,” she said crisply, “we respect your decision to remain at Hogwarts. And I assure you, measures have been increased to ensure your safety. Arcanum wards, staff vigilance, screening of all correspondence, and magical monitoring during meals. Nothing will be left to chance. You are not alone in this.”
Hermione’s gaze softened slightly at that, though a flicker of frustration remained. “I know. I just… I can’t stop thinking about the letter. How easily it slipped past everything. How close I was to-”
“Not breathing at all,” Theo finished grimly, his voice low, almost a growl. “Yes. That’s exactly how close you were. And I’m not going to let anyone, not Alexander, not Lucius, not anyone, put you through that again.”
“Exactly,” Draco added, voice calm but sharp, the intensity in his pale eyes unwavering. “And nor will I. Nor Theo. You are our responsibility-our choice. You are here because we choose to protect you, not because anyone else dictates it.”
Hermione blinked at him, a mixture of awe and exasperation in her gaze. “Even with all of this… you two just… stay. You don’t leave, even when it’s dangerous. You just-” She faltered, voice catching. “You just… stay.”
Theo’s hand drifted to hers, fingers brushing hers briefly, steadying. “Because we care, Hermione. Because there’s nothing more important than keeping you safe. And we both know, this is far from over. The letter wasn’t just words-it was a message, a warning. And we’ll be ready for whatever comes next.”
Sirius exhaled sharply, muttering, “Bloody hell… stubborn as she is smart.”
Narcissa’s lips quirked faintly, a mixture of admiration and admonishment. “She knows her own mind, Black. Always has. And I suspect she always will.”
Draco leaned slightly closer to Hermione, voice softer now, almost intimate in the quiet hush of the ward. “And we’ll be here for her, Sirius. Whatever comes next, we face it together. That’s a promise, as much as it’s a warning.”
Hermione’s lips twitched into the faintest ghost of a smile, but her eyes stayed serious. “I don’t want anyone else hurt because of me. Not you, not Theo, not Draco, not anyone else. I won’t let that happen.”
Theo shook his head, chuckling lowly despite the tension. “And that’s the problem with you. You think you’re alone in this, but we’ve already decided we’re not letting anything touch you. You might like to argue about it, but the choice’s already made. You’re stuck with us.”
Dean Obelyn’s voice cut in, calm and firm, breaking the moment of quiet camaraderie. “Miss Potter, while your bravery is commendable, it will be necessary to remain cautious. We cannot rely solely on determination or friendship. Vigilance, planning, and adherence to safety protocols will be critical in the coming days.”
Hermione tilted her head, absorbing every word, her hands lightly clutching the sheets. “I understand,” she whispered. “I just… I need to be aware. I need to know what’s being done to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
Narcissa’s eyes softened, a hand resting lightly on Hermione’s shoulder. “And you will, my dear. Every measure possible is in place, and we will continue to adapt. But remember this: you are not alone in that knowledge. You have more allies than you realize.”
Draco’s voice lowered, a quiet edge of affection threading through it. “And as long as we’re here, no one will make you feel powerless again. Not them, not anyone.”
Theo added, voice rough but steady, “We’ve got you. Every step. Every move. And we’ll make sure you can keep doing what you do best-being you. Without fear.”
Hermione’s lips pressed together in a thin line, her chest rising and falling more evenly now. The tension in her shoulders eased fractionally, though the weight of the events lingered. She finally gave a slow, steadying breath, glancing from Draco to Theo, then to the others. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice low but sincere. “For staying. For… all of this. I-”
Sirius muttered, half to himself, half at the group, “Stubborn, fearless… bloody impossible.”
Narcissa’s lips curled faintly at the corner, casting Sirius a look that clearly said I told you so, and Draco leaned back with a faint smirk, his expression softening just enough to mirror her sentiment. Theo gave a small, dry chuckle.
Hermione’s gaze returned to the ceiling for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts and courage, before settling back on Draco and Theo. “Then… let’s make sure the next letter never reaches me. Not alone, not unguarded. Not ever again.”
Draco’s jaw set, voice quiet but resolute. “It won’t. We’ll see to that ourselves.”
Theo’s lips pressed into a thin line, finally letting a small, bitter laugh escape. “You’re right. Not alone. Not ever."
Hermione allowed herself the faintest flicker of relief-a fragile truce with not just the ward, not just with the threat of outside, but with the storm surrounding her heart. For now, at least, she was not alone.
The sunlight spilling through the tall windows had shifted, brightening the pale floors of the hospital ward. Lunch trays had long since vanished, and the faint click of glass vials from Healer Fenwicks' office echoed from behind the partition. Hermione sat propped against a tower of pillows, quill scratching furiously across parchment balanced on a board across her lap. The stack of books perched precariously beside her made it plain that she had already charmed Theo or Draco into fetching them from the library.
Draco and Theo sat like bookends, one in the chair on her right, one in the chair on her left, both glowering equally at the quill in her hand. Sirius leaned against the wall at the foot of her bed, arms folded, his dark eyes tracking her every stroke of ink with growing irritation.
"You can't be serious," Draco said at last, his tone clipped, pale brows drawn together.
Theo gestured with both hands toward the essay. "She is serious. Look at her. She's halfway through her bloody conclusion."
Without even glancing up, Hermione replied crisply, "I told you, I'm fine. And this is due tomorrow."
"You nearly suffocated at breakfast yesterday, Hermione," Sirius cut in sharply, his voice edged with exasperation. "Tomorrow can bloodyl well wait."
Draco's jaw tightened. "Exactly."
Hermione didn't so much as pause, her quill flying faster across the parchment. "It will not wait. Professor Greaves gave us the prompt weeks ago. If I let on cursed letter derail me, then what's the point? That's letting them win."
Harry, perched awkwardly on the edge of the next bed, shifted uneasily. "She's got a point, Uncle."
"Don't you dare encourage her, Potter," Draco snapped, glaring at him.
Harry raised his brows. "She's not wrong."
Theo let out a low groan. "Of course you'd say that."
On the other side of Hermione's bed, Ginny crossed her legs and leaned forward, bright eyes flashing. "They're right." Hermione's not made of glass, no matter how much the rest of you want to bubble-wrap her. If she feels well enough to write, let her write."
"Thank you, Ginny," Hermione murmured without looking up, her lips quircking faintly as her quill danced aross the parchment.
Pansy sat primly in a chair near the foor of the bed, a glossy magazine folded neatly in her lap. She gave Draco a withering look. "Honestly, you'd think she'd commited a crime, the way you two are arrying on. She's writing, Malfoy, not dueling."
"Same differance," Theo muttered darkly.
Astoria, perched on the window ledge, chimed in with a cool smile. "I think it's admirable. Hermione's refusing to let fear or weakness dictate her choices. That's strength."
Draco ran a hand through his pale hair, clearly seconds from losing his patience. "It's recklessness disguised as strength. She's exhausted, Astoria. Anyone can see it."
Hermione finally looked up at that, her quill hovering mid-stroke, eyes flashing with fire. "Exhausted, perhaps. Useless? No. I will not sit here wasting hours when I could be finshing work that actually matters."
Theo leaned closer, dropping his voice into a low growl. "You're work doesn't matter if you're not breathing."
"Merlin's sake, Theo," Hermione snapped, setting her quill down with a sharp click. "Stop acting like I'm fragile porcelain. I'm here. I'm alive. And I'm perfectly capable of writing an essay."
Sirius let out a bark of laughter, though it lacked humor. "Perfectly capable, she sayd, with half the bloody ward still smelling of smoke from yesterday. You lot will be the death of me."
Ginny smirked at him. "You sound like Mum."
Sirius recoiled. "Take that back."
Hermione pressed her lips togther, fighting a smile, then dipped her quill again with stubborn resolve. "See? You can all argue around me, but I'll still get this finished."
Harry leaned forward, frowning at the parchment. "What's the essay on?"
“Comparative spellcasting limitations in cross-disciplinary practice,” Hermione answered without missing a beat. “Specifically, the failure rates of layered charms when cast by duos versus solo casters.”
Theo muttered, "And this is supposed to keep her alive longer?"
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Oh, do shut up, Theo. You're sulking because she isn't swooning helplessly into your arms."
Theo scowled. "I don't want her swooning into my arms. I want her resting so she doesn't collapse in them."
Hermione's cheels pinked faintly, though she kept writing. "I am resting. I'm in bed, aren't I?"
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "With a quill in hand and a pile of textbooks like barricades around you. That isn't resting, Potter."
Astoria smirked faintly, swinging her feet from the ledge. "You should like an old man, Draco. Let her bed."
Draco shot her a look sharp enough to cut glass, but Astoria only smiled more sweetly.
Ginny leaned closer to Hermione, lowering her voice just enough to be conspiratorial. "Do you want me to hex them quiet for you?"
Hermione gave her a quick, grateful grin. "Tempting. Very tempting."
Theo groaned, slumping back in his chair. "Unbelievable. All of you enabling her like this."
Harry shrugged, leaning back against the bedframe. "She's Hermione. She's always been like this. You try stopping her."
Draco's pale eyes cut toward him. "Don't think I won't."
Hermione gave him a pointed glare. "Try it and yotu'll regret it."
Even Sirius cracked a grin at that, his arms unfolding as he let out a low chuckle. "Merlin help me, but she's right. She always has been. Might as well let her write. She'll only sneak it later if you take it away."
Draco and Theo exchanged a look of deep, mutual suffering, but neither argued further. Hermione, triumphant, bent her head back over the parchment, the scratch of her quill filling the room again.
Ginny reached over and plucked one of the stacked books, flipping idly through it. "I have no idea how you make sense of this. Charts, footnotes, twenty different types of charms-my head hurts just looking at it."
"That's because you didn't read chapter five properly," Hermione said absently, still writing.
"Merlin preserve us," Theo muttered.
Pansy arched a brow, folding her magazine closed. "Face it, boys. She's going to be herself whether you like it or not. Best you leanr to live with it."
Sirius's laugh echosed through the ward again, but this time, it was warmer. "Finally, some sense."
Draco glowered, Theo groaned, and Hermione's quill scratched faster as she finshed the last pargraph. The corner of her lips tugged upward in a victorious little smile.
Her quill stilled, her final line scrawled with the satisfaction of a battle won, when the double doors at the end of the ward swung open. The sound was unmistakable: hurried footsteps, the rustle of heavy wool cloaks, voices hushed in urgent tone.
Hermione's head snapped up, curls bouncing as her brown eyes widened. "Oh-"
Theo reacted first, his hand shooting out to press gently bu firmly against her shoulder. "Don't even think about it."
Draco mirrored the move on her other side, palm braced against the mattress. "Stay put, Potter."
Hermione wiggled, indigant. "Let me up, both of you!"
But it was too late-Molly had spotted her form across the ward. With a cry that was equal parts relief and heartbreak, she hurried forward, Arthur close behind her, his warm, tired eyes fixed on Hermione as though she might vanish at any second.
"My girl," Molly breathed, and the moment Hermione heard it, her resolve snapped. She shoved against Theo's arm, tried to duck Draco's restraining hand, and very nearly tumbled headfirst out of the bed.
Theo caught her around the waist mid-lurch, muttering darkly, “For Merlin’s sake-do you ever listen?”
“I have to,” Hermione gasped, her voice cracking as tears stung her eyes. “It’s Molly. It’s Arthur.”
Draco growled low in his throat but helped steady her on her feet, muttering, “Stubborn witch,” under his breath.
The next moment, Hermione launched herself forward, bare feet slapping against the cold floor as she rushed into Molly’s arms. The embrace nearly knocked the breath out of both of them-Molly clutching her as though she could fuse her back together by sheer will, Hermione burying her face into the familiar scent of wool and lavender and home.
Arthur’s arms wrapped around them both, his usually mild voice thick with emotion. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters. You’re safe.”
Hermione let out a shaky sob, clinging tighter. “I’m sorry I worried you-both of you-I didn’t mean-”
“Shh,” Molly soothed, pressing kiss after kiss into Hermione’s curls. “Don’t you dare apologize. You’re here, that’s enough.”
Behind them, Draco and Theo exchanged a look of helpless defeat, both of them standing like sentinels just a few steps away.
Theo muttered, “We’re never getting her back in that bed now.”
Draco folded his arms across his chest. “If she keels over, I’ll hex her unconscious and then put her back.”
Ginny, still perched at Hermione’s bedside, smirked. “You try hexing her in front of Mum. See how far that gets you.”
“Exactly,” Pansy chimed, her lips curling into a sly smile. “The Weasley matriarch could probably hex you both into next week without even raising her wand.”
Sirius chuckled from his lean against the wall. “She’s not wrong.”
Hermione pulled back at last, cheeks wet but eyes blazing with fierce affection. She clasped Arthur’s hands in hers, squeezing hard. “I’ve missed you both so much.”
Arthur gave her a small, watery smile. “We’ve missed you too, Hermione. The house feels emptier without you lot. Molly’s been trying to knit half a wardrobe to keep busy.”
“I have not,” Molly said, though her cheeks pinked. “And if I have, it’s only because I worry.”
Theo groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face. “Of course you’re encouraging her.”
Hermione turned, still holding Arthur’s hand, her glare sharp enough to slice through steel. “Don’t you dare, Theo. Not one word against them.”
Theo raised both hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t say a word. Not out loud, anyway.”
Draco muttered, “Barely.”
Molly finally released Hermione enough to properly look her over, fussing with the blanket still draped around her shoulders. “You’re too thin, love. And pale. Have they been feeding you properly?”
“They’ve been trying,” Hermione admitted, glancing sidelong at Theo and Draco. “I may have… resisted.”
Draco arched a brow. “That’s one word for it.”
“‘Flat-out refused’ is another,” Theo added dryly.
Arthur chuckled, though his gaze softened with understanding. “She’s always been headstrong. Even as a child, I expect.”
Sirius snorted. “You’ve no idea.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but her smile trembled. “Can we not make me sound impossible in front of the people I love most?”
Molly cupped her cheek, voice breaking. “We’re just glad you’re safe. That’s all that matters, Hermione.”
Draco muttered, almost inaudible, “That’s what I’ve been saying all day.”
Pansy’s laugh was sharp. “Don’t get used to Molly agreeing with you, Malfoy.”
Ginny slipped an arm around Hermione’s shoulders, guiding her gently back toward the bed. “Come on, before you topple over. You can hug them again once you’re sitting down.”
Hermione wanted to protest, but Arthur laid a warm hand on her back, steering her with quiet insistence. “Listen to Ginny, dear.”
Theo smirked at Draco as Hermione allowed herself to be settled once more. “Mark the calendar. This is the first time she’s actually listened.”
Hermione shot him a glare even as she clutched Molly’s hand tightly in hers. “Don’t push your luck, Theodore."
Arthur’s chuckle rumbled softly. “Yes, definitely headstrong.”
Molly sat on the edge of the bed, never letting go of Hermione’s hand. “And thank Merlin for it. That stubbornness is what’s kept you alive.”
Draco and Theo exchanged another look-this one quieter, heavier. Neither argued.
Chapter 27: Beauty and Bravery
Summary:
Hermione leans on those around her and takes steps towards normal.
Chapter Text
“Now then,” Molly declared, already tugging Hermione’s blankets higher though they were perfectly in place. “You’re too pale by half, and I am sure you haven't eaten a proper meal today. I’ll have words with the elves about sending up something nourishing.”
“Molly, I really-” Hermione began.
“No arguments,” Molly cut across, patting the edge of Hermione’s quilt. “Soup. Bread. A bit of roast if you can manage it. You need building back up after-” She stopped herself, voice gentling. “After what happened.”
Hermione gave a resigned huff. “I am not wasting away. Honestly, everyone’s behaving as though I’ve been bedridden for weeks, not a couple of days.”
“That’s because you tried to leap out of bed not five minutes ago,” Theo said smoothly from his perch beside her. “We’re not likely to forget that anytime soon.”
“And nearly undid the Healer’s charms in the process,” Draco added, folding his arms. His glare dared her to contradict him.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “You two are conspiring with Molly. It’s an unfair alliance.”
Theo gave her an exaggeratedly solemn look. “You are entirely correct. But effective.”
Ginny snorted from her chair. “You don’t stand a chance, Hermione. Between them and Mum, you’re smothered on all sides.”
“Oh, but it’s glorious to watch,” Pansy chimed in, crossing her legs with a feline smirk. “I’ve never seen anyone make Malfoy this frantic. He looks like he hasn’t exhaled since you woke up.”
Draco shot her a withering look. “Pansy.”
“What? It’s true.”
Hermione bit back a laugh, warmth flickering through the heaviness in her chest.
Molly chose that moment to adjust the blanket again, tucking it so tightly that Hermione couldn’t so much as wiggle. “Molly!” Hermione groaned. “I cannot breathe like this.”
“Nonsense. Snug is safe,” Molly replied briskly.
“Snug is suffocating,” Draco muttered. He leaned over and carefully loosened the corner Molly had just tucked. “There. She’ll roast if you keep swaddling her like a toddler.”
“Excuse me,” Molly said, affronted, “I have raised seven children. I think I know how to manage a blanket.”
“Clearly too well,” Theo murmured under his breath, earning a snicker from Ginny and a pointed glare from Molly.
Hermione rolled her eyes, but the fondness that filled the ward dulled the lingering ache in her ribs. For a precious few minutes, it almost felt ordinary-like family bickering around a kitchen table.
The peace shattered when the door opened once more. Narcissa Malfoy stepped inside, her composure poised and elegant, silver-grey robes gliding about her. But as she crossed the threshold, light caught her face, and the ward went utterly still.
A dark bruise bloomed across her cheekbone, barely hidden beneath pale powder.
Draco was on his feet before anyone else could react. “Mother.” His voice was razor sharp, his chair clattering back. “What is that?”
Narcissa lifted her chin, though her eyes flicked with a trace of weariness. “It is nothing that need concern you.”
Draco’s fury ignited, his fists trembling at his sides. “You went to Azkaban.” It wasn’t a question. His voice cracked with the force of it. “You went to him.”
“I did,” Narcissa admitted quietly, the bruise standing in damning contrast to her composed tone. “And he remains… Lucius.”
“Lucius?” Draco spat, the name a curse. “He touched you?”
Narcissa’s silence was answer enough.
Draco surged forward, but Theo caught him by the arm, bracing against the force of his movement. “Draco. Stop.”
“Don’t tell me to stop-”
Hermione pushed herself upright, wincing as her shoulder tweaked. “Draco, please,” she said, voice soft but cutting through the crackle in the air. “You’ll tear yourself apart.”
“He hurt her,” Draco snapped, anguish breaking through the fury. His eyes burned, fixed on the bruise marring his mother’s face. “He laid hands on her.”
Narcissa stepped closer, lifting her hand to her son’s cheek. “And you will not let him take more from us than he already has.”
Draco shook, barely holding himself together under her touch. “I’ll kill him.”
“No,” Narcissa said firmly. “He is already imprisoned. He is already diminished. He wants you furious. He wants you broken. I will not allow him that victory.”
Silence throbbed through the ward.
Arthur’s voice came at last, quiet but strong. “Lucius will answer for this, Narcissa. You need not bear it alone.”
Sirius pushed off from the wall, his face dark with uncharacteristic seriousness. “If it were up to me, he’d never draw another breath.”
Molly, eyes wide and glistening, reached for Narcissa’s hand. “Come sit down, dear. You shouldn’t be standing after-” She stopped, her voice trembling. “After that.”
Narcissa inclined her head, allowing Molly to guide her into a chair. She looked over at Hermione then, gaze softening. “I did not mean to bring more shadows into this room.”
Hermione shook her head, fiercely. “You didn’t. He did. And he doesn’t win.”
Draco sank down onto the edge of Hermione’s bed, still shaking with fury, her hand finding his instinctively. Theo’s steadying grip lingered on his shoulder, a silent anchor.
From her corner, Pansy muttered under her breath, “Well. This just got bloody complicated.”
Ginny elbowed her, whispering back, “Shut it, Pans.”
Despite their irreverence, their eyes were sharp, fixed protectively on Hermione and Draco both.
Molly moved first. She sniffed, brushed hastily at her eyes, and bustled toward Hermione's bed with renewed determination.
“Well, none of this will do. Shadows and silence and fretting… no. What’s needed here is warmth and strength. Hermione, love, you’re pale as parchment again. You’ll eat something this instant.”
Hermione groaned. “Molly, I just-”
“No arguments,” Molly said briskly, summoning a tray with a flick of her wand. “Chicken broth, buttered rolls, and stewed apples. Gentle on the stomach, restorative, and far better than ink-stains and sighing.”
Theo muttered, leaning back in his chair. “She’s unstoppable. Respect, really.”
Draco shot him a look. “Stop encouraging her.”
“Oh, I’ll do more than encourage,” Molly said, catching that under her breath. “I’ll see to it Hermione doesn’t so much as touch a quill until she’s properly mended. Now, dear, eat.” She broke a roll in half and pressed it into Hermione’s hand before she could object.
Hermione glanced helplessly around the room. Ginny grinned wickedly. “Best do as she says, Hermione. Resistance is futile.”
Pansy smirked, propping her chin in her hand. “Besides, it’s rather entertaining watching Malfoy and Nott get steamrolled by Weasley’s mother. That doesn’t happen every day.”
Astoria, perched quietly near the foot of the bed, spoke for the first time in a soft but steady voice. “She’s only trying to take care of you. You should let her.”
Hermione’s eyes gentled at that, and she sighed, taking a tentative bite of the roll. Molly immediately beamed, victorious.
“There we are. See? Much better. Now, eat the rest.”
Draco scowled. “She doesn’t have to eat it all right this-”
“Draco,” Molly said in the same tone she’d once used on Ron when he was caught sneaking biscuits. The one that brooked no backtalk.
For perhaps the first time in history, Draco Malfoy fell silent.
The door creaked yet again, and Ron shuffled in with Blaise Zabini trailing behind him, the pair clearly mid-conversation. Ron stopped dead when he saw the crowded ward. “Blimey. Did we walk into a family meeting or a battlefield?”
“Both,” Ginny said promptly.
“Bit of both,” Pansy corrected with a smirk. “Depending who you ask.”
Blaise arched a brow, gaze flicking over Draco’s tight posture, Narcissa’s composed face with its unmistakable bruise, and Molly fussing with Hermione’s soup spoon. He let out a low whistle. “Definitely both.”
Ron frowned, striding toward Hermione’s bed. “You shouldn’t be sitting up like that. You look-”
“Don’t say ‘awful,’” Hermione warned, narrowing her eyes.
“-a bit tired,” Ron amended hastily, sliding into the chair nearest Astoria.
“That’s an understatement,” Theo muttered.
“Understatement of the year,” Draco agreed grimly.
Hermione bristled. “I’m sitting right here, you know.”
“Yes, and if you had your way, you’d be sitting here buried under a pile of books, ignoring the fact that you collapsed this morning,” Blaise said smoothly, taking the remaining seat and crossing his legs with languid grace. “Forgive me if I side with the overprotective guard dogs.”
Theo smirked. “Finally, someone with sense.”
Ron blinked. “Did Zabini just agree with you?”
“Mark your calendars,” Ginny said dryly.
Molly was too busy pressing a spoon into Hermione’s hand to notice the banter. “A few bites of broth now, love. Nice and slow.”
Hermione groaned, but obliged, if only to keep Draco from combusting beside her. He still looked as though he might fly to Azkaban himself if anyone breathed Lucius’ name too loudly.
Pansy, sensing the heaviness pressing again, leaned over to Ginny with a stage whisper that was perfectly loud enough for everyone to hear. “How much do you reckon it would take to bribe the elves into sneaking her treacle tart under the blankets?”
“Not much,” Ginny whispered back, lips twitching. “Couple of Galleons, maybe. Or one kiss for good measure.”
“From who?” Pansy arched a brow.
Ginny grinned wickedly. “From Malfoy. Bet the elf would faint dead away.”
Draco’s head snapped around. “Excuse me?”
Theo snorted so hard he nearly choked.
Hermione, despite herself, laughed-and the sound broke the tension like sunlight cracking through storm clouds.
Ron scrubbed a hand over his face. “I cannot believe this is my life.”
“You’d better believe it,” Blaise said lazily, though his sharp eyes lingered on Hermione, checking for any signs of faltering.
Astoria, quiet but firm, leaned toward Hermione. “Don’t let them tire you out. You don’t have to prove anything right now.”
Hermione reached for her hand, giving it a grateful squeeze. “Thank you, Astoria.”
Draco immediately covered her other hand with his own, still taut with fury but softened by her touch. “She’s right. You don’t prove anything by burning yourself down.”
Theo nodded, leaning in closer. “Let us carry it for a while.”
Hermione looked between them, her gaze flicking briefly toward Narcissa, who sat regal but weary in her chair, then to Molly who still hovered with fuss and worry. For the first time, she let herself lean back against the pillows without protest, the soup bowl set aside unfinished.
Pansy smirked, kicking her feet up onto Ron’s chair. “Well, look at that. A miracle. Hermione Potter, voluntarily resting.”
Ginny smirked back. “Quick, someone write it down. Historic occasion.”
“Historic, indeed,” Blaise drawled. “Almost as historic as Malfoy allowing himself to be bossed about by Mrs. Weasley.”
That earned a strangled sound from Draco, half-growl, half-groan. Hermione, tired but laughing, tightened her hold on his hand until his scowl softened again.
And though the bruise on Narcissa’s face lingered like a shadow and the memory of the morning’s curse still ached in Hermione’s chest, the ward was filled with warmth: Molly’s relentless care, Draco and Theo’s fierce guard, the girls’ mischief, Ron’s steady loyalty, Blaise’s cool watchfulness, and Narcissa’s quiet strength.
Together, it was enough to push the darkness back.
Friday morning dawned softly, pale shaft of sunlight threading through the high windows of the ward, Hermione stirred first, stretching carefully against the firm pillows propped behind her. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic herbs and parchment; the table beside her was stacked high with books, scrolls, and a few vials of restorative draughts she hand't bothered to finish.
She sat upright with a determined little set to her mouth, her curls tumbling around her shoulders. “I’ve made a decision,” she announced, her voice brisk but not unkind.
Draco, who had been sprawled in the chair to her right, jerked awake, blinking blearily. Theo half-slouched against the foot of her bed, lifted his head and rubbed at his eyes.
Draco groaned. "Merlin, Potter. Don't start sentences like that this early. It's never anything good."
"It is," she replied firmly, tugging the blanket straight across her lap. "I'm going to speak with Healer Fenwick this morning about going back to classes."
Theo's head snapped up fully now. "Absolutely not."
Draco sat up straighter too, his grey eyes narrowing. "You can't be serious."
Hermione folded her arms. "I am serious. More serious than I've ever been. There is only so much school work I can do from this bed."
"You nearly died three days ago," Theo shot back, incredulous. "Three. Days. Hermione, you're still pale, you're voice still cracks if you talk to long and you think sitting through three-hour lectures is a good idea?"
"Yes," she said, chin lifting. Because the a;ternative is falling even more behind, and then worrying myself sick over the backlog. If you two want me to go on holiday with you and Narcissa, I need to get to the point where I'm not drowning in assignments."
"That's-" Draco broke off, running a hand through his hair, clearly restraining himself from swearing. "That's not how recovery works. You don't get to bully yourself back to health."
Hermione tilted her head, lips pursed in thought. "I'm not bullying myself. I'm being practical."
Theo made a strangled sound. "Practical? You blacked out in the middle of the dinning hall and had to be carried here. You think your professors want to worry about you fainting in their classes?"
"I won't faint."
"You don't know that," Draco muttered darkly.
Hermione leaned forward slightly, eyes bright. "What I do know is that I feel stronger each day, and sitting here staring at books I can't properly concentrate on isn't helping. Classes will. Structure will. Routine will."
Draco muttered something vicious under his breath about Gryffindor stubbornness. Theo leaned forward, catching her gaze, his voice quieter but sharper. "And what happened when you push to hard? What happend if you set yourself back a week, another month?"
Her expression softened then, just u a fraction. "I know you're worried. I know you both are. But please, try to see it from my side-if I don't at least try, I'll never stop fretting over it. And you'll never get me to go on this holiday."
Theo let out an exasperated laugh, shaking his head. "Blackmail. She's resorting to blackmail now."
Draco smirked faintly, though his eyes never left Hermione. "Clever. Annoying, but clever."
Before eithe rof them could retort further, the door to the ward swung open. Fenwick strode in, his long green robes whispering against the floor. Callen followed a step behind, a satchel tucked neatly under his arm.
"Ah, good morning, Miss Potter," Fenwick said, voice crisp but not unfriendly. "You look far less wan than you did on Tuesday."
"Thank you, Healer Fenwick," Hermione replied, sitting straighter. "Actually, I wanted to ask-"
"She want to go back to classes," Theo interrupted quickly, glaring at Fenwick as if daring him to agree.
Fenwick arched a brow, pausing mid-step. "Does she now?"
"I do," Hermione said firmly, shooting Theo a look that promised retribution later. "If you feel I'm ready, that is."
Draco stood then, folding his arms across his chest. "She isn't. Don't listen to her. She still had issues catching her breath if she walks too far down the corridor."
Hermione huffed. "That was two days ago.d"
"And yesterday," Theo muttered.
Fenwick held up a hand, silencing them all with professional calm. "The only way to determine readiness is to perform a proper examination." He turned to Callen. "Mire, set up the diagnostic charm grid."
"Yes, sir," Callesn said quickly, placing the satchel on the side of the table and withdrawing a series of polished brass rods etched with runes. He arranged them in a neat circle around the foot of hermione's bed.
Draco and Theo immediately stepped back, though neither looked pleased. Hermione rolled her eyes at their theatrics but didn't argue.
Fenwick approached, wand in hand. "Now, Miss Potter, you'll feel a mild warmth. Hold still, please."
A ripple of golden light spread outward from his wandtip, connecting each brass rod until a shimmering dome enveloped Hermione. Glyphs flared faintly in the air-her heartbeat, her lung capacity, magical core stability.
Callen began jotting notes furiously. "Pulse steady... magical reserves at seventy-two percent capacity, stabalizing... minor fatigue markers, bit no acute stress reponses."
Hermione allowed herself a small, triumphant smile.
Fenwick circled the bed slowly, eyes tracking the glyphs. At last he lowered his wand, the dome dissolving. “You are recovering remarkably well. Faster than I projected.”
Hermione clasped her hands together, eager. “Then I can go back?”
Theo leaned forward. “Fenwick, don’t-”
Fenwick cut him off gently. “Provided you pace yourself. No more than two lectures per day for the next week, and if you experience even a hint of dizziness, you will return here at once. Understood?”
Hermione’s eyes shone. “Understood.”
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re enabling her.”
“I’m treating her,” Fenwick corrected calmly. “Recovery is not only physical-it is also psychological. Miss Potter’s determination is not a weakness. Denying her the chance to resume normalcy might be more detrimental than allowing it.”
Callen looked up from his notes. “Her magical core readings are strong, too. Stronger than expected.”
Hermione beamed at him. “Thank you, Callen.”
Theo groaned. “Don’t encourage her.”
Fenwick snapped his case shut. “I’ll have no arguments here. The decision is mine, and I have made it. Miss Granger may resume classes, with the limitations I’ve stated. That is final.”
Hermione’s smile widened as she turned to Draco and Theo. “See? I told you so.”
Draco muttered something about insufferable Gryffindors again, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward despite himself. Theo threw himself back into the chair at her bedside with a dramatic sigh.
“This is going to kill me before it kills you,” he declared.
Hermione reached out, resting her hand lightly over his. “No, Theo. It’s going to help me live.”
And though Draco and Theo exchanged a long, beleaguered look over her head, neither of them argued further.
Hermione looked faintly smug as Fenwick and Callen left the ward, leaving her with a neatly folded parchment outlining her restrictions. Draco and Theo were both still sulking, though Draco did so with icy composure while Theo looked more like someone who’d been sentenced to the gallows.
“I hate this,” Theo muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.
“You hate everything that doesn’t go your way,” Hermione replied sweetly.
Draco shot her a sharp look. “Don’t push it, Potter. Healer’s orders or not, you’re not invincible.”
“I never said I was,” she countered, already stacking the parchment into the pile of books at her side. “I said I was ready. And now I’ve been proven right.”
Before Draco could come up with something cutting, the ward door creaked open again. This time, the sound was followed by a familiar, lilting voice.
“Well, if it isn’t the invalid herself,” Pansy Parkinson announced as she swept inside, a neat parcel levitating behind her. She wore her usual air of disdainful elegance, though her eyes softened as they landed on Hermione.
“Don’t call her that,” Theo snapped instantly.
“Oh, relax, Nott,” Pansy drawled. “I wasn’t insulting her. Honestly, you’re all wound tighter than a Fanged Frisbee.”
Hot on her heels, Ginny Weasley slipped into the ward carrying a large canvas bag over one shoulder. “I told her not to call you that,” she said, flashing Hermione a sympathetic grin. “But she never listens.”
Hermione’s face brightened. “You both came.”
“Of course we came,” Ginny said, hefting the bag onto the nearest table. “Do you think we were going to let you march out of here looking like you’ve been bedridden for weeks?”
"It's only been a few days," Hermione replied.
"Still, this is happening,"Pansy cut in briskly, flicking her wand to lay the parcel across Hermione’s bed. “Clothes, courtesy of yours truly. Fresh, pressed, not smelling of potions or parchment. You’re welcome.”
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Pansy wagged a finger. “Don’t you dare argue. This is a public service.”
Draco arched a brow, clearly amused despite himself. “You’re volunteering as her stylist now, Parkinson?”
“I’m preventing her from making us all look bad,” Pansy retorted smoothly. “If she walks in looking like she’s just crawled out of the library stacks, everyone will talk again. And not kindly.”
Ginny snorted, already pulling bottles and brushes from her bag. “And I’ve brought the heavy artillery for her hair. Honestly, Hermione, it looks like you’ve been electrocuted in your sleep.”
Hermione raised a hand self-consciously to her curls. “It’s not that bad.”
“It’s that bad,” Pansy and Ginny said together.
Theo leaned back, smirking faintly. “This is going to be entertaining.”
“Oh no,” Pansy shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “You and Malfoy are dismissed. Out.”
“What?” Draco looked affronted. “This is my ward, too.”
“Not anymore,” Ginny said firmly, already untangling a comb charm. “You’ll just get in the way.”
Hermione bit her lip, torn between amusement and exasperation. “Really, you don’t have to-”
“Yes, we do,” Ginny interrupted, pushing her gently back against the pillows. “You’re going to walk into class looking like yourself, not like some fragile ghost of yourself. Let us do this.”
Pansy clapped her hands once. “Exactly. Now, Potter, you can either cooperate, or I’ll hex you into cooperating. Your choice.”
Hermione sighed but gave a reluctant little smile. “Fine. But no hexing.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Pansy said, already flicking open the parcel to reveal a crisp blouse, neat skirt, and soft cardigan in Ravenclaw blue. “Tasteful, flattering, and not a wrinkle in sight. You’ll thank me.”
Draco muttered something about fashion tyranny, but Theo tugged at his sleeve. “Come on, let them work. I’m not staying to watch hair charms.”
“Cowards,” Pansy called after them as the boys reluctantly exited.
The moment the door shut behind them, Ginny turned back with a mischievous grin. “Finally. Honestly, Hermione, how do you stand being babysat by those two?”
Hermione laughed softly. “They mean well.”
“They’re insufferable,” Pansy corrected. “Now, hold still.”
What followed was half an hour of determined feminine intervention. Ginny worked deftly with a series of smoothing and curling charms, coaxing Hermione’s curls into soft, defined spirals that framed her face without overwhelming it. Pansy supervised like a general commanding troops, occasionally stepping in to adjust the angle of Hermione’s collar or test different charms on her cardigan to ensure it matched just right.
“Better already,” Ginny said, stepping back to admire her work. “Merlin, you actually have cheekbones.”
Hermione rolled her eyes but blushed faintly. “I’ve always had cheekbones.”
“Not ones we could see under that hair,” Pansy muttered.
Hermione gave her a wry look. “You’re both impossible.”
“And you’re impossible if you think you can just slip back into class unnoticed,” Pansy said firmly. “People are going to stare. And still talk." Pansy said firmly. "At least this way, they will be staring for the right reasons."
Ginny nodded in agreement, adjusting the cardigan one final time. “You look strong. Not like you’ve been hiding away. And that matters.”
Hermione blinked, caught off guard by the warmth in Ginny’s voice. “Thank you.”
Pansy smirked. “Don’t get soppy. Just remember who to credit when people compliment you.”
Hermione laughed, shaking her head. “Fine, fine. I’ll say Pansy Parkinson transformed me.”
“Good girl,” Pansy said with a satisfied little nod.
At that moment, the door creaked open again, and Draco and Theo reappeared. Draco froze mid-step, blinking as if he’d walked into the wrong room. Theo actually let out a low whistle.
“Well,” Theo said after a long pause, “they weren’t exaggerating.”
Hermione flushed under their combined scrutiny, fidgeting with the hem of her cardigan. “Oh, stop staring.”
Draco tilted his head, eyes cool and appraising. “It’s… an improvement.”
“High praise,” Pansy muttered.
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Just say she looks nice, Malfoy.”
“She looks like herself,” Draco said finally, and for once there was no edge in his voice.
Theo grinned at Hermione. “You look ready.”
Hermione drew in a steadying breath, then smiled back. “I am ready.”
And for the first time since she’d woken in the ward, she truly believed it.
The dining hall of Arcanum Universitas was already buzzing when Hermione, Draco, and Theo paused just outside its tall arched entrance. Golden globes of mage-light floated high above the long rows of tables, casting warm light over dozens of chattering students. Platters of steaming food lined the center counters where wards kept everything at the perfect temperature. The hum of conversation, punctuated with the clink of goblets and laughter, rose up and echoed faintly in the vaulted space.
Hermione’s breath caught.
She had been steeling herself all day, but the truth hit her now, sharp and cold: everyone knew. They’d all read the Prophet. They’d seen the lies and the sneering commentary about her night in Muggle London. They’d whispered about the cursed letter, about how close she’d come to suffocating to death.
Draco’s hand was immediately there, warm and firm as he laced his fingers through hers. His thumb brushed along her knuckles in steady reassurance. On her other side, Theo’s arm slid lightly around her shoulders, anchoring her against him.
“You don’t have to walk in here,” Theo murmured. His voice was low, careful, like he was trying to coax a frightened animal.
Draco’s tone was sharper, though no less protective. “Say the word, and we’ll turn back. We can have trays sent up. You don’t owe them a thing.”
Hermione swallowed hard, then shook her head. “If I hide, then they win. And I won’t give them that.”
Theo pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “Stubborn Gryffindor.”
“Unstoppable Gryffindor,” she corrected, forcing a faint smile.
Draco’s grey eyes softened. “Then we’ll walk with you. Eyes up, love. Let them stare.”
Together, they stepped inside.
The effect was immediate. Like a wave rippling across the sea, the hum of voices dipped and faltered as students turned in their seats. Some tried to pretend they weren’t looking, sneaking glances over goblets. Others stared openly, their faces a mix of curiosity, pity, and thinly veiled judgment. Whispers darted across tables like sparks.
Hermione’s pulse roared in her ears, but the men on either side of her held firm: Draco’s hand gripping hers tightly, Theo’s arm never shifting from her shoulders. They were shields and anchors both, steadying her as they crossed the room.
And then-relief.
Near the center of the hall, one table had clearly been reserved. Harry, Ginny, and Ron were already standing, eyes fixed on her. Alongside them sat Daphne and Astoria, Blaise, Luna, Neville, Cho, Lavender, and the Patil twins. Their faces lit with unmistakable welcome, and space had been made right in the middle for Hermione.
Ginny was the first to speak, calling out loudly enough for at least three tables over to hear, “There you are! We were beginning to think the Healers had locked you up again.”
A ripple of laughter went through their group, easing the tension.
Hermione’s lips curved despite her nerves. “I’m fine. Just… a little late.”
“Late, but alive,” Ron muttered, though his ears were pink with worry. “That’s all that matters.”
Theo guided her into the empty spot between him and Draco, who both immediately resettled at her sides like guards refusing to relinquish their posts. Ginny, seated across, leaned forward with a wide grin.
“You look brilliant, by the way,” Ginny said. “Not at all like someone who’s been cooped up in bed all week.”
“That’s because we didn’t let her,” Pansy’s voice cut in dryly as she arrived a step behind them, dropping elegantly into the seat beside Daphne. She shot Hermione a smug little smile. “I told you the cardigan would do wonders.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Parkinson, must you take credit for everything?”
“Yes,” Pansy replied sweetly, reaching for the breadbasket.
Blaise leaned forward, smirking. “So, Hermione, how does it feel? The entire dining hall staring at you like you’ve sprouted dragon wings?”
“Zabini,” Theo warned, his voice sharp.
But Hermione only took a steadying sip of pumpkin juice. “It feels like this: they can stare as much as they want. I’m not going anywhere.”
Harry’s green eyes softened. He rested his hand briefly over hers on the table. “That’s my sister.”
Ron huffed, muttering darkly, “I still say anyone caught whispering ought to be hexed.”
“You’d run out of hexes before dessert,” Astoria said mildly.
“And it wouldn’t change their minds,” Daphne added. “Better to make them choke on their own silence when they see you thriving.”
“Poetic,” Luna said dreamily. “And true. People only whisper when they’re afraid.”
“Or when they’re jealous,” Lavender chimed in.
“Or when they’re gits,” Parvati muttered.
“Usually all three,” Padma finished, and the table burst into laughter.
Hermione let herself laugh with them, the tightness in her chest easing. But the ease didn’t last. From a nearby table, a sharp voice cut through the noise.
“Surprised she can still breathe, after all that ink and scandal choking her.”
The words hung in the air, cruel and unmistakable. A few students snickered.
Draco’s chair screeched as he started to rise, his expression murderous. Theo’s wand hand twitched under the table.
But Harry was faster, his voice like steel. “Say that again,” he snapped, glaring across the room.
The offender-a lanky boy in dark robes-shifted, clearly startled by the weight of Harry’s fury. His friends sniggered nervously, but none repeated the words.
Hermione’s hands trembled where Draco and Theo both held them, but she drew in a slow breath. Her voice, when she spoke, was firm and clear.
“They can’t touch me. Not anymore. They can talk, but that’s all it is-talk. Empty.”
The silence that followed was heavy, until Ginny broke it with a fierce grin. “That’s right. Let them choke on their own words.”
Blaise gave a low whistle. “Merlin, Potter. I’d hate to be your enemy.”
“You already are,” Theo muttered, though his hand never left hers.
Hermione shook her head, smiling faintly. “No. He’s just incorrigible.”
“Incorrigibly handsome,” Blaise corrected, earning groans from half the table.
Slowly, the tension dissolved again into chatter and clinking cutlery. Plates were filled, goblets passed, and conversation swelled into easy warmth. For the first time in days, Hermione felt like she could breathe freely.
She glanced around the table, at the people who had gathered-friends from both her worlds, united. And on either side of her, Draco and Theo each tightened their hold just a little, as if to remind her that she wasn’t facing any of this alone.
And she smiled, knowing it was true.
About and hour later, the scrape of benches against stone echoed through the dining hall as students began to rise, their chatter spilling outward into the wide corridors. The warmth of supper-the laughter, the camaraderie-still clung to Hermione’s table like a protective charm.
Ginny was already slinging her bag over her shoulder, Ron stretching and muttering about how many essays he still hadn’t started. Daphne and Astoria moved with effortless grace, heads inclined together, their words too soft to catch. Blaise trailed after them with his usual lazy swagger, while Luna floated at Neville’s side, describing some invisible creature only she could see.
Hermione stood with Draco and Theo on either side, their hands finding hers automatically as though it were instinct. Draco’s grip was firm, steady, grounding. Theo’s thumb brushed across her skin in quiet comfort. Together, they guided her toward the great double doors at the far end of the hall.
But just as the trio reached the threshold, a familiar voice called softly-quiet enough that it wasn’t meant for anyone else.
“Hermione. Wait a second.”
She paused, glancing back. Harry was threading his way through the departing students, his dark hair as untidy as ever, his green eyes sharp but softening when they met hers. He reached her in a few strides, giving Draco and Theo a look that was half a warning, half a request.
Theo arched a brow. “Planning to borrow her?”
“For five minutes,” Harry said firmly. “If that’s all right with her.”
Draco’s jaw tightened, but Hermione gave both boys’ hands a gentle squeeze. “It’s all right. I’ll meet you in the West Wing.”
Theo searched her face, then nodded reluctantly. “Five minutes.”
Draco lingered a moment longer, his grey eyes unreadable. Finally, he released her hand, muttering, “Don’t let him lecture you into exhaustion.”
Hermione rolled her eyes fondly. “I’ll survive.”
The two Slytherins melted back into the crowd, casting protective glances over their shoulders until they vanished from sight. Hermione turned back to Harry, who stood with his hands shoved into his pockets, suddenly looking younger, almost awkward.
“Come on,” he said, jerking his head toward a quieter side corridor that branched off from the main flow of students.
They walked in silence for a bit, the noise of the dining hall fading behind them. The corridor was lined with high windows, moonlight spilling pale and silver across the flagstones. Hermione breathed easier in the stillness.
Finally, Harry stopped near one of the windows, leaning against the stone sill. He didn’t look at her right away, his gaze fixed on the moon outside.
“You scared me,” he said at last, his voice low.
Hermione blinked. “Harry-”
“No, listen.” He turned toward her now, his jaw tight. “When I watched you black out, watched you not breathing, I thought-I thought I was going to lose you. And the Prophet had already twisted things, and everyone was talking like you were… reckless, or stupid, or asking for it.” His voice broke on the last words, and he swallowed hard. “You’re my sister, Hermione. You can’t-Merlin, you can’t scare me like that again.”
Hermione’s throat tightened painfully. She stepped closer, her hand brushing his arm. “Harry, I didn’t know the letter was cursed. I never would’ve-”
“I know you didn’t,” he said quickly. “I know. It’s not your fault. But I hate that you’ve become a target because of me. Because you’re tied to me.”
Hermione shook her head fiercely. “Don’t you dare blame yourself. I made my choices, Harry. I went into London because I wanted to be with my friends, because I refuse to cut off half my life just to make other people comfortable. And yes, I paid for it. But it was my decision. Not yours.”
Harry ran a hand through his messy hair. “You sound like Mum, you know. Stubborn.”
“Good,” Hermione said softly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the tension ebbing slightly. Harry finally gave her a small, crooked smile.
“You’re braver than me sometimes.”
Hermione snorted. “That’s not true.”
“It is,” Harry insisted. “You walked into that dining hall tonight like you weren’t shaking inside. You sat there and laughed, even with everyone staring. I’d have hexed the first person who so much as looked at me wrong.”
Hermione tilted her head. “You nearly did.”
He cracked a grin. “True.”
Her smile softened. “But you don’t have to protect me from everything, Harry. You’ve been carrying the world on your shoulders for years. Let me carry some of my own weight.”
Harry studied her, his eyes bright in the moonlight. Finally, he reached out and pulled her into a rough hug, his chin digging awkwardly against her hair.
“I just don’t want to lose you,” he mumbled.
“You won’t,” she promised, her arms tightening around him. “Not ever.”
They stood there for a long moment, just brother and sister, the weight of the past few days settling into something steadier. When they finally pulled apart, Harry swiped at his eyes quickly, pretending he hadn’t been close to tears.
“Draco and Theo take good care of you?” he asked, his tone carefully casual.
Hermione smiled. “They try. Sometimes they’re smothering, but… they’re trying.”
“They’d better,” Harry muttered. “Because if they don’t, I’ll make them regret it.”
Hermione laughed, the sound light and real. “Merlin, you sound like Ron.”
“Good,” Harry said with mock severity. “Everyone needs a brother threatening to hex their boyfriends.”
She shook her head, still smiling. “I’ll tell them to be properly terrified.”
“Do that,” Harry said, his grin widening.
At last, Hermione reached for his hand, giving it a final squeeze. “Come on. If I keep Draco and Theo waiting too long, they’ll storm the corridor and hex you just for keeping me.”
Harry rolled his eyes but allowed her to tug him back toward the West Wing. “Wouldn’t be the first time Malfoy threatened me,” he muttered, though there was no venom in it now.
Side by side, they rejoined the stream of students heading for the dorms, the shadows of fear a little lighter between them.
The corridors of the West Wing were hushed at nightfall, the wards in the walls humming faintly with protective magic. Blue lanterns floated overhead, their glow soft and steady, guiding the way back to the dormitories.
Harry peeled away at the landing, clapping Hermione’s shoulder before heading toward the Gryffindor quarters. “Don’t let them smother you too much,” he said with a crooked smile.
Hermione laughed softly. “I’ll try.”
And then she turned the corner and spotted Draco and Theo.
Both were leaning against the wall near the heavy oak doors of the West Wing dorms, their posture deceptively casual-but the moment they saw her, they straightened. Draco’s grey eyes narrowed. “That was not five minutes.”
Theo crossed his arms. “Try fifteen. Maybe twenty.”
Hermione arched a brow. “Are you two timing me?”
“Yes,” Theo said without hesitation.
“Obviously,” Draco added, though his mouth twitched like he was holding back a smile.
Hermione rolled her eyes, stepping closer. “I was talking with Harry. He needed-”
“-to scold you,” Draco finished smoothly. “Yes, we know. Potter’s face is an open book. Did he threaten us?”
“Of course he did,” Hermione said dryly.
Theo smirked. “Good to know some things never change.”
They each reached for one of her hands again, as though needing to reassure themselves she was really there. Draco’s grip was warm and steady, Theo’s looser but no less certain. Together, they guided her through the oak doors into the West Wing proper.
But when they reached her door, Hermione paused. Something was… different. The door itself gleamed with fresh polish, its brass handle shining brighter than before. Etched into the wood were faint runes she hadn’t noticed earlier, glowing faintly under the light.
“Did someone-?” she began, frowning.
Theo pushed the door open before she could finish. “See for yourself.”
The sight stole her breath.
Her room had been completely transformed. Where before she’d had a standard chamber-a bed, a desk, a wardrobe-now it was a suite.
The space opened into a wide sitting area, complete with a low sofa upholstered in rich emerald fabric, a pair of armchairs, and a polished coffee table. A soft rug spread across the floor, charmed to always feel warm underfoot. The walls had been repainted a soft cream, with subtle gold accents woven into the molding. A tall bookshelf stood against one wall, already filled with volumes-her own, plus new ones she didn’t recognize.
Beyond the sitting area, her bed was no longer tucked against a wall but centered beneath a wide canopy, its curtains sheer and faintly shimmering with protective wards. A writing desk gleamed by the window, its surface clear except for a fresh stack of parchment and a set of quills in a silver stand.
The bathroom door stood slightly ajar, revealing gleaming tile, a vanity with twin sinks, and-Merlin help her-a bathtub large enough to fit at least four people comfortably.
Hermione turned in a slow circle, her hand pressed to her mouth. “What—what happened? Who did this?”
Draco stepped past her into the room, inspecting the carved runes along the doorframe with a practiced eye. “Dean Obelyn had it redone.”
Theo followed, flopping into one of the armchairs like he already owned the place. “At Mother’s insistence.”
Hermione blinked. “Your mother-?”
Draco nodded, his lips tightening though his voice stayed calm. “Yes. Mother was furious when she heard what happened with the letter. She owled the Dean directly and made it very clear that the university was failing in its duty of care. Narcissa Malfoy does not tolerate failure.”
Theo chuckled. “Dean Obelyn didn’t stand a chance. Lady Malfoy inspected every charm herself, made sure the security wasn’t just cosmetic. These wards are layered six deep. Even Blaise couldn’t break in if he tried.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “Narcissa came into my room? Personally?”
Draco’s expression softened, pride flickering in his grey eyes. “She oversaw everything. This space is hers as much as it is the Dean’s work. She told Obelyn that if Arcanum couldn’t protect you properly, the Malfoys would. And when Mother says something like that…” His lips curved faintly. “It gets done.”
Hermione turned in a slow circle again, eyes wide as she took it all in. “I… I don’t know what to say. This is too much.”
“It isn’t,” Draco said quietly. He stepped closer, taking her hand again, his expression unreadable but his eyes fierce. “You were attacked in a space that was suppose to be safe. Mother won’t allow that again. Neither will we.”
Theo pushed off the chair, his grin softening into something gentler. “You deserve a place where you can breathe, Hermione. A place that’s yours, not just another dormitory box. Somewhere safe. Somewhere comfortable.”
Hermione blinked rapidly, her eyes stinging. “I-thank you. I don’t… I don’t even know how to begin-”
Draco interrupted, his lips curving faintly. “Begin by sitting down before you fall down.”
Theo patted the sofa with mock solemnity. “It’s criminally comfortable. Would be a shame if you didn’t try it before I claim it as my bed.”
Hermione laughed through her tears, crossing to the sofa and sinking into the cushions. They seemed to mold perfectly around her, firm but soft, holding her weight like an embrace. She exhaled slowly, the tension of the day melting from her shoulders.
Draco sat beside her, his arm stretching along the back of the sofa so his fingers could brush lightly against her shoulder. Theo sprawled across the opposite end, one ankle hooked over his knee, looking perfectly at home.
“Better?” Draco asked softly.
Hermione nodded. “Much better.”
Theo smirked. “Told you. Between the charms, the bookshelves, and that bath, you may never leave this room again.”
Draco’s eyes glinted. “That’s not the worst idea.”
Hermione laughed again, shaking her head. “You two are ridiculous.”
“Perhaps,” Draco allowed. His fingers brushed down her arm, grounding her once more. “But you’re safe. That’s all that matters.”
Hermione glanced at the window, a small smile on her lips. The evening had drawn in thick and quiet, the deep blue of the sky pressing against the talls windows. In the newly redone suite, the soft golden glow of floating sconces illuminated everything - the shimmer of the wards woven into the canopy, the sheen of polished wood, the plush rug underfoot.
Hermione stood from the couch and moved slowly through the room, still dazed by its transformation.
Every time she turned her head, she noticed something new: a rune etched into the baseboard, a fresh stack of parchment with her initials embossed, a charmed vase of flowers that shifted colors with the hour.
Draco had claimed the sofa, lounging with one ankle crossed over his knee, his expression calm but his gaze sharp as it followed her. Theo sprawled more recklessly across the rug, propped on his elbows, idly twirling his wand between his fingers.
“You’re pacing,” Theo observed. “That usually means either an essay is due or you’re about to lecture us.”
Hermione huffed softly. “I’m not pacing. I’m… taking it in.”
“Same thing,” Draco murmured.
She sent him a look over her shoulder. “You two are insufferable.”
“We’ve been told,” Theo said cheerfully.
Hermione shook her head, though a smile tugged at her lips. She crossed toward her wardrobe to fetch her nightclothes, but as she passed her new desk, something caught her eye: a sealed envelope resting neatly atop the parchment stack. The seal was an elegant “M” pressed into black wax, the edges gilded with silver.
Hermione froze. “What’s this?”
Draco’s head turned immediately, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the wax. Then his shoulders eased. “Mother.”
Theo pushed himself upright onto his knees, curious. “She left you a letter?”
Hermione picked it up gingerly, her fingers tracing the seal. “It’s addressed to me.”
“Well, open it,” Theo urged, his grin wicked. “She wouldn’t waste her wax and stationery just to wish you pleasant dreams.”
Hermione hesitated, nerves fluttering in her chest. “I don’t… I don’t want to intrude-”
Draco cut her off smoothly. “If it has your name on it, it’s for you. Mother doesn’t make idle gestures.”
So, with careful fingers, Hermione broke the seal. She unfolded the parchment and began to read aloud.
My dearest Hermione,
I trust this letter finds you safely in the sanctuary I arranged with Dean Obelyn. It was intolerable that such a grievous lapse in protection occurred, and I could not, in good conscience, allow the matter to stand. I am relieved to know that you are now within walls that will keep you secure.
I write not only to assure you of my continued regard, but to express my anticipation for the weeks ahead. It pleases me beyond measure that you will be joining my sons and myself for our holiday at the estate. The week after next cannot arrive swiftly enough. I have already instructed the staff to make certain preparations, as I intend for your first stay at Malfoy Manor to be as comfortable as it is memorable.
I look forward to welcoming you properly into our home.
Until then, rest, recover, and know that you are thought of most warmly.
With all sincerity,
Narcissa Malfoy
Hermione lowered the parchment slowly, her eyes wide, her chest tight. “She-she wants me to come to the Manor.”
Draco’s lips quirked faintly, though his gaze stayed steady on her. “I told you she considers you family.”
Theo grinned like a cat who’d caught a canary. “She’s practically giddy. I can tell. And trust me, Narcissa Malfoy doesn’t do giddy.”
Hermione flushed. “I… don’t know what to say. She barely knows me-”
“She knows enough,” Draco interrupted gently. “She saw the Prophet. She saw the danger you were in. And she saw you still standing afterward. That’s all she needs to know.”
Theo leaned forward on his knees. “Besides, she trusts our judgment. Which, obviously, is flawless.”
Hermione laughed shakily. “Flawless? Really?”
“Exceptionally flawless,” Theo corrected.
Draco rolled his eyes but his expression softened as he looked back at her. “Mother does not extend invitations lightly. If she says she looks forward to welcoming you, she means it. And if she says you are thought of warmly… that is the closest she comes to saying she cares deeply.”
Hermione’s eyes stung. She pressed the letter to her chest, blinking rapidly. “I don’t deserve this.”
“Stop that,” Draco said firmly.
Theo sat back with a sigh. “Honestly, Hermione, you’re brilliant, brave, stubborn as hell, and you put up with us daily. If that doesn’t earn you Malfoy approval, nothing will.”
Hermione bit her lip, a smile breaking through her tears. “You two are ridiculous.”
“Frequently,” Theo agreed, sprawling back onto the rug. “But occasionally right.”
Draco shifted on the sofa, reaching out to touch her wrist lightly. “You’re not alone anymore, Hermione. You have us. You have my mother’s support. And soon enough, you’ll see that the Manor isn’t just a house. It can be a refuge.”
Hermione exhaled slowly, folding the letter again with careful precision. She set it back on the desk, but not before brushing her fingers once more over Narcissa’s elegant handwriting.
When she finally turned back toward the boys, her smile was soft but steady. “Then I suppose I should start planning what to pack.”
Theo groaned dramatically. “She’s already making lists.”
Draco smirked. “Of course she is. And I, for one, find it comforting.”
Hermione shook her head, laughing quietly as she finally went to fetch her nightclothes. Her heart felt full in a way she hadn’t expected-full of warmth, of safety, of belonging.
And for the first time since the letter had nearly stolen her breath, she allowed herself to drift toward sleep knowing she was wanted-not just by Draco and Theo, but by the family that had raised them.
Chapter 28: The Unspoken Bond
Summary:
Hermione gets comfortable with the new set up in her life. Draco and Theo protect Hermione when she isn't around.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Monday morning broke clear and cold, sunlight pouring in pale ribbons through the tall windows of Hermione’s suite. The new wards glimmered faintly in the light, quiet proof of the layered protection Narcissa had insisted upon.
Hermione stood before the mirror in her bathroom, fastening the last button of her blouse. Her hair, freshly dried from the charm she’d used, curled neatly around her shoulders. She smoothed the fabric nervously, glancing toward the doorway where Draco was shrugging into his robes and Theo sat on the edge of her bed, tugging at his boots.
“I still think I could manage more than two lectures,” Hermione said, her voice tight as she twisted the hem of her sleeve.
“No,” Draco said without looking up, adjusting his cufflinks with practiced ease.
Theo snorted. “You’re lucky Fenwick allowed two. I was betting he’d confine you to the suite until Yule.”
Hermione crossed her arms. “That’s ridiculous. I’m fine.”
Draco turned at that, his expression sharp. “You nearly suffocated to death a week ago.”
She flinched, but before she could argue, Theo cut in. “We’re not saying you aren’t fine now. But there’s no harm in taking it slow. Two lectures today, rest after. Then maybe more later in the week if Fenwick clears you again.”
Hermione exhaled through her nose. “And which lectures am I supposed to choose? Comparative Spell Casting is in the morning, but Magical Law Practicum overlaps with Necromatic Ethics Lecture …”
"Comparative Spell Casting," Draco said immediately.
Theo raised his hand. "Magical Law Practicum. She'll be insufferable if she skips it."
Hermione pursed her lips. “I don’t need you two voting on my schedule.”
“Yes, you do,” Theo said cheerfully.
Draco smirked faintly. “He’s right. You’ll run yourself ragged without us.”
Hermione groaned and pressed her hands to her temples. “How did I end up with both of you?”
“Luck,” Theo said smugly.
“Fate,” Draco countered smoothly.
Before Hermione could reply, a sharp knock sounded at the door. All three froze.
Draco straightened instantly, his hand brushing the wand at his side. Theo rose from the bed in one fluid motion, his posture wary. Hermione blinked. “Who would be here this early-?”
Another knock followed, brisk but firm.
Draco crossed to the door, wand still in hand, and pulled it open just enough to see. His shoulders relaxed slightly, though his tone was still clipped. “You’re early.”
Hermione stepped closer, frowning. Two figures stood in the hall: Aurors, clad in standard Ministry-issue robes but with the insignia of Arcanum’s security stitched at the breast. One was a tall witch with dark hair pulled into a severe knot, the other a sandy-haired wizard with keen eyes.
“Miss Potter,” the witch said with a nod. “We’re here to escort you to classes.”
Hermione blinked. “Escort me?”
Draco stepped aside smoothly, allowing them into the sitting area. “Yes. Standard procedure, as of this morning.”
Theo folded his arms, grinning at Hermione’s scandalized face. “Surprise.”
Hermione gaped at the Aurors. “This-this is absurd. Aurors? For me?”
“Not absurd,” the sandy-haired wizard said calmly. “Necessary. You were attacked, Miss Granger. By means that suggest forethought and planning. That makes you a target until proven otherwise.”
Hermione flushed. “But two Aurors? Isn’t that taking it too far? I’m just a student-”
“No,” Draco said sharply, cutting her off. His eyes glittered. “You’re not ‘just’ anything. You’re Potter’s sister. You’re brilliant. You’re visible. And you’re vulnerable.”
Theo nodded, more gently. “And you’re ours. That’s reason enough.”
Hermione swallowed hard, her hands twisting together. “But surely they don’t have the manpower to assign Aurors to follow me around like bodyguards-”
“They do now,” the witch said crisply. “This came down from the very top. Black himself signed off after personally questioning us. He tested our wards, grilled us for half an hour, and finally declared us competent.”
Hermione blinked. “Uncle Sirius?”
The Auror nodded. “Yes, ma’am. He said if we failed, he’d hex us back to the Auror Academy himself.”
Theo barked a laugh. “That sounds like him.”
Draco’s smirk was sharp. “He didn’t trust you on word alone. Good.”
The wizard Auror continued, his tone measured. “The Dean and the Headmistress also approved the arrangement. They consider it essential, not optional. You’ll have us with you to and from classes, meals, and any official events. When you’re in your suite, the wards will suffice.”
Hermione sat heavily on the sofa, staring between them all. “This is… this is too much. I don’t want to live under guard.”
Draco followed her, perching on the arm of the sofa and placing a hand lightly on her shoulder. “It isn’t about what you want, Hermione. It’s about what you need. And right now, you need to stay alive.”
Theo crouched in front of her, resting his forearms on his knees. His grin had softened into something steadier. “You think it’s too much because you don’t like being fussed over. But this isn’t about fussing. It’s about making sure you can focus on your classes, your work, your life - without looking over your shoulder every two seconds.”
Hermione bit her lip. “I don’t want people whispering that I think I’m special-”
Hermione bit her lip. “I don’t want people whispering that I think I’m special-”
“They’ll whisper whatever they like,” Draco said coldly. “Let them. Better whispers than funerals.”
The Auror witch inclined her head. “Your safety isn’t negotiable, Miss Potter. You’ll find us discreet, but present.”
Hermione looked between Draco, Theo, and the Aurors, her resistance crumbling under the sheer certainty in their voices. At last, she let out a shaky breath. “All right. Two lectures. And an escort.”
Theo clapped his hands together. “Excellent. That’s settled.”
Draco gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, his voice softening. “You’ll get used to it. And in time, you might even appreciate it.”
Hermione sighed, still uncertain. But as the Aurors positioned themselves neatly by the door, silent and watchful, she realized she had no choice but to trust - trust that everyone around her wasn’t overreacting, but trying to keep her alive.
The wards of the West Wing shimmered faintly as the oak door swung shut behind them. Hermione walked between Draco and Theo, her robes neat, her bag slung across her shoulder. To her left, Auror Cassandra Selwyn strode with military precision, her dark hair pulled into a severe knot, every inch of her radiating sharp-eyed authority. To Hermione’s right, Auror Gareth Woodcroft matched their pace, his sandy hair catching the morning light, his posture relaxed but his gaze scanning every corner.
Hermione tugged nervously at her sleeve as they descended the staircase. “This feels… conspicuous.”
“It is,” Draco said simply.
Theo flashed her a grin. “Which is the point. Nobody’s going to try slipping you another cursed letter with Selwyn glaring at them.”
Auror Selwyn’s lips curved the barest fraction. “I’m not in the habit of glaring without reason, Mister Nott. But I won’t deny the effect is useful.”
Hermione flushed. “Still-it’s breakfast, not a diplomatic summit. People will stare.”
“They’ll live,” Draco said, his voice clipped but certain.
Auror Woodcroft glanced at her sidelong, his tone gentler than his partner’s. “Best thing you can do, Miss Granger, is act like it’s normal. People follow your lead. If you’re calm, they’ll adjust.”
Hermione managed a small smile at him. “That’s… easier said than done.”
Theo bumped her shoulder lightly. “You’ve handled worse. Remember first year? Troll in the dungeon?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You mean when I nearly got us all killed?”
Draco smirked faintly. “And then went on to save Potter’s life repeatedly. Yes, I remember. You’re more than capable of walking into breakfast.”
The reassurance made her chest tighten, but she didn’t argue again.
The doors to the dining hall loomed ahead. Even from outside, the low roar of voices and clatter of cutlery carried through. Selwyn moved forward, pushing one door open with measured grace, Woodcroft holding the other.
Hermione stepped inside with Draco and Theo flanking her, the Aurors falling into step just a pace behind.
The noise in the hall didn’t die exactly, but it shifted - a ripple of recognition, of whispers darting like sparks. Heads turned. Voices rose. By the time they’d crossed halfway to the long tables, the volume had doubled, a chorus of speculation running through the air.
“Is that-”
“-Aurors, with her?”
“Merlin, do you think she’s under guard-”
“-because of the Prophet-”
“-Potter’s sister, you know-”
Hermione’s skin prickled with heat. She ducked her head slightly, trying to block out the swell of voices. But Draco’s hand closed firmly around her arm, steady and grounding, while Theo slid his hand into hers with deliberate nonchalance.
“Eyes up, love,” Theo murmured. “If you look cowed, they’ll eat you alive.”
“Let them look,” Draco added coldly. “None of them matter.”
Hermione swallowed hard, lifting her chin.
At the far end of the hall, she spotted them - her friends, clustered around one of the largest tables. Harry, Ginny, Blaise, Luna, Neville, Pansy, Ron, Daphne, and Astoria had all gathered. And unlike the rest of the hall, their faces didn’t show judgment or curiosity. They showed relief.
Ginny was the first to wave them over, her hair catching the light like fire. “Hermione!” she called, her voice cutting through the chatter.
Ron twisted around, his ears red, his expression fierce. “Oi! Make way!”
The group closed ranks as Hermione, Draco, Theo, and the Aurors reached the table. Woodcroft and Selwyn positioned themselves just behind, watchful but silent.
Hermione slid onto the bench between Draco and Theo, her bag settling at her feet. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Harry leaned forward across the table, his green eyes searching hers. “You all right?”
Hermione nodded quickly. “I’m fine. Just-” She glanced back at Selwyn and Woodcroft, still looming at a polite distance. “-a bit more guarded than I expected.”
Ginny frowned. “You mean the Aurors?”
“Yes,” Hermione said, her voice low. “It feels like too much.”
“Too much?” Pansy echoed, raising a brow. “Potter, someone nearly killed you last week. I’d say a pair of Aurors is the least you should expect.”
Neville nodded firmly. “She’s right. I saw the wards they put on your door, Hermione. Strongest I’ve ever seen. It’s not just about you - it’s about making sure no one can try something like that again.”
Ron stabbed a sausage with unnecessary force. “If Sirius signed off on it, then it’s not too much. He’d hex the lot of them himself if they weren’t good enough.”
Hermione blinked. “You knew?”
“Course I knew,” Ron said around a mouthful. “He wrote me about it. Said he tested them harder than Moody ever did us.”
Blaise chuckled. “Can imagine that went well.”
Luna tilted her head, dreamy but sharp beneath it. “Protection doesn’t make you smaller, Hermione. It only makes the shadows less bold.”
Hermione’s lips parted, startled by the quiet wisdom of it. She looked down at her hands, folded tightly in her lap.
Draco leaned in, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “Do you understand now? It isn’t too much. It’s necessary.”
Theo gave her hand a squeeze beneath the table. “And honestly, it’s a little entertaining watching Selwyn terrify people by glaring at them.”
That earned a quiet laugh from Hermione, breaking some of the tightness in her chest. “I suppose you’ll all keep reminding me until I accept it.”
Harry’s expression softened, his voice gentler than the others’. “We just want you safe, Hermione. If this is what it takes, then so be it.”
The clatter and chatter of the hall continued around them, whispers still buzzing at the edges, but inside the circle of her friends, Hermione felt the tension ease. She reached for the teapot in the center of the table, pouring herself a cup with steady hands.
“All right,” she said at last, her voice calmer, firmer. “Two lectures today. Comparative Spell Casting and Magical Law Practicum.”
Draco smirked. “Knew you’d choose those.”
Theo leaned back smugly. “I won the bet.”
Hermione groaned. “You bet on my schedule?”
“Obviously,” they chorused together.
Her laughter bubbled up despite herself, drawing a few more curious glances from nearby tables. But this time, she didn’t duck her head. She let them look. She had her friends. She had her guards. She had her boys.
And she had the strength to face the day.
By the time breakfast ended, Hermione felt steadier, though the whispers still prickled against her skin like static. She drained the last of her tea, gathered her satchel, and stood with Draco and Theo close at her sides.
“We’ll walk you,” Draco said simply, though there was no chance he wouldn’t.
“And we’ll be late,” Theo added with a dramatic sigh. “Which is tragic, because Greaves loves me.”
Hermione gave him a look. “Greaves loves no one.”
Theo grinned. “That’s where you’re wrong. He loves me.”
Auror Selwyn’s expression didn’t flicker as she opened the dining hall doors, though Hermione could feel her gaze flicking across the corridor like a blade. Woodcroft fell into step behind them, his easy stride belying the sharpness of his watchfulness.
The walk to Comparative Spell Casting felt longer than usual, but Hermione kept her head high. She could sense the way students slowed, turned, whispered as they passed - but she remembered Theo’s words from earlier. If you look cowed, they’ll eat you alive.
So she didn’t.
When they reached the arched doorway of the lecture hall, Blaise was leaning against the wall outside, arms folded, looking infuriatingly relaxed. Pansy and Astoria stood with him, the three of them forming a perfect shield of indifference against the stares of other students.
“Finally,” Pansy drawled when Hermione appeared. “We were beginning to think you’d gotten lost in your suite.”
Hermione raised a brow. “Considering my suite now has enough wards to repel an army, that’s not entirely impossible.”
Astoria’s smile was small but genuine. “It suits you. You deserve the protection.”
Blaise pushed off the wall, casting a glance over Hermione’s shoulder at Selwyn and Woodcroft. “Efficient. And intimidating. I approve.”
Theo smirked. “Told you it was entertaining.”
Together, they entered the lecture hall.
Rows of seats curved in ascending tiers, the sunlight spilling through tall windows catching on dust motes in the air. At the front of the room, Professor Greaves stood by the chalkboard, writing a series of terms in precise script. He didn’t look up, but Hermione knew he was aware of every eye in the room.
The murmur of conversation faltered as Hermione, Draco, Theo, Blaise, Pansy, and Astoria moved down the aisle. The Aurors took positions at the back of the hall, silent but unmissable.
Hermione chose a seat halfway down, Draco and Theo sliding in on either side of her, Blaise, Pansy, and Astoria settling just behind. Her quill and parchment lay ready, her satchel tucked neatly at her feet. She forced herself to look calm, collected, even when she felt every whisper brushing her skin.
“…that’s her…”
“…the Prophet wasn’t wrong…”
“…attention-seeking…”
The voices blurred together, low and sharp-edged. Hermione inhaled slowly, spine straight, her hand steady as she arranged her notes.
And then - clear, cutting through the murmur - a voice from the left-hand row. “Maybe if she stayed where she belonged, nobody would’ve had to waste Aurors babysitting her.”
Draco stiffened instantly, his pale eyes narrowing to shards of ice. Theo was already turning, his mouth open to deliver something vicious.
But Hermione moved first.
She set her quill down carefully, rose from her seat, and turned to face the whisperer. Her voice carried across the hall, firm, unwavering.
“Where I belong,” she said crisply, “is here. Studying, learning, working - the same as every single one of you. I didn’t ask for an attack, and I certainly didn’t ask for an escort. But I won’t apologize for being alive, and I won’t apologize for taking precautions to stay that way. If you find that offensive-” Her eyes locked on the student, unwavering. “-perhaps you should ask yourself why someone else’s survival bothers you so much.”
The hall went utterly silent.
The whisperer - a boy Hermione vaguely recognized from another House - flushed crimson, ducking his head.
Hermione let the silence hang for a moment longer, then inclined her head coolly and sat back down. She picked up her quill as if nothing had happened.
Draco’s lips curved into a dangerous smirk. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
Theo let out a low whistle. “Brilliant delivery. Ten out of ten.”
Behind them, Pansy clapped slowly, her expression wickedly delighted. “Perfect, Potter. Absolutely perfect.”
Astoria leaned forward, her voice soft but warm. “You handled that beautifully.”
Blaise smirked lazily. “Efficient. And intimidating. I approve - again.”
Hermione ducked her head, though her cheeks warmed. “It was nothing.”
Draco leaned closer, his voice quiet for her alone. “It wasn’t nothing. You silenced them without a wand, without a curse. That’s power.”
Theo nudged her side. “Don’t let him get too dramatic. But yes, it was impressive.”
At the front of the hall, Professor Greaves set his chalk down with deliberate care. He turned, his gaze sweeping the room, resting only briefly on Hermione before moving on.
“Now that we are settled,” he said, his voice smooth but edged with iron, “Comparative Spell Casting waits for no one. Turn to page 394.”
The rustle of parchment and the scrape of quills filled the room, the earlier tension dissolving into studious silence.
Hermione bent over her notes, quill steady, her pulse finally slowing. For the first time since her attack, she felt not just safe - but strong.
Quills scratched against parchment as Comparative Spell Casting began in earnest. Professor Greaves strode across the front of the room, his robes sweeping behind him, every movement crisp and deliberate.
“Comparative Spell Casting,” he began, “is not about knowing a spell. It is about understanding the mechanics that separate one spell from another - why two incantations designed for similar outcomes might yield drastically different results depending on context, caster, or intent.”
His chalk struck the board sharply. Expelliarmus. Everti Statum. Expulso.
“Three spells. Similar outcomes - a disarmed opponent, a forceful knockback, or an explosive push. But do you understand the nuances of when and why to use each?”
Silence, broken only by the shifting of books.
Greaves turned, scanning the room. His gaze settled - deliberately - on the boy who had spoken against Hermione earlier. “Carrow.”
The boy jerked upright, color still high on his cheeks from Hermione’s rebuke. “Y-yes, sir?”
“Expelliarmus, Everti Statum, Expulso,” Greaves said evenly. “Distinguish their uses. Explain which you would cast in a defensive duel and why.”
Carrow swallowed, his eyes darting to his notes. “Uh-Expelliarmus disarms. Everti Statum… it, er, knocks someone down? And Expulso-blows things up?”
The words hung flat in the air.
Greaves raised a brow, his voice silk over steel. “Astute. And yet, painfully shallow. If that were the extent of your understanding, you’d be dead in the first exchange. Sit down.”
Carrow flushed crimson, sinking into his seat. A low murmur of whispers spread, some amused, others wary.
Greaves’s gaze swept again - and landed, deliberately, on Hermione.
“Potter.”
Hermione’s spine straightened. She set down her quill, lifting her gaze to meet his. “Yes, Professor.”
“Enlighten us. Same question.”
Hermione drew a slow breath, steadying herself. “Expelliarmus is best used when disarming is both sufficient and efficient - it doesn’t harm the opponent, but neutralizes their weapon. In a defensive duel, it’s the cleanest option if you can land it. Everti Statum, on the other hand, is less precise. It knocks back or unbalances the opponent, but doesn’t guarantee disarmament. Useful if you need space, but not a finishing spell. Expulso is… volatile. Powerful, yes, but dangerous in close combat. It can cause collateral damage, harm bystanders, or even rebound on the caster if uncontrolled. It belongs in combat situations with clear range and no civilians, not in a duel.”
The hall was silent when she finished.
Professor Greaves’s mouth curved ever so slightly - not a smile, but the shadow of one. “Correct. Concise. And useful.” His gaze flicked briefly to Carrow. “That is the difference between memorizing and understanding. Between surviving and losing.”
Hermione lowered her gaze, cheeks warm but her expression composed. She picked up her quill again, ignoring the ripple of whispers now tinged with respect.
Draco leaned closer, his voice a low purr of satisfaction. “Flawless.”
Theo smirked. “You didn’t just answer. You buried him.”
Blaise tapped his quill lazily against the desk behind her. “Elegant work, Potter. Very Slytherin.”
Pansy leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. “You should’ve seen Carrow’s face. Priceless.”
Astoria giggled softly, covering her mouth. “He’ll never speak out of turn again.”
Hermione tried not to smile, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her. “I wasn’t trying to humiliate him.”
Draco’s smirk deepened. “Then you shouldn’t have been so thorough.”
“Shush,” she whispered, ducking her head as she scribbled her notes.
At the back of the hall, Selwyn and Woodcroft exchanged the briefest glance. Selwyn’s eyes softened, though her expression quickly settled back into its usual precision.
Professor Greaves moved on, chalk snapping against the board again.
“Now. Practical application. I want you to compare casting Expelliarmus with Everti Statum. Pairs. Volunteers.”
Hands went up hesitantly. Blaise stretched languidly before offering his. Pansy shot hers into the air like a dagger. Theo groaned dramatically.
“Of course you’re volunteering,” he muttered.
Hermione set her quill down. “I’ll do it.”
Draco turned his head sharply. “Hermione-”
She met his gaze evenly. “It’s a classroom exercise. I’m not fragile.”
His jaw tightened, but after a moment, he inclined his head. “Fine. With me.”
Greaves gestured them forward. Hermione and Draco descended the steps to the front, wands at the ready.
“Expelliarmus,” Greaves said, “followed by Everti Statum. Caster’s choice who begins.”
Draco bowed faintly, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Ladies first.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, raising her wand. “Expelliarmus!”
The spell snapped from her wand, red light hitting Draco’s wrist. His wand flew into the air, but he caught it effortlessly, lips curved in approval.
“Good,” Greaves said. “Switch.”
Draco raised his wand, his incantation crisp. “Everti Statum!”
Hermione braced herself, feet steady. The force hit like a shove, but she absorbed it, sliding back only a pace. She lifted her chin, hair falling back from her face.
“Excellent control from both,” Greaves said. “Notice, class, the difference. Expelliarmus disarms but leaves the opponent standing. Everti Statum destabilizes but risks leaving the opponent still armed. Which, then, would you choose in a duel?”
“Expelliarmus,” Hermione said promptly.
“Expelliarmus,” Draco agreed, smirking faintly.
“Correct,” Greaves said. “Sit.”
They returned to their seats, Hermione’s pulse steady, Draco’s smirk firmly in place.
Theo leaned close as they sat. “Show-offs.”
“You’re just jealous,” Hermione whispered back.
“Entirely,” Theo admitted.
The rest of the lecture flowed, Greaves moving between theory and demonstration with the same precise edge. Hermione’s quill never slowed, her answers sharp when called upon, her focus unwavering despite the glances still thrown her way.
By the time Greaves dismissed them, the atmosphere in the hall had shifted. The whispers hadn’t stopped, but the edge of mockery was gone. In its place lingered something sharper. Respect.
As they gathered their things, Pansy smirked. “Well. That was a show.”
Blaise stretched lazily. “Potter, you’ve just cemented yourself as the smartest witch in the room. Again.”
Astoria’s smile was quiet, admiring. “You were incredible.”
Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder, cheeks warm but her smile calm. “It was just class.”
Draco and Theo shared a look over her head - proud, protective, and utterly certain.
For the first time since her return, Hermione felt not like a fragile survivor under guard, but herself.
And she intended to keep it that way.
The corridors outside Comparative Spell Casting were buzzing as students spilled out, chatter ricocheting off the stone walls. Hermione gathered her things, walking between Draco and Theo, with Blaise, Pansy, and Astoria close behind. Selwyn and Woodcroft trailed in their quiet, professional way, eyes always scanning.
Hermione felt lighter than she had in weeks - her shoulders squared, her quill scratches in her notes neat and full. She had held her own in lecture, shut down Carrow’s sneer, and even impressed Greaves. For once, whispers didn’t seem so sharp.
Until a voice sliced through the crowd.
“Well, well. Look at the Prophet’s little darling.”
The words dripped with scorn. Carrow, red-faced and simmering, leaned against the wall ahead of them, wand twirling between his fingers. His eyes glittered with malice. “Enjoying your new bodyguards, Potter? Must be nice, having everyone clean up your messes while you play the innocent Half-blood princess.”
Pansy’s lips curled. “Watch your mouth, Carrow.”
Astoria’s voice, softer but icy, followed. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Blaise gave a low, amused hum. “Still bitter from class? Pathetic.”
Draco’s hand twitched toward his wand. “Say another word-”
Carrow sneered, eyes darting to Draco. “What’s the matter, Malfoy? Afraid your little pet can’t fight her own battles?”
Theo’s eyes darkened. “Careful.”
"Oh, are you a Deatheaters slag now, you have Nott and Malfoy standing up for you?"
"How dare..." Theo started.
And then Carrow’s wand jerked up - fast, reckless, his lips curling as he spat, “Stupe-”
Hermione didn’t think.
Her wand was in her hand before the Aurors or her friends could blink. “Expelliarmus!”
The spell cracked through the air, clean and precise. Carrow’s wand shot from his grasp, clattering across the flagstones. A sharp flick of Hermione’s wrist followed, her voice steady and cold. “Everti Statum!”
The force slammed into Carrow’s chest. He hit the wall with a resounding thud, crumpling in a heap, his breath wheezing out in a stunned groan.
The hall froze.
Students nearby gaped openly, their whispers cut off mid-word.
Hermione lowered her wand slowly, her heartbeat steady despite the rush of magic still humming in her veins.
Selwyn stepped forward at last, her eyes narrowing - not at Hermione, but at Carrow sprawled against the wall. Then, surprisingly, she turned back to Hermione. “I can’t believe it. We were both outdrawn.”
Woodcroft let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Quicker than both of us, cleaner than half the Auror trainees I’ve seen. You ought to think about joining the program, Miss Potter.”
Hermione blinked, startled. “Me? Oh, no. My heart’s already set on law. But-” She glanced down at her wand, then back up with a faint smile. “Sirius taught me well. He insisted on it.”
Draco’s smirk was razor sharp. “Of course he did. Black never trusted anyone else to keep you safe.”
Theo clapped her on the shoulder with exaggerated pride. “And look at you now. Outdrawing Aurors. Knocking idiots into walls. My little overachiever.”
Pansy gave a slow, deliberate clap, her grin wicked. “That was beautiful, Potter. I might even forgive you for stealing all the answers in class.”
Astoria’s eyes were wide, awe shining in them. “You were incredible. So fast, and so calm.”
Blaise tilted his head, smirking lazily. “Law, hm? A pity. You’d make a terrifying Auror. Efficient, elegant, and merciless when necessary. Very Slytherin of you.”
Hermione rolled her eyes faintly, though her lips curved. “I wasn’t trying to be merciless. He raised his wand first.”
Draco’s hand slid to hers, firm, grounding. “And you put him down before he could finish a syllable. Don’t apologize for that.”
Theo leaned in on her other side, grinning. “Honestly, it was inspiring. I might let you duel for me next time.”
Selwyn finally moved to Carrow, levitating him with a flick of her wand. “He’ll answer to the Dean for this. Attacking a classmate under Auror protection is no small offense.”
Woodcroft retrieved Carrow’s wand, tucking it neatly away. His gaze lingered on Hermione, respectful. “Still - you handled yourself better than most.”
Hermione flushed slightly, ducking her head. “I just… reacted.”
“Reacted,” Draco repeated, his voice low and certain. “With perfect control.”
Theo bumped her shoulder again. “Face it, Hermione. You’re terrifying. In the best way.”
Pansy smirked. “Terrifying and brilliant. Quite the combination.”
Astoria’s smile was gentle, but firm. “And exactly who you’ve always been.”
The corridor filled with murmurs again, but they were different now - tinged with awe instead of scorn. Hermione squared her shoulders, sliding her wand back into her sleeve.
The corridor buzzed with murmurs as Auror Selwyn levitated Marcus Carrow’s crumpled body down the hall. His face was pale, lips pressed in a furious line, but he offered no resistance - the shame of being publicly disarmed and flung against the wall still clinging to him like dust.
Hermione walked just behind Selwyn, her wand still warm in her sleeve. Draco and Theo flanked her on either side, close enough their shoulders brushed hers. Auror Woodcroft brought up the rear, calm but sharp-eyed. Students parted quickly to let them through, whispers trailing in their wake.
By the time they reached the carved oak doors of the Dean’s office, Hermione’s pulse had steadied. Selwyn rapped her knuckles sharply against the wood, and a cool voice answered:
“Enter.”
The office was spacious, lined with shelves of ancient tomes and illuminated by tall, enchanted lanterns. Behind a wide desk sat Dean Obelyn, her robes immaculate, her dark hair swept into a severe knot at the nape of her neck. Her gaze, sharp as a hawk’s, swept immediately over the group - lingering on Marcus dangling mid-air, then shifting to Hermione, Draco, and Theo.
“Set him down, Auror Selwyn,” Dean Obelyn instructed.
Selwyn flicked her wand, and Marcus landed unceremoniously in the chair before the desk. He scowled, rubbing his shoulder.
Dean Obelyn’s voice was calm, but steel lay beneath it. “Explain.”
Selwyn inclined her head. “Marcus Carrow attempted to cast at Miss Potter in the corridor after class. He raised his wand with hostile intent. Miss Potter responded with speed and precision, disarming and incapacitating him before either Auror could intervene.”
Dean Obelyn’s gaze sharpened. “Miss Potter?”
Hermione straightened her shoulders. “It happened quickly. He called me a…nasty name. Then he raised his wand. I reacted.”
Marcus sneered. “Overreacted, more like. I wasn’t going to hit her-”
“You weren’t going to hit her?” Draco cut in, his voice dripping with venom. “You shouted a spell and had your wand aimed at her chest.”
Theo leaned forward, his tone deceptively mild. “She should’ve hexed you into the infirmary. You’re lucky she has restraint.”
“Enough,” Dean Obelyn said sharply, her tone brooking no argument. She turned her gaze on Marcus, who shrank slightly under it. “You attempted to curse a classmate under Auror protection. That is not only reckless but grounds for immediate disciplinary action.”
Marcus’s jaw clenched. “She provoked me-”
“By existing?” Hermione’s voice cut through, crisp and cold. She held Marcus’s gaze evenly. “I stood up for myself in class. That’s not provocation. That’s participating. You couldn’t handle it.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Woodcroft cleared his throat. “With respect, Dean - she’s right. Miss Granger demonstrated remarkable restraint. She could’ve used far more force. Instead, she disarmed him cleanly and neutralized the threat with minimal damage.”
Selwyn nodded once, her voice cool. “Faster than either of us anticipated. If anything, it was a model response.”
Dean Obelyn’s eyes flicked back to Hermione, unreadable. “You’ve had training.”
Hermione inclined her head. “My uncle Sirius. He always said I should be ready.”
Draco’s voice was low, dangerous. “He was right.”
Theo leaned back, smirking faintly. “And she proved it today.”
Dean Obelyn tapped her fingers against the desk, then turned her full attention to Marcus. “Marcus Carrow. Your behavior is inexcusable. You will be suspended from classes for one week, confined to your dormitory except for meals. Your wand will remain in Auror custody until further notice. Any further incident, and you will face expulsion. Do you understand?”
Marcus’s face flushed crimson. “Yes, Dean Obelyn,” he muttered through gritted teeth.
“Good,” she said briskly. “Aurors, see to it that his wand is secured. And see him back to his dormitory.”
Selwyn flicked her wand, levitating Marcus to his feet. He stumbled, shooting Hermione a poisonous glare. She met it evenly, her expression cool, unflinching.
When the door shut behind him, the office grew quieter. Dean Obelyn leaned back in her chair, studying Hermione with that same piercing gaze.
“You handled yourself with precision,” the Dean said at last. “And restraint. That combination is rare.”
Hermione exhaled slowly. “I didn’t want to hurt him. Just stop him.”
“Precisely,” Woodcroft said. “That’s what made it effective.”
Selwyn gave a rare, almost-smile. “And what made us both late to act.”
Hermione flushed. “I wasn’t trying to show anyone up.”
Draco’s lips curved. “You weren’t. You were showing Carrow what happens when he underestimates you.”
Theo chuckled. “And you terrified him in the process. Which is a bonus.”
Pansy’s voice, sharp even in memory, echoed in Hermione’s head: That was beautiful, Potter.
Dean Obelyn’s gaze softened just slightly. “Miss Potter, your situation is unique. The protections around you are not meant to coddle, but to preserve. That said-” She leaned forward, hands folding atop her desk. “-you are not helpless. Today proved that. Remember it.”
Hermione nodded, her chest tight but steady. “I will.”
Draco and Theo shared a glance - proud, protective, and certain.
Dean Obelyn’s gaze swept the three of them, then shifted to the Aurors. “You will continue as planned with her protection detail. But if Miss Granger demonstrates again that she can handle herself, do not interfere unnecessarily. She is, after all, a student of Arcanum Universitas. And we train survivors here.”
Selwyn and Woodcroft inclined their heads.
Hermione sat straighter, her heart pounding with something fierce and certain. For the first time since the attack, she didn’t feel like the fragile one everyone had to protect.
She felt like herself again.
The corridors were quieter now, the morning bustle thinning as the bulk of students settled into their routines. Hermione walked steadily between Draco and Theo, her satchel heavy but balanced over her shoulder. Their pace was unhurried, their hands occasionally brushing hers in casual, grounding gestures that reminded her she wasn’t alone.
“So,” Theo began, his tone deceptively light, “after today, do you feel like you’ve reclaimed some normalcy, or is this still a nightmare starring Aurors?”
Hermione let out a short laugh, the sound soft but real. “I think… normalcy is the wrong word. But I feel… capable. For the first time in a week, I don’t feel like I’m constantly waiting for something to go wrong.”
Draco’s pale eyes flicked to her, sharp and assessing. “Good. Because the moment you think you can let your guard down entirely, someone will try to remind you why you can’t.”
Theo snorted, though there was a gentleness beneath it. “That’s a rather grim way to frame it, Drake. Surely we don’t need to scare her further?”
Hermione shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “No. I get it. It’s not about fear-it’s about being prepared. And… I like being prepared.”
Draco’s smirk was fleeting, almost unreadable. “Then you’re learning quickly. Which is fortunate, considering the company you keep.”
“You mean me?” Theo asked, mock-offended, though his smirk betrayed pride. “I like to think I’m excellent company. Superior even.”
Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile. “Superiorly annoying, maybe.”
Theo feigned shock, clutching his chest. “Annoying? Me? Never. Just… indispensable.”
Draco snorted quietly. “Indispensable to your own ego, perhaps.”
They fell into a companionable rhythm as they approached the carved wooden doors of Hermione’s suite. The wards shimmered faintly as they neared, their light a quiet, reassuring presence. The Aurors—Selwyn and Woodcroft-remained a careful distance behind, silent but vigilant.
Hermione pushed the door open, the familiar scent of parchment and polished wood welcoming her. She stepped inside, letting the door click softly behind her.
“Finally home,” she murmured, sinking into the chair at her desk. Her quill scraped lightly against parchment as she began pulling out her essays, spreading them neatly in front of her. The sunlight catching the dust motes through her window gave the small space a calm, almost ethereal glow.
Draco and Theo lingered by the doorway, hands loosely crossed, watching her organize her work. Hermione looked up from her stack of papers, brow furrowing. “Why are you just standing there?”
Theo stretched one arm lazily across the doorframe. “Because it’s… fascinating watching you tackle three essays at once. Like observing a force of nature.”
Hermione arched an eyebrow. “And that justifies not sitting down?”
Theo grinned. “Just making an observation, my dear. But… I do have to get to my study session with Daphne and Blaise. Obligations, you understand.”
Draco shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands brushing his robes. “I have Estate Lecture next. Technically should be on my way. But… I’d much rather skip.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed, sharp and steady. “Absolutely not.”
Theo raised both hands, mock-surrendering. “We’re just saying—”
“Skipping isn’t the option,” Hermione interrupted firmly. “I have work to do, and I intend to do it. Both of you are not going to skip on my behalf."
Draco’s smirk deepened, dangerously amused. “You’re serious.”
“I am.” Hermione’s voice was unwavering, precise. “Absolutely serious.”
Theo leaned against the wall, head tilted, lips twitching with suppressed amusement. “You really mean that, huh?”
“Yes,” she said, setting a quill down deliberately. “I will be just fine. The wards in my room are strong, the Aurors are outside the door, and I have every intention of being productive. So you may continue your protest, but it won’t change a thing.”
Draco’s jaw flexed, a faint frown tugging at his expression, but there was no denying the respect buried beneath it. “Fine,” he said finally. “But know this… if something happens, I won’t forgive myself.”
“I don’t plan to give you the chance,” Hermione replied smoothly, tapping her quill against her cheek thoughtfully.
Theo chuckled low. “And yet… I suspect we’ll still be trying to hover like shadows. Out of love, of course.”
Hermione smiled faintly, shaking her head. “I know. And it’s appreciated. Just… not for the next few hours. I need focus. You two are distracting me.”
Draco’s smirk softened, almost tender, as he stepped closer. “Very well. But don't think for a second we won't find out if someone tries anything."
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Hermione said, turning back to her essays, her quill poised.
Theo lingered near the window, hands in his pockets, still grinning. “Resilient, fierce, and stubborn. You really do make it impossible to leave, sunshine.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Hermione murmured, her attention returning to her work.
For a while, there was only the quiet scratch of quill on parchment. The sunlight spilled across Hermione’s desk, warm and steady, and the faint hum of the wards seemed almost protective in itself. Outside, Selwyn and Woodcroft remained vigilant, shadows in the doorway, eyes sharp and watchful.
Draco leaned slightly against the desk, pale eyes on her, observing rather than intruding. Theo’s presence was lighter, a subtle anchor of support. Hermione felt the weight of their protection, but it didn’t feel suffocating. It felt… steadying.
“Really,” she said softly, breaking the quiet, “you two are far too concerned with my safety.”
Draco’s smirk returned faintly. “And you’re far too stubborn to let us relax. Seems fair.”
“I’ll make it fairer,” Hermione said, glancing up with a teasing edge, “if you actually do your lectures instead of lingering here.”
Theo feigned a groan. “But… it’s so much fun just watching you at work.”
Hermione shook her head, the corner of her lips twitching into a small smile. “I’ll survive your absence. Don’t you worry.”
Draco’s smirk softened into something unreadably warm. “We know you will. But that doesn’t mean we want to go.”
Theo laughed quietly, moving to the doorway. “Shall we leave, then? Study session and Estate Lecture await our reluctant attendance?”
Hermione waved them off without looking up. “Go. Seriously. You can survive without hovering for three hours.”
Draco paused, hands on the desk, his pale eyes meeting hers. “You’re confident?”
“With the protection on this room?” she said without hesitation. “Completely. You and Theo can go, and I’ll manage just fine.”
Selwyn’s voice, calm and precise, came from the door. “Miss Potter, if you require assistance, we are a wand’s length away. Otherwise, we will maintain our post.”
Woodcroft inclined his head silently, eyes sweeping the room once more.
Hermione exhaled slowly, finally letting the tension of the morning ease from her shoulders. “Good. That will be… perfect.”
Draco’s hand brushed hers briefly in a quiet, grounding gesture before he and Theo finally moved toward the door, grumbling but obedient.
“Don’t take too long,” Hermione called after them, smirking slightly. “I’m perfectly capable of waiting for your triumphant return.”
Theo’s voice floated back, teasing. “Triumphant indeed. We’ll make sure to regale you with tales of our heroic lectures.”
Draco’s smirk lingered at the doorway. “Try not to burn the place down in our absence.”
Hermione’s laugh was soft but firm as she returned to her desk, pulling her quill into position and organizing her essays carefully. The Aurors remained outside, vigilant and silent, but their presence no longer felt oppressive.
With a calm inhale, Hermione began writing, the quiet scratch of quill on parchment filling the room. She was safe. She was prepared. And for the first time since the attack, she felt in full control of her world again.
Draco slid into his usual seat near the back of the vaulted classroom, his chair angled just slightly so he could lean with one elbow against the desk and view the room in a single sweep. The Estate Lecture course was less crowded than most-only pureblood heirs and heiresses, a handful of half-bloods whose families still clung to land rights, and the occasional Ministry liaison in training. It was a place where lineage mattered as much as knowledge, and the air always carried a faint tang of superiority.
Professor Whitmore, sharp-nosed and impeccably dressed, stood at the front of the chamber. His chalk scrawled itself across the enchanted board, lines of neat script forming as he spoke about inheritance laws, ward maintenance, and the delicate politics of estate alliances.
Draco kept his gaze forward, fingers loosely twirling his quill, but his thoughts were elsewhere-Hermione at her desk, head bent over parchment, quill flying across essays while Aurors stood guard outside. He hadn’t liked leaving her, though her stubborn insistence still echoed in his ears. Absolutely not. Merlin, she could dig her heels in like no one else.
“-and of course,” Whitmore was saying, “the long-standing traditions of ward inheritance remain crucial to maintaining the integrity of estates. Take for example the Black family’s holdings-”
A muffled chuckle cut across the lecture. Two rows ahead of Draco, a dark-haired boy-Merton Rosier , his insufferable cousin-leaned sideways toward another student. His voice wasn’t loud, but in the echoing chamber, it carried.
“I still can’t believe Malfoy’s spending all his time playing bodyguard to that Half-blood bint. What a waste.”
The words cracked like a whip in Draco’s ears. For a beat, he didn’t move, his jaw tightening, his quill stilling between his fingers. Then slowly, deliberately, he set it down.
The boy beside Merton snickered, not noticing the sudden stillness in the back row. “I heard she’s got Aurors stationed like she’s some sort of princess. Pathetic, really. If she can’t take care of herself, what’s she doing here?”
Merton leaned back smugly. “Exactly. My family says she’s only still breathing because the Ministry wants her paraded around as some war heroine. Not because she’s actually worth protecting. Imagine Malfoy of all people reduced to-”
The sharp clack of Draco’s chair scraping back silenced the rest of the row. Heads turned, and Whitmore’s voice faltered as the weight of Draco’s fury filled the chamber.
“Say that again.”
His voice was low, precise, the sort of tone that sent shivers down a spine long before the hex ever landed.
Merton stiffened, but his smirk wavered as Draco strode down the aisle with lethal calm. “Careful, cousin-”
“Don’t you cousin me,” Draco snapped, his pale eyes glinting like shards of ice. He stopped directly behind Merton’s chair, voice dropping into something even more dangerous. “Go on. Say it again. I dare you.”
Whitmore cleared his throat nervously at the front. “Mr. Malfoy-this is hardly-”
“Hardly what?” Draco’s gaze didn’t flicker from Merton, though his words lashed across the room. “Hardly worth addressing? Someone slanders Hermione Granger in my hearing, and you expect me to sit here and scribble notes about ward inheritance like nothing’s been said?”
A ripple of whispers surged through the class, a dozen heads swiveling. Some looked scandalized; others, entertained.
Merton sneered, trying to recover his composure. “Merlin, Malfoy, don’t tell me you’ve gone soft. Everyone knows she’s-”
Draco’s wand was out before the second syllable left Merton’s lips. It wasn’t raised-yet-but it gleamed with the promise of violence. “Finish that sentence, and you won’t make it out of this classroom without a Healer.”
The room went deathly silent. Even Whitmore froze, caught between intervening and recognizing the futility of it.
The boy beside Merton tried to laugh it off nervously. “Come on, Malfoy, we’re just joking-”
Draco’s lip curled. “You think I’m laughing?” He leaned closer, his voice a razor-edged whisper meant for Merton alone but loud enough for all to hear. “You have no idea the kind of person you’re mocking. Hermione Potter has more power in her quill than you have in your entire bloodline. And the next time you open your mouth to soil her name, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Merton swallowed hard, his earlier smugness paling into something brittle. He tried for bravado, but his voice cracked. “You’d threaten your own cousin over her?”
Draco’s smirk was cold, merciless. “Over her, I’d hex my own father.”
The weight of the statement settled over the class like a storm. Even Whitmore seemed stunned, his lips pressed tightly as though he’d just swallowed lemon juice.
Draco straightened slowly, sliding his wand back into his sleeve with deliberate precision. “Good. Glad we understand one another.”
The lecture hall held its breath as he turned on his heel and walked back to his seat, every step a display of unshaken composure. When he sat, his quill twirled idly between his fingers once more, as though nothing at all had happened.
Whitmore coughed into his hand, forcing his voice to steady. “Ahem-yes, well. Returning to the matter of ward inheritance…”
But the class wasn’t listening. Their eyes kept flicking to Draco, pale and sharp in the back row, and the unspoken truth that lingered in the air:
Draco Malfoy would no longer tolerate a single word against Hermione Potter.
And he would burn down anyone who tried.
The library was hushed, the only sounds the scratch of quills and the occasional rustle of parchment. Sunlight slanted through tall windows, dust motes spinning lazily in the air. The smell of ink and old vellum was thick, familiar, comforting.
At a long oak table tucked between two shelves, Theo sat with Blaise and Daphne. Books on Necromantic Ethics were stacked precariously around them, pages marked with scraps of parchment. Theo leaned back in his chair, long fingers idly twirling his quill while his sharp eyes skimmed a passage.
“Merricks expects an entire treatise on the philosophical implications of soul-binding,” Daphne muttered, her hand braced against her forehead. “As if it’s not enough to argue that necromancy is dangerous, we have to cite three bloody case studies from the last century.”
Blaise smirked, smooth and unbothered. “That’s because Merricks thrives on making us miserable. He’d probably reanimate corpses just to ask them for citations.”
Theo chuckled under his breath, though his attention didn’t waver from his parchment. His essay was already half-drafted in neat, precise handwriting. He always preferred order when the subject was chaos.
“‘The conjuration of souls beyond the Veil,’” Theo read aloud from his notes, “is not simply a question of morality but of hubris. Wizards seeking to command death itself fall into the trap of believing they can outwit inevitability.’” He tapped the end of his quill against the parchment. “That’s the foundation of our argument. We expand from there.”
Daphne sighed, her green eyes flicking between her friends. “Why do you two make it sound so effortless? I’ve only managed half a page.”
Blaise leaned closer, his smirk widening. “Because, my dear, we don’t panic. We strategize. Theo outlines, I add flare, and you…complain.”
Daphne swatted him with a rolled-up scrap of parchment. “Insufferable.”
Theo smirked faintly. “But accurate.”
They were still chuckling quietly when voices drifted from a nearby table. Not the quiet whispers of diligent students, but the hushed, conspiratorial tones of gossip.
“…can you believe it? Malfoy and Nott-both of them-entangled with her of all people?”
Theo’s head lifted slightly, eyes narrowing.
“She struts around like some war saint, but at the end of the day she’s just a Potter. A half-born who got lucky. And now she’s got Aurors babysitting her every move.”
The words hit sharp in Theo’s chest. His quill stilled.
Blaise and Daphne both froze, exchanging quick, wary glances. They knew that tone, that word. Half-born. It wasn’t often used openly anymore, not since the war. But when it was, it was meant to cut.
Another voice chimed in from the same group. “I mean really-what’s Malfoy thinking? What’s Theo thinking? Imagine tying yourself to someone like her. What would their families say? Probably rolling in their ancestral graves.”
A laugh rippled through the group.
Before Blaise could open his mouth-before Daphne could shoot her sharp retort-Theo’s chair scraped violently back. The sound cracked through the silence of the library like a whip. Heads turned. Madam Thurwead twitched from across the room, bristling like a hawk.
Theo stood, his expression transformed. Gone was the calm, lazy composure he usually wore like armor. His face was taut, eyes blazing, his voice low and deadly when he spoke.
“Say it again.”
The group of students-three boys from Ravenclaw and a Slytherin girl-blinked in shock at the sudden interruption. One of the boys smirked nervously. “We’re just talking. Nothing to do with you, Nott.”
Theo stepped closer, every inch of his body radiating fury he rarely let slip. “It has everything to do with me when you speak about Hermione Potter.” His voice cracked through the air, louder now. “You think you can sit here, in this library, and reduce her to nothing but bloodlines and lies? You think you can laugh about her like she’s some…some inconvenience?”
One of the Ravenclaw boys straightened, trying to sneer. “Everyone’s thinking it, Nott. You and Malfoy just happen to be the ones stupid enough to-”
Theo’s wand was out in a flash, pointed straight at the boy’s chest. His hand was steady, though his voice was sharp with fury. “Finish that sentence. I dare you.”
The library had gone utterly silent. Even the portraits on the walls leaned forward, listening.
Blaise rose slowly, his face calm but his eyes flicking between Theo and the group with sharp calculation. Daphne stood as well, her hand lightly brushing Theo’s arm as though reminding him of where he was.
“Theo,” she said softly. “Don’t.”
But Theo wasn’t hearing her. His jaw was tight, his teeth clenched. “You don’t get to speak her name like that. Hermione Potter has survived more than your entire families combined. She’s fought wars you couldn’t even stomach reading about. And if you think her bloodline makes her less-” He leaned forward, wand tip pressing into the boy’s collar. “-then you’re more ignorant than I thought possible.”
The boy paled, but he tried to mask it with bravado. “Merlin, Nott, you’ve gone soft. She’s bewitched you.”
Theo’s laugh was humorless, sharp. “If believing in someone who’s ten times the witch you’ll ever be makes me soft, then I’ll wear it like a crown.”
The words shocked even Blaise and Daphne. Theo never spoke like that-not openly, not emotionally. He was the strategist, the quiet wit. But right now, his composure was stripped bare, and what remained was raw, furious loyalty.
Daphne finally stepped between Theo and the Ravenclaws, her voice sharp as steel. “Enough. If you think you can slander Potter and get away with it, think again. Next time, you won’t just have Theo to answer to-you’ll have all three of us.”
Blaise’s smirk was cold as he stepped forward, folding his arms. “And I assure you, you don’t want to know what I do to people who bore me.”
The Ravenclaws shifted uneasily, muttering under their breath but unwilling to press further.
Theo lowered his wand slowly, his chest still rising and falling sharply. He didn’t sit right away. Instead, he held their gaze one last time, his voice quiet but lethal. “You speak her name with respect. Or you don’t speak it at all.”
Then, with deliberate calm, he turned and walked back to the table, sliding into his chair without another word.
The library buzz slowly resumed, but whispers followed them now, curiosity and shock rippling through the rows of students. Theo ignored it, his quill resuming its steady scratch across parchment, though his knuckles were still white.
Daphne sat slowly, her green eyes studying him. “Theo…” she said softly. “That was…unlike you.”
Blaise leaned back in his chair, smirk faint but approving. “Un-Theo. And bloody brilliant.”
Theo didn’t look up, his jaw still tight, his voice controlled but low. “I’m not letting anyone treat her like that again. Not here. Not anywhere.”
Blaise raised his brows, trading a look with Daphne. “Merlin help anyone who tries, then.”
And for the first time that afternoon, Theo allowed himself the faintest of smirks.
Notes:
I think I like the Draco and Theo point of veiw? What do you all think? Should I do it more often?
Chapter 29: Two Shadows, One Flame
Summary:
Hermione starts to feel anger and pain that is unfamiliar and has to learn how to handle it. Draco and Theo are keeping a secret.
Chapter Text
Hermione sat at her desk, quill scratching furiously against parchment. The soft glow of daylight streamed through the tall window, casting warm patches over the spread of books and half-written essays before her. She had already completed two scrolls for Spell Lab– and a half-draft for Theory of Ancient Magic , and now her focus was on Advanced Ritual Theory -a translation exercise that demanded more patience than she presently had to give.
Her muttering filled the quiet, a habit she’d never quite broken. “No, no-that symbol isn’t binding, it’s transitional. Honestly, what sort of scholar mistranslates an Ansuz rune into an Ehwaz? That doesn’t even make sense.”
She dipped her quill sharply into the inkpot, tapping it twice against the rim before continuing. The Aurors outside shifted faintly; she could hear the creak of leather boots against stone, a reminder that even here, in her own space, she wasn’t truly alone.
Still, the silence between her mutterings pressed in.
Hermione sat back suddenly, blowing out a breath, and rubbed her temples. A sharp twinge in her chest made her wince. It wasn’t pain, exactly, more like a sudden tightening that startled her, making her pulse jump.
She pressed a hand to her sternum and frowned. “That’s…strange.”
For a moment she sat frozen, listening to the faint hum of the protective wards around her room, the steady guard outside. Nothing was wrong-nothing she could point to. And yet the tension refused to leave her chest, coiling tight.
She shook her head, forcing herself to return to the essay. But as soon as she bent forward, irritation slammed into her like a wave. Her jaw clenched, her grip on the quill so fierce the nib nearly snapped. She glared down at her parchment as though it had personally offended her.
“This translation is a disaster,” she muttered darkly, slamming the quill down. “Why am I wasting time on this when half the Rune Masters of the world can’t even agree on the bloody conjugation?”
Her voice grew louder, sharper. “And Vanta! Oh, of course she assigns three essays at once, never mind the fact that every other professor has already done the same. Merlin forbid we sleep.”
The Aurors outside shifted again. She imagined Selwyn exchanging a look with Woodcroft, silently debating whether to intervene. Hermione exhaled hard through her nose and raked both hands through her hair.
“Irrational,” she muttered to herself. “Completely irrational. There’s no reason to be angry.”
But the feeling wouldn’t pass. Her chest felt hot, her skin prickling with that strange sense of insult, even though no one had spoken to her. She shoved her chair back and stood, pacing the small length of the room.
“This is ridiculous,” she said aloud, gesturing at the empty air. “I’ve fought Death Eaters, I’ve argued in front of the Wizengamot, and now I’m about to come undone because of an essay?”
She stopped mid-stride, pressing her palm harder against her chest. The twinge pulsed again-softer this time, but unmistakable-followed almost immediately by another flare of irritation so sharp it surprised her. She let out a humorless laugh. “Brilliant, Potter. Absolutely brilliant. You’re unraveling over Advanced Ritual Theory.”
Her gaze landed on the stack of parchment at her desk. Two essays neatly rolled and tied, one half-written, another awaiting notes. All of it orderly. All of it exactly as she liked. And yet she felt anything but orderly.
Hermione pressed her lips together and whispered to herself, “Why am I so…angry?”
Her quill, still abandoned on the desk, dripped ink onto the edge of her essay. The blot spread like a stain across the page.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” she snapped, snatching up the quill and blotting the ink with unnecessary force. “As if I didn’t have enough to-” She cut herself off, groaning and dropping into her chair again.
Her voice softened, almost pleading now. “Calm down. Breathe. It’s just stress. That’s all.”
But even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t stress. It was something else, something she couldn’t put words to. The twinge in her chest, the hot surge of anger-it didn’t feel like hers.
And yet she had no idea what else it could be.
After a while, her voice came again, quieter, almost wry. “Merlin help me, if Draco and Theo saw me like this, they’d never let me hear the end of it.”
She imagined Draco’s smirk, the way he’d drawl ‘Temper, Potter?’ with that infuriating tilt of his head. She imagined Theo’s raised brow, his sly remark about how unbecoming anger looked on her. The thought made her lips twitch into a reluctant smile, though the tension still knotted in her chest.
Hermione sat up straighter, gathering her parchments into a neat stack again. She spoke aloud, more firmly now, as though convincing herself. “You’re fine. You’re perfectly fine. You’ll finish these essays, you’ll have lunch, and then you’ll move on.”
The wards hummed faintly in answer, steady and reassuring.
Hermione nodded once, decisive, though her fingers still trembled faintly as she picked up her quill again. “Perfectly fine,” she muttered, and bent once more to her work.
But the tightness in her chest and the prickling anger remained-echoes she didn’t understand, shadows of a bond she hadn’t yet learned to name.
The corridor outside the library was quieter than usual. Students passed in clusters, clutching scrolls and muttering about exams, but Draco Malfoy leaned against the stone wall opposite the tall oak doors, utterly unconcerned with their chatter. His posture was casual, hands tucked neatly in his pockets, but his sharp gaze flicked to the doors every few moments.
He’d left Estate Lecture wound too tight to focus on anything else, and the only person who’d understand his mood was still inside finishing his study session.
The doors finally creaked open, and Theo emerged, his expression unreadable, shoulders taut in a way Draco recognized immediately. Blaise and Daphne trailed a step behind him, exchanging knowing glances before peeling off down the hall. Theo caught Draco’s eye and smirked faintly, though the tension didn’t leave his face.
“You look like you’ve been waiting to hex someone,” Theo drawled as he crossed the corridor.
Draco’s lips curved into his familiar smirk, though his eyes were cold. “Depends on what you have to tell me. From the look on your face, I’d say we had…similar mornings.”
Theo snorted, falling into step beside him as they started down the hall. Their footsteps echoed against the flagstones. “Similar, hmm? Let me guess-you nearly hexed someone for saying Hermione’s name wrong.”
Draco’s smirk widened. “Not wrong. Filthy. My dear cousin Merton thought it was clever to call her a Half-blood bint in the middle of lecture. Nearly begged me to hex him, really.”
“Not quite.” Draco’s pale eyes glittered. “But I made it very clear that if he ever opens his mouth about her again, he won’t leave the classroom on his own two feet.”
Theo’s lips twitched into a smirk. “That’s practically restraint for you.”
Draco shot him a sidelong glance. “And you? You don’t look nearly as calm as you’re pretending. What happened?”
Theo’s jaw flexed. For a moment, he considered brushing it off. But then he sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “Group of Ravenclaws-and one Slytherin girl, naturally-decided to whisper about Hermione. Called her half-born. Said you and I must be ‘stupid’ to be entangled with her.”
Draco stopped mid-step, his smirk vanishing. “They said that?”
Theo’s eyes darkened, his voice low. “They laughed about her, Draco. About us. About her needing Aurors, about being paraded like some kind of Ministry poster child.” He shook his head, his composure slipping again. “And before Blaise or Daphne could get a word in, I was on my feet with my wand at the bastard’s chest.”
Draco arched a brow, then let out a low chuckle. “You? Wand out in the middle of the library? Nott, that’s practically un-Theo of you.”
Theo smirked humorlessly. “That’s exactly what Blaise said. But I couldn’t-Merlin, Draco, I couldn’t just sit there and let them talk about her like that.”
Draco’s smirk returned, sharp and approving. “Good. At least I’m not the only one losing my temper where she’s concerned.”
They walked in silence for a moment, their footsteps echoing, until Draco spoke again, quieter now. “It’s different, isn’t it? Hearing her name spat like that. It used to roll off me when they said it about Potter-back in school, before the war. But now…” His jaw tightened. “Now it feels personal. Like they’re insulting something sacred.”
Theo’s voice was low, steady. “Because she is.”
Draco glanced at him sharply, but Theo didn’t waver.
“I meant what I said,” Theo continued. “They don’t get to reduce her to bloodlines. Not after everything she’s done. Not when she’s…ours.”
Draco’s smirk softened into something more dangerous. “Careful, Theo. People might think you’ve gone sentimental.”
Theo chuckled under his breath. “If defending Hermione Potter makes me sentimental, then so be it.” He shot Draco a sideways look. “And you’d do the same.”
“I already did,” Draco said dryly. “In front of half the heirs of Britain. Told Merton I’d hex my own father for her.”
Theo’s brows shot up. “You actually said that?”
Draco’s smirk was cold and satisfied. “Word for word. The look on his face was worth the detention I’ll probably get.”
Theo laughed outright, the tension breaking for a moment. “Merlin’s beard, Malfoy. Between you in Lecture and me in the library, we’ve probably started half a dozen rumors before lunch.”
Draco’s pale eyes gleamed. “Let them whisper. Better they fear us than think they can touch her name.”
They turned a corner, the corridor narrowing as they approached the stairwell that would take them down toward Hermione’s dorm.
Theo was quiet for a moment, then he said, almost cautiously, “Do you think she’d be angry? If she knew we both nearly hexed people today?”
Draco smirked faintly. “Of course she would. She’d give us one of her long, scathing lectures about keeping our tempers and not feeding into gossip.”
Theo snorted. “And then she’d thank us, in her own roundabout way.”
“Exactly,” Draco said smoothly. “She can protest all she wants, but she knows she’s not fighting these battles alone anymore.”
Theo’s lips curved into a small smile. “And she’ll hate that as much as she loves it.”
“Which is why,” Draco added, voice dripping with amusement, “we’ll let her scold us after lunch. Always easier to endure her wrath on a full stomach.”
Theo chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re insufferable.”
Draco smirked, his voice cool and certain. “And she still chose me. Chose us.”
The two of them fell silent again as they descended the staircase, the castle’s ancient stones cool and steady around them. The tension of the morning still lingered in their shoulders, but underneath it pulsed something stronger-loyalty, fiercer than either had expected to feel.
As they reached the corridor leading toward Hermione’s dorm, Draco glanced at Theo with that familiar glint in his eye. “Ready to face her?”
Theo smirked faintly, though his jaw was still set. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
The corridor outside Hermione’s dorm was unusually hushed, the air thick with the layered hum of protective charms. Theo and Draco slowed as they approached, the sound of their footfalls muted against the enchanted stone.
Two Aurors stood guard at either side of the heavy oak door, wands visible, eyes sharp. Selwyn, shifted slightly as she caught sight of the boys. Her expression flickered-professional, yes, but with a trace of unease.
Draco reached for the door without hesitation, his hand already pressing against the handle when Selwyn’s voice cut low and firm across the space.
“Careful, Malfoy,” Selwyn said, her tone measured. “She’s…agitated.”
Draco froze, his pale eyes snapping to the Auror’s face. “Agitated?” The single word dripped with suspicion, as though Selwyn had insulted her by saying it.
Woodcroft glanced between them but stayed silent. Selwyn, however, kept her gaze steady on Draco. “She’s been pacing. Snapping at her work. Talking to herself. More than usual.”
Theo’s brows furrowed at that, and he shared a quick glance with Draco. A silent conversation passed between them-uneasy recognition.
Draco’s hand tightened on the handle. “Move,” he said sharply, not waiting for permission as he pushed the door open. Theo was half a step behind him, both boys stepping across the threshold with the sort of controlled urgency that came from years of knowing when something wasn’t right.
Inside, the air was different. Heavier, charged.
Hermione’s dormitory was as orderly as ever: books stacked in neat towers, parchment rolls aligned with military precision, inkpots capped and uncapped at exact angles. But Hermione herself was anything but orderly.
She was pacing the narrow strip of floor between her desk and the window, her hands balled into fists, her hair tumbling wildly from its usual braid as if she’d raked her fingers through it too many times. Her lips moved in a string of mutters, sharp and clipped, fragments of sentences spilling like sparks.
“…absolutely absurd… three essays at once, really… ridiculous-”
Theo and Draco stopped dead just inside the door. For a moment neither spoke, both just watching her stride back and forth, her robes swishing around her ankles, her expression tight with a fury that didn’t quite belong to her.
It was Draco who broke the silence first, his voice smooth, deliberate. “Temper, Potter?”
Hermione whirled, her eyes flashing as though she’d been caught mid-duel. When she saw them, her expression flickered-anger still sharp, but undercut by relief she didn’t want to admit.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “Shouldn’t you be at lecture? Or your study session?”
Theo’s lips quirked faintly, though his eyes searched her face with careful attention. “We were. They ended…early.”
Draco tilted his head, his smirk sharp but his gaze intent. “Selwyn said you’ve been pacing like a caged Hippogriff. Care to explain why?”
Hermione scoffed, turning her back on them as she resumed her restless strides. “I don’t need to explain myself. I’m working. Or at least I was, until everything decided to go wrong at once.”
“Everything?” Theo asked softly, moving further into the room. “Or just your essays?”
Hermione’s hands clenched at her sides. “Essays, quills, runes-everything. It doesn’t matter. It’s all infuriating.”
Draco exchanged a look with Theo, his smirk fading into something more serious. He stepped closer, his voice dropping low. “You don’t usually lose your temper over ink blots, princess.”
Hermione stopped pacing, spinning on her heel to glare at him. “Don’t call me that.”
That made both boys pause. Hermione never minded the nickname when it came from Draco now; it was a term of affection between them. But today, it had landed like flint against tinder.
Theo’s voice was careful. “Hermione…”
She shook her head, pressing a hand to her chest briefly before dropping it again. “It doesn’t make sense. One minute I’m fine, and the next-I feel like I’ve been insulted. Like someone’s dared me to fight. And I don’t even know why!” Her voice cracked with frustration, and she whirled away again, resuming her frantic pacing.
Draco and Theo shared another glance, realization flickering in both their eyes. Theo had felt that twinge earlier-the same kind of tightening that now twisted in her chest. And Draco…well, Draco knew the weight of his own temper, sharp and hot, spilling into places it didn’t belong.
Theo cleared his throat, moving slowly toward her desk. “It doesn’t have to make sense right now.”
Hermione gave a bitter laugh. “Oh, doesn’t it? Because it feels completely ridiculous. I’m furious about nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I don’t know what to do with it.”
Draco crossed the room in three long strides, placing himself directly in her path. She nearly collided with him, stopping short, her breath sharp. He studied her for a long moment, his pale eyes unreadable.
“You’re not furious about nothing,” he said finally, his voice quiet but steady.
Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Then what-”
“Doesn’t matter,” Draco cut her off smoothly, though the glance he shot Theo spoke volumes. “What matters is that you’re not alone in it.”
Theo, now leaning against her desk with a careful casualness, added, “And that you don’t have to wrestle it into submission by yourself.”
Hermione’s lips parted, her anger faltering under the weight of their words. She swallowed, her voice softer. “I don’t…know what’s happening to me.”
Draco’s smirk returned, faint but genuine. “Good thing you’ve got two of us, then.”
Theo gave a small smile, his tone light but his eyes still serious. “And lunch waiting, if we can convince you to stop pacing holes into the carpet.”
Hermione blinked at them, torn between exasperation and relief. Slowly, almost reluctantly, her shoulders eased. “You two are insufferable.”
Draco’s smirk widened. “And yet, here we are.”
Theo straightened from the desk, offering her his hand. “Come on. Food first. Essays later. You’ll think clearer.”
Hermione hesitated, her gaze flicking from Theo’s offered hand to Draco’s steady presence in front of her. Then she sighed, some of the tension finally slipping from her frame.
“Fine,” she muttered. “But only because I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
Draco arched a brow. “Merlin, Potter, no wonder you’re cross. Starving yourself into a temper-it’s practically criminal.”
Theo chuckled under his breath as Hermione shot Draco a glare. But when she finally slipped her hand into Theo’s, the last of the storm in her chest eased-just enough.
The three of them stood for a moment, the room’s charged air settling. Outside, Selwyn and Woodcroft shifted again, trading a knowing look. Inside, the bond between the trio pulsed quietly, none of them yet fully aware of how deeply it ran.
The dinning hall buzzed with the low roar of midday chatter, hundreds of voices overlapping as students crowded around their normal tables. Platters of roast chicken and tureens of soup floated into place, the air rich with the smell of bread and pumpkin juice. At the far end of Gryffindor’s section, the group that had become a fixture-part curiosity, part spectacle-was already gathered.
Harry leaned into Ginny, whispering something that made her laugh as she swatted his arm. Ron was already halfway through his first plate, oblivious to everything else. Luna balanced a spoon on the tip of her nose while Neville spoke earnestly to Lavender and the Patils about some hybrid plant he was growing. Cho and Pansy sat across from one another, oddly civil as they both picked apart their Charms assignment. Blaise leaned lazily against Daphne, while Astoria perched near her sister, eyes bright and watchful.
The doors opened.
Every head seemed to tilt toward the trio who entered-Draco, Theo, and Hermione. The air shifted just a little, as it always did now, eyes trailing them as if waiting for a performance. Draco was the picture of cool composure, Theo all languid detachment, and Hermione in the middle, her jaw tight, her shoulders stiff with a tension that had not left her since the morning.
They crossed the hall under watchful gazes and slipped into their places at the table-Hermione between Ginny and Theo, Draco across from her beside Blaise. The chatter around them resumed, though there was a clear undercurrent of speculation.
Ginny, ever the bold one, tried to pierce the taut air. “So,” she said brightly, “how’s everyone’s morning? Anyone survive Advanced Transfiguration without turning their quills into hedgehogs?”
“Long,” Theo muttered, pouring himself water.
“Productive,” Draco said smoothly, though his eyes were fixed on Hermione, watching the way she toyed with her fork rather than eat.
Blaise leaned back, too relaxed for the tension in the air, and smirked. “Well, some of us had a very exciting study session.”
Daphne’s head snapped toward him. “Blaise-don’t.”
But he ignored her warning. “You should’ve seen it. Nott practically hexing some Ravenclaw into next week in the middle of the library—”
Theo nearly spit out his drink, glaring at him. “Blaise.”
Harry’s brows shot up. “Wait, what?”
Luna tilted her head dreamily. “Was it Wrackspurts? They tend to crowd near shelves. Makes people very aggressive.”
Blaise grimaced, realizing his mistake, but it was far too late. “Not exactly…”
Astoria, who had been waiting, spoke up smoothly, though her eyes flicked nervously toward Hermione. “That explains why Emilia Fawley came running to me after Estate Lecture. Everyone was talking about Malfoy nearly hexing Rosier. Apparently, he had the audacity to-” She hesitated, lowering her voice. “-to call Hermione names.”
The silence that fell was sharp and immediate.
Hermione’s fork clattered against her plate as her grip tightened. She looked at Draco, then Theo, then back to the table, her eyes flashing.
“You two,” she said, her voice cutting and low, “started fights? Public fights?”
Draco lifted his chin, his tone smooth but firm. “They insulted you. What did you expect us to do-smile and nod?”
Theo leaned closer, his eyes dark. “I couldn’t let them talk about you like that. Not when you weren’t there to shut them up yourself.”
Hermione’s laugh came out sharp, almost brittle. “How noble. How gallant. My own personal guard dogs.”
Ginny flinched. “Hermione, they were just-”
“Don’t,” Hermione snapped, slamming her palm down onto the table hard enough to rattle the cups. “Don’t excuse them. I don’t need anyone-anyone-fighting my battles!”
The words hung in the stunned air. Students at nearby tables turned, whispers rippling like fire.
Draco’s expression hardened, though his voice stayed calm. “It wasn’t about fighting your battles. It was about protecting you.”
“I don’t need protecting!” Hermione’s voice cracked, fury rising unchecked.
Theo reached for her hand. “Hermione, please-”
She yanked it back as if burned. “No. Don’t you dare. You don’t get to decide who I am or how people see me. You don’t get to make me look fragile. Do you hear me?”
Gasps echoed from around the hall. Even Ron had stopped chewing.
Hermione’s chest heaved, her breath uneven, her eyes blazing with uncharacteristic fury.
Draco’s hand tightened around his goblet, knuckles white. “Potter-”
“Don’t,” she hissed, her voice low and venomous, silencing him completely.
The table seemed frozen in place, until a voice cut through, sharp and unexpected.
“Alright,” Pansy said, leaning forward, her tone crisp with authority. “Enough. Potter, stop glaring like you’re about to set Malfoy on fire, and Malfoy, stop brooding like a statue.” She turned to Hermione, her sharp eyes narrowing. “You’re not leaving this table in a tantrum.”
Hermione whirled on her, fury still alight. “Excuse me?”
Pansy arched a brow. “You heard me. Sit down, eat your chicken, breathe, and stop giving the entire school a show. You’re Hermione bloody Potter-you don’t storm away and let them think you’re weak.”
Hermione’s jaw dropped, the retort on her lips faltering.
Ginny leaned in quickly, taking advantage of the pause. “Pansy’s right. Don’t give them more fuel, Hermione. You walk out now, and the whole hall will be talking about how Malfoy and Nott broke you. Is that what you want?”
Hermione’s hands trembled on the edge of the table. “I-I can’t sit here. I can’t.”
Astoria’s voice came next, quiet but firm. “Yes, you can. Because if you walk out, you’ll regret it later. And they’ll think they’ve won. The ones who insulted you? They want you rattled. They want you running. Don’t hand them the victory.”
Daphne spoke then, her tone cooler than her sister’s but no less steady. “Astoria’s right. Trust me, Hermione-if you walk out now, Rosier and his lot will laugh themselves sick. Let them see you unshaken instead. That’s the only way to win against people like them.”
Lavender, unusually serious, nodded. “Besides, you’ve always told us not to give bullies what they want. You leaving would be exactly that.”
Parvati leaned forward earnestly. “You’re the strongest person at this table, Hermione. If you storm off, they’ll twist it into weakness.”
Padma added, softer but sharp, “Stay. Show them you don’t break. That’s who you are.”
Neville cleared his throat awkwardly, but his words were solid. “You’ve faced worse than school gossip. Don’t let something this petty shake you. We’ve seen you stare down Death Eaters, Hermione. Don’t give Rosier or anyone like him more credit than they deserve.”
Hermione’s eyes darted around the table, the fury in her face warring with the logic of so many voices.
Even Ron, still chewing, piped up through a mouthful of food, “Yeah, ‘Mione, you’re bloody terrifying when you’re mad, but… don’t give the gits the satisfaction. Just… eat.”
A strangled laugh escaped her, more a release of tension than amusement.
Slowly, with a shuddering breath, she sank back into her seat.
The hall exhaled with her, the whispers rising again, though less feverishly now.
Ginny slid a plate toward her. “Eat. It’ll help.”
Hermione stared at the food, her hands still clenched tight. Finally, with effort, she picked up her fork again, though her motions were stiff and sharp.
Draco and Theo stayed silent, both watching her with unreadable expressions.
Pansy muttered under her breath, “Honestly. Dramatic Gryffindors.”
Hermione let out a brittle, almost hysterical laugh. “You’re not wrong.”
Daphne gave a small, satisfied nod. “There. That’s better. Now eat before I hex the fork into your hand.”
And though the tension hadn’t left her shoulders, though the storm still churned beneath her skin, she stayed.
She stayed because her friends-sharp-tongued, loyal, insistent-anchored her to that bench, refused to let her run.
Sighing, she forced herself to focus on her plate, chewing slowly this time instead of stabbing at the food like it had wronged her. The heat in her chest had dulled to a simmer, still there but no longer ready to spill over. Around her, the hum of chatter resumed, cautious at first, then gaining rhythm like a river finding its natural current again.
Neville leaned forward, glad for an opening. “So, as I was saying, the hybrid blooms under moonlight. Sprout thinks if I can stabilize it, it might replace half the ingredients in certain sleeping draughts.”
Parvati clapped her hands together. “A moonlit flower for sleep potions? That’s brilliant, Neville! You could make a fortune. Imagine-selling it bottled, like a bedtime tea.”
Padma rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. “Or it could just be studied for its academic value, which is the point of research, Parvati.”
Lavender giggled. “You two should open a shop. One selling glowing flowers for dates, the other selling them for homework essays. Perfect combination.”
Neville flushed but smiled. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea.”
Across the table, Draco and Theo exchanged a look-sharp, unreadable, threaded with the kind of conversation they didn’t dare have aloud here. Both opened their mouths, almost in unison, but Pansy cut them off with a daggered glare, her chin lifted imperiously. Blaise mirrored it, his eyes lazy but dangerous, silently warning: Not now. Don’t ruin this.
Theo’s jaw tightened, but he leaned back in his chair. Draco’s lips thinned into a line, his knuckles drumming against the table, but he said nothing either.
Harry, oblivious to the silent battle, leaned forward. “You know, Neville, you should write to Professor Slughorn about this. He’d eat it up. Probably invite you to one of his classes at Hogwarts.”
Ginny snorted. "And lay out the red carpet with a fireworks display. Honestly that sounds exactly like Slughorn."
Hermione let out a small laugh, the sound genuine this time. “He’d probably name the plant after himself.”
“Lunaria slughornia,” Ron offered through a mouthful of chicken, earning groans around the table.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Ron,” Daphne muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Do you ever chew before speaking?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Ron grinned, completely unbothered.
Cho shook her head, hiding a smile. “Honestly, I think it’s endearing. Predictable, but endearing.”
The Patil twins exchanged a look that set both of them giggling again.
Hermione shook her head, some of the tension finally slipping from her shoulders. She wasn’t relaxed-her bandaged hands still trembled faintly when she lifted her goblet-but she was anchored, woven into the rhythm of the table’s chatter.
Luna, spoon still balancing impossibly on her nose, added serenely, “The plant would make a lovely hair accessory too. Very calming aura.”
Lavender’s eyes lit up. “Oh, imagine a whole crown of glowing flowers! You’d look like a goddess.”
“Maybe I’ll save that for Galacial Gala ,” Neville muttered dryly, surprising everyone into laughter.
Draco’s gaze flicked to Hermione again, and Theo’s followed, both of them silently measuring the way her expression softened, if only slightly, in the warmth of their friends’ laughter. They shared another wordless look-relief mixed with something heavier.
But before either could lean forward to speak, Blaise’s eyes snapped to them again, sharp and knowing. Pansy’s glare followed, her voice cutting and deceptively sweet. “Not. A. Word.”
Draco rolled his eyes and reached for his pumpkin juice. Theo muttered something under his breath but stayed silent.
Hermione, catching none of it, focused on Ginny’s voice as the redhead launched into a story about the last Quidditch practice. “Honestly, Ron nearly flew straight into one of the goal hoops. He’s hopeless when he’s trying to impress an audience.”
“Oi!” Ron protested, his ears flushing. “That was strategy.”
“Strategy?” Ginny snorted. “Nearly concussing yourself on a post is strategy?”
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “You should’ve seen McGonagall’s face. She nearly had kittens.”
Parvati gasped dramatically. “Literal kittens?”
“Figurative kittens,” Hermione corrected automatically, then paused, realizing how instinctive the correction had been. For the first time since she’d sat down, her cheeks warmed not with anger but something close to embarrassment.
The table burst into more laughter, and for a fleeting moment, it almost felt normal again.
Hermione wasn’t calm. She wasn’t fine. But she was surrounded, buffered by the noise and warmth of her friends, her storm contained if only by sheer force of numbers.
And for now, no one dared break the fragile balance.
Hermione dabbed at her lips with her napkin, setting it neatly on the table even though she had barely eaten. The buzzing warmth of her friends’ chatter wrapped around her, soothing in its own way, but she could still feel the faint thrum of tension in her veins.
She pushed her plate forward and straightened her posture. “I need to get to my Magical Law Practicum,” she said, her voice steady, almost formal. “We’ve got a case study review this afternoon.”
Theo glanced at her sharply, his fork clattering against his plate. “That’s with Blaise and Pansy, isn’t it?”
Hermione nodded. “Yes.”
Before Theo could add more, Draco’s voice cut smoothly into the conversation. “I’ll walk you,” he said, setting his goblet down. “I was going to the library anyway.”
Hermione froze mid-motion, her satchel halfway over her shoulder. Her eyes softened for a moment-because she knew it came from care, not arrogance-but she shook her head firmly. “No, Draco. I’ll be fine. Selwyn and Woodcroft will be trailing behind me.” She gestured toward the two Aurors who were discreetly positioned at the doors of the dinning hall.
Theo’s lips pressed into a line. “Hermione-”
“I said I’ll be fine.” Her tone sharpened, more than she meant it to, and she winced inwardly at the way Theo’s jaw tightened. Softening, she added, “It’s just a class. It’s not as though I’ll be walking into an ambush in the corridor.”
“Not unless someone’s stupid enough to mouth off again,” Blaise said lazily, twirling his quill between his fingers. “In which case, I’d pay money to watch.”
Pansy rolled her eyes and snapped her book shut. “Stop being dramatic, Zabini. Let’s go before we’re late and Professor Aster makes us stand in front of the class as examples of ‘unpreparedness.’”
Hermione gave Draco one last pointed look, as though daring him to argue further, before she slid her satchel strap into place. “I’ll see you after,” she said, her tone clipped but gentler now.
Draco didn’t look satisfied. His pale eyes tracked her like a hawk, but he leaned back in his chair at last, drumming his fingers against the table. “Fine. But if you’re not back here on time, I’m coming after you.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but there was the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips as she turned away.
The walk through the corridors was uneventful, though Hermione could feel the constant presence of Selwyn and Woodcroft shadowing them like silent wolves. Theo walked beside her, Pansy on her other side, and Blaise trailing half a step behind with the lazy grace of someone who had never been on time for anything in his life.
“You know,” Pansy said as their shoes clicked against the stone floors, “you really should let Malfoy smother you once in a while. He sulks if you don’t.”
Hermione gave her a sidelong look. “And you’d like that?”
Pansy smirked. “Absolutely not. But sulking Malfoy is more fun to mock.”
Theo snorted, though his eyes remained fixed on Hermione, assessing her too closely. Blaise chuckled under his breath.
When they reached the lecture hall, the heavy oak doors stood slightly ajar, voices drifting from within. The four of them slipped inside, the Aurors peeling off to wait just outside.
On the dais at the front stood Professor Aster-a tall woman with severe cheekbones and dark hair coiled in an intricate knot. Her robes were a deep navy, trimmed with silver, and her eyes swept the room with a gaze so sharp it made even the most confident students sit straighter.
“You’re nearly late,” Aster said the moment Hermione, Theo, Blaise, and Pansy crossed the threshold. Her voice carried like steel wrapped in velvet. “Find your seats. Quickly.”
Hermione dipped her head politely and slid into a bench beside Theo. Blaise flopped down with deliberate nonchalance, while Pansy took her place with crisp elegance, smoothing her robes.
Professor Aster’s quill tapped against the edge of the desk as her sharp eyes scanned the class. “Today, we will be continuing our practicum on precedent law-specifically, the application of defensive magic within dueling incidents. Too often, young witches and wizards imagine defense to be a matter of ‘who cast the shield faster.’ It is not. It is a matter of law. Who struck first? Who escalated? Whose intent can be proven?”
She paced across the dais, her robes whispering over the stone. “Mr. Nott,” she said suddenly, her eyes locking on Theo.
Theo straightened, his usual coolness flickering for only a heartbeat. “Yes, Professor?”
“In your own words-define proportional response.”
Theo didn’t hesitate. “A response that mirrors the initial threat without exceeding it. If someone shoves you, hexing them with Sectumsempra would not be proportional.”
Aster’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. “Correct. And who defines proportionality?”
“The Wizengamot,” Theo said smoothly.
“Exactly.” Her eyes swept the room again, landing this time on Blaise. “Mr. Zabini. What precedent is most often cited in cases of excessive force during duels?”
Blaise leaned back lazily, but his voice was sharp. “The Caerphilly Case of 1749. The one where a wizard transfigured his opponent into a ferret mid-duel and then claimed self-defense.”
A ripple of laughter broke out across the room.
“Correct,” Aster said, her tone brisk but approving. “Though I expect more precision in your citation next time.”
Hermione, who had been scribbling notes with feverish focus, felt Aster’s eyes land on her next.
“Miss Potter,” Aster said. “If you were counsel in such a case, how would you argue in favor of the defendant’s self-defense claim?”
Hermione’s heart gave a small, traitorous leap at being singled out. She drew in a breath, forced her voice steady. “I would argue proportionality based not only on the spell used but on the context of the duel itself. If the defendant could prove the transfiguration was an instinctive act in response to imminent harm, it could be reframed as an act of reflex rather than malice.”
The room murmured, impressed.
Professor Aster’s sharp eyes softened, just slightly. “Excellent. Context is everything. Law without context is tyranny.”
Hermione’s quill scratched furiously as she tried to keep up, her hands still wrapped in neat bandages that drew curious glances from the students nearby.
Beside her, Theo leaned closer, his voice pitched low enough for only her to hear. “You did well.”
She flushed faintly, but didn’t look up from her notes. “So did you.”
From her other side, Pansy muttered without looking up, “If you two start flirting over legal definitions, I swear I’ll hex you both.”
Blaise snorted. “I, for one, would pay to see that.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth curved upward despite herself.
Professor Aster’s heels clicked sharply against the dais as she surveyed the rows of students, eyes gleaming with something like anticipation.
“Roleplay is the surest way to learn,” she declared. “Theory is one thing. Application, another. Today, we will simulate a Wizengamot hearing.”
Groans rippled through the hall, though many leaned forward, eager despite themselves.
Her gaze cut across the rows like a blade before landing squarely on Hermione. “Miss Potter, you will act as defense.”
Hermione’s head jerked up, surprise flashing across her face. “Defense?”
“Yes,” Aster said crisply. “You will argue on behalf of a defendant accused of excessive force in a duel.”
Theo straightened immediately, his hand already half-raised. “Professor-if anyone should-”
But Aster wasn’t finished. Her eyes swung deliberately toward Blaise, whose brows shot up. “Mr. Zabini, you will act as prosecution.”
Blaise tilted his head, lips curving into a lazy, amused smile. “Oh, this will be fun.”
Theo made a sound halfway between disbelief and outrage. “Professor, with all due respect, that pairing makes no sense. I’d be far better suited-”
But Hermione had already turned, pinning him with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. Her eyes narrowed in a silent warning: Not now.
Theo froze mid-protest, his lips thinning. He leaned back in his seat with visible tension, muttering something under his breath that Pansy caught and smirked at.
“Excellent,” Aster continued, unbothered by the undercurrent. With a flick of her wand, the floor rearranged itself: benches sliding aside, the dais transforming into a makeshift Wizengamot chamber. A raised podium appeared at the center. “Miss Potter, Mr. Zabini-take your places.”
Hermione swallowed hard, gathering her notes before rising. Blaise, of course, moved with leisurely grace, as though he were strolling into a salon rather than a mock trial. They met at the central space, taking opposite sides of the conjured podium.
Aster conjured a shimmering form between them-a faceless, translucent figure representing the “defendant.” The magical voice of the enchantment declared in a monotone:
“The accused stands trial for the charge of excessive force in a sanctioned duel. The prosecution may begin.”
Blaise adjusted his cuffs as if this were a fashion show rather than a practicum. Then he stepped forward, voice smooth as silk. “Honored members of the Wizengamot-today we face the simple matter of a wizard who lost control. In a duel meant to sharpen skill, he transfigured his opponent into a helpless ferret.”
Snickers burst from the students in the benches.
Blaise smirked faintly, riding the wave of laughter. “Now, we might all enjoy a well-placed joke at our rival’s expense-but this was no prank. This was humiliation, an act of aggression wholly disproportionate to the original slight. Do we condone such behavior under the guise of self-defense? If so, where does it end?”
He turned slightly, hands spreading with practiced elegance. “A shove becomes a hex. A hex becomes a curse. A curse becomes death. The law exists to halt that spiral. And I submit to you that this wizard-our defendant-failed the test of restraint.”
He stepped back smoothly, his eyes glinting with amusement as they flicked toward Hermione. “Your move, Defense.”
Hermione inhaled slowly, steadying herself as whispers fluttered behind her. She stepped forward, spine straight, chin high.
“Honored members of the Wizengamot,” she began, her voice clear and steady, though her pulse thundered in her ears. “The Prosecution would have you believe this case is one of malice. That the defendant, in a moment of choice, sought to humiliate his opponent. But let us not overlook context.”
She raised a finger, her words gathering momentum. “The duel was not balanced. The opponent had escalated beyond the rules-striking first with a hex, striking hard, striking repeatedly. The defendant acted reflexively, instinctively. A transfiguration spell, yes. But no lasting harm was done. No blood spilled. No curse marks etched.”
Theo’s eyes were locked on her, tense but glowing faintly with pride.
Hermione pressed on, her voice gaining fire. “If reflex in the face of harm is criminal, then every act of self-preservation is suspect. The law does not demand perfection under threat. It demands reason. And reason dictates this: the defendant acted not from cruelty, but from fear-and in doing so, ended the fight without violence escalating further.”
Aster’s sharp eyes gleamed. “Strong opening, Miss Potter. Mr. Zabini-your rebuttal.”
Blaise leaned casually against the podium, smiling like a cat who had cornered a mouse. “My learned colleague makes an impassioned case for instinct. But passion blinds. Let us be honest—the defendant chose humiliation, not de-escalation. Was there fear? Perhaps. But fear does not excuse cruelty. If every witch and wizard could claim ‘fear’ as justification, the Wizengamot would be flooded with excuses for unforgivable acts.”
His dark eyes glinted. “And if humiliation is the best defense against harm, then I ask you: are we not all ferrets waiting for our turn?”
Laughter rippled again, though quieter this time, students leaning forward as the duel of words heated.
Hermione’s jaw tightened, but she stepped back into the fray. “My colleague suggests fear is no excuse. But fear, sirs and madams, is exactly what the law accounts for. It is the difference between intent and instinct. Between calculated malice and desperate defense. If we cannot distinguish between the two, then justice is no longer justice-it is punishment without measure.”
Blaise smirked faintly. “So you claim humiliation is justice?”
Hermione’s chin lifted. “I claim restraint is not always neat. That sometimes, the spell which ends a fight is not the one we would choose in the calm of day, but the one that saves us in the chaos of night.”
For a long moment, the hall was silent save for the echo of her words.
Professor Aster finally raised a hand, halting the exchange. “Enough. An excellent demonstration from both sides. Mr. Zabini, your rhetoric was clever, if a touch too reliant on humor. Miss Potter, your passion carried conviction-though remember, law is not only about emotion but precision. Both of you would do well to balance fire with fact.”
Hermione exhaled, shoulders loosening slightly as she returned to her seat. Blaise followed, smirking like he had just left a stage performance rather than a mock trial.
Theo leaned toward Hermione immediately, his voice low. “You were brilliant.”
Hermione shot him a tired but small smile. “Thank you.”
From Blaise’s side, a soft chuckle floated. “You nearly had me convinced, Potter. Nearly.”
Pansy arched a brow at him. “Admit it. She wiped the floor with you.”
Blaise smirked, leaning back. “I’ll admit she argued well. But theatrics? That will always be my domain.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but for the first time that day, she felt a flicker of something lighter than fear or anger. She felt steady.
And as Professor Aster launched into the next segment of the lesson, the sharp tension in her chest eased just a little more.
The clatter of chairs against stone signaled the end of class, students spilling from the lecture hall in a noisy tide. Hermione gathered her notes with mechanical precision, sliding quills back into their case, hands just steady enough to disguise the faint tremor in her fingers. Beside her, Theo was tense, his knee bouncing with the frustration of not having been chosen, while Blaise looked maddeningly relaxed, tapping his quill against his palm as though he’d just finished a game rather than a legal exercise.
Pansy slid her satchel onto her shoulder, her sharp eyes flicking between them all. “Well,” she said dryly, “if nothing else, that was entertaining. Hermione, you managed not to hex Zabini mid-argument, which is frankly shocking.”
Hermione rolled her eyes as she rose. “I would hardly waste the effort.”
Blaise smirked, falling into step beside her as they filed into the corridor. “Come now, admit it-you enjoyed sparring with me. Someone who can actually keep pace with your overachieving theatrics.”
“Keeping pace?” Hermione shot back, her lips twitching despite herself. “I buried you.”
“Burying me would imply you left me behind,” Blaise said smoothly. “But I was right there, tugging at your robes the entire way.”
Theo muttered under his breath, “More like tripping over them…”
Hermione cut him a warning glance over her shoulder. “Theo.”
He closed his mouth instantly, jaw tight, and shoved his hands into his pockets. Pansy, watching closely, tilted her head, filing away his silence.
The corridor beyond the lecture hall was buzzing with students shuffling to their next classes, the hum of voices echoing against high-arched ceilings. Standing apart from the crowd, leaning against a column with his arms crossed, was Draco.
Hermione’s step faltered only for a fraction of a second before Blaise’s voice carried her forward. “Ah, our favorite spectator. Malfoy, did you enjoy the show? Hermione played the righteous defender, and I the charming prosecutor. I daresay we could take this routine to the stage.”
Draco’s pale eyes skimmed over Blaise, but his gaze landed squarely on Hermione. For once, his expression betrayed nothing-smooth, unreadable marble. Hermione looked away quickly, fixing her eyes on Blaise instead.
“Come along, Potter,” Blaise drawled, steering her gently toward the west wing. “You promised to tell me how you’d have argued if you had been prosecution. Don’t keep me waiting.”
Hermione gave a small snort, almost relieved for the distraction. “You wouldn’t last a second against me in that scenario.”
As Blaise launched into a teasing rebuttal, their voices carried lightly down the hall. Pansy watched them go for a beat, then shifted her gaze back.
Draco pushed off from the column and stepped closer, his hand brushing Theo’s arm as the others moved ahead. “Walk with me. Just for a moment.”
Theo stiffened but fell into step beside him, the two of them dropping slightly behind the group.
Draco’s voice was low, meant only for Theo. “At lunch-what happened with her.” His jaw worked as though grinding down his words. “That wasn’t just her anger. You saw it.”
Theo exhaled harshly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Of course I saw it. She nearly shattered the table with her fist. And then she looked at me like-Merlin, like I was the enemy.”
Draco's brw furrowed, his voice sharper now. "It's getting more noticeable. First in her dorm room and then again in the dinning hall. It's not just stress."
Theo’s eyes flicked ahead, where Hermione’s figure moved steadily between Blaise and Pansy. His voice was taut. “I wanted to say something earlier. When Blaise opened his bloody mouth and Astoria added fuel. But she cut me off before I could even breathe.”
“She doesn’t trust herself right now,” Draco said quietly. “That glare-she wanted you silent, not because you were wrong, but because she was afraid you’d make it worse.”
Theo swore under his breath, raking his fingers through his hair. “And you think we should just sit there? Pretend we didn’t see it?”
Draco’s eyes were flinty, his voice low and deliberate. “I think we need to understand it before it destroys her. Or us.”
Theo let out a bitter laugh, though it held no humor. “Understand it? What do you suggest, Drake? We ask her over tea, ‘Hermione, are you losing your mind, or is this just some magical anomaly we don’t comprehend?’”
Pansy, who had fallen back ever so slightly under the guise of adjusting her satchel strap, caught enough of their hushed tones to sharpen her gaze. Her lips pursed as she listened, eyes darting from Draco to Theo with calculating precision.
Ahead, Blaise’s voice rang out with false cheer. “Tell me, Potter, if you’d been on my side, how would you have handled it? Something dazzling, I’m sure. Possibly a quote from Modern Magical Jurisprudence, page forty-two?”
Hermione shot him a look that might have felled a lesser wizard. “I’d have cited Eldritch v. Periwinkle, actually, which would’ve dismantled your entire flimsy case in half a sentence.”
Blaise clutched his chest theatrically. “Cruel, Potter. And here I thought we were allies in rhetoric.”
“You were an obstacle in rhetoric,” Hermione corrected crisply, though a faint spark of amusement softened her tone.
As their banter carried forward, Pansy glanced once more at the two boys behind her. Draco and Theo’s heads were bent close, their voices low and strained, the weight of something unspoken stretching taut between them.
Her eyes narrowed.
She didn’t know the full of it-yet-but she knew one thing with certainty: whatever storm was brewing between Hermione’s unraveling composure and these boys’ frantic concern, it was not going away.
And Pansy Parkinson did not like being left in the dark.
So, she adjusted her pace, allowing Blaise’s chatter to keep Hermione occupied, and sharpened her ears, determined to drag answers out of Draco and Theo before long.
Chapter 30: A Secret Kept
Summary:
Draco and Theo dig themselves into a deeper hole
Notes:
Here is the next chapter!! Things are getting deep now!!
Chapter Text
The corridor outside the North Wing stretched long and echoing, sunlight cutting through the high windows to pool in sharp rectangles on the stone floor. Students trickled past in clusters, some laughing, others murmuring over parchment as they hurried past. Hermione, still holding her satchel close, walked a few paces ahead with Blaise still holding her attention.
Theo and Draco still lingered just a few paces behind, their voices still pitched low. Pansy, as though by accident, slowed evern more, her dark eyes fixed on them with the sharpness of a hawk circling prey.
When the group reached the crossroads where students began peeling off toward different wings, Hermione turned her head, already calculating how much time should could spend in the library before dinner. Blaise leaned close, still needling her about case law.
Theo nodded absently, about to follow-until Pansy stepped neatly between them, blocking their path with the precision of someone who had been waiting for the moment.
Her hands went to her hips, her gaze flicking between them both. “Alright. Out with it.”
Draco’s brows arched, cool and dismissive. “Out with what, Parkinson?”
Theo’s jaw tensed. “Move, Pansy.”
“No,” she said sharply, planting herself even more firmly in front of them. “You’ve been whispering like conspirators all day, and I don’t miss things. You two are hiding something-and it’s about her.” She jerked her chin toward Hermione, still walking with Blaise a few paces ahead.
Theo stiffened, eyes flicking instinctively toward Hermione’s back. “Lower your voice.”
“I’ll raise my voice if I like,” Pansy snapped. “Don’t test me, Nott. You think I didn’t notice? The dinning hall. In class-you two are wound tighter than a coiled spring, and it all circles back to her. What are you hiding?”
Draco’s gaze turned glacial. “This isn’t your concern.”
“The hell it isn’t,” she shot back. “She’s my friend too, in case you’ve forgotten. I don’t let my friends unravel while the two of you play mysterious little games behind their backs.”
Theo muttered darkly, “You don’t understand-”
“Then make me understand,” Pansy demanded, stepping closer, her voice a hiss. “Because if you don’t, I swear on Salazar’s bones I’ll march right up to Hermione myself and tell her you’re keeping secrets. And when she finds out, she’ll never forgive either of you.”
The threat landed like a blow. Draco’s lips thinned, his jaw ticking as his carefully measured restraint cracked. For a moment, silence pressed around them, only the muffled voices of passing students keeping the world moving.
Finally, Draco spoke, his tone low and precise. “We aren’t certain yet.” His eyes cut to Theo, then back to Pansy. “But there’s a possibility…” His voice dropped even lower, dangerous in its weight. “…that we’re binding. To her.”
Pansy’s eyes widened, the practiced mask of her composure faltering. “You’re-what?”
Theo ran a hand over his face, his voice rough. “Soul binding. Or something like it. It’s… manifesting in flashes. The anger she feels, the pain-some of it’s ours. And some of hers bleeds into us.”
Pansy’s sharp inhale was almost a gasp. “That’s-Merlin, that’s not possible.”
Draco’s gaze was unflinching. “We didn’t think so either.”
Pansy blinked rapidly, her breath catching as she scrambled to piece it together. “That explains-her outburst in the dinning hall, even her stress in class-bloody hell, it explains everything. And you kept this from her?”
Theo’s voice came quick, defensive. “Because we don’t know enough yet. We don’t even know if it’s stable-”
“She doesn’t need stability,” Pansy cut in, furious now. “She needs honesty. Do you have any idea what she’ll do when she finds out you’ve known and said nothing? She’ll burn you alive. Both of you.”
Draco’s tone snapped like a whip. “Which is precisely why we aren’t telling her until we’re certain.”
“You’re certain enough to say it to me,” Pansy hissed.
“That’s different,” Draco ground out.
“No, it isn’t!” Pansy’s voice rose sharply before she forced it down again, her fists clenching at her sides. “You owe her the truth. Immediately. Before this eats her alive.”
Theo’s shoulders slumped slightly, his voice quieter now, almost weary. “And if we’re wrong? If we tell her she’s soul binding to us and it turns out to be some… magical side effect of stress or worse? Do you understand what kind of damage that would do to her?”
“She deserves the choice,” Pansy countered, her voice trembling with rare, genuine heat. “She deserves to know what’s happening to her body, her magic, her soul-not to be coddled like some porcelain doll while you two sit on your secrets like bloody dragons.”
The standoff stretched taut, silence snapping between them like wires pulled to breaking point.
Further down the corridor, Hermione slowed, noticing that they weren’t with her anymore. She turned slightly, her brows furrowed, only to see Pansy squared off against Draco and Theo in a tight knot of tension.
Blaise noticed too, and smoothly shifted his position, tugging Hermione’s attention back with a well-timed comment. “You know, Potter, you almost sound like you enjoy this practicum more than anyone else. Admit it-you’d rather spend your life in dusty courtrooms than the field.”
Hermione gave him a sharp look but answered, distracted. “It’s called practicality, Zabini. Someone has to keep our laws from collapsing.”
Up ahead, Ginny and Cho were walking in the opposite direction, their conversation halting as they passed Hermione. Ginny’s eyes flicked past her, catching the sight of Pansy’s intense glare and the way Theo’s shoulders were hunched, Draco’s profile carved in cold stone.
Ginny slowed slightly, brushing Hermione’s arm. “Hey-you alright?”
Hermione blinked at her, confused. “Yes. Why?”
Cho’s eyes darted toward the trio behind. “Because something’s brewing back there.”
Hermione glanced again, suspicion flickering in her chest, but Blaise nudged her forward smoothly. “Ignore them, Potter. If Malfoy and Nott want to glower at each other in corridors, let them. You’ve got better things to do than play referee.”
Hermione hesitated, but Ginny caught Pansy’s eye in passing. The Slytherin girl’s gaze sharpened, deliberate, and Ginny felt the message click into place. Watch her. She needs allies.
Ginny gave a small, almost imperceptible nod before moving on with Cho, leaving Hermione frowning faintly at their sudden oddness.
Back at the standoff, Pansy’s voice dropped to a final hiss. “You tell her, or I will.”
Theo’s jaw tightened. “You won’t.”
“Try me.”
Draco stepped closer, his voice low and lethal. “You’ll stay silent-for now. Until we know more.”
Pansy held his gaze, fury and frustration blazing in her dark eyes. For a moment, it looked as though she might lash out with claws bared. But then she inhaled sharply through her nose, spun on her heel, and stalked toward Hermione and Blaise with her chin high.
Theo let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “She’s going to ruin us.”
Draco’s mouth was a thin line. “Not if we figure this out first.”
And together, they followed, each step heavier with the weight of the secret they were keeping.
The library was cloaked in the hush of late afternoon, sunlight filtering in golden slants through the tall arched windows. Dust motes drifted lazily in the shafts of light, the only movement besides the occasional turning of a page. Madam Thurwead prowled her domain like a hawk, her sharp eyes daring anyone to so much as breathe too loudly.
At a far table near the back, Hermione sat hunched over a spread of parchment, quill scratching steadily as she added the final notes to her essay for Necromantic Ethics. Her satchel lay open at her side, its contents spilling out in a mess of scrolls and reference books, the product of hours of stubborn focus.
Her brow furrowed as she dipped her quill again, muttering under her breath. “No, no-that doesn’t track with Caelric’s theory… but if I cross-reference Mallet’s argument, it fits-” She scratched a few more lines, biting the inside of her cheek. “Except that undermines my conclusion. Brilliant.”
At another table across the aisle, Draco and Theo sat surrounded by their own pile of texts, though their selections were more obscure, many of the titles warded or charmed with faint glimmers of runes. The spines read things like Arcane Bond Theory, On the Merging of Souls, and Ethereal Threads: Binding Beyond Blood.
Draco leaned back in his chair, flipping through a particularly dense tome, his fingers idly tapping the page. Theo scanned another, his lips pressed into a thin line as though he were absorbing every word at once. Neither of them spoke, but their glances kept flicking up-always toward Hermione.
For a time, the only sounds were parchment rustling, quills scratching, and the occasional sigh. Then, it happened.
Hermione froze mid-sentence, her quill blotting a dark smear onto the parchment. Her chest tightened sharply, as though invisible claws raked across her ribs. A wave of unease lanced through her stomach, cold and heavy, and her fingers clenched against the wood of the desk.
Her quill slipped from her grip, rolling across the table with a faint clatter. She pressed a hand against her chest, frowning. “What-” The word slipped out before she could stop it, though she quickly bit her lip, unwilling to draw attention.
Across the aisle, Draco’s head snapped up. His grey eyes fixed instantly on her, sharp as a blade. Theo’s gaze followed a heartbeat later, and both of them saw the way her shoulders hunched, the way her hand pressed to her sternum as though steadying something unseen.
Draco’s chair scraped softly against the stone as he stood. Theo was already half-rising.
Hermione startled at the sudden movement, glancing up just as Draco reached her table. “What?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.
“What happened?” Draco’s tone was low, measured, but his eyes swept over her like he was cataloguing every detail.
Hermione blinked, taken aback. “Nothing. I-nothing happened.”
Theo crossed the aisle as well, his book forgotten. “You went pale. You’re holding your chest.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted, though her voice wavered. “I just-” She shook her head, frowning. “It came out of nowhere. Like a-like a wave of… something. Stress? Nerves? I don’t know.”
Draco pulled out the chair beside her, ignoring Madam Thurwead's warning glare from across the room. He leaned in, his voice pitched low. “This isn’t just stress.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
Theo sat on her other side, his tone gentler but no less insistent. “You’ve been off all day, Hermione. Snapping in the Hall, the Tower, even during Practicum-you’re burning at both ends.”
Her cheeks flushed, part frustration, part defensiveness. “I’m allowed to be stressed. I’ve got more essays than hours in the day, not to mention Aurors breathing down my neck, rumors flying, and two idiots who think hexing people on my behalf is a grand solution.”
Draco’s lips twitched, though his eyes remained cold. “Careful, Potter. We can add ‘idiots’ to our list of names right alongside ‘dueling champions.’”
Despite herself, Hermione let out a short laugh, brittle but real. “Don’t tempt me.”
Theo leaned closer, lowering his voice so only she and Draco could hear. “What did it feel like? Just now.”
Hermione hesitated, chewing her lip. “It was… sudden. Like someone had dropped something heavy inside me. My chest tightened, and-” She shook her head, frustration bleeding into her tone. “I don’t know. It wasn’t mine. Not really.”
Draco and Theo exchanged a sharp look over her head-one of those wordless exchanges that seemed to say more than a full speech.
Hermione caught it, her eyes narrowing. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” they said in unison.
Her brows shot up. “Oh, that’s convincing.”
Theo exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Hermione, you don’t have to push this essay tonight. It can wait.”
“It absolutely cannot,” she snapped, jabbing her quill toward the parchment. “This is forty percent of my grade, Theo, and if I don’t get it right, Aster will crucify me.”
“You’re going to crucify yourself first,” Draco muttered, leaning back in his chair. “You’re shaking.”
“I am not,” Hermione said indignantly, though her hands betrayed her, trembling faintly where they gripped the parchment. She quickly shoved them beneath the table.
Theo reached out, gently tugging the essay toward himself. “Then let me check what you have so far. At least let me help tighten the citations.”
Hermione shot him a glare, but she didn’t pull the parchment back. “Fine. But no rewriting my arguments. I know exactly where I’m going with this.”
Theo gave her a faint smirk. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Draco, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, his gaze flicking from Hermione to Theo and back again. His jaw was tight, the weight of unspoken words sitting heavy behind his eyes. Finally, he murmured, “You don’t even see it, do you?”
Hermione looked at him, brow furrowing. “See what?”
“Nothing,” Draco said quickly, though his hand clenched into a fist on the table.
Theo shot him a warning glance, shaking his head minutely.
Hermione eyed them both suspiciously, her instincts prickling, but before she could press the issue, Madam Pince swooped by and hissed, “Quiet, or you’ll be out on your ears.”
Hermione snapped her mouth shut, biting back a retort.
The three of them fell into a strained silence, the only sound the scratch of Theo’s quill as he skimmed and added notes to her essay, Hermione’s fingers drumming nervously against the wood, and Draco’s eyes, sharp and unrelenting, watching every flicker of her expression.
And though Hermione didn’t know why the unease still clung to her ribs like a bruise, Draco and Theo knew. They felt it in the marrow of their bones. The bond was tightening, pulling, refusing to be ignored.
About ten minutes later, Theo's quill slowed as he reached the end of her essay draft, setth a ing it down with a soft clink against the inkpot. “It’s solid,” he said finally, his voice low but even. “Your conclusion ties everything together. You could submit it now, and Aster would be forced to hand you an O.”
Hermione looked skeptical. “You’re just saying that because you’re tired of me fussing over it.”
Theo smirked faintly. “You fussed past brilliance three paragraphs ago.”
Draco leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table, his gaze fixed squarely on Hermione. “You’re done here,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Pack it up.”
Hermione blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve worked yourself ragged since lunch,” Draco said smoothly, his tone a hair softer than his usual cutting drawl. “It’s over. Essay finished. Done. You’re not doing yourself any favors grinding yourself to dust in the library.”
Theo nodded in agreement. “Draco’s right. And before you argue-” his lips twitched in anticipation of her scowl, “-remember that I’ve seen you push too far before. This isn’t about strength or stubbornness. It’s about knowing when to stop.”
Hermione opened her mouth, indignation already poised on her tongue-but then her gaze flicked to the parchment in front of her. The words swam faintly, her eyes gritty, her fingers aching from clutching the quill too tightly for too long. The protest caught in her throat, fragile.
Draco tilted his head, grey eyes steady. “Come back to the dorm. We’ll have supper brought up. You’ll eat something, rest. Tomorrow, you’ll still be brilliant, only less of a corpse.”
“I am not a corpse,” Hermione muttered, but the fight had gone out of her words.
Theo leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers. “Hermione, please.” There was no command in his tone this time, no teasing edge-just quiet sincerity.
She let out a long breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Fine. Supper in the dorm. Happy?”
Both boys shared a look over her head-one of those wordless exchanges that carried entire volumes. Theo’s expression softened in relief. Draco’s lips barely twitched, but the tension around his jaw eased.
Hermione felt a strange flutter in her chest at the decision, a sudden wave of… relief? Like a taut string inside her had been cut, leaving her lighter, looser. She frowned, quickly shoving the sensation aside. It was just exhaustion, surely. Just hunger.
But Draco noticed. His sharp eyes tracked the way her shoulders unknotted ever so slightly, the way her next breath came easier.
Theo noticed too. He leaned back in his chair, a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth as though he’d just confirmed something he’d been waiting for.
Hermione, determined to ignore both of them, began rolling up her parchment with brisk movements. “Well? Are you going to sit there staring, or are we leaving?”
Draco rose immediately, sweeping his stack of books into a neat pile with practiced precision. “After you, Potter.”
Theo grinned lazily, gathering the texts on Soul Binding with a deliberately unhurried air. “Don’t rush me, sunshine.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, hosting her satchel onto her shoulder.
Theo's grin widened.
The three of them slipped out of the library together, Madam Pince glaring daggers at their retreating forms as though offended they dared to leave without her permission.
The corridors were quieter now, the bulk of students still lingering in the Great Hall for the tail end of supper. Torches burned low in their sconces, casting long shadows across the stone floors. Hermione walked in the middle, her bag bumping against her hip with every step, Draco and Theo flanking her like twin shadows.
For a while, the silence was comfortable. Hermione let herself breathe, though she pretended not to notice how both boys walked a fraction closer than usual, their gazes flicking over every darkened corner as though daring anyone to cross her path.
Finally, Draco broke the quiet. “Supper will be waiting when we get back,” he said. His tone was casual, but there was an underlying certainty-an arrangement already made.
Hermione gave him a sidelong glance. “You already had the elves prepare something?"
He smirked faintly. “Of course. Do you really think I’d leave it to chance that you’d actually eat?”
Hermione’s lips pursed, but she didn’t argue.
Theo chuckled under his breath. “You should just take the compliment, Hermione. He’s right-you forget meals when you get buried in your work.”
“I do not,” she said indignantly, but her stomach chose that exact moment to growl, betraying her.
Theo grinned. “Liar.”
Draco’s smirk deepened. “Tragic, really. Potter, undone by an empty stomach.”
Hermione huffed, but her lips curved despite herself. “You’re both insufferable.”
“And yet,” Draco murmured, his gaze lingering on her a fraction too long, “you still let us walk home with you.”
The words hung in the air between them, heavier than they had any right to be. Hermione felt her pulse hitch, though she quickly looked away, pretending to study the tapestry-lined walls.
They reached the familiar stretch of the West Wing, the stones worn smooth beneath their feet, the air a touch cooler where drafts slipped through the tall windows. Hermione slowed as they approached her dorm door, her hand brushing absently against her satchel strap.
Draco stopped just behind her, his voice softer than before. “Inside. Supper. Then bed.”
Theo added, his tone warm, “We’ll make sure you’re settled.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, though her chest tightened strangely at their words. “I’m not a child, you know. I can manage supper and bed on my own.”
“Of course you can,” Draco said evenly. “We’re just making sure you do.”
With a faint sigh-equal parts exasperation and something gentler-Hermione pushed the door open. The soft glow of enchanted lamps spilled out, chasing away the shadows of the corridor.
She stepped inside first, her boys close behind.
The dormitory’s familiar warmth wrapped around them as soon as Hermione pushed the door open. Lamps glowed soft and golden, throwing shadows across shelves lined with books and parchment-stuffed folders, a desk littered with inkpots and quills, the little touches she’d made to turn the space into her sanctuary. The thick curtains around her bed stirred faintly in the breeze from the open window.
On the low table in the center of the room, trays were already laid out—roast chicken sliced neatly, mashed potatoes, bowls of vegetables, and a steaming tureen of stew. Pumpkin juice gleamed in tall glasses, the smell rich and comforting.
Hermione froze for half a heartbeat. “You-” she turned to Draco, eyes narrowing. “You arranged this.”
He arched a brow, unbothered. “Naturally.”
Theo sauntered past them, snagging an apple from one of the trays before dropping into the nearest armchair. “Don’t look so shocked, Hermione. What did you think, that he was bluffing?”
Hermione shut the door behind them, her lips pursing, though her stomach twisted with hunger at the sight of the food. “I thought you were exaggerating.”
Draco shrugged out of his robe, hanging it neatly over the back of a chair. “I don’t exaggerate.”
Theo snorted, tossing the apple up and catching it again. “You do. Constantly. Just never about things like this.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but she moved closer to the table, her satchel slipping from her shoulder onto the rug. Her fingers brushed the edge of the tray, then she glanced over her shoulder, her voice quieter than before.
“You’re staying tonight, aren’t you?”
Both boys looked up.
“Yes,” Draco said instantly, his tone certain, no room for negotiation.
“Yes,” Theo echoed, softer, but no less resolute.
Hermione’s throat tightened around something she couldn’t name. She swallowed, her voice attempting lightness, though it caught in places. “Of course you are. Why do I even bother asking?”
“Force of habit,” Theo murmured, tossing his apple back onto the tray before straightening in his chair.
But Hermione lingered where she stood, eyes flicking between them. A memory of the library tugged at her, sharp and insistent-the way they’d exchanged those silent, weighted looks across the table, the way they’d both straightened the moment she’d agreed to leave.
Her suspicion pricked sharp in her chest. “Are you going to tell me what those looks were about? Back in the library?”
For once, Draco and Theo didn’t trade glances. They didn’t fumble. They didn’t hesitate.
“No,” they said together, the refusal perfectly in sync.
Hermione blinked, startled by the united front, her lips parting with a protest she hadn’t prepared. The word landed like a lock clicking into place, sharp and immovable.
And then it hit-an unease so sudden and piercing it felt like a blade, slicing clean through her chest. Her breath hitched, panic sparking in her veins. Not hers. It wasn’t hers. She knew it in her bones. The sensation didn’t belong to her.
Her hand curled against her sternum as if to press it down, eyes darting to them.
Draco noticed first. His expression flickered, tightening as he rose smoothly from his chair and came to stand at her side. His voice dropped low, too calm to be casual. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
Theo, who had stiffened the moment her breath caught, pushed to his feet as well. “Right now, what you need to do is eat,” he said softly, his eyes searching hers. “And then breathe. The rest-we’ll handle.”
Hermione’s gaze flicked between them, suspicion hardening beneath her unease. “You’re both hiding something.”
“Not hiding,” Draco corrected carefully, his hand brushing lightly against her shoulder. “Protecting. There’s a difference.”
“That’s semantics,” she shot back, her chin lifting.
“Maybe,” Theo admitted, a faint curve to his mouth that didn’t reach his eyes. “But you don’t need to carry this. Not tonight.”
Hermione searched their faces-their certainty, their quiet resolve, the way they seemed to move in tandem, always circling her like twin stars. Something twisted in her stomach, sharp and unsettled.
But she was so tired. And the smell of food was warm and grounding, tugging at her like a tether.
Slowly, she let her suspicion ease just enough, her hand dropping from her chest. “Fine,” she muttered. “For now.”
Theo exhaled, tension loosening from his shoulders. Draco’s hand lingered on her shoulder a fraction too long before he let go.
“Good,” Draco said smoothly, reclaiming his chair. “Now sit down before I put a plate in front of you myself.”
Hermione huffed, trying to mask the way her pulse still skittered. “You’re insufferable.”
“You’ve mentioned,” Draco said, deadpan.
Theo grinned as he handed her a plate, piling food onto it before she could protest. “Eat first, argue later.”
Hermione accepted it, though she shot him a look. “You two are ridiculous.”
Draco smirked faintly. “And yet here we are.”
She sank into her chair at last, the warmth of the room curling around her, the tension in her chest not gone but muted, edged by exhaustion.
For now, she let it drop.
For now, she let them win.
And across the table, Draco and Theo both watched her quietly-two boys who’d given the same answer in the same breath, who’d felt her panic like it was their own, and who were more certain than ever that this was only the beginning.
The morning light crept slow and pale through the curtains, painting faint stripes of gold across the dormitory walls. The air was hushed, heavy with the lingering warmth of the fire that had burned low during the night.
Hermione was still asleep, her face soft in the dim glow, her curls spread out like a halo across the pillow. Her breaths were even, calm in a way neither Draco nor Theo had seen in days.
The two boys had dozed in fits and starts on the couch. When Theo stirred awake first, he blinked groggily at the window and then at Draco, who was already upright, pulling on his school trousers and fastening his cuffs with precise, practiced motions.
“You’re up early,” Theo muttered, voice rough with sleep.
Draco shot him a look. “Someone has to be.”
Theo stretched, groaning softly as he pushed himself up. “Don’t tell me you’re already planning to bury yourself in the library before breakfast.”
Draco shook his head, adjusting his collar. “Not the library. My owl.”
That roused Theo properly. He sat forward, rubbing his face. “You’re writing her already?”
“Yes.” Draco’s tone was clipped, decisive. He crossed to the small desk tucked in the corner of the room. Pulling parchment, quill, and ink toward him, he sat and dipped the nib, the scratch of feather against paper sharp in the quiet.
Theo padded closer, mug of leftover cold tea in hand. “You’re really going to tell Narcissa everything?”
Draco didn’t look up. “Not everything. Not yet. Enough.”
Theo hummed under his breath but said nothing more, watching as Draco’s neat, slanted script filled the page.
Mother,
I write with a matter of urgency, though I ask you to keep this in confidence until I am ready to explain more fully in person. You once told me that the Malfoy archives contained records of old magic, magic so rare and ancient most of wizarding Britain dismisses it as myth. I have need of those records now.
There are signs-undeniable signs-of soul binding. Not between two, but between three. I hesitate even to commit this to parchment, but you taught me better than to ignore the evidence before my eyes. Hermione Granger is at the center. Theodore and I are bound into it with her. We feel her emotions as though they were our own, and she, unknowingly, feels ours. The bond grows stronger each day.
Mother, I need to know what this means. I need to know the consequences, the history, the limits-everything. I will not act blindly, and I will not allow her to suffer harm for something none of us chose. Send whatever records you can, and if you cannot send them, then advise me how to gain access quickly.
Do not breathe a word of this to Father. This is not for him. Not yet.
I await your reply with all haste.
Your son,
Draco
Draco sanded the parchment, letting the ink settle. His hand lingered over his signature for a moment before he folded the letter crisply and sealed it with wax.
Theo exhaled, low and thoughtful. “You look like a man sending a declaration of war.”
Draco glanced at him, brow arched. “It may as well be.”
Theo crossed his arms, leaning against the desk. “Do you trust her to answer honestly?”
“She has never lied to me.” Draco’s voice softened, almost imperceptibly. “Not about things that matter.”
Theo nodded once, then looked toward the curtained bed. “And what about her? Hermione. What happens when she finds out we’ve been writing to your mother about her behind her back?”
Draco paused, gaze hardening. “She’ll be angry. But she’ll forgive us-if the information we bring back helps her.”
Theo wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he asked quietly, “Do you think Narcissa has seen this before? A binding like this?”
Draco’s lips pressed into a thin line. “If anyone has, it will be her.”
The sound of movement outside the door made both boys freeze. The muffled murmur of voices-low, steady, professional-carried faintly into the dorm.
Theo tilted his head. “Still here?”
Draco rose, slipping the sealed letter into his pocket. He crossed the room, cracked the door open just enough to peer out. Selwyn and Woodcroft stood exactly where they had the night before, one on each side of the doorway.
Selwyn’s dark eyes flicked to him, sharp and unyielding. “You’re awake early.”
Draco stepped into the hall, closing the door gently behind him. “Unlike some, I don’t consider lying about all day a skill.”
Woodcroft snorted softly but quickly masked it under Selwyn’s glare.
Draco straightened his cuffs, the picture of cool composure. “I need to send a letter.”
Selwyn’s brow arched. “At this hour?”
"An urgent letter," Draco said flatly. "You may follow mw if you're that desperate for something to do, but I am sure the owlery isn't teeming with life endangering things at dawn."
Selwyn studied him, her expression unreadable. At last, she gave a curt nod. “Five minutes.”
Draco inclined his head in acknowledgment and swept past, the echo of his footsteps fading down the corridor.
Theo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him go. He muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Selwyn to hear, “If you two keep circling each other like that, you’ll wear grooves in the stone.”
Selwyn shot him a withering look, but Woodcroft smirked faintly.
Theo let the door click shut again, moving back toward the couch. He sat, elbows braced on his knees, staring at the softly breathing form behind the curtains.
“She’s going to find out,” he whispered, mostly to himself.
From outside the window, faint and far above, the sound of wings broke the morning silence-an owl taking flight, carrying with it words too heavy to ignore.
Hermione stirred with a faint sound, blinking against the pale wash of morning light filtering through the curtains. At first she thought she’d woken too early-her body still heavy with exhaustion, her mind sluggish-but then the muffled clink of porcelain reached her ears. She sat up slowly, the quilt falling away, and rubbed her eyes.
Her gaze focused-and froze.
Draco and Theo were already up, fully dressed in their uniforms, jackets buttoned and ties perfectly knotted. Both sat at the small round table near the window, steam rising from a polished silver pot of coffee between them. Two cups were set out. A third sat waiting, delicate porcelain edged in gold, with a faint curl of steam drifting above it.
Hermione blinked again, certain she was dreaming. “What… what time is it?” she asked groggily.
Theo glanced up, his expression unreadable but his voice smooth. “Half past seven. You slept through the first bells.”
“First bells?” she echoed faintly, pushing hair out of her face.
Draco poured into the third cup with his usual precision, the rich smell of roasted beans filling the air. “Breakfast is still being served. We thought you could use the extra sleep."
"I suppose," Hermione muttered, pulling her knees up under her chin.
Draco smirked faintly. "Admit it, sweetheart, we know you better than you know yourself sometimes."
Hermione rolled her eyes as she slipped out of bed. The stone floor was cold beneath her feet, sending a quick shiver through her. She padded across the room to the wardrobe, pulling the doors open.
Theo leaned back in his chair, crossing one long leg over the other. “So what’s the look today, sunshine? Robes and propriety, or rebellion chic?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, rolling her eyes. “Neither. Something comfortable.”
From inside the wardrobe she pulled out a pair of soft dark jeans, a loose Gryffindor-red shirt that draped past her hips, and her well-worn black checkered trainers. She gathered the clothes over one arm and disappeared into her newly extended bathroom.
The sound of running water carried faintly through the door. Theo poured himself another cup. Draco sat unnervingly still, eyes fixed on the steam rising from his.
“She has no idea,” Theo murmured finally.
“No,” Draco said shortly.
When Hermione emerged again, she looked brighter, more awake, the shadows under her eyes a little lighter. She tugged at the hem of her shirt, smoothing it, then bent to tie the laces on her trainers. Standing, she reached for the brush on her desk and pulled it slowly through her hair. With practiced motions, she gathered the wild curls into a loose French braid, leaving a few strands to fall around her face.
When she turned back to them, she stilled. Both boys were watching her intently.
“What?” she demanded, half-laughing, half-exasperated.
Theo arched a brow. “Nothing.”
“Not nothing,” she shot back. “You’re staring.”
Draco’s mouth curved into a faint, wry smile. “Observing.”
“Observing what?” Hermione planted her hands on her hips.
“You,” Theo said simply, sipping his coffee.
Her cheeks warmed despite herself. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Draco asked smoothly, tilting his head.
Hermione let out a short laugh, shaking her head as she crossed to the table. “You two are impossible.” She dropped into the empty chair and wrapped her hands around the warm porcelain cup waiting for her.
The first sip made her eyes flutter shut. “Oh, Merlin. This is strong.”
Theo smirked faintly. “The Malfoy blend. Imported. Costs more than some broomsticks.”
“Then why on earth-” She paused, staring at her cup, suddenly wary.
Draco answered before she could finish. “Because you needed it.”
Hermione’s throat tightened unexpectedly. She swallowed, taking another sip to cover it. “I could’ve managed with pumpkin juice.”
Theo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You should know by now that we are not going to let you slide by with the bare minimum."
Her eyes darted between them, unsettled by the weight in his words. She tried to shake it off, brushing her braid over one shoulder. “You two sound like an old married couple.”
Draco smirked faintly, but his eyes never left hers. “And you still sound like you don't quite know how to handle us taking care of you, even though we have been doing it for months now."
Hermione bristled automatically. “I’m not helpless.”
“Didn’t say you were,” Theo replied evenly. “But even Gryffindors are allowed a strong cup of coffee.”
That coaxed a reluctant laugh out of her, soft but genuine. She lowered her gaze to her cup, tracing the rim with one finger.
For a while, the three of them sat in companionable silence. The fire crackled low, Selwyn and Woodcroft’s muffled voices carried faintly from beyond the door, and the weight of yesterday felt… lighter.
Hermione finally broke the quiet, setting her cup down. “Alright. What’s the plan for today?”
Draco straightened, his tone returning to its usual crispness. “Classes as usual. Except this time, Theo and I will both be with you."
She shot him a look, already anticipating an argument.
But Theo’s eyes were softer. “No fights this morning. Just company. We’ll match your pace.”
Hermione hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. She wanted to argue, to assert her independence. But the warmth of the coffee, the quiet steadiness of their eyes, made it hard to summon the fight.
Instead, she sighed. “Fine. But only because I want to finish breakfast before the second bell.”
Both boys exchanged a glance-quick, wordless, sharp with meaning.
Hermione caught it. “There! That. You’re doing it again.”
Draco’s brow lifted, feigning innocence. “Doing what?”
“Those looks,” she accused, narrowing her eyes. “You think I don’t notice, but I do.”
Theo raised his cup to his lips, the picture of lazy calm. “Paranoid much?”
Hermione leaned forward, jabbing a finger between them. “I swear, if you’re hiding something-”
In perfect unison, both boys said, “We’re not.”
The symmetry of it made her blink, startled. Then she laughed despite herself, shaking her head. “You’re infuriating.”
Draco smirked, standing and reaching for his bag. “And yet, here we are.”
Theo followed suit, draining the last of his coffee. “Come on, love. Let’s not keep the crowds waiting.”
Hermione stood as well, tugging her braid tighter as she slung her satchel over her shoulder. The unease she’d woken with lingered faintly in her chest, but she pushed it down. For now, there was coffee, and company, and the steady sound of two sets of footsteps beside her as she moved toward the door.
As she pushed the door open, and the cool morning light spilled across the flagstones of the corridor. Selwyn and Woodcroft stood at immediate attention, their wands discreetly holstered but eyes sharp.
“Morning,” Selwyn said crisply, her gaze flicking over the trio as though checking for visible fractures. “You all slept?”
Hermione gave a small nod, tugging her satchel higher on her shoulder. “Well enough. Thank you.”
Draco’s pale eyes lingered on the Auror a moment longer than necessary before he brushed past with his usual aristocratic poise. Theo followed, his stride lazy, hands in his pockets, but Hermione could feel the tension thrumming under the surface in both of them.
The group moved together, Selwyn and Woodcroft falling into step just far enough behind to give the illusion of space, but never more than a wand’s reach away.
The corridors of the West Wing were quieter than usual, most students already downstairs. Hermione’s trainers scuffed softly against the stone. She reached for something to say, if only to cut the silence.
“You two were up before me,” she said finally, glancing between them. “Fully dressed. Coffee waiting. What was that about?”
Theo gave a half-smile. “Some of us don’t enjoy sprinting to make second bell.”
Draco added, with his typical dryness, “And some of us value punctuality.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes at them both. “That wasn’t punctuality. That was… unnerving.”
They didn’t answer, though Theo’s smirk deepened as Draco’s lips curved in the faintest of knowing smiles. Hermione huffed and shook her head, tugging her braid over her shoulder.
The closer they drew to the dinning hall, the louder the sound of voices and clattering plates became. Students streamed in through the high double doors, house scarves bright against the stone, the smell of bacon and toast carrying on the air.
As they entered, Hermione immediately felt the eyes. It was subtle, but palpable-heads tilting, glances exchanged, whispers barely hushed. She straightened her shoulders, forcing her chin high, and followed Theo and Draco to their usual cluster at their normal table.
Pansy was already there, seated between Daphne and Astoria, her posture elegant but her eyes sharp as ever. When she caught sight of the trio approaching, her gaze flicked first to Hermione, then to Draco and Theo. And there it was-that pointed, knowing look, sharp as a knife and just as impossible to ignore.
Draco met it evenly, a flicker of warning in his eyes. Theo merely smirked, sliding into his seat across from her as if daring her to press the issue.
Hermione, oblivious to the silent exchange, dropped down beside Ginny, who greeted her with a grin and shoved a platter of toast in her direction.
“About time,” Ginny said cheerfully. “We were about to send a search party.”
Hermione accepted the toast, rolling her eyes. “Hardly necessary. Some of us value extra sleep.”
“Sleep?” Ron echoed, his mouth already full of bacon. “You? That’s news.”
Harry smirked faintly at the jab, then leaned in a little. “So what lectures do you plan on attending today?”
Hermione reached for the pumpkin juice, pouring herself a glass. “Advanced Ritual Theory this morning. Then the Necromantic Ethics Lecture after lunch.”
That got a reaction.
Neville’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. “Necromantic Ethics? That’s… heavy.”
Luna tilted her head dreamily. “Oh, but fascinating. The line between life and death is such a delicate thread. Like thestral hair in wand cores-it bends but rarely breaks.”
Astoria wrinkled her nose, but her curiosity won out. “What does that even cover? Debates on reanimation spells?”
“Among other things,” Hermione said, her tone cautious but proud. “Consent. Boundaries of magical law. The philosophical implications of death magic in relation to intent.”
Blaise gave a low whistle, raising his goblet. “Leave it to Potter to pick the subjects that make half the school squeamish.”
Hermione shot him a look, but her lips twitched in reluctant amusement. “Somebody has to.”
Theo, who had been buttering his toast with slow precision, finally spoke. “It suits her. She can dismantle anyone who thinks they’re clever enough to bend the law.”
“Or hex them,” Draco added smoothly, his pale eyes lingering on her with the faintest edge of pride.
Hermione flushed faintly but ignored both comments, stabbing a piece of fruit from the platter.
Ginny, picking up on the flicker in her friend’s face, quickly filled the silence. “Ritual Theory sounds more my speed. At least you can do something with it. Neville, isn’t that where they use ritual circles in Herbology wards?”
Neville brightened immediately. “Exactly! You can stabilize magical plants that otherwise collapse under their own power. Like Umbra Vines-”
Ron groaned. “Here we go.”
Daphne smirked. “Better vines than the time you tried to explain the mandrake pollination cycle.”
“Oi!” Neville protested, but his face flushed crimson as laughter rippled lightly through their cluster.
The moment eased, though Pansy’s gaze remained fixed on Draco and Theo, sharp and calculating. Each time one of them so much as shifted, she caught it, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Hermione, oblivious to the undercurrent, turned back to Ginny. “What about you? What’s on your schedule today?”
“Defensive Tactics,” Ginny said with a grimace. “Double block. If Carrow decides we need more ‘practical demonstration,’ I’ll hex myself before letting him lecture me on combat readiness again.”
Harry smirked faintly. “Might save us all the pain.”
Ron snorted into his pumpkin juice.
Astoria leaned toward Daphne, whispering something that made her sister laugh softly. Blaise leaned back against the bench with casual indifference, though his eyes flicked between Theo and Hermione with a sharpness that betrayed it wasn’t indifference at all.
The conversation circled naturally-classes, assignments, the ever-looming exams-and Hermione began to feel herself easing, the knot in her chest loosening with the normality of it all.
But every so often, her eyes flicked up to find Draco’s pale gaze steady on her, or Theo’s fingers tapping a quiet rhythm against his goblet as if measuring the pulse of the room. And always, across the table, Pansy watching. Watching and waiting, as though she already knew a truth Hermione hadn’t uncovered yet.
The library was hushed, the faint scratch of quills and the rustle of parchment layered under the occasional cough or the shifting of a chair. Dust motes drifted lazily in the shafts of morning light that cut through the tall arched windows, casting warm stripes across the rows of books.
Hermione sat at a wide oak table near the back, her satchel spilled open beside her. She had three books propped open at once-A Critical Analysis of Ritual Circles, Intermediate Runes in Practice, and Modern Legal Frameworks for Magical Boundaries. Her quill moved quickly over the parchment in front of her, ink blotting slightly in the margin where she had paused to think through the phrasing of a particularly complicated point.
Her tongue caught between her teeth as she muttered to herself. “If the circle is inherently stabilizing, then intent and symmetry should override the need for-”
Selwyn passed by at that moment, boots silent on the rugs, her eyes sweeping the room like a hawk. Woodcroft was on the far side, feigning interest in a stack of Arithmancy journals while keeping a clear line of sight on Hermione. Their presence was almost routine now, though the students scattered through the tables stole occasional glances.
Hermione dipped her quill again, refocused, and bent over the parchment. Her paragraph was just beginning to take shape when a shadow fell across her notes.
Hermione glanced up, already frowning. “Pansy? Shouldn’t you be in lecture?”
Pansy Parkinson, immaculately dressed as always, raised one elegant brow and gave the faintest shrug. “Lecture was dull. I left.” Without waiting for permission, she slid gracefully into the chair opposite Hermione, folding her arms on the table as though she had every right to be there.
Hermione blinked, momentarily thrown. “You left? Pansy, it’s mandatory attendance.”
“Please,” Pansy scoffed lightly, smoothing a hand down her sleeve. “You think Greaves is going to cry himself to sleep because I skipped one discussion on precedent? I’ll skim the notes later.”
Hermione huffed, shaking her head, and turned deliberately back to her parchment. Her quill scratched across the page, though the sound was uneven now, her focus tugged by the weight of Pansy’s gaze.
Seconds stretched.
Hermione’s shoulders tightened. She shifted, dipped her quill again, forced her eyes to remain on the neat rows of text forming across the page.
Still, Pansy watched.
Finally, Hermione slammed the quill down a little harder than she meant to, ink spotting the margin. “What?” she snapped, looking up with narrowed eyes. “What do you want, Pansy?”
Pansy didn’t flinch at the sharpness. If anything, her lips curved in a small, infuriating smile. “I was just thinking,” she said lazily, “that your boyfriends have been acting… odd.”
Hermione stiffened. “Odd?” she repeated carefully.
Pansy’s chin tilted. “Yes. Odd. Staring at you when they think you’re not looking. Whispering when they think you can’t hear. Hovering like-well, like they’re afraid you’ll shatter if they blink.”
Hermione sat up straighter, her eyes flashing with irritation. “That’s ridiculous. They’re not-” She broke off, shaking her head sharply. “They’re not acting weird. They’re just… being Draco and Theo.”
“Mm.” Pansy’s hum was low, skeptical. She leaned back in her chair, studying Hermione with dark, assessing eyes. “If you say so.”
Hermione picked her quill back up, her grip tight enough to smudge ink across her fingers. She bent over her parchment again, pretending to focus, though her eyes skimmed the same sentence three times without processing it.
The silence stretched again. Pansy still hadn’t moved, hadn’t pulled out a book, hadn’t even glanced around the library. She was simply watching, patient as a cat.
Hermione set her quill down with a huff. “You’re not here to study, are you?”
“Not particularly,” Pansy said smoothly. “Though I must say, it’s far more entertaining to watch you bristle like this than listen to Blaise pontificate about judicial reform.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, forcing herself to refocus on her essay. “Then by all means, enjoy the show. Some of us have actual work to finish.”
But her heart beat a little faster now, an uneasy rhythm she couldn’t explain. Because Pansy wasn’t wrong-Draco and Theo had been acting differently. Watching her more closely. Moving in tandem as if by silent agreement. Whispering in ways that stopped the moment she came within earshot.
And though Hermione wouldn’t admit it-not to Pansy, not to anyone-she had noticed.
Still, her pride bristled, and her voice came out sharper than she intended. “They’re not acting weird. You’re imagining it.”
Pansy’s smirk widened, her eyes glittering as if she’d caught the edge of a crack in Hermione’s composure. “If you insist.”
Hermione shoved her attention back to her parchment, but the words blurred slightly, her mind stubbornly circling the accusation.
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